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ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA.
CncptlopaeUta Brttanmta:
OR, A
DICTIONARY
ARTS, SCIENCES, AND MISCELLANEOUS
LITERATURE;
ENLARGED AND IMPROVED.
THE SIXTH EDITION.
Sllustratrt Until marip sir Inmtirrt) dfngiabings.
VOL. XVII.
INDOCTI DISCANT; AMENT MEMINISSE PERITI.
EDINBURGH:
PRINTED FOR ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND COMPANY;
AND HURST, ROBINSON, AND COMPANY, 90, CHEAPSIDE,
LONDON.
1823.
frs
Encyclopedia Britannica
POETRY, Part II. Sect. 2. continued.
Of Lytic r | i HE variety of subjects, which are allowed the lyric
, Foetry- , JL poet, makes it necessary to consider this species of
poetry under the following heads, viz. the sublime ode,
the lesser ode, and the song. We shall begin with the
120 lowest, and proceed to that which is more eminent.
The song. I. Songs are little poetical compositions, usually set
to a tune, and frequently sung in company by way of
entertainment and diversion. Of these we have in our
language a great number j hut, considering that num¬
ber, not many which are excellent; for, as the duke of
Buckingham observes,
Though nothing seems more easy, yet no part
Of poetry requires a nicer art.
The song admits of almost any subject ; but the
greatest part of them turn either upon love, contentme?it,
or the pleasures of a country life, and drinking. Be the
subject, however, what it will, the verses should be easy,
natural, and flowing, and contain a certain harmony, so
that poetry and music may be agreeably united. In these
compositions, as in all others, obscene and profane ex¬
pressions should be carefully avoided, and indeed every
thing that tends to take olT that respect which is due
to religion and virtue, and to encourage vice and im¬
morality. As the best songs in our language are al¬
ready in every hand, it would seem superfluous to in¬
sert examples. For further precepts, however, as well
as select examples, in this species of composition, we
may refer the reader to the elegant Essay on Sons:
m Writing, by Mr Aikin.
The distin- II. T he lesser ode. The distinguishing character of
gnishing this is sweetness ; and as the pleasure we receive from
“er^3 S?rt Poen\arises principally from its soothing and
ode. a fleeting the passions, great regard should he paid to the
language as well as to the thoughts and numbers.
Th’ expression should be easy, fancy high j
Yet that not seem to creep, nor this to fly :
No words transpos’d, but in such order all,
As, though hard wrought, may seem by chance to fall.
D. Buckingham’s Essay.
The style, indeed, should be easy 1: but it may be also
florid and figurative. It solicits delicacy, but disdains
aflectation. I he thoughts should be natural, chaste, and
elegant; and the numbers various, smooth, and harmo¬
nious. A few examples will sufficiently explain what
we mean.
Vol. XVII. Part I. +
_ Longinus has preserved a fragment of Sappho, an an- Of Lyric
cient Greek poetess, which is in great reputation amongst Foetry-
the critics, and has been so happily translated by Mr
Philips as to give the English reader a just idea of theT] I*2
spirit, ease, and elegance of that admired author; and ph;® ode."
show how exactly she copied nature. To enter into the
beauties of this ode, we must suppose a lover sitting by
his mistress, and thus expressing his passion :
Blest as th’ immortal gods is he,
The youth who fondly sits by thee,
And sees and hears thee all the while
Softly speak, and sweetly smile.
’Twas this depriv’d my soul of rest,
And rais’d such tumults in my breast;
For while I gaz’d, in transport tost,
My breath was gone, my voice was lost.
My bosom glow’d, the subtle flame
Ran quick through all my vital frame:
O’er my dim eyes a darkness hung;
My ears with hollow murmurs rung.
In dewy damps my limbs were chill’d.
My blood with gentle horrors thrill’d ;
My feeble pulse forgot to play;
I fainted, sunk, and dy’d away.
After this instance of the Sapphic ode, it may not Tlie^na-
be improper to speak of that sort of ode which is called creontic
Anacreontic; being written in the manner and taste of0^*
Anacreon, a Greek poet, famous for the delicacy of his
wit, and the exquisite, yet easy and natural, turn of his
poesy. We have several of his odes still extant, and
many modern ones in imitation of him, which are most¬
ly composed in verses of seven syllables, or three feet
and a half.
We shall give the young student one or two examples
of his manner from Mr Fawkes’s excellent translation.
The following ode on the power of gold, which had
been often attempted but with little success, this gentle¬
man has translated very happily.
Love’s a pain that works our wo ;
Not to love is painful too ;
But, alas ! the greatest pain
Waits the love that meets disdain.
What avails ingenuous worth,
Sprightly wit, or noble birth ?
All these virtues useless prove ;
Gold alone engages love.
A
May
Of lijric
Poetry.
POE
May he be completely curst,
■Who the sleeping mischief first
Wak’d to life, and, vile before,
Stamp’d with worth the sordid ore.
Gold creates in brethren strile ;
Gold destroys the parent’s life ;
Gold produces civil jars,
Murders, massacres, and wars 5
But the worst effect of gold,
Love, alas ! is bought and sold.
His ode on the vanity of riches is of a piece with the
above, and conveys a good lesson to those who are over
anxious for wealth.
If the treasur’d gold could give
Man a longer term to live,
I’d employ my utmost care
Still to keep, and still to spare ;
And, when death approach’d, would say,
‘ Take thy fee, and walk away.’
But since riches cannot save
Mortals from the gloomy grave,
Why should I myself deceive,
Vainly sigh, and vainly grieve ?
Death will surely be my lot,
Whether I am rich or not.
Give me freely while I live
Generous wines, in plenty give
Soothing joys my life to cheer,
Beauty kind, and friends sincere j
Happy ! could I ever find
Friends sincere, and beauty kind.
R Y.
« Think, O think! what cruel pains
‘ He that’s stung by thee sustains. . #
Among the most successful of this peel’s English um
tutors mfy he reckoned Dr Johnson mtdMtl nor. .ih;
Part IT.
Of Lyric
Poetry.
124
The Imitation
tators may be reckoned Ur jomm.u — • tersof Anacre,
following ode on Eveningby the former of these wute ^
has, if we mistake not, the very sptnt and atrof Anacreon.
Evening now from purple wings
Sheds the grateful gifts she brings ■,
Brilliant drops bedeck the mead j
Cooling breezes shake the reed } .
Shake the reed and curl the stream
Silver’d o’er with Cynthia’s beam j
Near the chequer’d’lonely grove
Hears, and keeps thy secrets, Love.
Stella, thither let us stray !
Lightly o’er the dewy way.
Phoebus drives his burning car
Hence, my lovely Stella, tar .
In his stead the queen of night
Piound us pours a lambent light 5
Lieht that seems but just to show
Let us now, in whisper’d joy,
Evening’s silent hours employ 5
Silence best, and conscious shades,
Please the hearts that love invades :
Other pleasures give them pain 5
Lovers all but love disdain.
But of all the imitations of the playful bard of Greece
that we have ever met with, the most perfect is the fol¬
lowing Anacreontic by the ^regent duke of Orleans.
But two of the most admired, and perhaps the most
imitated, of Anacreon’s odes, are that of Mars wounded
by one of the darts of Love, and Cupid stung by a
Bee } both which are wrought up with fancy and deli¬
cacy, and are translated with elegance and spirit.—lake
that of Cupid stung by a bee.
Once as Cupid, tir’d with play,
On a bed of roses lay,
A rude bee, that slept unseen,
The sweet breathing buds between,
Stung his finger, cruel chance !
With its little pointed lance.
Straight he fills the air with cries,
Weeps, and sobs, and runs, and flies 5
’Till the god to Venus came,
Lovely, laughter-loving dame :
Then he thus began to plain }
“ Oh ! undone 1 die with pain—
“ Dear mamma, a serpent small,
“ Which a bee the ploughman call,
« Imp’d with wings, and arm’d with dart,
« Oh !—has stung me to the heart.”
Venus thus reply’d, and smil’d :
« Dry those tears for shame ! my child j
‘ If a bee can wound so deep,
‘ Causing Cupid thus to weep,
Je suis ne pour les plaisirs ;
Bien fou que s’en passe :
Je ne veux pas les choisir j
Souvent le choix m’embarrasse :
Aime t’on ? J’aime soudain*,
Bois t’on ? J’ai la verre a la main •,
Je tiens par tout ma place.
II.
Dormir est un temps perdu ;
Faut il qu’on s’y livre ?
Sommeil, prends ce qui t’est du;
Mais attends que je sois yvre :
Saisis moi dans cet instant j
Fais moi dormir promptement;
Je suis presse de vivre.
III.
Mais si quelque objet charmant,_
Dans un songe aimable,
Vient d’un plaisir seduisant
M’ofirir 1’image agreable *,
Sommeil, aliens doucement j
L’erreur est en ce moment
Un bonheur veritable.
Translation of the Regent's Anacreontic (e).
Frolic and free, for pleasure born,
The self-denying fool I scorn.
The
(e) We give this translation, both because of its excellence, and because it is said to have been the production
«f no less a man than the late Lord Chatham.
Part II.
Of Lyric The proffer’d joy I ne’er refuse j
Poetry. ’Tis oft-times troublesome to chuse*
u“-—v ’ Lov’ st thou, my friend ? I love at sight:
Drink’st thou ? this bumper does thee right.
At random with the stream I flow,
And play my part where’er I go.
Great God of Sleep, since we must be
Oblig’d to give some hours to thee,
Invade me not till the full bowl
Glows in my cheek, and warms my soul.
Be t/iat the only time to snore,
When I can love and drink no moi-e :
Short, very short, then be thy reign j
For I’m in haste to live again.
But O ! if melting in my arms,
In some soft dream, with all her charms,
The nymph belov’d should then surprise,
And gx'ant what waking she denies j
Then prithee, gentle Slumber, stay j
Slowly, ah slowly, bring the day :
Let no rude noise my bliss destroys
Such sweet delusion’s real joy.
3
Thy breath to Eliza’s no fragrance hath in’t, Of Lyric
And but dull is thy bloom to her cheek’s blushing tint. Poetry.
Yet, alas 1 my fair flow’r, that bloom will decay, u“~\ " J
And all thy lov’d beauties soon wither away j
Tho’ pluck’d by her hand, to whose touch we must own,
Harsh and rough is the cygnet’s most delicate down
Thou too, snowy hand $ nay, I mean not to preach j
But the rose, lovely moralist, suffer to teach.
“ Extol not, fair maiden, thy beauties o’er mine ;
They too are short-liv’d, and they too must decline 5
And small, in conclusion, the diff’rence appears,
In the bloom of few days, or the bloom of few years !
But remember a virtue the rose hath to boast,
—Its fragrance remains when its beauties are lost!”
iztf
We come now to those odes of the more florid and Odes more
figurative kind, of which we have many in our language j!or^
that deserve particular commendation. Mr Wax ton’s loula-i,c'
Ode to Fancy has been justly admired by the best judges j
for though it has a distant resemblance of Milton’s
1’Allegro and II Penseroso, yet the work is original; the
thoughts are mostly new and various, and the language
and numbers elegant, expressive, and harmonious.
POETRY.
We have mentioned Prior as an imitator of Anacreon j
but the reader has by this time had a sufficient specimen
of Anacreontics. The following Answer to Closjealuus,
which was written when Prior was sick, has much of
the elegant tenderness of Sappho.
Yes, fairest proof of beauty’s power,
Dear idol of my panting heart,
Nature points this my fatal hour :
And I have liv’d : and we must part.
While now I take my last adieu,
Heave thou no sigh, nor shed a tear j
Lest yet my half-clos’d eye may view
On earth an object worth its care.
From jealousy’s tormenting strife
For ever be thy bosom freed j
That nothing may disturb thy life,
Content I hasten to the dead.
Yet when some better-fated youth
Shall with his am’rous parly move thee,
Reflect one moment on his truth
Who, dying, thus persists to love thee.
There is much of the softness of Sappho, and the
Sweetness of Anacreon and Prior, in the following ode,
which is ascribed to the unfortunate Dr Dodd j and
was written in compliment to a lady, who, being sick,
had sent the author a moss x-ose-bud, instead of making
his family a visit. This piece is particularly to be
esteemed for the just and striking moral with which it
is pointed.
The slightest of favours besttw’d by the fair,
With rapture we take, and with triumph we wear 5
But a moss-woven rose-bud, Eliza, from thee,
A well-pleasing gift to a monarch would be.
—Ah ! that illness, too cruel, forbidding should stand,
And refuse me the gift from thy own lovely hand !
With joy I receive it, with pleasure will view,
Reminded of thee, by its odour and hue :
“ Sweet rose, let me tell thee, though charming thy bloom,
Tho’ thy fragrance excels Seba’s richest perfume $
O parent of each lovely muse,
Thy spirit o’er my soul diffuse !
O’er all my artless songs preside,
My footsteps to thy temple guide !
To offer at thy turf-built shrine
In golden cups no costly wine,
No mui'der’d fatling of the flock,
But flow’rs and honey fx-om the rock.
O nymph, with loosely flowing hair,
With buskin’d leg, and bosom bare ;
Thy waist with myrtle-girdle bound,
Thy brows with Indian feathers crown’d ;
Waving in thy snow'y hand
An all-commanding magic wand,
Of povv’r to bid fresh gardens blow
’Mid cheerless Lapland’s barren snow :
Whose rapid wings thy flight convey,
Through air, and over earth and sea }
W hile the vast various landscape lies
Conspicuous to thy piercing eyes.
O lover of the desert, hail !
Say, in wdiat deep and pathless vale.
Or on what hoary mountain’s side,
’Midst falls of water, you reside ;
’Midst broken rocks, a rugged scene,
With green and grassy dales between j
’Midst forests dark of aged oak,
Nt’er echoing with the woodman’s stroke j
Where never hxmian art appear’d,
Nor ev’n one straw-roof’d cott was rear’d ;
Where Nature seems to sit alone,
Majestic on a craggy throne.
Tell me the path, sweet wand’rer ! tell,
To thy unknown sequester’d cell,
Where woodbines cluster round the dooi',
Where shells and moss o’^rlay the floox-,
And on xvhose top an hawthorn blows.
Amid whose thickly-woven boughs
Some nightingale still builds her nest,
Each ev’ning warbling thee to rest.
Then lay me by the haunted stream,
Wrapt in some wild poetic dream *
A 2, Tn
Of Lyric
lJoetrv.
POE
In converse while metliinks I rove
With Spenser through a fairy grove j
Till suddenly awak’d, I hear
Strange whisper’d music in my ear j
And my glad soul in bliss is drown d
By the sweetly soothing sound !
Me, goddess, by the right-hand lead,
Sometimes through the yellow mead 5
Where Joy and white-rob’d Peace resort,
And Venus keeps her festive court}
Where Mirth and Youth each ev’ning meet,
And lightly trip with nimble feet,
Nodding their lily-crowned heads,
Where Laughter rose-lip’d Hebe leads *,
Where Echo walks steep hills among,
List’ning to the shepherd’s song.
Yet not these flow’ry helds of joy
Can long my pensive mind employ }
Haste, Fancy, from the scenes of Folly,
To meet the matron Melancholy !
Goddess of the tearful eye,
That loves to fold her arms and sigh.
Let us with silent footsteps go
To charnels, and the house of wo}
To Gothic churches, vaults, and tombs,
Where each sad night some virgin comes,
With throbbing breast and faded cheek,
Her promis’d bridegroom’s urn to seek.
Or to some abbey’s mould’ring tow rs,
Where, to avoid cold wint’ry show’rs,
The naked beggar shivering lies,
While whistling tempests round her rise,
And trembles lest the tott’ring wall
Should on her sleeping infants fall.
Now let us louder strike the Ijre,
For my heart glows with martial fire }
I feel, I feel, with sudden heat,
My big tumultuous bosom beat $
The trumpet’s clangors pierce ray ear,
A thousand widows shrieks I hear .
Give me another horse, I cry j
Lo, the base Gallic squadrons fly _!
Whence is this rage ?—what spirit, say.
To battle hurries me away ?
’Tis Fancy, in her fiery car,
Transports me to the thickest war j
There whirls me o’er the hills of slain,
Where tumult and destruction reign ;
Where, mad with pain, the wounded steed.
Tramples the dying and the dead ;
Where giant Terror stalks around,
With sullen joy surveys the ground,
And, pointing to th’ ensanguin’d field,
Shakes his dreadful gorgou shield !
O guide me from this horrid scene
To high arch’d walks and alleys green,
Which lovely Laura seeks, to shun
The fervors of the mid-day sun.
The pangs of absence, O remove,
For thou can’st place me near my love j
Can’st fold in visionary bliss.
And let me think I steal a kiss ;
While her ruby lips dispense
Luscious nectar’s quintessence!
T
R Y.
When yonng ey’d Spring profusely throws
From her green lap the pink and ro ,
When the soft turtle of the dale
To Summer tells her tender tale j
When Autumn cooling caverns seeks,.
And stains with wine his jolly cheeks *,
'ITT- i. „ wmrvr TuloTim old.
At ev’ry season let my ear
Thy solemn whispers, Fancy, hear.
O warm enthusiastic maid .
Without thy powerful, vital aid,
That breathes an energy divine,
That gives a soul to ev’ry line,
Ne’er may I strive with lips profane,
To utter an unhallow’d strain j _
Nor dare to touch the sacred string, _
Save when with smiles thou bid’st me sing.
O hear our pray’r, O hither come
From thy lamented Shakespeare s tomb,
On which thou lov’st to sit at eve,
Musing o’er thy darling’s grave.
O queen of numbers, once again
Animate some chosen swain,
Who, fill’d with unexhausted fire,
May boldly smite the sounding lyre ;
Who with some new, unequall’d song,
May rise above the rhyming throng :
O’er all our list’ning passions reign,
O’erwhelm our souls with joy and pain *,
With terror shake, with pity move,
Bouze with revenge, or melt with love.
O deign t’attend his evening walk.
With him in groves and grottoes talk ;
Teach him to scorn, with frigid art,
Feebly to touch th’ enraptur’d heart J
Like lightning, let his mighty verse
The bosom’s inmost foldings pierce •,
With native beauties win applause,
Beyond cold critics studied laws :
O let each muse’s fame increase !
O bid Britannia rival Greece !
Part II.
Of Lyric
Poetry.
The following ode, written by Mr Smart on the 5th
of December (being the birth-day of a beautiful young
ladv), is much to be admired for the variety and har¬
mony of the numbers, as well as for the beauty of the
thoughts, and the elegance and delicacy of the compli¬
ment. It has great fire, and yet great sweetnegs, and is
the happy issue of genius and judgment united.
Hail eldest of the monthly train,
Sire of the winter drear,
December ! in whose iron reign
Expires the chequer’d year.
Hush all the blust’ring blasts that blow,
And proudly plum’d in silver snow,
Smile gladly on this blest of days j
The livery’d clouds shall on thee wait,
And Phoebus shine in all his state
With more than summer rays.
Though jocund June may justly boast
Long days and happy hours}
Though August be Pomona’s host,
And May be crown’d with flow’rs :
Tell
Part II.
POE
Tell June Ills fire and crimson dies,
Bv Harriot’s blush, and Harriot’s eyes,
Eclips’d and vanquish’d, fade away j
Tell August, thou canst let him see
A richer, riper fruit than he,
A sweeter flow’r than May.
The ensuing ode, written by Mr Collins on the death
anil elegiac 0f ]\fr Thomson, is of the pastoral and elegiac kind, and
°^e' both picturesque and pathetic. To perceive all the beau¬
ties of this little piece, which are indeed many, we must
suppose them to have been delivered on the river Thames
near Richmond.
Of Lyric
Poetry.
127
A pastoral
* The harp
of iEolus.
f Rich¬
mond
church.
128
The hymn.
In yonder grave a Druid lies,
Where slowly winds the stealing wave ;
The year’s best sweets shall duteous rise
To deck its poet’s silvan grave !
In yon deep bed of whisp’ring reeds
His airy harp * shall now be laid,
That he, whose heart in sorrow bleeds,
May love through life the soothing shade.
Then maids and youths shall linger here,
And, while its sounds at distance swell,
Shall sadly seem in pity’s ear
To hear the woodland pilgrim’s knell.
Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore,
When Thames in summer wreaths is drest,
And oft suspend the dashing oar,
To bid his gentle spirit rest!
And oft as ease and health retire
To breezy lawn, or forest deep,
The friend shall view yon whitening spire f,
And ’mid the varied landscape weep.
But thou, who own’st that earthy bed,
Ah ! what will ev’ry dirge avail ?
Or tears, which love and pity shed,
That mourn beneath the gliding sail ?
Yet lives there one, whose heedless eye,
Shall scorn thy pale shrine glimm’ring near ?
With him, sweet bard, may fancy die,
And joy desert the blooming year. -
But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide
No sedge-crown’d sisters now attend,
Now waft me from the green hill’s side,
Whose cold turf hides the buried friend.
And see, the fairy valleys fade,
Dim night has veil’d the solemn view !
Yet once again, dear parted shade,
Meek nature’s child, again adieu !
The genial meads, assign’d to bless
Thy life, shall mourn thy early doom ;
Their hinds, and shepherd girls, shall dress,
With simple hands, thy rural tomb.
Long, long, thy stone and pointed clay
Shall melt the musing Briton’s eyes $
O vales and wild woods, shall he say,
In yonder grave your Druid lies !
Under this species of the ode, notice ought to be ta^
ken of those written on divine subjects, and which are
usually called hymns. Of these we have many in our
language, but none perhaps that are so much admired as
Mr Addison’s. The beauties of the following hymn are
too well known, and too obvious, to need any commen¬
dation ; we shall only observe, therefore, that in this
hymn (intended to display the power of the Almighty)
TRY. 5
he seems to have had a psalm of David in his view, Of Lyric
which says, that “ the heavens declare the glory of God, Poetry,
and the firmament sheweth his handywork.” *
The spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue ethereal sky,
And spangled heav’ns, a shining frame,
Their great original proclaim :
Th’ unwearied sun, from day to day,
Does his Creator’s pow’r display,
And publishes to ev’ry land
The work of an Almighty hand.
Soon as the ev’ning shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wond’rous tale,
And nightly to the list’ning earth
Repeats the story of her birth :
While all the stars that round her burn,.
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.
What tho’ in solemn silence all
Move round the dark terrestrial ball ?
What tho’ no real voice or sound
Amid their radiant orbs be found ?.
In reason’s ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice,
For ever singing, as they shine,
“ The hand that made us is divine.”
The following pastoral hymn is a vei’sion of the 23d
Psalm by Mr Addison ; the peculiar beauties of which
have occasioned many translations ; but we have seen
none that is so poetical and perfect as this. And in
justice to Dr Boyce, we must observe, that the music
he has adapted to it is so sweet and expressive, that we
know not which is to be most admired, the poet or the
musician.
The Lord my pasture shall prepare,
And feed me with a shepherd’s care j
His presence shall my wants supply,
And guard me with a watchful eye }
My noon-day walks he shall attend,
And all my midnight hours defend.
When in the sultry glebe I faint,
Or on the thirsty mountain pant,
To fertile vales and dewry meads
My weary wand’ring steps he leads j
Where peaceful rivers soft and slow
Amid the verdant landscape flow.
Tho’ in the paths of death I tread,
With gloomy horrors overspread,
My stedfast heart shall fear no ill :
For thou, O Lord, art with me still j
Thy friendly crook shall give me aid,
And guide me through the dreadful shade.
Tho’ in a bare and rugged way,
Through devious lonely wilds I stray,
Thy bounty shall my pains beguile :
The barren wilderness shall smile,
With sudden greens and herbage crown’d }
And streams shall murmur all around.
III. We are now to speak of those odes which arexhe sub-
of the sublime and noble kind, and distinguished from lime od#,
others by their elevation of thought and diction, as well
by the variety or irregularity of their numbers as the
frequent
Of Lyric
Poetry
P O K T
frequent transitions anti bolt! excursions with tvlut!; tnty
are enriched. ., ,
To give the young student an idea of the sudden and
frequent transitions, digressions, and excursions, whicn
are admitted into the odes of the ancients, tve cannot
do better than refer him to the celebrated song or ode
of Moses j which is the oldest that we know of, and
was penned by that divine author immediately alter the
children of Israel crossed the Red sea.
At the end of this song, we are told, that Miriam
the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel m her
hand, and all the women went out after her with tim¬
brels and with dances. And Miriam answered them,
Sing ye to the Lord, for he hath triumphed glori¬
ously j the horse and his rider hath he thrown into the
From this last passage it is plain, that the ancients
very early called in music to the aid of poetry, and that
their odes were usually sung, and accompanied with
their lutes, harps, lyres, timbrels, and other instruments:
nay, so essential, and in such reputation, was music held
by the ancients, that we often find in their lyric poets,
addresses or invocations to the harp, the lute, or the
lyre •, and it was probably owing to the frequent use
made of the last-mentioned instrument with the ode,
that this species of writing obtained the name of Lyric
poetry. .
This ode, or hymn, which some believe was composed
by Moses in Hebrew verse, is incomparably better than
any thing the heathen poets have produced of the kind,
and is by all good judges considered as a master-piece
of ancient eloquence. The thoughts are noble and sub¬
lime: the style is magnificent and expressive: the figures
are bold and animated : the transitions and excursions
are sudden and frequent: hut they are short, and the
poet, having digressed for a moment, returns immedi¬
ately to the great object that excited his wonder, and
elevated his soul with joy and gratitude. Ihe images
fill the mind with their greatness, and strike the imagi¬
nation in a manner not to be expressed.
If there be anything that in sublimity approaches to
it, we must look for it in the east, where perhaps we
shall find nothing superior to the following Hindoo
hymn to Narrayna, or “ the spirit of God,” taken, as
Sir'William Jones informs us, from the writings of the
ancient Bramins.
Spirit of spirits, who, through every part
Of space expanded, and ol endless time,
Beyond the reach of lab’ring thought sublime,
Bad’st uproar into beauteous order start 5
Before heav’n was, thou art.
Fre spheres beneath us roll’d, or spheres above,
Ere earth in firmamental aether hung,
' Thou sat’st alone, till, through thy mystic love,
Things unexisting to existence sprung,
And grateful descant sung.
Omniscient Spirit, whose all-ruling pow’r
Bids from each sense bright emanations beam j
Glows in the rainbow, sparkles in the stream,
\{ Y.
Smiles in the hud, and glistens m thc^iWr
That crowns each vernal bow r •, ,
Sighs in the gale, and warbles in the throat
Of every bird that hails the bloomy spring,
Or tells his love in many a liquid note, _
Whilst envious artists touch the rival string,
Till rocks and forests ring •,
Breathes in rich fragrance from the sandal grove,
Or where the precious musk-deer playiiu rove j
In dulcet juice, from clust’ring fruit distils,
And burns salubrious in the tasteful clove :
Safe banks and verd’rous lulls
Thy present influence fills :
In air, in floods, in caverns, woods, and plains,
Thy will inspirits all, thy sovereign Maya reigns.
Blue crystal vault, and elemental fires,
That in th’ ethereal fluid blaze and breathe ;
Thou, tossing main, whose snaky branches wreathe
This pensile orb with intertwisting gyres j
Mountains, whose lofty spires,
Presumptuous, rear their summits to the skies,
And blend their em’rald hue with sapphire light j
Smooth meads and lawns, that glow with varying
dyes
Of dew-bespangled leaves and blossoms bright,
Hence ! vanish from my sight _
Delusive pictures ! unsubstantial shows .
My soul absorb’d one only Being knows,
Of all perceptions one abundant source,
Whence ev’ry object, ev’ry moment flows :
Suns hence derive their force,
Hence planets learn their course 3
But suns and fading worlds I view no more 3
Hnd rmlv T nerceivc ; God only I adore (f).
Part II.
Or Lyric
Poet')-.
I3«
We come now to the Pindaric ode, which (if we ex-The Pm-
cept the hymns in the Old Testament, the psalms ofdallC 0 ’
King David, and such hymns of the Hindoos as that
just quoted) is the most exalted part of lyric poetry ;
and was so called from Pindar, an ancient Greek poet,
who is celebrated for the boldness of his flights, the im¬
petuosity of his style, and the seeming wildness and ir¬
regularity that runs through his compositions, and which
are said to be the effect of the greatest art. See PlN-
DAR.
The odes of Pindar were held in such high estima¬
tion by the ancients, that it was fabled, in honour of
their sweetness, that the bees, while he was in the cradle,
brought honey to his lips : nor did the victors at the
Olympic and other games think the crown a sufficient
reward for their merit, unless their achievements \yere
celebrated in Pindar’s songs 3 most wisely presaging,
that the first would decay, but the other would endure
for ever.
This poet did not always write his odes in the same
measure, or with the same intention with regard to their
being sung. For the ode inscribed to Diagoras (the
concluding stanza of which we inserted at the beginning
of this section) is in heroic measure, and all the stanzas
are equal: there are others also, as Mr West observes,
made
(f) For the philosophy of this ode, which represents the Deity as the soul of the world, or rather as the only
Being (the ra «v of the Greeks), see Metaphysics, N° 269. and Philosophy, N° 6.
2
Part II. POE
Of Lyric made up otstrophes aad antistrophes, without any epodc;
Poatry and some composed of strophes only, of different lengths
’■ 1 * and measures : but the greatest part of his odes are di¬
vided into strophe, antistrophe, and epode ,• in order, as
Mr Congreve conjectures, to their being sung, and ad¬
dressed by the performers to different parts of the au¬
dience. “ They were sung (says he) by a chorus, and
adapted to the lyre, and sometimes to the lyre and pipe.
They consisted oi tenest of three stanzas. The lirst was
called the strophe, from the version or circular motion
of the singers in that stanza from the right hand to the
left. The second stanza was called the antistrophe, from
the contra version of the chorus j the singers in performing
that, turning from the left hand to the right, contrary al¬
ways to their motion in the strophe. The third stanza was
called theepocfe (itmay be as being the after-song), which
they sung in the middle, neither turning to one hand
*Vid.Prr/.n°r the other. But Dr West’s * friend is of opinion,
to West's that the performers also danced one way while they were
Pindar. singing the strophe, and danced back as they sung the an¬
tistrophe, till they came to the same place again, and then
standing still they sung the epode. He has translated a
passage from the Scholia on Hcphcestion, in proof of his
opinion ; and observes, that the dancing the strophe and
antistrophe in the same space of ground, and we may sup¬
pose the same space of time also, shows why those two
parts consisted of the same length and measure.
As the various measures of Pindar’s odes have been
the means of so far misleading some of our modern poets,
as to induce them to call compositions Pindaric odes,
that were not written in the method of Pindar, it is ne¬
cessary to be a little more particular on this head, and
to give an example from that poet, the more effectually
to explain his manner; which we shall take from the
translation of Dr West.
The eleventh Nemean Ode.
This ode is ascribed to Aristagoras, upon occasion
of his entering on his office of president or governor of
the island of Tenedos : so that, although it is placed
among the Nemean odes, it has 110 sort of relation to
those games, and is indeed properly an inauguration ode,
composed to he sung by a chorus at the sacrifices and
the feasts made by Aristagoras and his colleagues, in
the town-hall, at the time of their being invested with
the magistracy, as is evident from many expressions in .
the fii’St strophe and antistroplu.
Argument.
Pindar opens this ode with an invocation to Vesta
(the goddess who presided over the courts of justice, and
whose statue and altar were for that reason placed in the
town-halls, or Prytanceums, as the Greeks called them),
beseeching her to receive favourably Aristagoras and his
colleagues, who were then coming to offer sacrifices to
her, upon their entering on their office of Prytans or
magistrates of Tenedos , which office continuing for a
year, he begs the goddess to take Aristagoras under
her protection during that time, and to conduct him to
the end of it without trouble or disgrace. From Ari¬
stagoras, Pindar turns himself in the next place to his
father Arcesilas, whom he pronounces happy, as well
upon account of his son’s merit and honour, as upon
Ills own great endowments and good fortune : such as
T R Y.
beauty, strength, courage, riches, and glory, resulting or JVnic
irom his many victories in the games. But lest he Poetry.
should be too much puffed up with these praises, he re- ' v—^
minds him at the same time of his mortality, and tells
him that his clothing of flesh is perishable, that he
must e’er long be clothed with earth, the end of all
things ; and yet, continues he, it is but justice to praise
and celebrate the worthy and deserving, who from good
citizens ought to receive all kinds of honour and com¬
mendation ; as Aristagoras, for instance, who hath ren¬
dered both himself and his country illustrious by the
many victones he hath obtained, to the. number of six¬
teen, over the neighbouring youth, in the games ex¬
hibited in and about his own country. From whence,
says the poet, I conclude he would have come off vic¬
torious even in the Pythian and Olympic games, had
he not been restrained from engaging in those famous
lists by the too.timid and cautious love of his parents.
UPon which he falls into a moral reflection upon the
vanity ot man’s hopes and fears ; by the former of which
they are oftentimes excited to attempts beyond their
suength, which accordingly issue in their disgrace ; as,
on the other hand, they are frequently restrained, by
unreasonable and ill-grounded fears, from enterprises, in
which they would in all probability have come off with
honour. Ibis reflection he applies to Aristagoras, by
saying it was very easy to foresee what success he was
like to meet with, who both by father and mother was
descended from a long train of great and valiant men.
But here again, with a very artful turn of flattery to his
lather Arcesilas, whom he had before represented as
strong and valiant, and famous for his victories in the
games, he observes that every generation, even of a
great and glorious family, is not equally illustrious any
more than the fields and trees are every year equally
fruitful ; that the gods had not given mortals any cer¬
tain tokens by which they might foreknow when the
rich years of virtue should succeed; whence it comes to
pass, that men, out of self-conceit and presumption, are
perpetually laying schemes, and forming enterprises,
without previously consulting prudence or wisdom,
whose streams, says he, lie remote and out of the com¬
mon road. From all which he infers, that it is better
to moderate our desires, and set bounds to our avarice
and ambition; with which moral precept he concludes
the ode.
Strophe I.
Daughter of Rhea ! thou, whose holy fire
Before the awful seat of justice flames !
Sister of heaven’s almighty sire !
Sister of Juno, who coequal claims
With Jove to share the empire of the gods !
O virgin Vesta ! to thy dread abodes,
Do ! Aristagoras directs his pace !
Receive and near thy sacred sceptre place
Him, and his colleagues, who, with honest zeal,
O’er Tenedos preside, and guard the public weal.
Antistrophe I. * it was
And lo ! with frequent off’rings, they adore iokm^sa-1
Thee first invok’d in everv solemn pray’r ! crifices ami
To thee unmix’d libations pour, prayers to
And fill with od’rous fumes the fragrant air. kvokin ^1
Around Yesta^&
8
V o
E T B t.
Of Lyric
Poetry.
Around in festive songs the hymning choir
Mix the melodious voice and sounding lyre,
While still, prolong’d with hospitable love,
Are solemniz’d the rites of genial Jove:
Then guard him, Vesta, through his long career,
And let him close in joy his ministerial year.
Epode I.
But hail, Arcesilas ! all hail
To thee, bless’d father of a son so great.
Thou whom on fortune’s highest scale
The favourable hand of heav’n hath set.
Thy manly form with beauty hath rehn d,.
And match’d that beauty with a valiant mind.
Yet let not man too much presume,
Tho’ grac’d with beauty’s fairest bloom *,
Tho’ for superior strength renown d;
Tho’ with triumphal chaplets crown d:
Let him remember, that, in flesh anay t,
Soon shall he see that mortal vestment fade 3
Till lost, imprison’d in the mould ring urn,
To earth, the end of all things, he return.
Strophe II.
Yet should the worthy from the public tongue
Receive their recompense of virtuous praise ,
Bv ev’ry zealous patriot sung,
And deck’d with ev’ry flow’r of heav nly lays.
Such retribution in return for fame,
Such, Aristagoras, thy virtues claim, >
Claim from thy country 3 on whose glorious brow
The wrestler’s chaplet still unfaded blows 3
Mix’d with the great Pancratiastic crown,
Which from the neighboring youth thy early valour wo .
Antistrophe II.
And (but his timid parents’ cautious love,
Disturbing ever his too forward hands,
Forbade their tender son to prove
The toils of Pythia or Olympia’s sands), .
f A river, Now by the Gods I swear, his Valorous might
upon whose Had ’scap’d victorious in each bloody fight ,
banks the And from Castalia f, or where dark with shade
Pythian TJle monnt 0f Saturn t rears its olive head,
games were illustrious home had he return’d 3
rrrii mte,^ V,S farce ed;pS’a, Ins va^uisU’d foesUd
hill planted L
with olives,
that over- EpODE II.
stadium at Then his triumphal tresses bound _
Olympia. With the dark verdure of th’ Olympic grove,
With joyous banquets had he crown d
The great quinquennial festival ot Jove ;
And cheer’d the solemn pomp with choral lays,
Sweet tribute, which the muse to virtue pays.
But, such is man’s prepost’rous fate .
Now, with o’er-weening pride elate,
Too far he aims his shaft to tliro\V,
And straining bursts bis feeble bow.
Now pusillanimous, depress’d with fear,
He checks his virtue in the mid career 3
And of his strength distrustful, coward flies
The contest, tho’ empow’rd to gain the prize.
3
Part II.
Of Lyric
Poetry.
Strophe HI.
But who could err in prophesying good
Of him, whose undegenerating breast
Swells with a tide of Spartan blood,
From sire to sire in long succession trac d
Up to Pisander; who in
From old Amyclse to the Lesbian shore
And Tenedos, colleagu’d m high command
With great Orestes, led th iFohan band .
Nor was his mother’s race less st7n.g;^mb^se,’wave> * Wnus
Sprung from a stock that grew on fair was a rive.
^ ttT ^ Hneotia.
Antistrophe III.
Tho’ for long intervals obscur’d, again
Oft-times the seeds of lineal worth appear.
For neither can the furrow’d plain
Full harvests yield with each returning year 3
Nor in each period will the pregnant bloom
Invest the smiling tree with rich perfume.
So, barren often, and inglorious, pass
The generations of a noble race 3
While nature’s vigour, working at the root,
In after-ages swells, and blossoms into fruit.
a river
of Boeotia,
of which
country was
Menalip-
pus, the an¬
cestor of A-
ristagoras
by the mo¬
ther’s side.
131
Epode III.
Nor hath Jove giv’n us to foreknow
When the rich years of virtue shall succeed:
Yet bold and daring on we go.
Contriving schemes of many a mighty deed 3
While hope, fond inmate of the human mind,
And self-opinion, active, rash, and blind,
Hold up a false illusive ray,
That leads our dazzled feet astray
Far from the springs, where, calm and slow,
The secret streams of wisdom flow.
Hence should we learn our ardour to restrain,
And limit to due hounds the thirst of gain.
To rage and madness oft that passion turns,
Which with forbidden flames despairing burns.
From the above specimen, and from what we have Distia
already said on this subject, the reader will perceive,
that odes of this sort are distinguished by the happy ofit<
transitions and digressions which they admit, and the
surprising yet natural returns to the subject. 11ns re¬
quires great judgment and genius 3 and the poet who
would excel in this kind of writing, should draw the
plan of his poem, in manner of the argument we have
above inserted, and mark out the places where those
elegant and beautiful sallies and wanderings may be
made, and where the returns will be easy and proper.
Pindar, it is universally allowed, had a poetical and
fertile imagination, a warm and enthusiastic genius, a
hold and figurative expression, and a concise and sen¬
tentious st>le : but it is generally supposed that many
of those pieces which procured him such extravagant
praises and extraordinary testimonies of esteem firim
the ancients are lost 3 and if they were not, it would be
perhaps impossible to convey them into our language 3
for beauties of this kind, like plants of an odoriferous
and delicate nature, are not to he transplanted into an¬
other clime without losing much of their fragrance or
essential quality.
W ith
Part II.
POE
Of Lrric
Poetry.
With regard to those compositions which are usually
called Pindaric odes, (but which ought rather to be di¬
stinguished by the name of irregular odes'), we have
many in our language that deserve particular commen¬
dation r the criticism which Mr Congreve has given us
nionly cal- on that subject, has too much asperity and too great
led Pinda- latitude j for if other writers have, by mistaking Pin¬
dar’s measures, given their odes an improper title, it
is a crime, one would think, not so dangerous to the
(commonwealth of letters as to deserve such severe re¬
proof. Besides which, we may suppose that some of
these writers did not deviate from Pindar’s method
through ignorance, but by choice ; and that as their odes
were not to be performed with both singing and dan¬
cing, in the manner of Pindar’s, it seemed unnecessary
to confine the first and second stanzas to the same exact
number as was done in his strophes and antistrophes.
The poet therefore had a right to indulge himself with
more liberty : and we cannot help thinking, that the
ode which Mr Drvden has given Us, entitled, Alexan¬
der's Feast, or the Pother of Music, is altogether as
valuable in loose and wild numbers, as it could have
been if the stanzas were more regular, and written in
the manner of Pindar. In this ode there is a wonder¬
ful sublimity of thought, a loftiness and sweetness of
expression, and a most pleasing variety of numberst
’Twas at the royal feast, by Persia won
By Philip’s warlike soil,
Aloft in awful state,
The god-like hero sate
On his imperial throne :
H is valiant peers were plac’d around $
Their brows with roses and with mVrtles bound,
(So should desert in arms be crown’d) :
The lovely Thais bv his side
Sat like a blooming eastern bride,
In flo w’r of youth and beauty’s pride.
Happy, happy, happy pair !
None but the brave,
None but the brave,
None but the brave deserve the fair.
Chor. Happy Happy, &c.
Timotheus, plac’d on high
Amid the tuneful quire,
With flying fingers touch’d the lyre i
The trembling notes ascend the sky,
And heavenly joys inspire^
The song began from Jove,
Who left his blissful stats above,
(Such is the pow’r of mighty love !)
A dragon’s fierv form bely’d the god:
Sublime on radiant spires he rode,
When he to fair Olympia pressed j
And while he sought her snowy breast:
Then round her slender waist he curl’d,
And stamp’d an image of himself, U sovereign of the
world.
-The list’ning crowd adrtitre the lofty sound.
A present deity, they sh-.ut around;
A present deity, the vaulted roofs rebound :
With ravish’d ears
The monarch hears,
Vol. XVII. Part I.
T B Y.
Assumes the god,
Affects to nod,
And seems to shake the sphered.
Chor. With ravish'd cars, &c.
9
Of Lyric
Poetry.
The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung $
Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young:
The jolly god in triumph comes j
Sound the trumpets, heat the drums :
Flush’d with a purple grace,
He shows his honest face :
Now give the hautboys breath j he comes, he comes !
Bacchus, ever fair and young,
Drinking joys did first ordain :
Bacchus’ blessings are a treasure,
Drinking is the soldier’s pleasure i
•Rich the treasure,
Sweet the pleasure :
Sweet the pleasure after pain.
Chor. Bacchus' blessings, &c.
Sooth’d with the sound, the king grew vain,
Fought all his battles o’er again j
And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew
the slain.
The master saw the madness rise j
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes ;
And while he heav’n and earth defy’d,
Chang’d his hand, and check’d his pride.
He chose a mournful muse
Soft pity to infuse :
He sung Darius great and good,
By too severe a fate,
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen,
Fallen from his high estate,
And welt’ring in his blood 5
Deserted at his utmost need,
Py those his former bounty fed,
On the bare earth expos’d he lies,
With not a friend to close his eyes.
With downcast looks the joyless victor sat,
Revolving in his alter’d soul
The various turns of chance below j
And now and then a sigh be stole,
And tears began to flow.
Chor. Revolving, &c.
The mighty master smil’d to see
That love was in the next degree:
*Twas but a kindred sound to move
For pity melts the mind to love.
Softly sweet, in Lydian measures.
Soon he sooth’d his soul to pleasures.
War, he sung, is toil and trouble J
Honour but an empty bubble,
Never ending, still beginning,
Fighting still, and still destroying.
If the world be worth thy winning,
Think, O think, it worth enjoying.
Lovely Thais sits beside thee,
Take the good the gods provide thee.
The many rend the skies with loud applause ;
So love was crown’d, but music won the cause.
The prince, unable to conceal bis pain,
Gaz’d on the fair.
Who caus’d his care,
B
And
IO
Of Lyric
Poetry.
POE
Anti sigli’d and look’d, sigh’d and look’d,
Sigh’d and look’d, and sigh’d again : i
At length, with love and wine at once oppress d,
The vanquish’d victor sunk upon her breast.
1 Chor. The prince, &c.
Now strike the golden lyre again j _
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain.
Break his bands of sleep asunder,
And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder.
Hark ! hark ; the horrid sound,
Has rais’d up his head,
As awake from the dead,
And amaz/d he stares around.
Bevenge, revenge, Timotheus cries.
See the furies arise :
See the snakes that they rear,
How they hiss in their hair, _
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes .
Behold a ghastly band,
Each a torch in his hand !
Those are Grecian ghosts that in battle were slain,
And unbury’d remain,
Inglorious on the plain :
Give the vengeance due
To the valiant crew.
Behold how they toss their torches on high,
How they point to the Persian abodes,
And glkt’ring temples of their hostile gods.
The princes applaud with a furious joy
And theking seiz’d a flambeau, with zeal to destroy}
Thais led the way
To light him to his prey,
And, like another Helen, she fir’d another Tioy.
Chor. And the king sei% d, &c.
Thus long ago,
Ere heaving bellows learnt to blow.
try.
Whose palms, new-pluck’d from Paradise,
In spreading branches more sublimely rise,
Bich with immortal green above the rest,
Whether, adopted to some neighb ring star,
Thou roll’st above us, in thy wand ring race,
Or in procession fix’d and regular,
Mov’d with the heav’n’s majestic pace ;
Or call’d to more superior bliss,
Thou tread’st with seraphims the vast abyss
Whatever happy region is thy place,
Cease thy celestial song a little space j .
Thou wilt have time enough for hymns divine,
Since heaven’s eternal year is thine.
Hear then a mortal muse thy praise rehearse
In no ignoble verse •,
But such as thy own voice did practise here,
When thy first fruits of poesy were giv n
To make thyself a welcome inmate there,
While yet a young probationer,
And candidate of heav’n.
n.
If by traduction came thy mind,
Our wonder is the less to find
A soul so charming from a stock so good *3
Thy father was transfus’d into thy blood,
So wert thou born into a tuneful strain,
An early, rich, and inexhausted vein.
But if thy pre-existing soul
Was form’d at first with myriads more,
It did through all the mighty poets roll,
Who Greek or Latin laurels wore,
And was that Sappho last which once it was before.
If so, then cease thy flight, O heaven-born mind !
Thou hast no dross to purge from thy rich ore,
Nor can thy soul a fairer mansion find,
Than was the beauteous frame she left behind .
Beturn to fill or mend the choir of thy celestial kind.
Fart IT.
Of Lyric
Poetry.
While organs yet were mute ;
Timotheus, to his breathing flute,
And sounding lyre, .
Could swell the soul of rage, or kindle soft desire.
At last divine Cecilia came,
Inventress of the vocal frame j
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,
Enlarg’d the former narrow bounds,
And added length to solemn sounds,
With nature’s mother-wit, and arts unknown before.
Let old Timotheus yield the prize,
Or both divide the crown :
He rais’d a mortal to the skies j
She drew an angel down.
Grand chor. At last, &c.
* Dr John¬
son.
There is another poem by Dryden, on the death of
Mrs Anne Killegrew, a young lady eminent for her
skill in poetry and painting, which a great critic has
pronounced to be “ undoubtedly the noblest ode that
our language has ever produced.” He owns, that as
a whole it may perhaps be inferior to Alexander $ Meast ;
but he affirms that the first stanza of it is superior to any
single part of the other. This famous stanza,hesays, flows
with a torrent of enthusiasm : Fervet immensusque ruit.
How far this criticism is just, the public must determine.
Thou youngest virgin-daughter of the skies,
Made in the last promotion of the bless’d ;
4
m.
May we presume to say, that, at thy nirth,
New joy was sprung in heav’n, as well as here on earth .
For sure the milder planets did combine "I
On thy auspicious horoscope to shine, . Y
And e’en the most malicious were in trine. J
Thy brother angels at thy birth
Strung each his lyre, and tun’d it high,
That all the people of the sky
Might know a poetess was born on earth.
And then, if ever, mortal ears
Had heard the music of the spheres.
And if no clust’ring swarm of bees
On thy sweet mouth distilTd their golden dew,
’Twas that sueh vulgar miracles
Heav’n had not leisure to renew :
For all thy bless’d fraternity of love
Solemniz’d there thy birth* and kept thy holy day above.
IV.
O gracious God ! how far have we
Profan’d thy heav’nly gift of poesy ?
Made prostitute and profligate the Muse,
Debas’d to each obscene and impious use,
Whose harmony was first ordain’d above
For tongues of angels, and for hymns of love ?
O wretched me ! why were we hurry’d down
This lubrique and adult’rate age,
(Nay
Part II.
POETRY.
11
,}
Of Lyric (Nay ackkcl fat pollutions of our own)
Poetry. T’increase the streaming ordures of the stage !
1 What can we say t’excuse our second fall ?
Let this thy vestal. Heaven, atone for all:
Her Arethusian stream remains unsoil’d,
•Unmix’d with foreign filth, and undefil’d ;
Her wit was more than man, her innocence a child
V.
Art she had none, yet wanted none j
For nature did that rvant supply :
So rich in treasure of her own,
She might our boasted stores defy :
Such noble vigour did her verse adorn,
That it seem’d borrow’d where ’twas only born.
Her morals, too, were in her bosom bred,
By great examples daily fed,
What in the best of books, her father’s life, she read
And to be read herself, she need not fear}
Each test, and every light, her Muse will bear,
Tho’ Epictetus with his lamp were there.
Even love (for love sometimes her Muse express’d)
Was but a lambent flame which play’d about her breast,
Light as the vapours of a morning dream,
So cold herself, while she such warmth express’d,
’Twas Cupid bathing in Diana’s stream.
VI.
Born to the spacious empire of the Nine,
One would have thought she should have been content
To manage well that mighty government }
But what can young ambitious souls confine ?
To the next realm she stretch’d her sway,
For PaintUT'e near adjoining lay,
A plenteous province and alluring prey.
A Chamber of dependencies Avas fram’d.
(As conquerors Avill never Avant pretence,
When arm’d, to justify th’ offence)
And the Avhole fief, in right of poetry, she claim’d.
The country open lay without defence :
For poets frequent inroads there had made,
And perfectly could represent
The shape, the face, Avith ev’ry lineament,
And all the large domains Avhich the dumb sister sway’d.
All bow’d beneath her government,
Receiv’d in triumph Avheresoe’er she went.
Her pencil drew Avhate’er her soul design’d,
And oft the happy draught surpass’d t he i mage in her mind.
The sylvan scenes of herds and flocks,
And fruitful plains and barren rocks,
Of shallow brooks that flow’d so clear,
The bottom did the top appear}
Of deeper, too, and ampler floods,
Which, as in mirrors, shoiv’d the Avoods :
Of lofty trees, with sacred shades,
And perspectives of pleasant glades,
W here nymphs of brightest form appear,
And shaggy satyrs standing near,:
Which them at once admire and fear.
The ruins too of some majestic piece,
Boasting the power of ancient Rome or Greece,
Whose statues, friezes, columns, broken lie,
And, though defac’d, the Avonder of the eye }
What nature, art, bold fiction, e’er durst frame,
Her forming hand gave feature to the name.
So strange a concourse ne’er Avas seen before,
But Avhen the peopl’d ark the Avhole creation bore.
VII.
}
1
The scene then chang’d, Avith bold erected look
Our martial king the sight with rev’rence struck :
For not content t’express his outward part,
Her hand call’d out the image of his heart :
His Avar like mind, his soul devoid of fear,
His high-designing thoughts were figur’d there,
As when, by magic, ghosts are made appear.
Our phoenix queen was pourtray’d too so bright,
Beauty alone could beauty take so right :
Her dress, her shape, her matchless grace,
Were all observ’d, as Aveli as heav’nly face.
W ith such a peerless majesty she stands,
As in that day she took the crown from sacred hands j
Before a train of heroines was seen,
In beauty foremost, as in rank, the queen.
Thus nothing to her genius was denied,
But like a ball of fire the further throAvn,
Still with a greater blaze she shone,
And her bright soul broke out on ev’ry side.
W hat next she had design’d, Heaven only knoivs :
To such immod’rate growth her conquest rose,
That fate alone its progress could oppose.
VIII.
Now all those charms, that blooming grace,
The Avell-proportion’d shape, and beauteous face,
Shall never more be seen by mortal eyes 5
In earth the much lamented virgin lies.
Nor Avit nor piety could fate prevent }
Nor Avas the cruel Destiny content
To finish all the murder at a blow,
To SAveep at once her life and beauty too }
But like a harden’d felon, took a pride
To Avork more mischievously sIoav,
And plunder’d first, and then destroy’d.
O double sacrilege on things divine,
lo rob the relick, and deface the shrine !
But thus Orinda died :
Heav’n, by the same disease, did both translate }
As equal were their souls, so equal was their fate.
IX.
Meantime her warlike brother on the seas
His waving streamers to the winds displays,
And vows for his return, Avith vain deAotion, pays.
Ah generous youth ! that wish forbear,
The Avinds too soon Avill Avaft thee here !
Slack all thy sails, and fear to come,
Alas, thou knoAv’t not, thou art Avreck’d at home !
No more shalt thou behold thy sister’s face,
Thou hast already had her last embrace.
But look aloft, and it thou kenn’st from far,
Among the Pleiads a new kindled star,
If any sparkles than the rest more bright,
’Tis she that shines in that propitious light.
When in mid-air the golden trump shall sound,
To raise the nations under ground 5
When in the valley of Jehoshaphat,
The judging God shall close the book of fate 5
And there the last assises keep
For those who Avake and those Avho sleep:
When rattling bones together fly
From the four corners of the sky }
W hen sinews o’er the skeletons are spread.
Those cloth’d with flesh, and life inspires the dead }
B 2 The
Of Lyrif
PQ-'try.
!
1
I 2
Of Lyric
Poetry.
POE
The sacred poets first shall hear the sound, 1
And foremost from the tomb shall bound, r
For they are cover’d with the lightest ground *, J
And straight with in-born vigour, on the wing,
Like mounting larks to the new morning sing.
There thou, sweet saint, before the quire shalt go 1
As harbinger of heav’n, the way to show, >
The way which thou so well hast learnt below. J
That this is a fine ode, and not unworthy of the ge¬
nius of Dryden, must be acknowledged ; but that it is
the noblest which the English language has produced,
or that any part of it runs with the torrent ot enthusi¬
asm which characterizes Alexander's Feast, are posi¬
tions which we feel not ourselves inclined to admit.
Had the critic by whom it is so highly praised, inspect¬
ed it with the eye which scanned the odes ot Gray, we
cannot help thinking that he would have perceived
some parts of it to be tediously minute m description,
and others not very perspicuous at the first perusal.
It mav perhaps, upon the whole, rank as higi as t .e
following ode by Collins on the Popular Superstitions
of the Highlands of Scotland j but to a higher place it
lias surely no claim.
Home, thou return’s! from Thames, whose Naiads long
Have seen thee ling’ring with a fond delay,
Mid those soft friends, whose heart some future day,
Shall melt, perhaps, to hear thy tragic song,
Go, not unmindful of that cordial youth (c)
Whom, long endear’d, thou leav’st by Lavant’s sidej
Together let us wish him lasting truth,
And joy untainted with his destin’d bride.
Go ! nor regardless, while these numbers boast
My short-liv’d bliss, forget my social name j
But think, far off, how, on the southern coast,
I met thy friendship with an equal flame !
* whose. Fresh to that soil thou turn’st, where * ev’ry vale
Shall prompt the poet, and his song demand :
To thee thy copious subjects ne’er shall lail ;
Thou need’st but take thy pencil to thy hand,
And paint what all believe who own thy genial land.
n.
There must thou wake perforce thy Doric quill
vpjs tancy’s land to winch thou sett st thy feet y
Where still, ’tis said, the Fairy people meet,
Beneath each birken shade, on mead or hill.
There, each trim lass, that skims the milky store,
To the swart tribes their creamy bowl allots ;
By night they sip it round the cottage-door,
While airy minstrels warble jocund notes.
Part 1L
Of Lyric
Poetry.
TRY.
There ev’vv h( r<!, hy sail experience, knows,
ZCwinyM with Fate, their elf. ot arrows fly,
When the sick ewe her summer lood foregoe.,
Or, stretch’d on earth, the heart-stmt heifers he.
Such airv beings awe th’ untutor d swam .
Nor thou, tho’ learn’d, his homelier thoughts neglect.
Let thy sweet Muse the rural faith sustain j
These are the themes of simple, sure effect,
That add new conquests to her boundless reign,
A„d fill,with double fo.ee, her bear«-co,n„,and,ng
Ev’n yet preserv’d, how often may’st thou hear.
Where to the pole the Boreal mountains run,
Taught by the father to his hst’mng son,
Strange lays, whose pow’r had charm’d a Spenser s ear.
At every pause, before thy mind possest,
Old Runic bards shall seem to rise around,
With uncouth lyres in many-colour’d vest,
Their matted hair with boughs fantastic crown d :
Whether thou bidd’st the well-taught hind repeat
The choral dirge that mourns some chieftain brave,
When ev’ry shrieking maid her bosom beat,
And strew’d with choicest herbs his scented grave j
Or whether sitting in the shepherd’s shiel (h),
Thou hear’st some sounding tale ot war s alarms,
When, at the bugle’s call, with fire and steel.
The sturdy clans pour’d forth their brawny* swarms,* bony
And hostile brothers met to prove each other’s arms.
’Tis thine to sing how framing hideous spells,
In Sky’s lone isle the gifted wizzard-mr-f-, f sits.
Lodg’d in the wintry cave with Fate’s fell spear (l),
Or in the depths of List’s dark forest dwells .
How they whose sight such dreary dreams engross,
With their own visions oft astonish’d droop,
When, o’er the wat’ry strath, or quagg> moss,
They see the gliding ghosts unbodied % troop. t embodied.
Or, if in sports, or on the festive green,
Their destin'd § glance some fated youth descry, § piercing;.
Who now, perhaps, in lusty vigour seen,
And rosy health, shall soon lamented die.
For them the viewless forms of air obey ;
Their bidding heed, and at their heck repair.
They know what spirit brews the stormful day*
And heartless, oft like moody madness, stare
To see the phantom train their secret work prepare.
To monarchs dear (it), some hundred miles astray,
Oft have they seen Fate uive the fatal blow !
The seer in Sky shriek’d as the blood did flow
When headless Charles warm on the scaffold lay !
As
fc'l A gentleman of the name of Barrow, who introduced Home to Collins. , .
(h) A summer hut, built in the high part of the mountains, to tend their flocks in the warm season, when t e
pasture is fine. _
Waiting in winterv cave his wayward fits. . . . . ,
(K) Of this beautiful ode two copies have been printed : one by Dr Carlyle, from a manuscript which he ac¬
knowledges to he mutilated * another by an editor who seems to hope that a nameless somebody will be >e ieve ,
when he declares, that “ he discovered si perfect ropy of this admirable ode among some old papers in the concealed
drawers of a bureau left him by a relation ” The present age has been already too much amused with pretend¬
ed discoveries of poems in the bottoms of old chests, to pay full credit to in assertion of this kind, even though
the scene of discovery he laid in a bureau. As the ode of the an nymnus editor diflers, however, very little
from that of Dr Carlyle, and as what is affirmed by a GENTLEMAN may be Lue, though “ he chooses not at
Part TI. P O
Of Lvric As Boreas threw his youn|T Aurora (l) forth,
Poetiy. In the first year of the first George’s reign,
v * 'Ami battles rag’d in welkin of the North,
They mourn’d in air, fell, fell rebellion, slain !
And as of late they joy’d in Preston’s fight,
Saw at sad Falkirk all their hopes near crown’d !
They rav’d divining through their second-sight (m),
Pale, red Culloden, where these hopes were drown’d !
Illustrious William (n) ! Britain’s guardian name !
One William sav’d us from a tyrant’s stroke $
He, for a sceptre, gain’d heroic fame,
But thou, more glorious, Slavery’s chain hast broke,
To reign a private man, and how to Freedom’s yoke !
VI.
These, too, thou’lt sing! for well thy magic muse
Can to the topmost heav’n of grandeur soar !
Or stoop to w'ail the swain that is no more!
Ah, homely swains ! your homeward steps ne’er lose j
Let not dank Will (o) mislead you to the heath :
Dancing in mirky night, o’er fen and lake,
He glows, to draw you downward to vour death,
In his bewitch’d, low, marshy, willow brake !
What though far off, from some dark dell espied,
His glimm’ring mazes cheer th’ excursive sight,
Yet turn, ye wiind’rers, turn your steps aside,
Nor trust the guidance of that faithless light j
For watchful, lurking, ’mid th’ unrustling reed,
At those mirk hours the wily monster lies,
And listens oft to hear the passing steed,
And frequent round him rolls his sullen eyes,
If chance his savage wrath may some weak wretch surprise.
VI I.
Ah, luckless swain, o’er all unblest, indeed !
Whom late bewilder’d in the dank, dark fen,
Far from his flocks, and smoking hamlet, then !
liis way- To that dark spot * where hums the sedgy weed.
ward fate
shall lead.
E T n Y.
On him, enrag’d, the fiend, in angry mood,
Shall never look with pity’s kind concern,
But instant, furious, raise the whelming flood
O’er its drown’d hanks, forbidding all return !
Or, if he meditate his wish’d escape,
To some dim hill that seems uprising near,
To his faint eye, the grim and grisly shape,
In all its terrors clad, shall wild appear.
Meantime the wat’ry surge shall round him rise,
Pour’d sudden forth from ev’ry swelling source !
What now remains but tears and hopeless sighs ?
His fear-shook limbs have lost their youthly force,
And down the waves he floats, a pale and breathless corse!
VIII.
For him in vain his anxious wife shall wait,
Or wander forth to meet him on his way 5
For him in vain, at to-fall of the day.
His babes shall linger at th’ unclosing gate !
Ah, ne’er shall he return ! Alone, if night
Her traveli’d limbs in broken slumbers steep I
With drooping willows drest, his mournful sprite
Shall visit sad, perchance, her silent sleep:
Then he, perhaps, with moist and wat’ry hand,
Shall fondly seem to press her shudd’ring cheek,
And with his blue-swoln face before her stand,
And, shiv’ring cold, these piteous accents speak:
“ Pursue, dear wife, thy daily toils pursue,
“ At dawn or dusk, industrious as before ;
“ Nor e’er of me one * helpless thought renew, * hapless.
“ While 1 lie welt’ring on the ozier’d shore,
“ Drown’d by the kelpie’sf wrath, nor e’er shall aid f- the water
IX. [thee more !”
Unbounded is thy range ; with varied skill % j style*
Thy muse may, like those feath’ry tribes which spring
From their rude rocks, extend her skirting wing
Round the moist marge of each cold Hebrid isle,
To
13
Of Lyric
Poetry.
present to publish his name,” we have inserted into our work the copy which pretends to he perfect, nothing at
the bottom or margin of the page the different readings of Dr Carlyle’s edition. In the Doctor’s manuscript,
which appeared to have been nothing more than the prima cur a, or first sketch of the poem, the fifth stanza and
half of the sixth were wanting; and to give a continued context, he prevailed with Mr M‘Kenzie, the ingenious
author of the Man of Feeling, to fill up the chasm. This he did by the following beautiful lines, which we can¬
not help thinking much more happy than those which occupy their place in the copy said to he perfect:
“ Or on some bellying rock that shades the deep,
They view the lurid signs that cross the sky,
Where in the west the brooding tempests lie;
And hear their fir*t, faint, rustling pennons sweep.
Or in the arched cave, where deep and dark
The broad unbroken billows heave and swell,
In horrid musingS wrapt, they sit to mark
The lab’iing moon ; or list the nightly yell
Of that dread spirit, whose gigantic form
The seer’s entranced eye can well survey,
Th rough the dim air who guides the driving storm.
And points the wretched bark its destin’d prey.
Or him who hovers on his flagging wing,
O’er the dire whirlpool, that in ocean’s waste,
Draws instant down whate’er devoted thing
The falling breeze within its reach hath plac’d- —
The distant seaman hears, and flies with trembling haste.
Or if on land the fiend exerts his sway,
Silent he broods o’er quicksand, bog, or fen.
Far from the shelt’ring roof and haunts of men,
When witched darkness sh> ts the eye of day.
And shrouds each star that wont to cheer the night;
Or if the drift d snow perplex the way.
With treach’rons gleam he lures the fated wight
And leads him llound’ring on and quite astray.”
(l) Bv voting Aurora, Collins undoubtedly meant the first appearance of the northern lights, which is com¬
monly said to hav e happened about the year 17 >5.
(m) Second-sight is the term that is used for the divination of the Highlanders.
(v) The late duke of Cumberland, who defeated the Pretender at the •tattle of Culloden.
(01 \ fi rv meteor, called by various names, such as Will with the Wisp, Jack with the Lanthorn, &c. It
hovers in the air over marshy and fenny places.
POE
To that hoar pile (i') which still its rain shows : „
In whose small vaults a pigmy-folk is found.
Whose bones the delver with his spade upthrow , (
And culls them, wond’ring, from the hallow d ground.
Or, thither (<l), where beneath the show ry west,
The mighty kings of three fair realms are laid :
Once foes, perhaps, together now they rest,
No slaves revere them, and no wars invade :
Yet frequent now, at midnight solemn hour.
The rifted mounds their yawning cells untold, ^
And forth the monarchs stalk with sovereign pow r
In pageant robes ; and, wreath’d with sheeny gold,
And on their twilight tombs aerial council hold.
X.
But, oh ! o’er all, forget not Kilda’s race, _
On whose bleak rocks, which brave the wasting tides,
Fair Nature’s daughter, Virtue, yet abides. ^
Go ! just as they, their blameless manners trace .
Then to my ear transmit some gentle song,
Of those whose lives are yet sincere and plain,
Their bounded walks the rugged chits along,
And all their prospect but the wintry main.
With sparing temp’rance at the needful time,
They drain the scented spring *, or, hunger-prest,
Along th’ Atlantic rock, undreadiug, climb,
* See Bird- And of its eggs despoil the solan’s nest ..
catching, ^hus blest in primal innocence, they live,
^Pelicanvs^ Suffic’d, and happy with that frugal fare
\ ’ Which tasteful toil and hourly danger give.
Hard is their shallow soil, and bleak and bare *
Nor ever vernal bee was heard to murmur there .
XI.
Nor need’st thou blush that such false themes engage
Thy gentle mind, of fairer stores possest j
For not alone they touch the village breast,
But fill’d in elder time th’ historic page.
There,Shakespeare’s self, with every garland crown d,
Flew to those fiery climes his fancy sheen (r),
In musing hour; his wayward sisters found,
And with their terrors dress’d the magic scene.
From them he sung, when, ’mid his bold design,
Before the Scot, afflicted, and aghast ! _
The shadowy kings of Banquo’s fated line.
Thro’ the dark cave in gleamy pageant pass’d.
Proceed ! nor quit the tales, which, simply told,
Could once so well my answ’ring bosom pierce j
Proceed, in forceful sounds, and colours bold.
The native legends of thy land rehearse ;
To such adapt thy lyre, and suit thy pow’rful verse.
XII.
In scenes like these, which, daring to depart
From sober truth, are still to nature true,
And call forth fresh delight to fancy’s view,
Th’ heroic muse employ’d her Tasso’s art !
Part If.
Of Lyric
Poetry-
T R Y.
How have I trembl’d, when, at Tancred’s stroke,
Its gushing blood the gaping cypress pour d,
When each live plant with mortal accents spoke,
And the wild blast upheav’d the vanish’d sword
How have I sat, when pip’d the pensive wind,
To hear his harp by British Fairfax strung .
Prevailing poet ! whose undoubting mind,
Believ’d the magic wonders which he sung !
Hence, at each sound, imagination glows
Hence at each picture, vivid life starts here. (s)
Hence his warm lay with softest sweetness hows .
Melting it flows, pure, murmuring *, strong and clear,
And fills the impassion’d heart, and wins th harmonious
XHI. . ) O”--
All hail, ye scenes that o’er my soul prevail !
Ye splendid t friths and lakes, which, tar away,
Are by smooth Annan t fill’d, or past’ral lay J,
Or Don’s romantic springs, at distance, hail !
The time shall come, when I, perhaps, may tread *
Your lowly glens *, o’erht.ng with spreading broom j valie- •
Or o’er your stretching heaths, by fancy led.
Or o'er your mountains creep, in awj'vl gloom, (t)
Then will 1 dress once more the faded bow’r,
Where Jonson (u) sat in Drummond’s classic^ shade; t social.
Or crop, from Tiviotdale, each lyric flow r, . , { the wi-
And mourn, on Yarrow’s banks, where V lily's laid % . dowed
Meantime, ye pow’rs that on the plains which bore maid !
The cordial youth, on Lothian’s plains (x), attend ! ^ he dwelL
"Where’er Home dwells §, on hill, or lowly moor,
To him I loose ||, your kind protection lend,
And, touch’d with love like mine, preserve my absent
f spacious,
j Three ri¬
vers in
Scotland.
lose.
Dr Johnson, in his life of Collins, informs us, that
Dr Warton and his brother, who had seen this ode in
the author’s possession, thought it superior to his other
works. The taste of the Wartons will hardly be ques¬
tioned : but we are not sure that the following Ode to
the Passions has much less merit, though it be merit of
a different kind, than the Ode on the Superstitions of
the Highlands :
When Music, heav’nly maid, was young.
While yet in early Greece she sung,
The Passions oft, to hear her shell,
Throng’d around her magic cell,
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Possest "beyond the Muse’s painting-,
By turns they felt the glowing mind
Disturb’d, delighted, rais’d, refin’d.
Till once, ’tis said, when all were fir’d,
Fill’d with fury, rapt, inspir’d,
From the supporting myrtles round
They snatch’d her instruments of sound :
And
(r) One of the Hebrides is called the Isle ofi Pigmies, where it is reported, that several miniature bones of the
human species have been dug up in the ruins of a chapel there. T • i , • i • *1
(tl) Icolmkill, one of the Hebrides, where many of the ancient Scottish, Irish, and Norwegian kings, are said
to be interred.
(r) This line wanting in Dr Carlyle’s edition.
(S) This line wanting in Dr Carlyle’s edition.
(t) This line wanting in Dr Carlyle’s edition. r tt i t .
(u) Ben Jonson paid a visit on foot in 1619 to the Scotch poet Drummond, at his seat of Hawthornden, within
seven miles of Edinburgh. ... T
(x) Barrow, it seems, was at the-university of Edinburgh, which is in the county of Lothian.
Part II, POE
Of Lyric And as they oft had heard apart
Poetry. Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each, for madness rul’d the hour,
Would prove his own expressive power.
First Fear his hand, its skill to try,
Amid the chords bewilder’d laid,
And back recoil’d, he knew not why,
Ev’n at the sound himself had made.
Next Anger rush’d ; his eyes on fire,
In lightnings own’d his secret stings ;
In one rude clash he struck the lyre,
And swept with hurried hand the strings.
With woeful measures wan Despair—
Low sullen sounds his grief beguil’d }
A solemn, strange, and mingled air ;
’Twas sad by fits, by starts ’twas wild.
But thou, O Hope ! with eyes so fair.
What was thy delighted measure ?
Still it whisper’d promis’d pleasure,
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail 1—
Still would her touch the strain prolong,
TRY. 15
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, of Lyric
The hunter’s call to Faun and Dryad known *, Poetry.
The oak-crown’d sisters, and their chaste-ey’d queen, 1
Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen,
Peeping from forth their alleys green j
Brown Exercise rejoic’d to hear,
And Sport leapt up, and seiz’d his beechen spear.
Last came Joy’s ecstatic trial ;
He, with viny crown advancing,
First to the lively pipe his hand addrest,
But soon he saw the brisk awak’ning viol,
Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov’d the best.
They would have thought ivho heard the strain,
They saw in Tempe’s vale her native maids,
Amidst the festal sounding shades,
To some umvearied minstrel dancing,.
While, as his Hying fingers kiss’d the strings,
Love fram’d with Mirth a gay fantastic round t
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound;
And he amidst his frolic play,
As if he would the charming air repay,
Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
She call’d on Echo still through all her song j
And where her sweetest theme she chose,
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close,
And Hope enchanted smil’d, and wav’d her golden haiiv
And longer had she sung ;— but, with a Irown,
Revenge, impatient rose j
He threw his blood-stain’d sword in thunder down,
And, with a withering look,
The w7ar-denouncing trumpet took,
And blew a blast so loud and dread,
Were ne’er prophetic sounds so full of woe.
And ever and anon he beat
The doubling drum with furious heat;
And though sometimes, each dreary pause between.
Dejected Pity at his side
Her soul-subduing voice applied,
Yet still he kept his wild unalter’d mien,
While each strain’d ball of sight seem’d bursting from
his head.
With eyes up-rais’d, as one inspir’d,
Pale Melancholy sat retir’d,
And from her wild sequester’d seatj
In notes by distance made more sweet,
Pour’d through the mellow horn her pensive soul,
And dashing soft from rocks around,
Bubbling runnels join’d the sound 5
Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole,
Or o’er some haunted streams with fond delay,
Round an holy calm diffusing,
Love of peace, and lonely musing,
In hollow murmurs died away.
But O ! how alter’d was its sprightlier tone !
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,
Her bow across her shoulder flung,
Her buskins gemm’d with morning dew,
O music ! sphere-descended maid,
Friend of pleasure, wisdom’s aid,
Why, Goddess, why to us denied?
Lay’st thou thy ancient lyre aside ?
As in that lov’d Athenian bower,
You learn’d an all-commanding power:
Thy mimic soul, O nymph endear’d,
Can well recal what then it heard.
Where is thy native simple heart,
Devote to virtue, fancy, art ?
Arise, as in that elder time,
Warm, energic, chaste, sublime !
Thy wonders, in that god-like age,
Fill thy recording sister’s page—
’Tis said, and I believe the tale,
Thy humblest reed could more prevail,
Had more of strength, diviner rage,
Than all which charms this laggard age 5 .
Ev’n all at once together found
Caecilia’s mingled world of sound—
O ! bid our vain endeavours cease,
Revive the just designs of Greece,
Return in all thy simple state !
Confirm the tales her sons relate. .
We shall conclude this section,- and these examples,
with Gray’s Progress of Poesij, which, in spite of the
severity of Johnson’s criticism, certainly ranks high
among the odes which pretend to sublimity. The first
stanza, when examined by the frigid rules of gramma¬
tical criticism, is certainly not faultless : but its faults
will be overlooked by every reader who has any por¬
tion of the author’s fervour :
I. I.
Awake, iEolian lyre, awake,
And give to rapture all thy trembling strings :
From Helicon’s harmonious springs
A thousand rills their mazy progress take ;
The laughing flowers, that round them blow,
Drink life and fragrance as they flow.
Now the rich stream of music winds along, .
Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong,
Thro5
Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix’d,
Sad proof of thy distressful state 5
Of differing themes the veering song was mix’d ;
And now it courted Love, now raving call’d on Hate.
10
Of Lj iic
Poetry.
POET
Thro’ verdant vales, and Ceres’ golden reign :
Now rolling down the steep amain,
Headlong, impetuous, see it pour :
The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the roar.
I. 2.
Oh ! Sovereign of the willing soul,
Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs,
Enchanting shell ! the sullen cares,
And frantic passions, hear thy soft controul.
On Thracia’s hills the lord of war
Has curb’d the fury of his car,
And dropp’d lus thirsty lance at thy command.
Perching on the sceptred hand
Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather’d king
With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing)
Quench’d in dark clouds of slumber lie
The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye.
I. 3-
Thee the voice, the dance, obey,
Temper’d to thy Warbled lay :
O’er Idalia’s velvet green
The rosy-crowned loves are seen.
On Cytherea's day,
With antic sports, and blue-ey’d pleasures,
Frisking light in frolic measures $
Now pursuing, now retreating,
Now in circling troops they meet $
To brisk notes, in cadence beating,
Glance their many twinkling feet.
Slow melting strains their queen’s approach declare :
Where’er she turns, the Graces homage pay.
With arms sublime that float upon the air,
In gliding state she wins her easy way S
O’er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move
The bloom of young desire, and purple light ot love.
II. I.
Man’s feeble race what ills await:
Labour, and penury, the racks ol pain,
Disease, and sorrow’s weeping train,
And death, sad refuge from the storms of fate 1
The fond complaint, my song, disprove,
And justify the laws ot Jove.
Say, has he giv’n in vain the heav’nly muse ?
Night, and all tier sickly dews,
Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry,
He gives to range the dreary sky j
Till down the eastern cliffs afar,
Hyptrion’s march they spy, and glitt’ring shafts of war.
II. Z. '
In climes beyond the solar road,
Where shaggy forms o’er ice-built mountains roam,
The Mu*e has broke the twilight-gloom,
To cheer the shiv’ring native’s dull abode.
Ami oft, beneath the od’rous shade
Of Chili’s boundless forests laid,
She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat,
In loo'e numbers wildly sweet,
Their feather-cinctur’d chiefs, and dmky loves.
H er track, where’er the goddess rovt ,
Gl«ry pursue, and gen’rous shame,
Th’ unconquerable mind, and freedom’s holv flame,
H. 3.
Woods, that wave o’er Delphi’s stecq*
Isles, that crown the AEgeau deep,
5
11 Y.
Part II.
Fields, that cool Ilissus laves,
Or where Mseander’s afnber waves
In ling’ring lab’rinths creep,
How do your tuneful echoes languish,
Mute, but to the voice of anguish !
Where each old poetic mountain
Inspiration breath’d around :
Ev’ry shade and hallow’d fountain
Murmur’d deep a solemn sound :
Till the sad nine, in Greece’s evil hour,
Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains.
Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant power,
And coward vice that revels in her chains.
When Latiuni had her lolly spirit lost,
Thev sought, oh Albion ! next thy sea-encircled coast.
III. i.
Of Lyric
Poetry.
Ear from the sun, and summer-gale,
In thy green lap was nature’s * darling laid, * ShakC-
What time, where lucid Avon stray’d, spearc*
To him the mighty mother did unveil
Her awful face i the dauntless child
Stretch’d forth his little arms, and smil’d.
This pencil take (she said) whose colours bleat
Richly paint the vernal year:
Thine too these golden keys, immortal boy!
This can unlock the gates of joy *,
Of horror that, and thrilling tears,
Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.
III. 2.
Nor second lief, that rode sublime f Milton,
Upon the seraph wings of ecstacy,
The secrets of th’ abyss to spy.
He pass’d the flaming bounds of place and time :
The living throne, the sapphire blaze,
Where angels tremble while they gaze,
He saw : but, blasted with excess of light,
Clos’d his eyes in endless night.
Behold, where Dryden’s less presumptuous car,
Wide o’er the fields of glory bear
Two coursers of ethereal race,
With necks in thunder cloTi’d,and long-resounding pact,
111. 3.
Hark, his hands the lyre explore !
Bright ey’d fancy, hov’ring o’er,
Scatters from her pictur’d urn
Thoughts that breathe, and Words that burn.
But ah ! ’tis heard no more—
Oh ! Lyre divine, what daring spirit
Wakes thee now ! tho’ he inlu rit
Nor the pride, nor ample pmion,
That the Thebatl eagle bear,
Sailing with supreme dominion
Tlirough the azure deep of air :
Ytt oft befote his infant eyes would run
Such forms as giittef in the Muse’s rav.
With orient hues, unhorrow’d of the sun :
Yet shall he mourn, and keep his distant way
Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate,
Beneath the good how far—but far above the great.
Sect. HI. 0/' t/ie F.Lgy.
TH t* Elegy E h mnvrpfvl and plaintive^ but yet sweet The elegy,
and engaging, kind of poem. It was first invented to
bewail
Part II.
POETRY.
Elegy, bewail tbe death of a friend; and afterwards used to ex-
'-—'f——-' press the complaints of lovers, or any other melancholy
subject. In process of time, not only matters of grief,
but joy, wishes, prayers, expostulations, reproaches, ad¬
monitions, and almost every other subject, were admit¬
ted into elegy ; however, funeral lamentations and af¬
fairs of love seem most agreeable to its character, which
is gentleness and tenuity.
The plaintive elegy, in mournful state,
Dishevell’d weeps the stern decrees of fate :
Now paints the lover’s torments and delights ;
Now the nymph flatters, threatens, or invites.
But he, who would these passions well express,
Must more of love than poetry possess.
I hate those lifeless writers whose forc’d fire
In a cold style describes a hot desire;
Who sigh by rule, and, raging in cold blood,
Their sluggish muse spur to an am’rous mood.
Their ecstasies insipidly they feign ;
And always pine, and fondly hug their chain ;
Adore their prison, and their suff’rings hiess ;
Make sense and reason quarrel as they please.
’ I'was not of old in this affected tone,
That smooth Tibullus made his am’rous moan ;
Or tender Ovid, in melodious strains,
Of love’s dear art the pleasing rules explains.
You, who in elegy would justly write,
Consult your heart; let that alone endite.
[From the French o/’Despreux.] Soames.
How to be The plan of an elegy, as indeed of all other poems,
made. ought to be made before a line is written ; or else the
author will ramble in the dark, and his verses have no
dependence on each other. No epigrammatic points or
conceits, none of those jine things which most people are
so fond of in every sort o! poem, can be allowed in this,
but must give place to nobler beauties, those of nature
and the passions. Elegy rejects whatever is facetious,
satirical, or majestic, and is content to be plain, decent,
and unaffected ; yet in this humble state is she sweet and
engaging, elegant and attractive. This poem is adorn¬
ed with frequent commiserations, complaints, exclama¬
tions, addresses to things or persons, short and proper di¬
gressions, allusions, comparisons, prosopopoeias or feign¬
ed persons, and sometimes with short descriptions. The
diction ought to be made free from any harshness; neat,
easy, perspicuous, expressive of the manners, tender,
and pathetic; and the numbers should be swroctf//and
flowing, and captivate the ear with their uniform sweet¬
ness and delicacy.
Of elegies on the subject of death, that by Mr Gray,
written in a country churchyard, is one of the best that
has appeared in our language, and may be justly es¬
teemed a masterpiece. But being so generally known,
it would be superfluous to insert it here.
On the subject of love, we shall give an example from
the elegies of Mr Hammond.
Let others boast their heaps of shining gold,
And view their fields with waving plenty cx-own’d,
Whom neighb’ring foes in constant terror hold,
Amd trumpets break their slumbers, never sound :
While, calmly poor, I trifle life away,
t Enjoy sweet leisure by my cheerful fire,
No wanton hope my quiet shall betray,
But cheaply bless’d I’ll scorn each vain desire.
Vol. XVII. Part I. f
With timely care I’ll sow my little field,
And plant my orchard with its master’s hand ;
Nor blush to spread the hay, the hook to wield,
Or range my sheaves along the sunny land.
If late at dusk, while carelessly I roam,
I meet a strolling kid or bleating lamb,
Under my arm I’ll bring the wand’rer home,
And not a little chide its thoughtless dam.
V hat joy to hear the tempest howl in vain,
And clasp a fearful mistress to my breast ?
Or lull’d to slumber by the beating rain,
Secure and happy sink at last to rest.
Or if the sun in flaming Leo ride,
By shady rivers indolently stray,
And, with my Delia walking side by side,
Hear how they murmur as they glide awav,
What joy to wind along the cool retreat,
To stop and gaze on Delia as I go !
To mingle sweet discourse with kisses sweet,
^ And teach my lovely scholar all I know !
rl bus pleas’d at heart, and not with fancy’s dream,
In silent happiness I rest unknown ;
Content with what I am, not what I seem,
I live for Delia and myself alone.
Ah foolish man ! who, thus of her possess’d, -
Could float and wander with ambition’s wind,
And, if his outward trappings spoke him blest,
Not heed the sickness of his conscious mind.
V ith her I scorn the idle breath of praise.
Nor trust to happiness that’s not our own ;
The smile of fortune might suspicion raise,
But here I know that I am lov’d alone.
Stanhope, in wisdom as in wit divine,
May rise and plead Britannia’s glorious cause,
W ith steady rein his eager wit confine,
V\ bile manly sense the deep attention draws.
Let Stanhope speak his list’ning country’s wrong,
My humble voice shall please one partial maid ;
For her alone I pen my tender song,
Securely sitting in his friendly shade.
Stanhope shall come, and grace his rural friend ;
Delia shall wonder at her noble guest,
With blushing awe the riper fruit commend,
And for her husband’s patron cull the best.
Her’s be the care of all my little train,
While I with tender indolence am blest,
The favourite subject of her gentle reign,
By love alone distinguish’d from the rest.
For her I’ll yoke my oxen to the plough,
In gloomy forests tend my lonely flock,
For her a goatherd climb the mountain’s brow,
And sleep extended on the naked rock.
Ah! what avails to press the stately bed.
And far from her ’midst tasteless grandeur weep,
By marble-fountains lay the pensive head,
And, while they murmur, strive in vain to
sleep!
Delia alone can please and never tire,
Exceed the paint of thought in true delight;
With her, enjoyment wakens new desire,
And equal rapture glows thro’ every night.
Beauty and worth in her alike contend
To charm the fancy, and to fix the mind ;
In her, my wife, my mistress, and my friend,
l taste the joys of sense and reason join’d.
U On
17
Elegy.
i8
r,; utoral.
POE
On her I’ll gaze when others loves are o ei,
And dying press her with my clay-cold hand
Thou weepst already, as I were no more,
Nor can that gentle breast the thought withstand.
Oh ! when I die, my latest moments spare,
Nor let thy grief with sharper torments kil :
Wound not thy"cheeks, nor hurt that flowing hair j
Tho’ I am dead, my soul shall love thee still.
Oh quit the room, oh quit the deathful bed,
Or thou wilt die, so tender is thy heart .
Oh leave me, Delia ! ere thou see me dead.
These weeping friends will do thy mournful part.
Let them, extended on the decent bier,
Convey the corse in melancholy state,
Thro’ all the village spread the tender tear,
While pitying maids our wond’rous love relate.
Sect. IV. Of the Pastoral.
^ 135 , This poem takes its name from the Latin word pastor,
Ibe pasto- ^ „ gb £erd.„ the subject of it being something in the
pastoral or rural life; and the persons, interlocutors, in¬
troduced in it, either shepherds or other rustics. <
These poems are frequently called eclogues, winch
signifies “ select or choice piecesthough some ac¬
count for this name in a different manner. 1 hey are
< also called bucolics, from BassAas, “ a herdsman.
•Wbyitge- This kind of poem, when happily executed, gives
nerally great delight *, nor is it a wonder, since innocence and
pleases. simplicity generally please: to which let us add, that the
scenes of pastorals are usually laid in the country, where
both poet and painter have abundant matter tor the ex¬
ercise of genius, such as enchanting prospects, purling
streams, shady groves, enamelled meads, flowery lawns,
rural amusements, the bleating of flocks, and the music
of birds ; which is of all melody the most sweet and
pleasing, and calls to our mind the wisdom and taste ot
Alexander, who, on being importuned to hear a man
that imitated the notes of the nightingale, and was
thought a great curiosity, replied, that he had had the
T,„ happiness of hearing the nightingale herself _
Its Chirac- The character of the pastoral consists in simplicity,
ters and brevity, and delicacy ; the two first render an eclogue
natural, and the last delightful. With respect to na¬
ture, indeed, we are to consider, that as a pastoral is an
image of the ancient times of innocence and undesign-
ing plainness, we are not to describe shepherds as they
really are at this day, but as they may be conceived
thi n'to have been, when the best of men, and even
princes, followed the employment. For this reason, an
air of piety should run through the whole poem; which
is visible in the writings of antiquity.
To make it natural with respect to the present age,
some knowledge in rural affairs should be discovered,
and that in such a manner as if it was done by chance
rather than by design ; lest by too much pains to seem
natural, that simplicity be destroyed from whence arises
the delight; for what is so engaging in this kind ot
poesy proceeds not so much from the idea of a coun¬
try life itself, as in exposing only the best part of a shep¬
herd’s life, and concealing the misfortunes and miseries
which sometimes attend it. Besides,the subject must con¬
tain some particular beauty in itself, and each eclogue
present a scene or prospect to our view enriched with
T R Y. Part II.
variety • which variety is in a great measure oUained P.rtor.1^
bv frequent comparisons drawn trout the most •‘gree4'e >
obiects of the country ; by interrogat.ons to thmgs m-
animate ; bv short ami beautiful digressions; and by
elegant turns on the words, which render the numbers
3 sweet and pleasing. To tins let ns add, that the
connections must be negligent, the narrations and des
scriptions short, and the periods concise.
Riddles, parables, proverbs, antique phrases, and su¬
perstitious fables, are fit materials to be intermixed with
tills kind of poem. They are here, when properly ap¬
plied very ornamental ; and the more so, as they give
our modern compositions the air of the ancient manner ^
°f The1 style of the pastoral ought to be humble, yet st>1Cj
pure ; neat, but not florid ; easy, and yet lively : and
the numbers should be smooth and flowing.
This poem in general should be short, and oug it
never much to exceed 100 lines ; for we are to consi¬
der that the ancients made these sort of compositions
their amusement, and not their business : but however
short they are, every eclogue must contain a p 0 r
fable, which must be simple and one ; but yet so ma¬
naged as to admit of short digressions. Virgil has al¬
ways observed this. We shall give the plot or ar¬
gument of his first pastoral as an example. Melibceus,
an unfortunate shepherd, is introduced with 1 ityrus, one
in more fortunate circumstances ; the former addresses
the complaint of his sufferings and banishment to the
latter, who enjoys his flocks and folds in the midst of the
public calamity, and therefore expresses his gratitude
to the benefactor from whom this favour flowed: but
Meliboeus accuses fortune, civil wars, and bids adieu to
his native country. This is therefore a dialogue.
But we are to observe, that the poet is not always
obliged to make his eclogue allegorical, and to have real
persons represented by the fictitious characters intro¬
duced ; but is in this respect entirely at his own li-
6 Nor does the nature of the poem require it to be al¬
ways carried on by way of dialogue ; tor a shepherd
may with propriety sing the praises of his love, com¬
plain of her inconstancy, lament her absence, her death,
&c. and address himself to groves, hills, rivers, and
and such like rural objects, even when alone.
We shall now give an example from each ot those
authors who have eminently distinguished themselves
by this manner of writing, and introduce them m the
order of time in which they were written. . 139
Theocritus, who was the father or inventor of this Examples
kind of poetry, has been deservedly esteemed by
best critics ; and by some, whose judgment we cannotTbeocrimfc
dispute, preferred'to all other pastoral writers, with per-
haps the single exception of the tender and delicate
Gesner. We shall insert his third idyllium, not because
it is the best, but because it is within our compass.
To Amaryllis, lovely nymph, I speed,
Meanwhile my goats upon the mountains feed.
O Tityrus, tend them with assiduous care,
Lead them to crystal springs and .pastures fair,
And of the ridgling’s hutting horns beware.
Sweet Amaryllis, have you then forgot
Our secret pleasures in the conscious grott,
5
Part H. P O
Pastoral. Where in my folding arms you lay reclin’d ?
Y——' Blest was the shepherd, for the nymph was kind.
I whom you call’d your Dear, your Love, so late,
Say, am I now the object of your hate ?
Say, is my form displeasing to your sight ?
This cruel love will surely kill me quite.
To! ten large apples, tempting to the view,
Pluck’d from your favourite tree, where late they grew.
Accept this boon, ’tis all my present store 5
To-morrow will produce as many more.
Meanwhile these heart-consuming pains remove,
And give me gentle pity for my love.
Oh ! was I made by some transforming power
A bee to buzz in your sequester’d bow’r !
To pierce your ivy shade with murmuring sound,
And the light leaves that compass you around.
I know thee, Love, and to my sorrow find,
A god thou art, but of the savage kind $
A lioness sure suckled the fell child,
And with his brothers nurst him in the wild $
On me his scorching flames incessant prey,
Glow in my bones, and melt my soul away.
Ah, nymph, whose eyes destructive glances dart,
Pair is your face, but flinty is your heart:
With kisses kind this rage of love appease j
Por me, fond swain ! ev’n empty kisses please.
Your scorn distracts me, and will make me tear
The flow’ry crown I wove for you to wear,
Where xoses mingle with the ivy-wreath,
And fragrant herbs ambrosial odours breathe.
Ah me ! what pangs I feel $ and yet the fair
Nor sees my sorrows nor will hear my pray’r.
I’ll doff my garments, since I needs must die,
And from yon rock that points its summit high,
Where patient Alpis snares the finny fry,
I’ll leap, and, though perchance I rise again.
You’ll laugh to see me plunging in the main.
By a prophetic poppy-leaf I found
Your chang’d affection, for it gave no sound,
Though in my hand struck hollow as it lay,
But quickly wither’d like your love away.
An old witch brought sad tidings to my ears,
She who tells fortunes with the sieve and sheers 5
Por leasing barley in my fi< Ids of late,
She told me, I should love, and you should hate 1
For you my care a milk-white goat supply’d.
Two wanton kids run frisking at her side j
Which oft the nut-brown maid, Erithacis,
Has begg’d and paid before-hand with a kiss j
And since you thus my ardent passion slight,
Her’s they shall be before to-morrow night.
My right eye itches ; may it lucky prove,
Perhaps I soon shall see the nymph I love ;
Beneath yon pine I’ll sing distinct and clear,
Perhaps the fair my tender notes shall hear j
Perhaps may pity my melodious moan $
She is not metamorphos’d into stone.
Hippomenes, provok’d by noble strife,
To win a mistress, or to lose his life,
Threw golden fruit in Atalanta’s way:
The bright temptation caus’d the nymph to stay j
She look’d, she languish’d, all her soul took fire,
She plung’d into the gulf of deep desire.
To Pyle from Othrys sage Melampus came,
He drove the lowing herd, yet won the dame 3
E T R Y.
Fair Pero blest his brother Bias* arms,
And in a virtuous race diffus’d unfading charms.
Adonis fed his cattle on the plain,
And sea-born Venus lov’d the rural swain ;
She mourn’d him wounded in the fatal chace,
Nor dead dismiss’d him from her warm embrace.
Though young Endymion was by Cynthia blest,
I envy nothing but his lasting rest.
Jasion slumb’ring on the Cretan plain
Ceres once saw, and blest the happy swain
With pleasures too divine for ears profane.
My head grows giddy, love affects me sore 3
Yet you regard not j so I’ll sing no more——
Here will I put a period to my care—
Adieu, false nymph, adieu ungrateful fair j
Stretch’d near the grotto, when I’ve breath’d my last,!
My corse will give the wolves a rich repast, >
As sweet to them as honey to your taste. J
Fawkes.
T4«
Virgil succeeds Theocritus, from whom he has xn^sA-
some places copied, and always imitated with success.
As a specimen of his manner, we shall introduce his
first pastoral, which is generally allowed to be the most
perfect.
Melib(Eus and Tityrus.
Mel. Beneath the shade which beechen boughs diffuse,
You, Tityrus, entertain your sylvan muse.
Bound the wide world in banishment we roam,
Forc’d from our pleasing fields and native home 5
While stretch’d at ease you sing your happy loves,
And Amaryllis fills the shady groves.
Tit. These blessings, friend, a deity bestow’d
For never can I deem him less than god.
The tender firstling of my woolly breed
Shall on his holy altar often bleed.
He gave me kine to graze the flow’ry plain,
And so my pipe renew’d the rural strain.
Mel. I envy not your fortune 3 hut admire.
That while the raging sword and wasteful fire
Destroy the wretched neighbourhood around.
No hostile arms approach your happy ground.
Far diff’rent is my fate 3 my feeble goats
With pains I drive from their forsaken cotes;
And this you see I scarcely drag along,
Who yeaning on the rocks has left her young.
The hope and promise of my falling fold.
My loss by dix-e portents the gods foretold 3
For, had I not been blind, I might have seen
Yon riven oak, the fairest on the green,
And the hoarse raven on the blasted bough
By croaking from the left presag’d the coming blow.
But tell me, Tityrus, what heav’nly pow’r
Preserv’d your fortunes in that fatal hour P
Tit. Fool that I was, I thought imperial Rome T
Like Mantua, where on market-days we come, >
And thither drive our tender lambs from home. j
So kids and whelps the sires and dams express 3
And so the great I measur’d by the less:
But country-towns, compar’d with her, appear
Like shrubs when lofty cypresses are near.
Mel. What great occasion call’d you hence to Rome ?
Tit. Freedom, which came at length, tho’ slow to
come;
C 2 Noi
POE
"Nor did my search of liberty begin
Till my black hairs were chang’d upon my chin 3
Nor Amaryllis would vouchsafe a look,
Till Galatea’s meaner bonds I broke.
Till then a helpless, hopeless, homely swain,
I sought not freedom, nor aspir’d to gain :
Tho’ many a victim from my folds was bought,
And many a cheese to country markets brought,
Yet all the little that I got I spent,
And still return’d as empty as 1 went.
J\lel. We stood amaz’d to see your mistress mourn,
Unknowing that she pin’d for your return 3
We wonder’d why she kept her fruit so long,
For whom so late th’ ungather’d apples hung :
But now the wonder ceases, since I see
She kept them only, Tityrus, for thee :
For thee the bubb’ling springs appear’d to mourn,
And whisp’ring pines made vows for thy return.
Tit. What should I do ? while here I was enchain’d,
No glimpse of godlike liberty remain’d 3
Nor could I hope in any place but there
To find a god so present to my pray’r.
There first the youth of heav’nly birth I view’d,
For whom our monthly victims are renew’d.
He heard my vows, and graciously decreed
My grounds to be restor’d my former docks to feed.
Mcl. O fortunate old man ! whose farm remains 1
For you sufficient, and requites your pains, >
Though rushes overspread the neighb’ring plains, j
Tho’ here the marshy grounds approach your fields,
And there the soil a stony harvest yields.
Your teeming ewes shall no strange meadows try,
Nor fear a rot from tainted company.
Behold yon bord’ring fence of sallow trees
Is fraught with flow’rs, the flow’rs are fraught with bees:
The busy bees, with a soft murm’ring strain,
Invite to gentle sleep the lab’ring swain :
While from the neighb’ring rock with rural songs
The pruner’s voice the pleasing dream prolongs 3
Htock doves and turtles tell their am’rous pain,
And, from the lofty elms, of love complain.
Tit. Th’ inhabitants of seas and skies shall change,
And fish on shore and stags in air shall range,
The banish’d Parthian dwell on Arar’s brink,
And the blue German shall the Tigris drink 3
Ere I, forsaking gratitude and truth,
Forget the figure of that godlike youth.
Mel. But we must beg our bread in climes unknown,
Beneath the scorching or the freezing zone 3
And some to far Oaxis shall be sold,
Or try the Libyan heat or Scythian cold 3
The rest among the Britons be confin’d, *
A race of men from all the world disjoin’d.
O ! must the wretched exiles ever mourn i
Nor after length of rolling years return P
Are we condemn’d by Fate’s unjust decree,
No more our houses and our homes to see ?
Or shall we mount again the rural throne,
And rule the country, kingdoms once our own ?
Did we for these barbarians plant and sow,
On these, on these, our happy fields bestow ?
Good heav’n,what dire effects from civil discords flow
Now let me graft my pears, and prune the vine 3
The fruit is theirs, the labour only mine.
}
T It Y.
Farewel my pastures, my paternal stock. ^
My fruitful fields and my more fruitful flock .
No more, my goats, shall 1 behold you climb
The steepy cliffs, or crop the flow’ry thyme ;
No more extended in the grot below,
Shall see you browzing on the mountain’s brow
The prickly shrubs, and alter on the hare ^
Lean down the deep abyss and hang in air !
No more my sheep shall sip the morning dew 3
No more my song shall please the rural crew :
Adieu, my tuneful pipe ! and all the world, adieu
Tit. This night, at least, with me forget your care 3
Chesnuts and curds and cream shall be your fare :
The carpet-ground shall be with leaves 0 erspread,
And boughs shall weave a cov’ring for your head :
For see yon sunny hill the shade extends,
And curling; smoke from cottages ascends.
Dryden
Spenser was the first of our countrymen who acquired
any considerable reputation by this method of writing.
We shall insert his sixth eclogue, or that for June,
which is allegorical, as will be seen by the
Argument. “ Hobbinol, from a description of the
pleasures of the place, excites Colin to the enjoyment
of them. Colin declares himself incapable of delight
by reason of his ill success in love, and his loss of Ro¬
salind, who had treacherously forsaken him for Menal-
cas another shepherd. By Tityrus (mentioned before
in Spenser’s second eclogue, and again in the twelfth)
is plainly meant Chaucer, whom the author sometimes
professed to imitate. In the person of Colin is repre¬
sented the author himself 3 and Hobbinol’s inviting him
to leave the hill country, seems to allude to his leaving
the north, where, as is mentioned in his life, he had for
some time resided.”
Hob. Lo ! Colin, here the place, whose pleasant sight
From other shades hath wean’d my wand’ring mind :
Tell me, what wants me here, to work delight ?
The, simple air, the gentle warbling wind,
So calm, so cool, as nowhere else I find :
The grassy ground with dainty daisies dight,
The bramble-bush, where birds of every kind
To th’ water’s fall their tunes attemper right.
Col. O ! happy Hobbinol, I bless thy state,
That paradise hast found which Adam lost.
Here wander may thy flock early or late,
Withouten dread of wolves to been ytost 3
Thy lovely lays here mayst thou freely boast:
But I, unhappy man ! whom cruel fate,
And angry gods, pursue from coast to coast,
Can nowhere find to shroud my luckless pate.
Hob. Then if by me thou list advised be,
Forsake the soil that so doth thee bewitch :
Leave me those hills, where harbroughnis to see.
Nor holly bush, nor brere, nor winding ditch 3
And to the dales resort, where shepherds rich,
And fruitful flocks been everywhere to see :
Here no night-ravens lodge, more black than pitch.
Nor elvish ghosts, nor ghastly owls do flee.
But friendly fairies met with many graces,
And light-foot nymphs can chace the ling’ring night,
With heydeguies, and trimly trodden traces 3
Whilst sisters nine, which dwell on Parnass’ height,
Da
Part II.
Pastoral.
:}
21
Part II.
P O E T R Y.
Pastoral.
Do make them music, for their more delight}
And Fan himself to kiss their crystal faces,
Will pipe and dance, when Phoebe shineth bright:
Such peerless pleasures have we in these places.
Col And I whilst youth, and course of careless years,
Did let me walk withouten links of love,
In such delights did joy amongst my peers :
But riper age such pleasures doth reprove,
My fancy eke from former follies move
To strayed steps : for time in passing wears
(As garments doen, which waxen old above)
And draweth new delights with hoary hairs.
Though couth I sing of love, and tune my pipe
Unto my plaintive pleas in verses made :
Though would I seek for queen-apples unripe
To give my Rosalind, and in sommer shade
Dight gawdy girlonds was my common trade,
To crown her golden Ipcks : but years more ripe.
And loss of her, whose love as life I wayde,
Those weary wanton toys away did wipe.
Hob. Colin, to hear thy rhymes and roundelays.
Which thou wert wont on wasteful hills to sing,
I more delight, than lark in sommer days :
Whose echo made the neighbour groves to ring,
And taught the birds, which in the lower spring
Did shroud in shady leaves from sunny rays,
Frame to thy song their cheerful cheriping,
Or hold their peace, for shame of thy sweet lays.
I saw Calliope with muses moe,
Soon as thy oaten pipe began to sound,
Their ivory lutes and tamburins forego,
And from the fountain, where they sate around,
Ren after hastily thy silver sound.
But when they came, where thou thy skill didst show.
They drew aback, as half with shame confound,
Shepherd to see, them in their art outgo.
Co/. Of muses, Hobbinol, 1 con no skill.
For they been daughters of the highest Jove,
And holden scorn of homely shepherds quill :
For sith I heard that Pan with Phoebus strove
Which him to much rebuke and danger drove,
I never list presume to Parnass’ hill,
But piping low, in shade of lowly grove,
I play to please myself, albeit ill.
Nought weigh I, who my song doth praise or blame,
Ne strive to win renown, or pass the rest :
With shepherds fits not follow flying fame,
But feed his flocks in fields, where falls him best.
I wot my rimes been rough, and rudely drest j
The fitter they, my careful case to frame :
Enough is me to paint out my unrest.
And pour my piteous plaints out in the same.
The God of shepherds, Tityrus, is dead,
Who taught me homely, as I can, to make :
Fie, whilst he lived, was the sov’reign head
Of shepherds all, that been with love ytake.
Well couth he wail his woes, and lightly slake
The flames which love within his heart had bi’ed,
And tell us merry tales to keep us wake,
The while our sheep about us safely fed.
Now dead he is, and lieth wrapt in lead,
(O why should death on him such outrage show !)
And all his passing skill with him is fled,
The fame whereof doth daily greater grow.
But if on me some little drops would flow
4
Pastoral.
142
Of that the spring was in his learned hed,
I soon would learn these woods to wail my woe,
And teach the trees their trickling tears to shed.
Then would my plaints, caus’d of discourtesee,
As messengers of this my painful flight,
Fly to my love, wherever that she be,
And pierce her heai*t with point of worthy wight;
As she deserves, that wrought so deadly spight.
And thou, Menalcas, that by treachery
Didst underfong my lass to wax so light,
Should’st well be known for such thy villany.
But since I am not, as I wish I were,
Ye gentle shepherds, which your flocks do feed,
Whether on hills or dales, or other where,
Bear witness all of this so wicked deed :
And tell the lass, whose flower is woxe a weed,
And faultless faith is turn’d to faithless seere,
That she the truest shepherd’s heart made bleed.
That lives on earth, and loved her most dear.
Hob. O ! careful Colin, I lament thy case,
Thy tears would make the hardest flint to flow !
Ah ! faithless Rosalind, and void of grace,
That art the root of all this rueful woe !
But now is time, I guess, homeward to go j
Then rise, ye blessed flocks, and home apace
Lest night with stealing steps do you foreslo,
And wTet your tender lambs that by you trace.
By the following eclogue the reader will perceive that philips.
Mr Philips has, in imitation of Spenser, preserved in his
pastorals many antiquated words, which, though they
are discarded from polite conversation, may naturally be
supposed still to have place among the shepherds and
other rustics in the country. We have made choice of
his second eclogue, because it is brought home to his
own business, and contains a complaint against those who
had spoken ill of him and his writings.
Thenot, Colinet.
TL Is it not Colinet 1 lonesome see
Leaning with folded arms against the tree ?
Or is it age of late bedims my sight ?
’Tis Colinet, indeed, in woful plight.
Thy cloudy look, why melting into tears,
Unseemly, now the sky so bright appears ?
Why in this mournful manner art thou found,
Unthankful lad, when all things smile around ?
Or hear’st not lark and linnet jointly sing,
Their notes blithe-vvarbling to salute the spring ?
Co. Tho’ blithe their notes, not so my wayward fate j
Nor lark would sing, nor linnet, in my state.
Each creature, Thenot, to his task is born )
As they to mirth and music, I to mourn.
Waking, at midnight, I my woes renew.
My tears oft mingling with the falling dew.
Th Small cause, I ween, has lusty youth to plain j
Or who may then the weight of eld sustain.
When every slackening nerve begins to fail,
And the load presseth as our days prevail P
Yet though with years my body downward tend,
As trees beneath their fruit in autumn bend,
Spite of my snowy head and icy veins,
My mind a cheerful temper still retains ;
And why should man, mishap what will, repine,
Sour every sweet, and mix with tears his wine ?
But tell me then ; it may relieve thy woe,
To let a friend thine inward ailment know.
Co.
j
POE
Co. Tilly ’twill waste thee, Thenot, the whole day,
Should’st thou give ear to all my grief can say.
Thine ewes will wander j and the heedless lambs,
In loud complaints, require their absent dams.
T/i. See Ligbtfoot; he shall tend them close : and 1,
’Tween whiles, across the plain will glance mine eye.
Co. Where to begin T know not, where to end.
Does there one smiling hour my youth attend ?
Though few my days, as well my follies show.
Yet are those days all clouded o’er with wo :
No happy gleam of sunshine doth appear,
My low’ring sky and wint’ry months to cheer.
My piteous plight in yonder naked tree,
Which bears the thunder scar too plain, I see :
Quite destitute it stands of shelter kind, .
The mark of storms, and sport of every wind j
The riven trunk feels not the approach of spring j
Nor birds among the leafless branches sing:
No more, beneath thy shade, shall shepheids throng
With jocund tale, or pipe, or pleasant song.
Ill-fated tree ! and more ill-fated I!
From thee, from me, alike the shepherds fly.
Th. Sure thou in hapless hour of time was born,
When bljghtning mildews spoil the rising corn.
Or blasting winds o’er blossom’d hedge-rows pass,
To kill the promis’d fruits, and scorch the grass,
Or when the moon, by wizard charm’d, foreshows,
Elood-stain’d in foul eclipse, impending woes.
Untimely born, ill luck betides thee still.
Co. And can there, Thenot, be a greater ill ?
T/i. Nor fox, nor wolf, nor rot among our sheep :
From these good shepherd’s care his flock may keep j
Against ill luck, alas! all forecast fails $
Nor toil by day, nor watch by night, avails.
Co. Ah me, the while ! ah me, the luckless day .
Ah luckless lad '. befits me more to say.
Unhappy hour! when fresh in youthful bud,
1 left, Sabrina fair, thy silv’ry flood.
Ah silly I! more silly than my sheep,
Which on thy flow’ry banks I wont to keep.
Sweet are thy banks j oh, when shall I once more
With ravish’d eyes review thine amell’d shore ?
When in the crystal of thy waters, scan
Each feature faded, and my colour wan ?
■When shall I see my hut, the small abode
Myself did raise and cover o’er with sod ?
Small though it be, a mean and humble cell,
Yet is there room for peace and me to dwell.
T/i. And what inticement charm’d thee far away
From thy lov’d home, and led thy heart astray ?
Co. A lewd desire strange lands and swains to know.
Ah me ! that ever I should covet woe.
With wand’ring feet unblest, and fond of fame,
I sought I know not what besides a name.
T/i. Or, sooth to say, didst thou not hither rome
In search of gains more plenty than at home ?
A rolling stone is ever bare of moss ;
And, to their cost, green years old proverbs cross. _
Co. Small need there was, in random search ol gain,
To drive my pining flock athwart the plain
To distant Cam. Fine gain at length, I trow,
To hoard up to myself such deal of woe !
My sheep quite spent through travel and ill fare,
And like their keeper ragged grown and bare.
Part It
Pastoral.
TRY.
The damp cold green sward for my nightly bed,  
And some slaunt willow’s trunk to rest my head. v
Hard is to bear of pinching cold the pain j
And hard is want to the unpractis’d swam j
But neither want, nor pinching cold, is hard,
To blasting storms of calumny, compar d :
Unkind as hail it falls j the pelting show’r.
Destroys the tender herb and budding flow r.
Th. Slander we shepherds count the vilest wrong
And what wounds sorer than an evil tongue ?
Co. Untoward lads, the wanton imps of spite
Make mock of all the ditties I endite.
In vain, O Colinet, thy voice so shrill,
Charms every vale, and gladdens every hill:
In vain thou seek’st the coverings of the grove,
In the cool shade to sing the pains of love :
Sing what thou wilt, ill-nature will prevail 5
And every elf hath skill enough to rail.
But yet, though poor and artless be my vein,
Menalcas seems to like my simple strain ;
And while that he delighteth in my song,
Which to the good Menalcas doth belong,
Nor night nor day shall my rude music cease *,
I ask no more, so 1 Menalcas please.
Th. Menalcas, lord of these fair fertile plains,
Preserves the sheep, and o’er the shepherds reigns j
For him our yearly wakes and leasts we hold,
And choose the fairest firstlings from the fold j
He, good to all who good deserves, shall give
Thy flock to feed, and thee at ease to live,
Shall curb the malice of unbridled tongues,
And bounteously reward thy rural songs.
Co. First then shall lightsome birds forget to fly,
The briny ocean turn to pastures dry,
And every rapid river cease to flow,
Ere I unmindful of Menalcas grow.
Th. This night thy care with me forget, and fold
Thy flock with mine, to ward th’ injurious cold.
New milk, and clouted cream, mild cheese and curd,
With some remaining fruit of last year’s hoard,
Shall be our ev’ning fare j and, for the night,
Sweet herbs and moss, which gentle sleep invite :
And now behold the sun’s departing ray,
O’er yonder hill, the sign of ebbing day :
With songs the jovial hinds return from plow j
And unyok’d heifers, loitering homeward, low.
Mr Pope’s Pastorals next appeared, but in a different Pope,
dress from those of Spenser or Philips $ for he has dis¬
carded all antiquated words, drawn his swains more mo¬
dern and polite, and made his numbers exquisitely har¬
monious : his eclogues therefore may be called better
poems, but not better pastorals. We shall insert the ec¬
logue he has inscribed to Mr Wycherly, the beginning
of which is in imitation of Virgil’s first pastoral.
Beneath the shade a spreading beech displays,
Hylas and iEgon sung their rural lays :
This mourn’d a faithless, that an absent love,
And Delia’s name and Doris fill’d the grove.
Ye Mantuan nymphs, your sacred succour bring j
Hyl as and -.Egon’s rural lays I sing.
Thou, whom the nine, with Plautus’ wit inspire,
The art of Terence, and Menander’s fire :
Whose sense instructs us, and whose humour charms,
Whose judgment sways us, and whose spirit warms !
Part II. POE
Pastoral Oil, skill’d in nature ! see the hearts of swains,
Their artless passions, and their tender pains.
Now setting Phoebus shone serenely bright.
And fleecy clouds were streak’d with purple light 5
When tuneful Hylas, with melodious moan,
Taught rocks to weep, and made the mountains groan.
Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away !
To Delia’s ear the tender notes convey.
As some sad turtle his lost love deplores,
And with deep murmurs fills the sounding shores j
Thus, far from Delia, to the winds I mourn,
Alike unheard, unpity’d, and forlorn.
Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs along!
For her the feather’d quires neglect their song j
For her, the limes their pleasing shades deny j
For her, the lilies hang their head and die.
Ye flow’rs, that droop forsaken by the spring $
Ye birds, that left by summer cease to sing;
Ye trees, that fade when autumn’s heats remove;
Say, is not absence death to those who love ?
Go, gentle gales, and bear thy sighs away !
Curs’d be the fields that cause my Delia’s stay:
Fade ev’rv blossom, wither ev’ry tree,
Die ev’ry flow’r, and perish all but she.
What have I said ? where’er my Delia flies,
Fet spring attend, and sudden flovv’rs arise ;
Fet opening roses knotted oaks adorn,
And liquid amber drop from ev’ry thorn.
Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs along!
The birds shall cease to tune their ev’ning song,
The winds to breathe, the waving woods to move,.
And streams to murmur ere I cease to love.
Not bubbling fountains to the thirsty swain.
Not balmy sleep to lab’rers faint with pain,
Not show’rs to larks, or sunshine to the bee,
Are half so charming as thy sight to me.
Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away !
Come, Delia, come ! ah, why this long delay ?
Through rocks and caves the name of Delia sounds;
Delia, each cave and echoing rock rebounds.
Ye pow’rs, what pleasing frenzy soothes my mind !
Do lovers dream, or is my Delia kind ?
She comes, my Delia comes !—now cease, my lay;
And cease, ye gales, to bear my sighs away !
Next AEgon sung, while Windsor groves admixed;
Rehearse, ye muses, what yourselves inspir’d.
Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful strain !
Of perjur’d Doris, dying, I complain :
Here where the mountains, less’ning as they rise,
Fose the low vales, and steal into the skies;
While lab’ring oxen, spent with toil and heat,
In their loose traces from the field retreat;
While curling smoke from village-tops are seen.
And the fleet shades glide o’er the dusky green.
Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful lay!
Beneath yon poplar oft we pass’d the day;
Oft on the rind I carv’d her am’rous vows,
While she with garlands hung the bending boughs:
The garlands fade, the boughs are worn away;
So dies her love, and so my hopes decay.
Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful strain !
Now bright Arcturus glads the teeming grain ;
Now golden fruits in loaded branches shine.
And grateful clusters swell with floods of wine ;
T R Y. 23
Now blushing berries paint the yellow grove: Pastoral.
Just gods ! shall all things yield return but love? -y —i.rf
Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful lay !
The shepherds cry, “ Thy flocks are left a prey.”
Ah ! what avails it me the flocks to keep,
Who lost my heart, while I preserv’d my sheep ?
Pan came, and ask’d, what magic caus’d my smart,
Or what ill eyes malignant glances dart ?
What eyes but fxers, alas ! have pow’r to move ?
And is there magic but what dwells in love ?
Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful strains !
I’ll fly from shepherds, flocks, and flow’ry plains.-—-
From shepherds, flocks, and plains, I may remove,
Fox-sake mankind, and all the world—but love!
I know thee, Fove ! wild as the i-aging main,
Mox-e fell than tygers on the Fibyan plain :
Thou wert from Aetna’s burning entx-ails torn.
Got by fierce whirlwinds, and in thunder born.
Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful lay !
Farewel, ye woods, adieu the light of day !
One leap fi’om yonder cliff shall end my pains.
No more, ye hills, no more resound my strains !
Thus sung the shepherds till th’ approach of night,
The skies yet blushing with departing light,
When falling dews with spangles deck the glade,
And the low sun had lengthen’d ev’ry shade.
144
To these pastoi’als, which are written agreeably to the Gay.
tasteof antiquity,and the rules above prescribed, we shall
beg leave to subjoin another that may be called burlesque
pastoral, wherein the ingenious author, Mr Gay, has
ventured to deviate from the beaten road, and described
the shepherds and ploughmen of our own time and coun¬
try, instead of those of the golden age, to which the
modern critics confine the pastoral. His six pastorals,
which he calls the Shepherd's Week, are a beautiful and
livelyrepi-esentation ofthe manners, customs, and notions-
of our rustics. We shall insert the first of them, intitled
The Squabble, wherein two clowns try to outdo each
other in singing the praises of their sweethearts, leaving
it to a third to determine the controversy. The persons
named are Lobbin Clout, Cuddy, and Cloddipole.
Lob. Thy younglings, Cuddy, are but just awake ;
No throstle shrill the bramble-bush forsake ;
No chirping lark the welkin sheen * invokes ;
No damsel yet the swelling udder strokes ;
O’er yonder bill does scant f the dawn appear ;
Then why does Cuddy leave his cott so rear | ?
Cud. Ah Fobbin Clout! I ween § my plight is guest
For he that loves, a stranger is to rest.
If swains belye not, thou hast proved the smart,
And Blouzalinda’s mistress of thy heart.
This rising tear betokeneth well thy mind ;
Those arms are folded for thy Blouzalind.
And well, I trow, our piteous plights agree ;
Thee Blouzalinda smites, Buxoma me.
Lob. Ah Blouzalind ! I love thee more by half*
Than deer their fawns, or cows the new-fall’n calf.
Woe worth the tongue, may blisters sore it gall,
That names Buxoma Blou%alind withal.
Cud. Hold, witless Fobbin Clout, I thee advise,
Fest blisters sore on thy own tongue ai'ise.
Fo yonder Cloddipole, the blithsome swain,
The wisest lout of all the neighb’ring plain !
* Shining
or bright
sky.
f Scarce,
j Early,
j § Conceive,
From
24
POE
p From Cloddipole we learnt to read the skies,
u-Lv—' To know when hail will fall, or winds arise.
* Formerly. Pie taught us erst * the heifer’s tail to V,e'J’
When stuck aloft, that show’rs would straight en.
He first that useful secret did explain,
That pricking corns foretold the gath nn^ rai •
When swallows fleet soar high and spoit ,
He told us that the welkin would be clear.
Let Cloddipole then hear us twain rehearse,
And praise his sweetheart in alternate verse.
I’ll wager this same oaken stall with thee,
That Cloddipole shall give the prize , .
Lob. See this tobacco-pouch, that’s hn d with ban,
Made of the skin of sleekest fallow-deer :
This pouch, that’s tied with tape ol reddest hue,
I’ll wager, that the prize shall be my due.
6W.° Begin thy carrols, then, thou vaunting slouch
Be thine the oaken staff, or mine the pouch.
Lob. My Blouzalinda is the blithest lass,
Than primrose sweeter, or the clover-grass.
Fair is the king-cup that in meadows blows ;
Fair is the daisy that beside her grows ;
Fair is the gilly-flow’r of gardens sweet •,
Fair is the marygold, tor pottage meet.
But Blouzalind’s than gilly-flower more lair,
Than daisy, marygold, or king-cup rare. .
Cud. My brown Buxoma is the featest maid
That e’er at wake delightsome gambol play’d j
Clean as young lambkins, or the goose s down,
And like the goldfinch in her Sunday gown.
The witless lamb may sport upon the plain,
The frisking kid delight the gaping swain
The wanton calf may skip with many a bound,
' tNimblest. And my cur Tray play deftest! feats around :
But neither lamb, nor kid, nor calt, nor liay,
Dance like Buxoma on the first of May.
Lob. Sweet is my toil when Blouzahnd is near j
Of her bereft, Vis winter all the year.
With her no sultry summer’s heat I know *,
In winter, when she’s nigh, with love I glow.
Come, Blouzalinda, ease thy swain’s desire
My summer’s shadow, and my winter 8 lire •
£W. As with Buxoma once I work d at hay,
E’en noon-tide labour seem’d an holiday ;
And holidays, if haply she were gone,
Like worky-days I wish’d would soon be done,
t very Eftsoons t, O sweetheart kind, my love repay,
soon. And all the year shall then be holiday.
Lob. As Blouzalinda, in a gamesome mood,
Behind a hay-cock loudly laughing stood,
I slily ran and snatch’d a hasty kiss ; .
She wip’d her lips, nor took it much amiss.
Believe me, Cuddy, while I’m bold to say.
Her breath was sweeter than the ripen d hay.
Cud. As my Buxoma, in a morning fair,
With gentle finger streak’d her milky care,
§ Wa^- I quaintly § stole a kiss •, at first, ’tis true,
|ishlyr She frown’d, yet after granted one or two.
Bobbin, I swear, believe who will my vows,
Her breath by far excell’d the breathing cows.
Lob. Leek to the Welsh, to Dutchmen butter s dear,
Of Irish swains potatoes are the cheer •,
Oats for their feasts the Scottish shepherds grind,
Sweet turnips are.the food of Blouzalind .
t n y. . Fprt!i'
While she loves turnips, butter I I! despise, y.J!!*0.!.1.' i
The capon fat delights his dainty wife , .
Pudding our parson eats, the squire loves hare ,
But white-pot thick is my Buxoma s tare.
While she loves white-pot, capon ne er shall be,
Nor hare, nor beef, nor pudding, food for me.
Lob. As once I play’d at blind man s bull, it hapt
About my eyes the towel thick was wrapt :
I miss’d the swains, and seiz’d on Blouzalind
True speaks that ancient proverb, Love is blind.
Cud. As at hot-cockles once I laid me doun,
And felt the weighty hand of many a clown ;
Buxoma gave a gentle tap, and I
Quick rose, and read soft mischief in her eye.
Lob. On two near elms the slacken d cold I g ,
Now high, now low, my Blouzalinda swung;
With the rude wind her rumpled garment rose.
And show’d her taper leg and scarlet hose. _
Cud. Across the fallen oak the plank I laid,
And myself pois’d against the tott’ring maid . .
High leapt the plank, and down Buxoma tell ,
X Spy’d—but faithful sweethearts never tell.
Lob. This riddle, Cuddy, if thou canst, explain,
Tliis wily riddle puzzles every swain :
What flow'r is that which bears the virgin s name, *
The richest metal joined with the same / goid.
Cud. Answer, thou carle, and judge this riddle right,
I’ll frankly own thee for a cunning wight:
Whatjlow'r is that which royal honour craves.
Adjoin the virgin, and His strown on graves 11
Clod. Forbear, contending louts, give o’er
strains •,
An oaken staff each merits for his pains.
But see the sun beams bright to labour warn,
And gild the thatch of goodman Hodge’s barn.
Your herds for want of water stand a-dry }
They’re weary of your songs—and so am 1.
your
f Rose¬
mary.
r4S
We have given the rules usually laid down for pasto- Shenstone,
ral writing, and exhibited some examples written on tins
plan; hut we have to observe that this poem may take
very different forms. It may appear either as a comedy
or as a ballad. As a pastoral comedy, there is perhaps
nothing which possesses equal merit with Ramsay s
Gentle Shepherd, and we know not where to find in any
language a rival to the Tdastoral Ballad ol Shenstone.
That the excellence of this poem is great can hardly be
questioned, since it compelled a critic, who was never
lavish of his praise, and who on all occasions was ready .
to vilify the pastoral, to express himself in terms of
high encomium. “ In the first part (says he) are two
passages, to which if any mind denies its sympathy, it
has no acquaintance with love or nature:
I priz’d every hour that went by,
Beyond all that had pleas’d me before;
But now they are past, and l sigh,
And I grieve that I priz’d them no more.
When forc’d the fair nymph to forego,
What anguish I felt in my heart !
Yet I thought—but it might not be so,
’Twas with pain that she savr .Wan-
Part II. POE
Pastoral. Site gaz’d, as I slowly withdrew,
y——' My path I could hardly discern j
So sweetly she bade me adieu,
I thought that she bade me return.
“ In the second (continues the same critic) this pas-
* sage has its prettiness, though it be not equal to the
former
I have found out a gift for my fair j
I have found where the wood pigeons breed:
But let me that plunder forbear,
She would say ’twas a barbarous deed :
For he ne’er could be true, she averr’d,
Who could rob a poor bird of its young j
And I lov’d her the more when I heard
Such tenderness fall from her tongue.
145
Origin and
nse of di
dactic poe-
ery.
*47
Rules to
be observ¬
ed in its
oomposi-
fion.
Sect. V. Of Didactic or Preceptive Poetry.
The method of writing precepts in verse, and embel¬
lishing them with the graces of poetry, had its rise, we
may suppose, from a due consideration of the frailties
and perverseness of human nature J and was intended
to engage the affections, in order to improve the mind
and amend the heart.
Didactic or preceptive poetry, has been usually em¬
ployed either to illustrate and explain our moral duties,
our philosophical inquiries, our business and pleasures j
or in teaching the art of criticism or poetry itself. It
may be adapted, however, to any other subject j and
may in all cases, where instruction is designed, be em¬
ployed to good purpose. Some subjects, indeed, are
more proper than others, as they admit of moi’e poe¬
tical ornaments, and give a greater latitude to genius $
hut whatever the subject is, those precepts are to be
laid down that are the most useful j and they should
follow each other in a natural easy method, and be de¬
livered in the most agreeable engaging manner. What
the prose writer tells yon ought to be done, the poet
often conveys under the form of a narration, or shows
the necessity of in a description *, and by representing
the action as done, or doing, conceals the precept that
should enforce it The poet likewise, instead of tell¬
ing the whole truth, or laying down all the rules that
are requisite, selects such parts only as are the most
pleasing, and communicates the rest indirectly, with¬
out giving us an open view of them ; yet takes care
that nothing shall escape the reader’s notice with which
he ought to be acquainted. He discloses just enough
to lead the imagination into the parts that are conceal¬
ed $ and the mind, ever gratified with its own disco¬
veries, is complimented with exploring and finding them
out j which, though done with ease, seems so conside¬
rable, as not to be obtained but in consequence of its
own adroitness and sagacity.
But this is not sufficient to render didactic poetry al¬
ways pleasing: for where precepts are laid down one af¬
ter another, and the poem is of considerable length, the
mind will require some recreation and refreshment by the
way, which is to be procured by seasonable moral reflec¬
tions, pertinent remarks, familiar similies, and descrip¬
tions naturally introduced, by allusions to ancient his¬
tories or fables, and by short and pleasant digressions
and excursions into more noble subjects, so aptly bi ought
in, that they may seem to have a remote relation, and
Vol. XVII. Part I. t
TRY. ,25
be of a piece with the poem. By thus varying the form Didwtie.
of instruction, the poet gives life to his precepts, and -v——'
awakens and secures our attention, without permitting
us to see by what means we are thus captivated : and
his art is the more to be admired, because it is so con¬
cealed as to escape the reader’s observation.
The style, too, must maintain a dignity suitable to the
subject, and every part be drawn in such lively colours,
that the things described may seem as if presented to
the reader’s view.
But all this will appear more evident from example ;
and though entire poems of this kind are not within the
compass of our design, we shall endeavour to select such
passages as will be sufficient to illustrate the rules we
have here laid down.
We have already observed, that, according to the
usual divisions, there are four kinds of didactic poems,
viz. those that respect our moral duties, our philosophi¬
cal speculations, our business and pleasures, or that give
precepts for poetry and criticism.
I. Oa the first subject, indeed, we have scarce any
thing that deserves the name of poetry, except Mr
Pope’s Essay on Man, his Ethic Epistles, Blackmore’s
Creation, and part of Young’s Night Thoughts; t*
which therefore we refer as examples.
II. Those preceptive poems that concern philosophi¬
cal speculations, though the subject is so pregnant with
matter, affords such a field of fancy, and is so capable
of every decoration, are but few. Lucretius is the most
considerable among the ancients who has written in this
manner j among the moderns we have little else but
small detached pieces, except the poem called Anti-Lu¬
cretius, which has not yet received an English dress $
Dr Akenside’s Pleasures of the Imagination, and Dr
Darwin’s Botanic Garden; which are all worthy of our
admiration. Some of the small pieces in this depart¬
ment are also well executed ; and there is one entitled
the Universe, written by Mr Baker, from which we
shall borrow an example.
The author’s scheme is in some measure coincident with
MrPope’s, so far especially as it tends to restrain the pride
of man, with which design it was professedly written.
The passage we have selected is that respecting the
planetary system.
Unwise ! and thoughtless ! impotent! and blind !
Can wealth, or grandeur, satisfy the mind ?
Of all those pleasures mortals most admire,
Is there one joy sincere, that will not tire ?
Can love itself endure ? or beauty’s charms
Afford that bliss we fancy in its arms?—
Then let thy soul more glorious aims pursue :
Have thy Creator and his works in view.
Be these thy study: hence thy pleasures bring :
And drink large draughts of wisdom from its springs
That spring, whence perfect joy, and calm repose,
And blest content, and peace eternal, flows.
Observe how regular the planets run,
In stated times, their courses round the Sun.
Diff’rent their bulk, their distance, their career.
And diff’rent much the compass of their year :
Yet all the same eternal laws obey,
While God’s unerring finger points the way.
First Mercury, amidst full tides of light,
Rolls next the sun, through his small circle bright.
D AH
14?
Example*
in didactic
poetry.
26 p °
• All that dwell here must be refin’d and pure :
BmUesVike our, ,uch ardour can’t endure :
Oar earth would blaze beneath so fierce a tav,
And all its marble mountains melt away.
A Fair Venus, next, fulfils her larger round,
With softer beams, and milder glory crown .
Friend to mankind, she glitters from afar, _
Now the bright ev’mng, now the morning
^ More distant still, our earth comes rolling on,
And forms a wider circle round the sun.
W,th her the moon, companion ever dear .
Her course attending through the fining year.
See Mars, alone, runs his appointed ia.ee,
And measures out, exact, the destin d space.
Nor nearer does he wind, nor farther stray,
But finds the point whence first he roll’d away.
More yet remote from day’s all-cheenug source,
Vast Jupiter performs bis eonstaut course:
Four friendly moons, with borrow d lustre, rise,
Bestow thei/beams divine, and ,
Farthest and last, scarce warm d by Fhcelms ),
Through his vast orbit Saturn wheels away- (
How great the change could we be wafted there .
How slow the seasons ! and how ^^gtheyear •
One moon, on us, reflects its cheerful light
There, five attendants brighten up the night.
Here, the blue firmament bedeck’d with stars ,
There over-head, a lucid arch appears. . , , in
From hence,how large, how strong, the soo s taghUjan.
But seen from thence, how languul and how small.
When the keen north with all its finy b ,
Congeals the floods, and forms the fleecy snows,
’Tis beat intense to what can there be know .
Warmer our poles than is its burning zone.^
Who there inhabits must have other pow is,
Tuices and veins, and sense, and file, than ours.
One moment’s cold, like theirs, would pierce^the bone
Freeze the heart-blood, and turn us all to stone.
Strange and amazing must the diff ience
’Twixt this dull planet and bright Mercury .
Yet reason says, nor can we doubt at al ,
Millions of beings dwell on either ball,
With constitutions fitted for the spot.
Where Providence, all wise, has fix d their lot
Wondrous art thou, O God, in all thy ways .
Their eves to thee let all thy creatures raise
Adore thy grandeur, and thy goodness praise.
Ye sons of men ! with satisfaction know’,
God’s own right hand dispenses all below :
Nor good nor evil does by chance befall ,
He reigns supreme, and he directs it all.
At his command, affrighting human-kind,
Comets drag on their blazing lengths behind :
Nor as we think, do they at random rove.
But,’in determin’d times, through long ellipses move
And tho’ sometimes they near approach the sun j
Sometimes beyond our system’s orb.t cm, i
Throughout their race they act their Maher s mil.
His pow’r declare, Ins purposes fulfil.
E T rt Y.
Part II.
HI. Of those preceptive poems that treat of the
business and pleasures of mankind W s Geotgms
claim our first and principal attention. In these he
has laid down the rules of husbandry m all its branches
^ith the utmost exactness and perspicuity, and at the
, .1 •II the beauties and Didactic.
same time embellished t 'j'” "1. husbandry,   ’
graces of poetry. . 1 ^^. ‘'^r Addison observes,
he has delivered his but with the
not with the simplic. y of a idougM ^^^^ ^ ^
address of a poet. “ and he hreaks the clods,
down with a kind < g ■ . rp-racefulness.
and tosses about the dung, trui, t„ the
valuable lba'*
,’t lbe edlfo” the "young student’s imitation in this man-
proposed lor the 50 g ^ b.s Gmrgks 1S wrought
rpwfth wondgerfnl art, and decorated with all the flowers
°f ^Of those poems which give P^epts for the re¬
creations and pleasures of a conntr? life, « ^ ^
ral in our own language th»t »ne J^ y are
tiy treSt Mr cl; irtis S^ts, we par-
tlC\Verl"hrooldrhe0iehtrert)of those preceptive poems that
S deserve partLla/attention •, hut we have antic,-
mated on. design, and rendered an, larther notice ot
SI m y-- “tihib?r" We^
”aedretonrem”k“St Horace was the only poet among
the ancients who wrote precepts for poetry in verse, at
east his epistles to the Pisos is the only piece of the
kind that has been handed down to us ; and that is so
uerfect it seems almost to have precluded the necessi¬
ty of any other. Among the moderns we have sever
that are justly admired •, as Boileau, I ope, e •
Poets who write in the preceptive should take
care to choose such subjects as are worthy of then muse,
and of consequence to all mankind ; f«‘' to est°W °
oarts and pains to teach people trifles that "
worthy of their attention, is to the last degree ridic -
^'Among poems of the useful and interesting kind, Dr
Armstrong’s Art of Preserving Health deserves par i-
cular recommendation, as well in consideration ol be
subject, as of the elegant and masterly manner in which
he has treated it *, for he has made those things, which
are in their own nature dry and unentertaining, pei tec -
]y agreeable and pleasing by adhering to the rules ob¬
served by Virgil and others in the conduct ot these
P0With regard to the style or dress of these poems, Its proper
it should be so rich as to hide the nakedness of the stjle.
subject, and the barrenness of the precepts should be
lost in the lustre of the language. “ It ought to a- PaHm ™
bound in the most bold and forcible metaphors the
most glowing and picturesque epithets *, it ought to be
elevated and enlivened by pomp of numbers and ma¬
jesty of words, and by every figure that can htt a lan¬
guage above the vulgar and current expressions. One
may add, that in no kind of poetry (not even in the
sublime ode) is beauty of expression so much to be re¬
garded as in this. For the epic writer should be very
cautious of indulging himself in too florid a manner ot
expression.
Part II. POE
Didactic expression, especially in the dramatic parts of his fable,
—v  * where he introduces dialogue ; and the writer ot tra¬
gedy cannot fall into so nauseous and unnatural an af¬
fectation, as to put laboured descriptions, pompous epi¬
thets, studied phrases, and high-flown metaphors, into
the mouths of his characters. But as the didactic
poet speaks in his own person, it is necessary and pro¬
per for him to use a brighter colouring of style, and
to be more studious of ornament. And this is agree¬
able to an admirable precept of Aristotle, which no
writer should ever forget,—“ That diction ought most
to be laboured in the unactive, that is, the descrip¬
tive, parts of a poem, in which the opinions, manners,
and passions of men are not represented j for too gla¬
ring an expression obscures the manners and the senti¬
ments.”
We have already observed that any thing in nature
may be the subject of this poem. Some things, how¬
ever, will appear to more advantage than others, as
they give a greater latitude to genius, and admit of
more poetical ornaments. Natural history and philo¬
sophy are copious subjects. Precepts in these might
be decorated with all the flowers in poetry; and, as
Dr Trapp observes, how can poetry be better employ¬
ed, or more agreeably to its nature and dignity, than
in celebrating the works of the great Creator, and de¬
scribing the nature and generation of animals, vege¬
tables, and minerals j the revolutions of the heavenly
bodies; the motions of the earth •, the flux and reflux
of the sea ; the cause of thunder, lightning, and other
meteors j the attraction of the magnet; the gravitation,
cohesion, and repulsion of matter j the impulsive mo¬
tion of light; the slow progression of sounds j and other
amazing phenomena of nature ? Most ot the arts and
sciences are also proper subjects for this poem j and
none are more so than its two sister arts, painting and
music. In the former, particularly, there is room for
the most entertaining precepts concerning the disposal
of colours ; the arransrement of lights and shades ; the
secret attract! ves of beauty *, the various ideas which
make up the one •, the distinguishing between the atti¬
tudes proper to either sex, and every passion ; the re¬
presenting prospects of buildings, battles, or the coun¬
try } and, lastly, concerning the nature of imitation,
and the power of painting. What a boundless field of
• invention is here ? What room for description, compa¬
rison, and poetical fable ? How easy the transition, at
any time, from the draught to the original, from the
shadow to the substance ? and from hence, what noble
excursions may be made into history, into panegyric
upon the greatest beauties or heroes of the past or pre¬
sent age ?
Sect. VI. Of the Epistle.
This species of writing, if we are permitted to lay
down rules from the examples ot our best poets, admits
of great latitude, and solicits ornament and decoration ;
yet the poet is still to consider, that the true character
of the epistle is ease and elegance 5 nothing therefore
should he forced or unnatural, laboured or affected, but
every part of the composition should breathe an easy,
polite, and unconstrained freedom.
It is suitable to every subject •, for as the epistle takes
place of discourse, and is intended as a sort of distant
T R Y. 27
conversation, all the affairs of life and researches into Epistle,
nature may be introduced. Those, however, which are -—v—
fraught with compliment or condolence, that contain a
description of places, or are full of pertinent remarks,
and in a familiar and humorous way describe the man¬
ners, vices, and follies of mankind, are the best; be¬
cause they are most suitable to the true character of
epistolary writing, and (business set apart) are the
usual subjects upon which our letters are employed.
All farther rules and directions are unnecessary j for
this kind of writing is better learned by example and
practice than by precept. We shall, therefore, in con¬
formity to our plan, select a few epistles for the read¬
er’s imitation j which, as this method of writing lias of
late much prevailed, may be best taken, perhaps, from
our modern poets.
The following letter from Mr Addison to Lord Ha¬
lifax, contains an elegant description of the curiosities
and places about Rome, together with such reflections
on the inestimable blessings ot liberty as must give
pleasure to eveiy Briton, especially when he sees them
thus placed in direct opposition to the baneful influence
of slavery and oppression, which are ever to be seen
among the miserable inhabitants of those countries.
While you, my lord, the rural shades admire,
And from Britannia’s public posts retire,
Nor longer, her ungrateful sons to please,
For their advantage sacrifice your ease j
Me into foreign realms my fate conveys,
Through nations fruitful of immortal lays,
Where the soft season and inviting clime
Conspire to trouble your repose with rhime.
For wheresoe’er I turn my ravish’d eyes,
Gay gilded scenes and shining prospects rise,
Poetic fields encompass me around,
And still I seem to tread on classic ground j
For here the muse so oft her harp has strung.
That not a mountain rears its h^ad unsung,
Renown’d in verse each shady thicket grows,
And ev’ry stream in heav’nly numbers flows.
How am I pleas’d to search the hills and woods
For rising springs and celebrated floods ;
To view the Nar, tumultuous in his course,
And trace the smooth CUtumnus to his source ;
To see the Mincia draw its wat’rv store
Through the long windings of a fruitful shore.
And hoary Albula’s infected tide
O’er the warm bed of smoking sulphur glide !
Fir’d with a thousand raptures, I survey
Eridanus thro’ flow’ry meadows stray,
The king of floods ! that, rolling o’er the plains,
The tow’ring Alps of half their moisture drains,
And, proudly swoln with a whole, winter’s snows,
Distributes wealth and plenty where he flows.
Sometimes, misguided by the tuneful throng,
I look for streams immortaliz’d in song,
That lost in silenc; and oblivion lie,
P umb are their fo ntains and their channels dry i
Yet run for ever by the muse’s skill,
And in the smooth description murmur still.
Sometimes to gentle Tiber I retire,
And the fam’d river’s empty shores admire,
That, destitute of strength, derives its course
From thirsty urns, and ao unfruitful source \
D 2 Yet
. 150
The cha¬
racter of
the epistle.
IS!
Examples
in episto¬
lary poetry
from Addi¬
son.
POE
Yet suns: so often in poetic lays,
With scorn the Danube and the Nile surveys ,
So hi°'h the deathless muse exalts her theme .
Such was the Boyn, a poor inglorious stream,
That in Hibernian vales obscurely stray d,
And unobserv’d in wild meanders play d *,
Tilf by your lines, and Nassau’s sword renown d,
Its rising billows through the world resound,
Where’er the hero’s godlike acts can pierce,
Or where the fame of an immortal verse. .
oT. con’d the muse my ravisbM breast msptre
With warmth like yours, and ra.se •>" V.'ire*
Unnumber’d beauties m my verse should shine,
And Virgil’s Italy should yield to mine .
See how the golden groves around me smile,
That shun the coasts of Britain s stormy isle,
Or when transplanted and presery d with care.
Curse the cold clime, and starve in northern air.
Here kindly warmth their mounting juice ferments
To nobler tastes, and more exalted scents .
Ev’n the rough rocks with tender myrtles bloom,
And trodden weeds send out a rich pei.ume.
Bear me, some god, to Bail’s gentle seats,
Or cover me in Umbria’s green retreats,
Where western gales eternally reside.
And all the seasons lavish all their p- u e . _
Blossoms, and fruits, and flow’rs together rise,
And the whole year in gay confusion lies.
Immortal glories in my mind revive,
And in my soul a thousand passions strive,
When Rome’s exalted beauties I descry
Magnificent in piles of ruin lie.
An amphitheatre’s amazing height
Here fills my eye with terror and delight,
That on its public shows unpeopled Rome,
And held uncrowded nations in its womb *, #
Here pillars rough with sculpture pierce the skies.
And here the proud triumphal arches rise.
Where the old Romans deathless acts display d,
Their base degenerate progeny upbraid :
Whole rivers here forsake the fields below.
And wond’ring at their height thro’ airy channels flow.
Stilt to new scenes my wand’ring muse retires j
And the dumb show of breathing rocks admires j
Where the smooth chissel all its force has shown.
And soften’d into flesh the rugged stone..
In solemn silence, a majestic band.
Heroes, and gods, and Roman consuls stand.
Stern tyrants, whom their cruelties renown,
And emperors in Parian marble frown :
While the bright dames, to whom they humbly su d.
Still show the'charms that their proud hearts subdu d.
Fain would I Raphael’s godlike art rehearse,
And show th’ immortal labours in my verse,
Where from the mingled strength of shade and light
A new creation rises to tny sight,
Such heavenly figures from his pencil flow,
So warm with life his blended colours glow.
From theme to iheme with secret plea-uie tost,
Amidst the soft var.ety I’m lost.
Here pleasing airs my ravish’d soul confound
With circling notes and labyrinths of sound •,
Hire domes and temples rise in distant views,
And opening palaces invite my muse.
TRY. , . .
Hmt has kind heav’n adorn’d the happy la"cl,
And scatter’d blessings with a wasteful hand .
But what avail her unexhausted stoics,
Her blooming mountains, and her sunny s 01 ,
With all the gifts that heav n and earth impa ,
The smiles of nature, and the charms of ait,
While proud oppression in her valleys reig ,
And tyranny usurps her happy plains .
The poor inhabitant beholds in vain .
The red’ning orange and the swelling grain -
Joyless he sees the growing oils and wines,
And in the myrtle’s fragrant shade repines .
Starves, in the midst of nature s bounty curst,
And in the loaded vineyard dies tor thirst.
O liberty, thou goddess heav nly bright (
Profuse of bliss, and pregnant with deligh •
Eternal pleasures in thy presence reign,
And smiling plenty leads thy wanton train J
Eas’d of her load, subjection grows more light,
And poverty looks cheerful in thy sight ;
Thou mak’st the gloomy face of nature gay, -
Giv’st beauty to the sun, and pleasure to the d j.
Thee, goddess, thee, Britannia’s isle adores*,
How has she oft exhausted all her stores,
How oft in fields of death thy presence sought.
Nor thinks the mighty prize too dearly bought.
On foreign mountain may the sun rtime
The grape’s soft juice, and mellow it to wine,
With citron groves adorn a distant soil.
And the fat olive swell with floods of oil:
We envy not the warmer clime, that lies
In ten degrees of more indulgent skies,.
Nor at the coarseness of our heav’n repine,
Tho’ o’er our heads the frozen Pleiads shine :
’Tis liberty that crowns Britannia’s isle, LsraVe*
And makes her barren rocks and her bleak mountains
Others with tow’ring piles may please the sight,
And in their proud aspiring domes delight j
A nicer touch to the stretch’d canvas give,
Or teach their animated rocks to live :
’Tis Britain’s care to watch o’er Europe’s late,
And hold in balance each contending state,
To threaten bold presumptuous kings with war.
And answer her afflicted neighbour’s pray’r.
The Dane and Swede, rous’d up by fierce alarms.
Bless the wise conduct of her pious arms :
Soon as her fleets appear, their terrors cease,
And all the northern world lies hush’d in peace.
Th’ ambitious Gaul beholds with secret dread
Her thunder aim’d at his aspiring head.
And fain her godlike sons would disunite
By foreign gold, or by domestic spite;
But strives in vain to conquer or divide,
Whom Nassau’s arms defend and counsels guide.
Fir’d with the name, which l so oft have found
The distant climes and diff’rent tongues resound,
I bridle in my struggling muse with pain,
That longs to launch into a holder strain.
But i’ve already troubled you too long.
Nor dare attempt a more advent’rous song :
My humble verse demands a softer theme,
A painted meadow, or a purling stream ;
Unfit for heroes; whom immortal lays,
And lines like Virgil’s, or like yours, should praise.
They®
Part XT.
POE
Epistle.
There is a fine spirit of freedom, and love of liberty,
displayed in the following letter from Lord Lyttleton to
Mr Pope ; and the message irotn the shade of Virgil,
which is truly poetical, and justly preceptive, may prove
an useful lesson to future baids.
152
Lyttleton.
From Rome, 1730.
Immortal bard ! for whom each muse has wove
The fairest garlands of the Aonian grove $
Preserv’d, our drooping genius to restore,
When Addi«on and Congreve are no more}
After so many stars extinct in night,
The darken’d age’s last remaining light!
To thee from Latian realms this verse is writ,
Inspir’d by memory of ancient wit:
For now no more these climes their influence boast,
Fall’n is their glory, and their virtue lost j
From tyrants, and from priests, the muses fly,
Daughters of reason and of liberty.
Nor Baiae now nor Umbria’s plain they love,
Nor on the banks of Nar or Mincia rove j
To Thames’s flow’ry borders they retire,
And kindle in thy breast the Roman fire.
So in the shades, where cheer’d with summer rays
Melodious linnets warbled sprightly lays,
Soon as the faded, falling leaves complain
Of gloomy winter’s inauspicious reign,
No tuneful voief' is heard of joy or love,
But mournful silence saddens all the grove.
Unhappy Italy ! whose alter’d state
Has felt the worst severity of fate :
Not that barbarian hands her fasces broke,
And bow’d her haughty neck beneath their yokej
Nor that her palaces to earth are thrown,
Her cities desert, and her fields unsown j
But that her ancient spirit is decay’d,
That sacred wisdom from her bounds is fled,.
That there the source of science flows no more,
Whence its rich streams supply’d the world before.
Illustrious names! that once in Latium shin’d,
Born to instruct and to command mankind j
Chiefs, by whose virtue mighty Rome was rais’d,.
And poets, who those chiefs sublimely prais’d !
Oft I the traces you have left explore,
Your ashes visit, and your urns adore ;
Oft kiss, with lips devout, some mould’ring stone,.
With ivy’s venerable shade o’ergrown j
Those hallow’d ruins better pleas’d to see,
Than all the pomp of modern luxury.
As late on Virgil’s tomb fresh flow’rs I strow’d.
While with th’ inspiring muse my bosom glow’d,
Crown’d with eternal bays, my ravish’d eyes
Btheld the poet’s awful form arise:
Stranger, he said, whose pious hand has paid
These grateful rites to my attentive shade.
When thou shall breathe thy happy native air.
To Pope this message from his master bear.
Great bard, whose numbers I myself inspire,.
To whom I gave my own harmonious lyre,
If high exalted on the throne of wit,
Near me and Homer thou aspire to sit,1
No more let meaner satire dim the rays
That flow majestic from thy noble bays.
In all the flow’ry paths of Pindus stray :
But shun that thorny, that unpleasing way j
5
TRY.
Nor, when each soft engaging muije is thine,
Address the least attractive of the nine.
Of thee more worthy were the task to raise
A lasting column to thy country’s praise,
To sing the land, which yet alone can boast
That liberty corrupted Rome has lost j
W here science in the arms ol peace is laid,
And plants her palm beneath the olive’s shade.
Such wras the theme for which my lyre I strung,
Such was the people whose expipits 1 sung j
Brave, yet refin’d, for arms and arts renown’d,
With diff’rent bays by Mars and Phoebus crown’d,..
Dauntless opposers of tyrannic sway,
But pleas’d a mild Augustus to obey.
If these commands submissive thou receive.
Immortal and unblam’d thy name shall live j
Envy to black Cocytus shall retire,
And howl with furies in tormenting fire ;
Approving time shall consecrate thy lays,
And join the patriot’s to the poet’s praise.
The following letter from Mr Philips to the earl of
Dorset is entirely descriptive j but is one of those de¬
scriptions which will be ever read with delight.
Copenhagen, March 9. 1709.
From frozen climes, and endless tracts of snow,
From streams which northern winds forbid to flow,
What present shall the.muse to Dorset bring,
Or how, so near the pole, attempt to sing ?
The hoary winter here conceals from sight
All pleasing objects which to verse invite.
The hills and dales, and the delightful woods,
The flow’ry plains, and silver-streaming floods,
By snow disguis’d, in bright confusion lie,
And with one dazzling waste fatigue the eye.
No gentle breathing breeze prepares the spring,.
No birds within the desert region sing :
The ships, unmov’d, the boist’rous winds defy,
While rattling chariots o’er the ocean fly.
The vast Leviathan wants room to play,
And spout his waters in the face of day :
The starving wolves along the main sea sprowl,
And to the moon in icy valleys howl.
O’er many a shining league the level main
Here spreads itself into a glassy plain :
There solid billows of enormous size,
Alps of green ice, in wild disorder rise.
And yet but lately have I seen ev’n here,
The winter in a lovely dress appear.
Ere yet the clouds let fall the treasur’d snow.
Or winds began through hazy skies to blow,
At ev’ning a keen eastern breeze arose,
And the descending rain unsully’d froze j
Soon as the silent shades of night withdrew,
The ruddy morn disclos’d at once to view
The face of nature in a rich disguise,
And brighten’d every object to my eyes: :
For ev’ry shrub, and ev’rv blade of grass,
And ev’ry pointed thorn, seem’d wrought in glass j
In pearls and rubies rich the hawthorns show.
While through the ice the crimson berries glow.
The thick sprung reeds, which watery marshes yield/.
Seem’d polish’d lances in a hostile field.
The stag in limpid currents with surprise,
Sees crystal branches on-his forehead rise:
THi',
153
Philips,,
and
*54
Pope.
POE
3Lmc The spreading oak, the heeeh, and Wring pine,
Glaz’d over, in the freezmg eether slnne.
The frighted birds ihe rattling branches shun,
"Which wave and glitter in the distant sun.
When if a sudden gust ot wind arise,
The brittle forest into atoms flies,
The crackling wood beneath the tempest bends,
And in a spangled shower the prospect ends :
Or, if a southern gale the region warm,
And by degrees unbend the wmt ry charm,
The traveller a miry country sees, _
And journeys sad beneath the dropping trees :
Like some deluded peasant Merlin leads
Thro’ fragrant bow’rs and thro’ delicious meads,
"While here enchanted gardens to him rise,
And airy fabrics there attract his eyes,
His wandering feet the magic paths pursue,
And while he thinks the fair illusion true,
The trackless scenes disperse in fluid air,
And woods, and wilds, and thorny ways appear J
A tedious road the weary wretch returns,
And, as he goes, the transient vision mourns.
The great use of medals is properly described in the
ensuing elegant epistle from Mr Pope to Mr Addison ,
and the extravagant passion which some people entei4
only for the colour of them, is very agreeably and very
justly ridiculed.
See the wild waste of all devouring years .
How Rome her own sad sepulchre appears. ^
With nodding arches, broken temples sPread •
The very tombs now vanish like their dead.
Imperial wonders rais’d on nations spoil d, ,
Where mix’d with slaves the groaning martyr toil •
Huge theatres, that now unpeopled woods, ^
Now drain’d a distant country of her floods .
Fanes, which admiring gods with pride survey,
Statues.of men, scarce less alive than they .
Some felt the silent stroke of mould ring age,
Some hostile fury, some religious rage_
Barbarian blindness, Christian zeal conspire,
And papal piety, and Gothic fire.
Perhaps, by its own ruin sav’d from flame,
Some bury’d marble half preserves a name :
That name the learn’d with fierce disputes pursue,
And give to Titus old Vespasian’s due.
Ambition sigh’d : She found it vain to trust
The faithless column and the crumbling bust 5
Huge moles, whose shadow stretch’d from shore to shore,
Their ruins perish’d, and their place no more •,
Convinc’d, she now contracts her vast design,
And all her triumphs shrink into a coin.
A narrow orb each crowded conquer keeps,
Beneath her palm here sad Judaea weeps 5
Now scantier limits the proud arch confine.
And scarce are seen the prostrate Nile or Rhine 5
A small Euphrates through the piece is roll’d,
And little eagles wave their wings in gold.
The medal, faithful to its charge of fame,
Through climes and ages bears each form and name:
In one short view subjected to our eye,
Gods, emp’rors, heroes, sages, beauties, lie.
With sharpen’d sight pale antiquaries pore,
Th’ inscription value, but the rust adore.
TRY- ,
TUis Uie blue varnish,.that the
The sacred rust of twice ten hundred y(alb •
To gain Pescennius one employs his scheme ,
One erasps a Cecrops in ecstatic dreams.
Poor VatTius, long with learned ^'"^“our’d :
Can taste no pleasnre since his shield was
And Curio, restless by the fair one s side,
Sighs for an Otho, and neglects his bride.
Their’s is the vanity, the learning thine .
Touch’d by thy band, again Home s glories shine ,
Her god' and god-like heroes rise to view,
And all her faded garlands bloom anew.
Nor blush these studies thy regard engage ;
These pleas’d the fathers of poetic rage *,
The verse and sculpture bore an equal part,
And art reflected images to art._
Oh when shall Britain, conscious of her claim,
Stand emulous of Greek and Roman fame ?
In living medals see her wars enroll d,
And vanquish’d realms supply recording gold .
Here, rising bold, the patriot’s honest face •,
There, warriors frowning in historic brass .
Then future ages with delight shall see
How Plato’s, Bacon’s Newton’s, looks agree 5
Or in fair series laurell’d bards be shown,
A Virgil there, and here an Addison.
Then shall thy Craggs (and let me call him mine;
On the cast ore, another Pollio shine ;
With aspect open shall erect his head,
And round the orb in lasting notes be read,.
« Statesman, yet friend to truth ! of soul sincere,
“ In action faithful, and in honour clear *,
“ Who broke no promise, serv’d no private end,
“ Who gain’d no title, and who lost no friend j
Ennobled by himself, by all approv’d,
si Prais’d, wept, and honour’d, by the muse he lov d.
Part II.
Epistle.
We have already observed, that the essential, and
indeed the true characteristic of epistolary writing, is
ease ; and on this account, as well as others, the iol-
lowing letter from Mr Pope to Miss Blount is to be
admired.
To Miss Blount, on her leaving the Town after the
Coronation.
As some fond virgin, whom her mother’s care
Drags from the town to wholesome country air *,
Just when she learns to roll a melting eye,
And hear a spark, yet think no danger nigh,
From the dear man unwilling she must sever,
Yet takes one kiss before she parts for ever $
Thus from the world fair Zephalinda flew,
Saw others happy, and with sighs withdrew:
Not that their pleasures caus’d her discontent;
She sigh’d, not that they stay’d, but that she went.
She went, to plain work, and to purling brooks,
Old-fashion’d halls, dull aunts, and croaking rooks :
She went from op’ra, park, assembly, play,
To morning walks, and pray’rs three hours a-day $
To part her time ’twixt reading and bohea,
To muse, and spill her solitary tea,
Or o’er cold coffee trifle with the spoon,
Count the slow clock, and dine exact at noon j
Divert
Part T. FOE
Epistle. Divert lier eyes with pictures in the fire,
P* - ‘ * Hum half a tune, tell stories to the ’squire $
Up to her godiy garret after seven,
There starve and pray, for that’s the way to heav’n.
Some ’squire, perhaps, you take delight to rack j
Whose game is whisk, whose treat’s a toast in sack }
Who visits with a gun, presents you birds,
Then gives a smacking buss, and cries,—no words !
Or with his hound comes hollowing from the stable,
Makes love with nods, and knees beneath a table ;
Whose laughs are hearty, tho’ his jests are coarse,
And loves you best of all things—but his horse.
In some fair ev’ning, on your elbow laid,
You dream of triumphs in the rural shade j
In pensive thought recal the fancy’d scene,
See coronations rise on every green ;
Before you pass th’ imaginary sights
Of lords, and earls, and dukes, and garter’d knights,
While the spread fan o’ershades your closing eyes :
Then give one flirt, and all the vision flies.
Thus vanish sceptres, coronets, and balls,
And lea%e you in lone woods, or empty walls !
So when your slave, at some dear idle time,
(Not plagu’d with headachs, or the want of rhyme)
Stands in the streets, abstracted from the crew,
And while he seems to study, thinks of you :
Just when his fancy points your sprightly eyes,
Or sees the blush of soft Parthenia rise,
Gay pats my shoulder, and you vanish quite,
Streets, chairs, and coxcombs, rush upon my sight j
Vex’d to be still in town, I knit my brow,
Look sour, and hum a tune, as you may now.
Sect. VII. Of Desci'iptive Poetry.
I 15s . . . .
Descriptive DESCRIPTIVE poetry is of universal use, since there
poetry. nothing in nature but what may be described. As
poems of this kind, however, are intended more to de¬
light than to instruct, great care should be taken to
make them agreeable. Descriptive poems are made
beautiful by similies properly introduced, images of
feigned persons, and allusions to ancient families or his¬
torical facts ; as will appear by a perusal of the best of
these poems, especially Milton’s l?Allegro and 11 Peiise-
roso, Denham’s Cooper Hill, and Pope’s Windsor Forest.
Every body being in possession of Milton’s works, we
forbear inserting the two former *, and the others are
too long for our purpose. That inimitable poem, Ihe
Seasons, by Mr Thomson, notwithstanding some parts
of it are didactic, may be also with propriety referred
to this head.
Sect. VIII. Of Allegorical Poetry.
156 ...
Origin of Could truth engage the affections of mankind in
allcgorica' her native and simple dress, she would require no orna-
/)pctry. ments or aid from the imagination ; but her delicate
light, though lovely in itself, and dear to the most dis¬
cerning, does not strike the senses of the multitude so
as to secure their esteem and attention : the poets there¬
fore dressed her up in the manner in which they thought
Ishe would appear the most amiable, and called in alle¬
gories and airy disguises as her auxiliaries in the cause
ef virtue.
An allegory is a fable or story, in which, under the
TRY. 31
disguise of imaginary persons or things, some real action Allegorical.
or instructive moral is conveyed to the mind. Every v  
allegory therefore has two senses, the one literal and the
other mystical ’, the first has been aptly enough com¬
pared to a dream or vision, of which the last is the true
meaning or interpretation. J57
From this definition of allegorical poetry the readerTts c^arac“
will perceive that it gives great latitude to genius, andL
affords such a boundless scope for invention, that the
poet is allowed to soar beyond all creation j to give life
and action to virtues, vices, passions, diseases, and natu¬
ral and moral qualities; to raise floating islands, en¬
chanted palaces, castles, &c. and to people them with
the creatures of his own imagination.
The poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heav’n to earth, from earth to heav’n j
And, as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen
Turns them to shape, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name. Shakespeare.
But whatever is thus raised by the magic of his mind
must be visionary and typical, and the mystical sense
must appear obvious to the reader, and inculcate some,
moral or useful lesson in life j otherwise the whole will
be deemed rather the effects of a distempered brain, than
the productions of real wit and genius. The poet, like
Jason, may sail to parts unexplored, but will meet with
no applause if he returns without a golden fleece : for
these romantic reveries would be unpardonable but for
the mystical meaning and moral that is thus artfully and
agreeably conveyed with them, and on which account
only the allegory is indulged with a greater liberty than
any other sort ot writing.
The ancients justly considered this sort of allegory as
the most essential part of poetry *, for the power of rai¬
sing images of things not in being, giving them a sort
of life and action, and presenting them as it were before
the eyes, was thought to have something in it like cre¬
ation •, but then, in such compositions, they always ex¬
pected to find a meaning couched under them of conse¬
quence j and we may reasonably conclude, that the al¬
legories of their poets would never have been handed
down to us, had they been deficient in this respect. i _8
As the fable is the part immediately offered to the EsseiniaIs
reader’s consideration, and intended as an agreeable ve-0f a just
hide to convey the moral, it ought to be bold, lively, fable,
and surprising, that it may excite curiosity and support
attention ; for if the fable be spiritless and barren ot in¬
vention, the attention will be disengaged, and the mo¬
ral, however useful and important in itself, will be little
regarded.
There must likewise be a justness and propriety in
the fable, that is, it must be closely connected with the
subject on which it is employed ; for notwithstanding
the boundless compass allowed the imagination in these
writings, nothing absurd or useless is to be introduced.
In epic poetry some things may perhaps be admitted
for no other reason but to surprise, and to raise what is
called the wonderful, which is as necessary to the epic
as ihe probable; but in allegories, however wild and ex¬
travagant the fable and the persons introduced, each
must correspond with the subject they are applied to,
and, like the members of a well-written simile, bear a
due proportion and relation to each other: for we are
POE
at, to consider, tliat tlu- allegory is a sort of extended or
rather multiplied simile, and therelore, like that should
never lose the subject it is intended to illustrate.
Whence it will appear, that genius and fancy are here
insufficient without the aid of taste and judgment .
these first, indeed, may produce a multitude oi orna¬
ments, a wildernesss of sweets j but the last must >e
employed to accommodate them to reason, and to ar-
raive them so as to produce pleasure and profit.
But it is not sufficient that the falile be correspondent
with the subject, and have the properties above descri¬
bed ; for it mur,t also be consistent with itselt. 1 he
■noet may invent what story he pleases, and form any
imaginary beings that his fancy shall suggest •, but here,
as in dramatic writings, when persons are once intro¬
duced, they must be supported to the end, and all spea '
and act in character: for notwithstanding the general
licence here allowed, some order must be observed •,
and however wild and extravagant the characters, they
should not be absurd. To this let me add that the
whole must be clear and intelligible; for t ie tube
fas Mr Hughes observes) being designed only to clothe
and adorn the moral, but not to hide it, should re¬
semble the draperies we admire in some ol the ancient
statues, in which the folds are not too many nor too
thick, but so judiciously ordered, that the shape and
beauty of the limbs may be seen through them. —
But this will more obviously appear from a perusal ol
the best compositions of this class ; such as Spenser s
Fairv Queen, Thomson’s Castle of Indolence, Addison
and Johnson’s b- autiful allegories in the Spectator and
Bambler, &.c. &c. .
The word al/cgonj has been used in a more extensive
sense than that it. which we have here applied it : for
all writings, where the moral is conveyed under the co¬
ver of borrowed characters and actions, by which oilier
characters and actions (that are real) are represented,
have obtained the name of allegories; though the table
or story contains nothing that is visionary or romantic,
but is made up of real or historical persons, and of ac¬
tions either probable or possible. But these writings
should undoubtedly be distinguished by some other
name, because the literal sense is consistent with right
reason, and mav convey an useful moral, and satisfy
the reader, without putting him under the necessity of
seeking for another.
Some of the ancient critics, as Mr Addison observes,
were fond of giving the works of their poets this second
or concealed meaning, though there was no apparent
necessity for the attempt, and often but little show of
reason in the application. I bus the Iliad and Odyssey
of Homer are said to be fables of this kind, and that
the gods and heroes introduced are only the affections of
the mind represented in a visible shape and character.
They tell us, says he, that Achilles in the first Iliad
represents anger, or the irascible part of human nature :
that upon drawing his sword against his superior, in a
full assembly, Pallas (which, say they, is another name
for reason) checks and advises him on the occasion, and
at her first appearance touches him upon the head ; that
part of the man being looked upon as the seat of reason.
In this sense, as Mr Hughes has well observed, the
whole TEneis of Virgil may be said to be an allegory,
if you suppose /Eneas to represent Augustus Ceesar,
and that his conducting the remains of his countrymen
T R Y. Part 11,
from the ruins of Troy, to a new settlement in Italy, is AlI^orK-al.
an emblem of Augustus’s tornung -a new government v
out of the ruins of the aristocracy, and establishing the
Romans, after the conclusion of the civil w«i, in a
peaceable and flourishing condition. However ingem
!>ns this coincidence mav appear and whatever design
Virgil had in view, he has avoided a P^^.dar and m-
rect application, and ^conducted his poem, that it is per¬
fect without any allegorical mterpretation ; tor whether
we consider ^Eneas or Augustus as the hero, themoial
contained are equally instructive. And indeed it seems
absurd to suppose, that because the epic poets have in¬
troduced some allegories into their works, every thing
is to be understood in a mystical manner, where the
sense is plain and evident without any such application.
Nor is the attempt that Tasso made to turn his Jeru-
s Jem into a mystery, any particular recommendation of
the work : for notwithstanding he tel s us m what is
called the allegory, printed with it, that the Christian
army represents man, the city of Jerusalem civil happi¬
ness Codify the understanding, Rinaldo and l ancred
the other powers of the soul, and that the body is ty¬
pified by the common soldiers and the like; yet the
reader will find himself as little delighted as edified by
the explication : for the mind has little pleasure in an
allegory that cannot be opened without a key made by
the hand of the same artist ; and indeed every allegory
that is so dark, and, as it were, inexplicable, loses its
very essence, and becomes an enigma or riddle, that is
left'to he interpreted by every crude imagination. ^
This last species of writing, whether called an alle- The an-
„orij or by any other name, is not less eminent and ci. nt para-
useful ; for the introducing of real or historical persons bie.
may not abridge or lessen either our entertainment or
instruction. In these compositions we often meet with
an uncommon moral conveyed by the fable in a new
and entertaining manner; or with a known truth so
artfully decorated, and placed in such a new and beau¬
tiful light, that we are amazed how any thing so charm¬
ing and useful should so long have escaped our obser¬
vation. Such, for example, are many of Johnson’s
pieces published in the Rambler under the title of
Eastern Stories, and by Hawkesworth in the Adven-
turer. # . . .
The ancient parables are of this species of writing:
and it is to be observed, that those in the New Testa¬
ment have a most remarkable elegance and propriety ;
and are the most striking, and the most instructive, for
being drawn from objects that are familiar.—1 he more
striking, because, as the things are seen, the moral con¬
veyed becomes the object of our senses, and requires lit¬
tle or no reflection: —the more instructive, because every
time they are seen, the memory is awakened, and the
same moral is again exhibited with pleasure to the mind,
and accustoms it to reason and dwell on the subject. So
that this method of instruction improves nature, as it
were, into a book of life ; since every thing before us
may be so managed, as to give lessons for our advantage.
Our Saviour’s parables of the sower and the seed, of the
tares, of the mustard-seed, and of the leaven (Matthew
xiii ), are all of this kind, and were obviously taken
from the harvest just ripening before him ; for /us clis-
eiples plucked the ears of corn and did eat, rubbing
them in their hands. See the articles Allygory, and
Metaphor and Allegory, in the general alphabet.
Sect- *
¥ O
Part II.
E
Of Fables.
160
The apo¬
logue of
fabie.
i6t
Rules for
its con¬
struction.
!3EcT. IX. Of Fables.
No method of instruction has been more ancient,
more universal, and probably none more effectual, than
that by apologue or fable. In the first ages, amongst a
rude and fierce people, this perhaps was the only method
that would have been borne: and even since the pro¬
gress of learning has furnished other helps, the fable,
which at first was used through necessity, is retained
from choice, on account of the elegant happiness of its
manner, and the refined address with which, when well
conducted, it insinuates its moral.
As to the actors in this little drama, the fabulist has
authority to press into his service, every kind of exist¬
ence under heaven ; not only beasts, birds, insects, and
all the animal creation*, but flowers, shrubs, trees, and
all the tribe of vegetables. liven mountains, fossils, mi¬
nerals, and the inanimate works of nature, discourse ar¬
ticulately at his command, and act the part which he
assigns them, The virtues, vices, and every property
of beings, receive from him a local habitation and a
name. In short, be may personify, bestow life, speech,
and action, on whatever be thinks proper.
It is easy to imagine what a source of novelty and
Variety this must open to a genius capable of concei¬
ving and of employing these ideal persons in a proper
manner*, what an opportunity it affords him to diver¬
sify his images, and to treat the fancy with changes
of objects, while he strengthens the understanding, or
regulates the passions, by a succession of truths. To
raise beings like these into a state of action and intel¬
ligence, gives the fabulist an undoubted claim to that
first character of the poet, a creator.
When these persons are once raised, we must care¬
fully enjoin them proper tasks, and assign them senti¬
ments and language suitable to their several natures
and respective properties. A raven should not be ex¬
tolled for her voice, nor a bear be represented with an
elegant shape. It were a very obvious instance of ab¬
surdity, to paint a hare cruel, or a wolf compassion¬
ate. An ass were but ill qualified to be general of
an army, though he may well enough serve, perhaps,
for one of the trumpeters. But so long as popular
opinion allows to the lion magnanimity, rage to the
tiger, strength to the mule, cunning to the fox, and
buffoonery to the monkey *, why may not they support
the characters of an Agamemnon, Achilles, Ajax, Ulys¬
ses, and Thersites ? The truth is, when moral actions
are with judgment attributed to the brute creation, we
scarce perceive that nature is at all violated by the fabu¬
list. He appears at most to have only translated their
language. His lions, wolves, and foxes, behave and
argue as those ereatures would, had they originally
been endowed with the human faculties of speech and
reason.
But greater art is yet required whenever we personify
inanimate beings. Here the copy so far deviates from
the great lines of nature, that, without the nicest care,
reason will revolt against the fiction. However, beings
of this sort, managed ingeniously and with address, re¬
commend the fabulist’s invention by the grace of no¬
velty and of variety. Indeed the analogy between things
natural and artificial, animate and inanimate, is often so
Very striking, that we can, with seeming propriety, give
Vol. XVII, Part I. I*
T rt Y. ' 3
passions and sentiments to every individual part of exist- Of Fables
ence. Appearance favours the deception. The vine may ' v 
he enamoured of the elm j her embraces testify her pas¬
sion. The swelling mountain may, naturally enough,
be delivered of a mouse. The gourd may reproach the
pine, and the sky-rocket insult the stars. The axe may
solicit a new handle of the forest; and the moon, in her
female character, request a fashionable garment. Here
is nothing incongruous j nothing that shocks the reader
with impropriety. On the other hand, were the axe to
desire a periwig, and the moon petition for a new pair
of boots, probability would then be violated, and the ab¬
surdity become too glaring.
The most beautiful fables that ever were invented
may be disfigured by the language in which they are 162
clothed. Of this poor ^sop, in some of his English The pra-
dresses, affords a melancholy proof. The ordinary style
of fable should be familiar, but also elegant.
The familiar, says M. La Motte, is the general tone
or accent of fable. It was thought sufficient, on its first
appearance, to lend the animals our most common lan¬
guage. Nor indeed have they any extraordinary pre¬
tensions to the sublime*, it being requisite they should
speak with the same simplicity that they behave.
The familiar also is more proper for insinuation thati
the elevated j this being the language of reflection,
as the former is the voice of sentiment. We guard
ourselves against the one, but lie. open to the other*,
and instruction will always the most effectually sway
us, when it appears least jealous of its rights and pri¬
vileges.
The familiar style, however, that is here required,
notwithstanding that appearance of ease which is its
character, is perhaps more difficult to write than the
more elevated or sublime. A writer more readily per¬
ceives when he has risen above the common language,
than he perceives, in speaking this language, whether
he has made the choice that is most suitable to the oc<-
casion : and it is nevertheless, upon this happy choice
that all the charms of the familiar depend. Moreover,
the elevated style deceives and seduces, although it be
not the best chosen 5 whereas the familiar can procure
itself no sort of respect, if it he not easy, natural, just,
delicate, and unaffected. A fabulist must therefore be¬
stow great attention upon his style j and even labour it
so much the more, that it may appear to have cost him
no pains at all.
The authority of Fontaine justifies these opinions in
regard to style. His fables are perhaps the best ex¬
amples of the genteel familiar, as Sir Boger 1’Estrange
affords the grossest of the indelicate and low. When
we read, that “ while the frog and the mouse were dis¬
puting it at swords-point, down comes a kite powder
ing upon them in the interim, and gobbles up both to¬
gether to part the fray; and “ where the fox reproaches
a bevy of jolly gossipping wenches making merry over a
dish of pullets, that if he but peeped into a hen-roost,
they always made a bawling with their dogs and their
bastards ; while you yourselves (says he) can lie stuffing
your guts with your hens and capons, and not a word
of the pudding.” This may he familiar ; but it is also
coarse and vulgar, and cannot fail to disgust a reader
that has the least degree of taste or delicacy.
The style of fable then must be simple and familiar;
and it must likewise be correct and elegant. By the
E former,
,, POE
«. * i former we mean, that it should not be loaded with
^^Lfumre Lnd metaphor; that the disposition of words be
natural, the turn of sentences easy, and their construction
unembarrassed. By elegance, we would exclude all coarse
and provincial terms; all affected and puenle conceits ,
all obsolete and pedantic phrases, lo this we would ad
join, as the word perhaps implies, a certain finishing po¬
lish, which gives a grace and spirit to the 'vhole and
which, though it have always the appearance ol nature,
is almost ever the effect of art.
But notwithstanding all that has been said, there are
some occasions on which it is allowable, and even expe¬
dient, to change the style. The language of a fable must
rise or fall in conformity to the subject A lion, when in¬
troduced in his regal capacity, must hold discourse in a
strain somewhat more elevated than a country mouse.
The lioness then becomes his queen, and the beasts ot
the forest are called his subjects ; a method that oflers
at once to the imagination both the animal and the per¬
son he is designed to represent. Again, the buftoon-
monkey should avoid that pomp of phrase, which the
owl employs as her best pretence to wisdom. Unless
the style be thus judiciously varied, it will be impossible
to preserve a just distinction of character.
Descriptions, at once concise and pertinent, add a
grace to fable ; but are then most happy when inclu¬
ded in the action : whereof the fable of Boreas and the
Sun affords us an example. An epithet well chosen is
often a description in itself; and so much the more
agreeable, as it the less retards us in our pursuit ot the
catastrophe.
Lastly, little strokes of humour when arising natu¬
rally from the subject, and incidental reflections when
kept in due subordination to the principal, add a value
to these compositions. These latter, however, should
be employed very sparingly, and with great address ;
be very few, and very short : it is scarely enough that
they naturally spring out of the subject ; they should
be such as to appear necessary and essential parts ot the
fable. And when these embellishments, pleasing in
themselves, tend to illustrate the main action, they
then afford that nameless grace remarkable in Fontaine
and some few others, and which persons of the best
discernment will more easily conceive than they can
explain.
Sect. X. Of Satire.
Origin of Tuts kind of poem is of very ancient date, and (if
satire. ^ bej;eve Horace) was introduced, by vyay of inter¬
lude, by the Greek dramatic poets in their tragedies,
to relieve the audience, and take off the force of those
strokes which they thought too deep and affecting. In
these satirical interludes, the scene was jaid in the
country ; and the persons were rural deities, satyrs,
country peasants, and other rustics.
The first Tragedians found that serious style
Too grave for their uncultivated age,
And so brought wild and naked satyrs in
(Whose motion, words, and shape were all a farce)
As oft as decency would give them leave;
Because the mad, ungovernable rout.
Full of confusion and the fumes of wine,
Lov’d such variety and antic tricks.
Roscommon's Horace
T H Y. Part II.
The satire we now have is generally allowed to he °f OtSaUw.
Roman invention. It was first introduced v
decorations of scenes and action ; but written n ver e
of dXrent measures by Ennius, and afterwards mould-
fdintoThe form we now have it by Luc.l.us, whom
Horace has imitated, and mentions with esteem. Ibis
“re opinion of most of the critics, and particularly of
Boileau, who says,
Lucilius led the way, and bravely bold,
To Roman vices did the mirror hold ;
Protected humble goodness from reproach,
Show’d worth on foot, and rascals in a coach.
Horace his pleasing wit to this did add, .
That none, uncensur’d, might be fools or mad .
And Juvenal, with rhetorician’s rage,
Scourg’d the rank vices of a wicked age ;
Tho’ horrid truths thro’ all his labours shine,
In what he writes there’s something of divine.
Our satire, therefore, maybe distinguished into two
kinds; the jocose, or that which makes sport with vice
and folly, and sets them up to ridicule ; and the serious,
or that which deals in asperity, and is severe and acri¬
monious. Horace is a perfect master of the tirst, and
Juvenal much admired for the last. The one is face¬
tious, and smiles : the other is angry, and storms. Hie
foibles of mankind are the object of one ; but crimes
of a deeper dye have engaged the other. 1 hey both
agree, however, in being pungent and biting : and from
a due consideration of the writings of these authors, who
are our masters in this art, we may define satire to be, 164
A free, (and often jocose), witty, and sharp poem, Definition
wherein the follies and vices of men are lashed and ri¬
diculed in order to their reformation. Its subject is
whatever deserves our contempt or abhorrence, (includ¬
ing every thing that is ridiculous and absurd, or scanda¬
lous and repugnant to the golden precepts of religion
and virtue). Its manner is invective; and its end,
shame. So that satire may be looked upon as the phy¬
sician of a distempered mind, which it endeavours to
cure by bitter and unsavoury, or by pleasant and salu¬
tary, applications. 165
A good satirist ought to be a man ot wit and ad- Qualities
dress, sagacity and eloquence. He should also have a of a good
great deal of good-nature, as all the sentiments which
are beautiful in this way of writing must proceed from
that quality in the author. It is good-nature produces
that disdain of all baseness, vice, and folly, which
prompts the poet to express himself with such smartness
against the errors of men, but without bitterness to
their persons. It is this quality that keeps the mind
even, and never lets an offence unseasonably throw the
satirist out of his character.
In writing satire, care should be taken that it be true
and general ; that is, levelled at abuses in which num¬
bers are concerned : for the personal kind of satire, or
lampoon, which exposes particular characters, and af¬
fects the reputation of those at whom it is pointed, is
scarcely to be distinguished from scandal and defamation.
The poet also, whilst lie is endeavouring to correct the
guilty, must take care not to use such expressions as
may corrupt the innocent: he must therefore avoid all
obscene words and images that tend to debase and mis¬
lead the mind, Horace and Juvenal, the chief satirists
among
part II.
£ 0 E
166
Proper
stjle of
satire.
Of Satire, among the Itomahs, ai’e faulty in tins respect, and ought
to be read with caution.
The style proper for satire is sometimes grave and
animated, inveighing against vice with warmth and ear¬
nestness } but that which is pleasant, sportive, and, with
becoming raillery, banters men out of their bad disposi¬
tions, has generally the best effect, as it seems only to
play with their follies, though it omits no opportunity
of making them feel the lash. The verses should be
smooth and flowing, and the language manly, just, and
decent.
Of well-chose words some take not care enough,
And think they should be as the subject rough :
But satire must be more exactly made,
And sharpest thoughts in smoothest words convey’d.
Duke of Bucks’s Essay.
Satires, either of the jocose or serious kind, may be
written in the epistolary manner, or by way of dialogue.
Horace, Juvenal, and Persius, have given us examples
of both. Nay, some of Horace’s satires may, without
incongruity, be called epistles, and his epistles satires.
But this is obvious to every reader.
Of the facetious kind, the second satire of the se¬
cond book of Horace imitated by Mr Pope, and Swift’s
verses on his own death, may be referred to as ex¬
amples.
As to those satires of the serious kind, for which Ju¬
venal is so much distinguished, the characteristic pro¬
perties of which are, morality, dignity, and severity j
a better example, cannot be mentioned than the poem
entitled London, written in imitation of the third satire
of Juvenal, by Dr Johnson, who has kept up to the
spirit and force of the original.
Nor must we omit to mention Dr Young’s Loiie of
Fame the Universal Passion, in seven satires ; which*
though characteristical, abound with morality and good
sense. The characters are well selected, the ridicule
is high, and the satire well pointed and to the pur¬
pose.
We have already observed, that personal satire ap¬
proaches too near defamation, to deserve any counte¬
nance or encouragement. Dryden’s Alack F/ecknoe is
For this reason exceptionable, but as a composition it is
inimitable.
feenefits of We have dwelt thus long on the present subject, be*
well con- cause there is reason to apprehend, that the benefits ari-
^te<^ Sa~ sing from well-conducted satire have not been sufficient¬
ly considered. A satire may often do more service to
the cause of religion and virtue than a sermon ; since
it gives pleasure, at the same time that it creates fear
or indignation, and conveys its sentiments in a manner
the most likely to captivate the mind.
Of all the ways that wisest men could find
To mend the age and mortify mankind,
Satire well writ has most successful prov’d,
And cures, because the remedy is lov’d.
Huke of Bucks’s Essay.
But to produce the desired effect, it must be jocose,
free, and impartial, though severe. The satirist should
always preserve good humour} and, however keen he
cuts, should cut with kindness. When he loses temper,
liis weapons will be inverted, and the ridicule he threw
at others will retort with contempt upon himself j tor
TRY. 55
the reader will perceive that he is angry and hurt, and Of Satire,
consider his satire as the effect of malice, not of judge¬
ment } and that it is intended rather to wound persons
than reform manners.
Rage you must hide, and prejudice lay down :
A satyr’s smile is sharper than his frown.
The best, and indeed the only, method to expose vice
and folly effectually, is to turn them to ridicule, and
hold them up for public contempt} and as it most of¬
fends these objects of satire, so it least hurts ourselves.
One passion frequently drives out another; and as we
cannot look with indifference on the bad actions of men
(for they must excite either our wrath or contempt), it
is prudent to give way to that which most ofl’ends vice
and folly, and least affects ourselves; and to sneer and
laugh, rather than be angry and scold.
Burlesque poetry, which is chiefly used by way of®urles(lue
drollery and ridicule, falls properly to be spoken ofP0^try.“r
under the head of satire. An excellent example of\;|^jjjn^  
th is kind is a poem in blank verse, intitled Jhe Splendidww&ihv&t.
Shilling, written by Mr John Philips, which, in the opi¬
nion of one of the best judges of the age, is the finest
burlesque in the English language. In this poem the
author has handled a low subject in the lofty style and
numbers of Milton } in which way of writing Mr Phi¬
lips has been imitated by several, but none have come
up to the humour and happy turn of the original. When
We read it, we are betrayed into a pleasure that we
could not expect} though, at the same time, the subli¬
mity of the style, and gravity of the phrase, seem to
chastise that laughter which they provoke.
There is another sort of verse and style, which is most
frequently made use of in treating any subject in a lu¬
dicrous manner, vix. that which is generally called Ilu-
dibrastic, from Butler’s admirable poem intitled liucTi-
bras. Almost every one knows, that this poem is a sa¬
tire upon the authors of our civil dissensions in the reign
of King Charles I. wherein the poet has, with abundance
of wit and humour, exposed and ridiculed the hypocrisy
Or blind zeal of those unhappy times. In short, it is a
kind of burlesque epic poem, which, for the oddity of
the rhymes, the quaintness of the similies, the novelty of
the thoughts, and that fine raillery which runs through
the whole performance, is not to be paralleled.
Sect. XI. Of the Epigram*
The epigram is a little poem, or composition in verse, Character
treating of one thing only, and whose distinguishing of t^e epi-
characters are, brevity, beauty, aild point. gram.
The word epigram signifies “ inscription }” for epi¬
grams derive their origin from those inscriptions placed
by the ancients on their statues, temples, pillars, triumphal
arches, and the like ; which, at first, were very short, liv ¬
ing sometimes no more than a single tvord j but after¬
wards, increasing their length, they made them in verse,
to be the better retained by the memory. This short
way of writing came at last to be used upon any occa¬
sion or subject} and hence the name of epigram has
been given to any little copy of verses, Without regard
to the original application of such poetns.
Its usual limits are from two to 20 verses, though
sometirrtes it extends to 50 ; but the shorter, the better
it is, and the more perfect, as it partakes more of the
£2 nature
3^
Epigram,
POE
nature and character of this kind of poem: besides,
the epigram, being only a single thought, ought o e
expressed in a little compass, or else it loses its
and strength. . .
The beauty required in an epigram is an harmony
and apt agreement of all its parts, a sweet simplicity,
TRY.
’Tis Chloe’s eye, and cheek, and lip, and breast:
Friend Howard’s genius fancy’d ail the rest.
Most of Mr Prior’s epigrams are of this delicate cast,
and have the thought, like those pt Catullus, ditlused
through the whole. Of this kind is his address
Part II.
Epigram.
170
Of what
Mibjf ts it
admits.
171
Examples,
of English
epigi ams
remarkable
fjr their
delicacy,
and
and polite language. „ .
The point is a sharp, lively, unexpected turn of wit,
with which an epigram ought to be concluded. 1 here
are some critics, indeed, who will not admit tie poin
in an epigram*, but require that the thought be e<lLia y
diffused through the whole poem, which is usuaHy the
practice of Catullus, as the former is that of Martial.
It is allowed there is more delicacy in the manner ot
Catullus ; but the point is more agreeable to the gene¬
ral taste, and seems to be the chief characteristic ol the
epigram. » 1 •
This sort of poem admits of all manner of subjects,
provided that brevity, beauty, and point, are preser¬
ved j but it is generally employed either in praise or
Though the best epigrams are said to be such as are
comprised in two or four verses, we are not to understand
it as if none can be perfect which exceed those limits.
Neither the ancients nor moderns have been so scrupu¬
lous with respect to the length of their epigrams ; but,
however, brevity in general is always to be studied in
these compositions. . , ,
For examples of good epigrams in the English lan¬
guage, we sh ill make choice of several in the different
tastes we have mentioned *, some remarkable for their de¬
licate turn and simplicity of expression ; and others tor
their salt and sharpness, their equivocating P«‘b or Plea*
sant allusion. In the first place, take that of Mr Pope,
said to he written on a glass with the earl ot Uiestei-
field’s diamond-pencil.
Accept a miracle, instead of wit;
See two dull lines by Stanhope’s pencil writ.
The beauty of this epigram is more easily seen than
described ; and it is difficult to determine, whether it
does more honour to the poet who wrote it, or to the
nobleman for whom the compliment is designed.—1 he
following epigram of Mr Prior is written in the same
taste, being a fine encomium on the performance ol an
sxcellent painter.
On a Flower, painted by Varelst.
When fam’d Varelst this little wonder drew,
Flora vouchsaf’d the growing work to view ;
Finding the painter’s science at a stand,
The goddess snatch’d the pencil from his hand,
And, finishing the piece, she smiling said,
Behold one work of mine which ne'er shall fade.
See, whilst thou weep’st, fair Chloe, see
The world in sympathy with thee.
The cheerful birds no longer sing,.
Each drops his head, and hangs his wing.
The clouds have bent their bosom lower,
And shed their sorrow in a shower.
The brooks beyond their limits flow,
And louder murmurs speak their wo :
The nymphs and swains adopt thy caies ;
They heave thy sighs, and weep thy tears.
Fantastic nymph ! that griel should move
Thy heart obdurate against love.
Strange tears ! whose povv’r can soften all
But that dear breast on which they tall.
The epigram written on the leaves of a fan by Dr
Atterhury, late bishop ol Rochester, contains a pretty
thought, expressed with ease and conciseness, and clo¬
sed in a beautiful manner.
On a Fan.
FI avia the least and slightest toy
Can with resistless art employ.
This fan in meaner hands would prove
An engine of,small force in love.
Yet she, with graceful air and mien,
Not to be told or safely seen,
Directs its wanton motion so,
That it wounds more than Cupid’s how,
Gives coolness to the matchless dame,
To ev’ry other breast a flame. ^
We shall now select some epigrams of the biting and for thei?
satirical kind, and such as turn upon the pun or equi- point.
voque, as the French call it: in which sort the point
is more conspicuous than in those ol the lormer cha¬
racter.
The following distich is an admirable epigram, ha¬
ving all the necessary qualities ol one, especially point
and brevity.
On a Company of bad Dancers to good Music.
How ill the motion with the music suits !
So Orpheus fiddled, and so danc’d the brutes.
This brings to mind another epigram upon a bad
fiddler, which we shall venture to insert merely for
the humour of it, and not for any real excellence it
contains.
Another compliment of this delicate kind he has made
Mr Howard in the following epigram.
Venus Mistaken.
When Chloe’s picture was to Venus shown ;
Surpris’d, the goddess took it for her own.
And what, said she, does this hold painter mean P
When was I bathing thus, and naked seen ?
Pleas’d Cupid heard, and check’d his mother’s pride :
And who’s blind now, mamma ? the urchin cry’d.
To a bad FlDDLER.
Old Orpheus play’d so well, he mov’d Old Nick ;
But thou mov’st nothing but thy fiddle stick.
One of Martial’s epigrams, where he agreeably rallieB
the foolish vanity of a man who hired people to make
verses for him, and publish them as his own, has been
thus translated into English.
Paul, so fond of the name of a poet is grown,
With gold he buys verses, and calls them his own.
Part Tl.
POETRY.
37
Epigram.
Go on, master Paul, nor mind what the world says,
They are surely his own for which a man pays.
Some bad writer having taken the liberty to censure
Mr Prior, the poet very wittily lashed his impertinence
in this epigram :
While faster than his costive brain indites
Philo’s quick hand in flowing letters writes,
His case appears to me like honest Teague’s
When he was run away with by his legs.
Phoebus, give Philo o’er himself command $
Quicken his senses, or restrain his hand :
Let him be kept from paper, pen, and ink ;
So he may cease to write, and learn to think.
Mr Wesley has given us a pretty epigram, alluding
to a well-known text of Scripture on the setting up a
monument in Westminster Abbey, to the memory of the
ingenious Mr Butler, author of Hudibras.
While Butler, needy wretch, was yet alive.
No generous patron would a dinner give.
S--e him when starv’d to death, and turn’d to dust,
Presented with a monumental bust !
The poet’s fate is here in emblem shown ;
He ask’d for Bread, and he receiv’d a Stone.
We shall close this section with an epigram written
on the well known story of Apollo and Daphne, by Mr
Smart.
When Phcebus was am’rous and long’d to be rude,
M iss Daphne cried Pish ! and ran swift to the wood ;
And rather than do such a naughty affair,
She became a fine laurel to deck the god’s hair.
The nymph was, no doubt of a cold constitution j
For sure, to turn tree was an odd resolution !
Yet in hi* she behav’d like a true modern spouse,
For she fled from his arms to distinguish his brows.
Sect. XII. Of the Epitaph.
Character These compositions generally contain some eulogium
of the epi of the virtues and good qualities of the deceased, and
taph. have a turn of seriousness and gravity adapted to the
nature of the subject. Their elegance consists in a
nervous and expressive brevity ; and sometimes they are
closed with an epigrammatic point. In these composi¬
tions, no mere epithet (properly so called) should he
admitted : for here illustration would impair the
strength, and render the sentiment too diffuse and
languid. Words that are synonymous are also to be
rejected.
Though the true characteristic of the epitaph is se¬
riousness and gravity, yet we may find many that are
jocose and ludicrous : some likewise have true metre
and rhyme; while others are between prose and verse,
without any certain measure, though the words are truly
poetical ; and the beauty of this last sort is geneially
heightened by an apt and judicious antithesis. We
shall give examples of each.
The following epitaph on Sir Philip Sydney’s sister,
the countess of Pembroke, said to be written by the fa¬
mous Ben Jon-on, is remarkable for the noble thought
with which it concludes.
5
On Mary Countess-doivager of Pembroke.
Underneath this marble hearse,
Lies the subject of all verse,
Sidney’s sister, Pembroke’s mother :
Death, ere thou hast kill’d another
Fair, and learn’d, and good as she,
Time shall throw a dart at thee.
Take another epitaph of Ben Johnson’s, on a beauti¬
ful and virtuous lady, which has been deservedly admir¬
ed by very good judges.
Underneath this stone doth lie
As much virtue as could die ;
Which when alive did vigour give
To as much beauty as could live.
The following epitaph by Dr Samuel Johnson, on a
musician much celebrated for his performance, will bear
a comparison with these, or perhaps with any thing of
the kind in the English language.
Philips ? whose touch harmonious could remove
The pangs of guilty pow’r and hapless love,
Rest here, distrest by poverty no more ;
Find here that calm thou gav’st so oft before ;
Sleep undisturb’d within this peaceful shrine,
Till angels wake thee with a note like thine.
It is the just observation of an eminent critic, that
the best subject for epitaphs is private virtue ; virtue
exerted in the same circumstances in which the bulk of
mankind are placed, and which, therefore, may admit
of many imitators. He that has delivered his country
from oppression, or freed the world from ignorance and
error, besides that he stands in no need of monumentaL
panegyric, can excite the emulation of a very small
number. The bare name of such men answers every
purpose of a long inscription, because their achievements
are universally known, and their fame is immortal.—
But the virtues of him who has repelled the tempta¬
tions of poverty, and disdained to free himself from di¬
stress at the expence of his honour or his conscience, as
they were practised in private, are fit to be told, because
they may animate multitudes to the same firmness of
heart and steadiness of resolution. On this account,
there are few epitaphs of more value than the following,
which was written by Pope on Mrs Corbet, who died...
of a cancer in her breast.
Here rests a woman, good without pretence,
Blest with plain reason, and with sober sense;
No conquest she, but o’er herself desir’d;
No arts essav’d, but not to be admir’d.
Passion and pride were to her soul unknown,
Convinc’d that virtue only is our own.
So unaffected, so compos’d a mind,
So firm, yet soft, so strong, yet so refin’d,
I leav’n, as its purest gold, by tortures try’d ;
The saint sustain’d it, but the woman dy’d.
This epitaph, as well as the second quoted from Be» •
Johnson, has indeed one fault ; the name is omitted.
Tire end of an epitaph is to convey some account of the
dead; and to what purpose is any thing told of him
whose:
Epitaph.
<   »
x74
Epitaphs
in verse,
with re¬
marks up-
eu them.
38
Epitaph.
POE
whose name is concealed ? The name, it is true, may be
' inscribed by itself upon the stone $ but such a shift ot
the poet is like that of an unskilful painter, who is obli¬
ged to make his purpose known by adventitious help.
Amongst the epitaphs of a punning and ludicrous
cast, we know of none prettier than that which is said
to have been written by Mr Prior on himself, wherein
he is pleasantly satirical upon the folly of those who
value themselves upon account of the long series ot an*
cestors through which they can trace their pedigree.
Nobles and heralds, by your leave,
Here lie the bones of Matthew Prior,
The son of Adam and of Eve :
Let Bourbon or Nassau go higher.
The following epitaph on a miser contains a good
caution and an agreeable raillery.
Reader, beware immod’rate love of pelf: _
Here lies the worst of thieves, who robb’d himself.
But Dr Swift’s epitaph on the same subject is a ma¬
sterpiece of the kind.
Beneath this verdant hillock lies
Demer, the wealthy and the wise.
His heirs, that he might safely rest,
Have put his carcase in a chest:
The very chest, in which, they say,
His other Self, his money, lay.
And if his heirs continue kind
To that dear self he left behind,
I dare believe that four in five
Will think his better half alive.
We shall give but one example more of this kirid
which is a merry epitaph on an old fiddler, who was
remarkable (we may suppose) for beating time to his
own music.
On Stephen the Fiddler.
Stephen and time are now both even ;
Stephen beat time, now time’s beat Stephen.
Epitaphs We are come now to that sort of epitaph which re¬
in prose jects rhyme, and has no certain and deteiminate mea-
encomiastie gure . 1^ where the diction must be pure and strong,
atid every word have weight, and the antithesis be preser¬
ved in a clear and direct opposition. We cannot give
' ^ better example of this sort of epitaph than that on
the tomb of Mr Pulteney in the cloisters of Westmin-
ster-abbey.
Reader,
If thou art a BitITON,
Behold this Tomb with Reverence and Regret:
Here lie the Remains of
Daniel Pulteney,
The kindest Relation, the truest Friend,
The warmest Patriot, the worthiest Man.
He exercised Virtues in this x\ge,
Sufficient to have distinguished him even in the best.
Sagacious by Nature,
Industrious by Habit,
Inquisitive with art •,
He gain’d a complete Rnowledge of the state of Britain,
Foreign and Domestic j
3
rji Part IT,
In most the backward Fruit of tedious Experience, Epitapi,.
In him the early acquisition of und.ss,paled loutb.    1
He serv’d the Court several 1 ears :
Abroad, in the auspicious reign of Queen Anne *,
At home, in the reignof that excellent princeK. George 1.
He serv’d bis Country always,
At Court independent,
In the Senate unbiass’d,
At every age, and in every Station,
This was the bent of his generous Soul,
This the business of his laborious Life.
Public Men, and Public Things,
He judged by one constant Standard,
The True Interest of Britain :
He made no other Distinction of Party,
He abhorred all other.
Gentle, humane, disinterested, beneficent,
He created no Enemies on his own Account.
Firm, determined, inflexible,
He feared none he could create in the Cause of Britain.
Reader,
In this Misfortune of thy Country lament thy own:
For know
The Loss of so much private Virtue
Is a public Calamity.
That poignant satire, as well as extravagant praise, sitincul.
may be conveyed in this manner, will be seen by t ie
following epitaph written by Dr Arbuthnot on Francis
Charteris $ which is too well known, and too much ad¬
mired, to need our commendation.
Here continneth to rot
The body of FRANCIS CHARTERIS,
Who with an inflexible Constancy,
And INIMITABLE UNIFORMITY of Life,
Persisted,
In spite of Age and Infirmities,
In the Practice of every Human ^ ice,
Excepting Prodigality and Hypocrisy :
His insatiable Avarice exempted him from the first,
His matchless Impudence from the second.
Nor was he more singular
In the undeviating Frarity ot his Manners,
Than successful
In Accumidating Wealth :
For, without Trade or Profession,
Without Trust of Public Money,
And without Bribe-worthy Service,
Pie acquired, or more properly created,
A Ministerial Estate.
He was the only Person of his Time
Who could CHEAT without the Mask of HONESTY j
Retain his Primaeval MEANNESS
When possessed of Ten Thousand a-yearj
And having daily deserved the Gibbet for what he did.
Was at last condemned to it for what he could not do.
Oh indignant reader !
Think not his Life useless to Mankind 5
Providence conniv’d at his execrable designs,
To give to After-ages
A conspicuous Proof and Example
Of how small Estimation is Exorbitant Wealth
In the Sight of GOD,
By His bestowing it oh the most UNWORTHY of ALL
Mortals.
We
Part III. POE
Epitaph. We shall conclude this species of poetry with a droll
' and satirical epitaph written by Mr Pope, which we
transcribed from a monument in Lord Cobham’s gardens
at Stow in Buckinghamshire.
To the Memory
of
SlGNIOR FlDO,
An Italian of good extraction 5
Who came into England,
Not to bite us, like most of bis Countrymen,
But to gain an honest Livelihood.
Fie hunted not after Fame,
Yet acquir’d it j
Regardless of the Praise of his Friends,
But most sensible of their Love,
Though he liv’d amongst the Great,
He neither learnt nor flatter’d any Vice.
He was no Bigot,
Though he doubted of none of the 39 Articles.
TRY. 39
And if to follow Nature, Epitaph.
And to respect the laws of Society, 1 " » J
Be Philosophy,
He was a perfect Philosopher,
A faithful Friend,
An agreeable Companion,
A loving Husband
Distinguish’d by a numerous offspring,
All which he liv’d to see take good Courses.
In his old Age he retired
To the house of a Clergyman in the country,
Where he finished his earthly Race,
And died an Honour and an Example to the whole Species.
Reader,
This Stone is guiltless of Flattery j
For he to whom it is inscrib’d
Was not a Man,
But a
Gre-hound.
PART III. ON VERSIFICATION.
177
Essentials
jf Terse.
178
I Regulation
>f pauses.
On this subject it is meant to confine our inquiry to
Latin or Greek hexameters, and to French and Eng¬
lish heroic verse j as the observations we shall have oc¬
casion to make, may, with proper variations, be easily
transferred to the composition of other sorts @f verse.
Before entering upon particulars, it must be premised
in general, that to verse of every kind five things are of
importance. 1st, The number of syllables that compose
a line. 2d, the different lengths of syllables, i. e. the
dift’erence of time taken in pronouncing. 3d, The
arrangement of these syllables combined in words.
4th, The pauses or stops in pronouncing. 5th, Pro¬
nouncing syllables in a high or a low tone. The three
first mentioned are obviously essential to verse : if any
of them be wanting, there cannot be that higher degree
of melody which distinguisheth verse from prose. To
give a just notion of the fourth, it must be observed,
that pauses are necessary for three different purposes :
one, to separate periods, and members of the same period,
according to the sense : another, to improve the melody
of verse : and the last to afford opportunity for drawing
breath in reading. A pause of the first kind is variable,
being long or short, frequent or less frequent, as the
sense requires. A pause of the second kind being de¬
termined by the melody, is in no degree arbitrary. The
last sort is in a measure arbitrary, depending on the
reader’s command of breath. But as one cannot read
with grace, unless, for drawing breath, opportunity be
taken of a pause in the sense or in the melody, this pause
ought never to be distinguished from the others; and
for that reason shall be laid aside. With respect then to
the pauses of sense and of melody, it may be affirmed
without .hesitation, that their coincidence in verse is a
capital beauty: but as it cannot be expected, in a long
work especially, that every line should be so perfect; we
shall afterward have occasion to see, that unless the read¬
er be uncommonly skilful, the pause necessary for the
sense must often, in some degree, be sacrificed to the
verse-pause, and the latter sometimes to the former.
The pronouncing syllables in a high or low tone con¬
tributes also to melody. In reading, whether verse or
prose, a certain tone is assumed, which maybe called the
key-note i and in that tone the bulk of the words are
sounded. Sometimes to humour the sense, and some¬
times the melody, a particular syllable is sounded in a
higher tone, and this is termed accenting a syllable, or
gracing it with an accent. Opposed to the accent is the
cadence, which, however, being entirely regulated by
the sense, hath no peculiar relation to verse. The ca¬
dence is a falling of the voice below the key-note at the
close of every period j and so little is it essential to verse,
that in correct reading the final syllable of every line is
accented, that syllable only excepted which closes the
period, where the sense requires a cadence.
Though the five requisites above mentioned enter the
composition of every species of verse, they are however
governed by different rules, peculiar to each species.
Upon quantity only, one general observation may be Quantity-
premised, because it is applicable to every species of verse.
That syllables, with respect to the time taken in pro¬
nouncing, are long or short j two short syllables, with
respect to time, being precisely equal to a long one.
These two lengths are essential to verse of all kinds 5
and to no verse, it is believed, is a greater variety of time
necessary in pronouncing syllables. The voice indeed is
frequently made to rest longer than usual upon a word
that bears an important signification ; but this is done
to humour the sense, and is not necessary for melody.
A thing not more necessary for melody occurs with re¬
spect to accenting, similar to that now mentioned: A
word signifying any thing humble, low, or dejected, is
naturally, in prose as well as in verse, pronounced in a
tone below the key-note.
w e are now sufficiently prepared for particulars 5 be¬
ginning with Latin or Greek hexameter, which are the
same. The observations upon this species of verse will
come under the four following heads : number, arrange¬
ment, pause, and accent ; for as to quantity, what is ob¬
served above may suffice.
I. HEXAMETER
POE
I. HEXAMETER Tines, as to time, are all of
the same length •, being equivalent to the time taken m
pronouncing twelve long syllables or twenty tour short.
An hexameter line may consist of seventeen sylahles;
verses Of and when regular and not spondaic it never has tewer
the Greeks than thirteen > whence it follows, that where the syl-
and Ito- lables are many, the plurality must be short j where tew,
Mils eon- tjie plurality must be long,
st of what ,
mans eon-
, sist
feet.
£lem. of
Criticism,
This line is susceptible of much variety as to the suc¬
cession of long and short syllables. It is, however, sub¬
jected to laws that confine its variety within certain
limits : and for ascertaining these limits, grammarians
have invented a rule by dactyles and spondees, which
they denominate /e<?£. , r .
Among the ancient Greeks and Romans, these feet
regulated the pronunciation, which they are Jar from
doing among us; of which the reason will be d.scovercd
from the explanation that we shall give of the English
accent. We shall at present content ourselves with
pointing out the difference between our pronunciation
and that of the Romans in the first line of \ irg.l s
eclogues, where it is scarcely credible how much we
pervert the quantity.
Tit'yre tel pat'uloe rec'ubans sub teg'mine f&gi.
It will be acknowledged by every reader who has an ear,
that we have placed the accentual marks upon every
syllable, and the letter of every syllable, that an Eng¬
lishman marks with the ictus of his voice when he re¬
cites the line. But, as will he seen presently, a syl¬
lable which is pronounced with the stress of the voice
upon a consonant is uttered in the shortest time possible.
Hence it follows, that in this verse, as recited by us,
there are but two long syllables, tu an& fd; though it
is certain, that, as recited by a Roman, it contained no
'fewer than eight long syllables.
Ti>yre | tu patu]!ae reeu|bans sub | tegirune ] fiLt.
"But though to pronounce it in this manner rvith the
voice dwelling on the vowel of each long syllable would
undoubtedly be correct, and preserve the true movement
of the verse, yet to an English ear, prejudiced in behalf
of a different movement, it sounds so very uncouth, that
Lord Kames has pronounced the true feet of the Greek
and Roman verses extremely artificial and complex *,
and has substituted in their stead the following rules,
which he thinks more simple and of more easy ap¬
plication. 1st, The line must always commence with a
long syllable, and close with two long preceded by two
abort. 2d, More than two short can never be found
together, nor fewer than two. And, 3d, Two long
syllables which have been preceded by two short cannot
also be followed by two short. These few rules fulfil
all the conditions of a hexameter line with relation to
order or arrangement. For these again a single rule
may be substituted, which has also the advantage of re¬
gulating more affirmatively the construction of every
part. To put this rule into words with perspicuity, a
hint is taken from the twelve long syllables that com
T R Y. I3art ^
w or two short.” Or to excess the thing still more Verdf.ca-
shortly, ” The 2d, 4^, 6th, and 8th portions may be
one long syllable or two short •, the 10th must be two
short syllables ; all the rest must consist each of one long
svllahle.” This fulfils all the conditions of an hexame¬
ter line, and comprehends all the combinations of dactyles
and spondees that this line admits. >81
Next in order comes the pause. At the end of every Pause-
hexameter line, every one must be Sensible 0 a complete
close or full pause } the cause ot which follows. lhewithre_
two long syllables preceded by two short, which always sp,ct t0
close an hexameter line, are a fine preparation for anudod) and
pause: for long syllables, or syllables pronounced slow,
resembling a slow and languid motion tending to rest,
naturally incline the mind to rest, or, which is the same,
to pause •, and to this inclination the two preceding short
syllables contribute, which, by contrast, make the slow
pronunciation of the final syllables the. moie conspicu^..-.
Beside this complete close or full pause at the end, others
are also requisite for the sake of melody ; ot which two
are clearly discoverable, and perhaps there may be more.
The longest and most remarkable succeeds the 5th por¬
tion : the other, which, being shorter and more faint,
may be called the semipause, succeeds the 8th portion.
So striking is the pause first mentioned, as to be distin¬
guished even by the rudest ear : the monkish rhymes
are evidently built upon it} in which, by an invariable
rule, the final word always chimes with that which im¬
mediately precedes the pause
clmp. xviii. pose an hexameter line, to divide it into twelve equal parts
sect. 4. or portions, being each of them one long syllable or two
short. The rule then is: “ 1 he 1st, 3^* 7^b 9^»
jith, and 12th portions, must each of them be one
long syllable-, the 10th must always be two short syl¬
lables ) the 2d, 4th, 6th, and 8th, may either be one
He planctu cudo || metrum cum carmine nudo
Mingere cum bumbis || res est saluberrima lumbis.
The difference of time in the pause and semipause oc¬
casions another difference not less remarkable j that it
is lawful to divide a word by a semipause, but never by
a pause, the had effect of which is sensibly felt in the
following examples:
Effusus labor, at||que inmitis rupta Tyranni
Again:
Observans nido im||plumes detraxit j at ilia
Again :
Loricam quam De||moleo detraxerat ipse
The dividing a word by a semipause has not the same
bad effect:
Jamque pedem referens || casus ejvaserat omnes.
Again :
Quails populea |J moerens Philojmela sub umbra
Again :
Ludere qme vellem || calamo per|misit agresti.
Lines, however, where words are left entire, without
being divided even by a semipause, run by that means
much the more sweetly.
Nec gemere aerea j| cessahit |turtur ah ulmo.
Again:
"Quadrupedante putrem|j sonitu quatit’ungula campum.
Again:
Eurydicen toto || referebant | flumine ripse.
The reason of these observation* will be evident upon
the slightest reflection. Between things so intimately
connected
Part III. POE
Versifica- connected in reading aloud as are sense and sound, every
tion. degree of discord is unpleasant: and for that reason it
is a matter of importance to make the musical pauses
coincide as much as possible with those of sense j which
is requisite more especially with respect to the pause, a
deviation from the rule being less remarkable in a semi¬
pause. Considering the matter as to melody solely, it
is indifferent whether the pauses be at the end of words
or in the middle j but when we carry the sense along,
it is disagreeable to find a word split into two by a pause,
as if there were really two words : and though the dis-
ii agreeableness here be connected with the sense only, it
is by an easy transition of perceptions transferred to the
sound ; by which means we conceive a line to be harsh
and grating to the ear, when in reality it is only so to
the understanding.
To the rule that fixes the pause after the 5th portion
there is one exception and no more. If the syllable
succeeding the 5th portion be short, the pause is some¬
times postponed to it.
Pupillis quos dura j| premit custodia matrum
Again :
In terras oppressa || gravi sub religione
Again :
Et quorum pars magna || fui j quis talia fando
This contributes to diversify the melody; and, where
the words are smooth and liquid, is not ungraceful; as
in the following examples :
Eormosam resonare || doces Amaryllida sylvas
Again :
Agricolas, quibus ipsa j| procul discordibus armis.
If this pause, placed as aforesaid after the short syl¬
lable, happen also to divide a word, the melody by these
circumstances is totally annihilated. Witness the fol¬
lowing line of Ennius, which is plain prose :
^ Romae moenia terru||it impiger Hannibal armis.
Sense. Hitherto the arrangement of the long and short syl¬
lables of an hexameter line, and its different pauses, have
been considered with respect to melody: but to have a
just notion of hexameter verse, these particulars must al¬
so be considered with respect to sense. There is not per¬
haps in any other sort of verse such latitude in the long
and short syllables; a circumstance that contributes
greatly to that richness of melody which is remarkable
in hexameter verse, and which made Aristotle pronounce
that an epic poem in any other verse would not suc-
* Poet. ceed *. One defect, however, must not be dissembled,
etqi. 35. that the same means which contribute to the richness of
the melody render it less fit than several other sorts for a
narrative poem. There cannot be a more artful con¬
trivance, as above observed, than to close an hexameter
line with two long syllables preceded by two short : but
unhappily this construction proves a great embarrassment
to the sense ; which will thus be evident. As in gene¬
ral there ought to be a strict concordance between the
thought and the words in which it is dressed ; so, in par¬
ticular, every close in the sense ought to be accompanied
with a clo^e in the sound. In prose this law may he
strictly observed, but in verse the same strictness would
Vol. XVII. Part I. f
T R Y.
41
occasion insuperable difficulties. Willing to sacrifice to Vemfica-
the melody of verse some share of the concordance be- tion.
tween thought and expression, we freely excuse the se- l—v—-J
paration of the musical pause from that of the sense dur¬
ing the course of a line; but the dose of an hexameter
line is too conspicuous to admit this liberty ; for which
reason there ought always to he some pause in the sense
at the end of every hexameter line, were it but such a
pause as is marked by a comma ; and for the same rea ¬
son there ought never to be a full close in the sense but
at the end of a line, because there the melody is closed.
An hexameter line, to preserve its melody, cannot well
admit any great relaxation ; and yet, in a narrative
poem, it is extremely difficult to adhere strictly to the
rule even with these indulgences. Virgil, the chief of
poets for versification, is forced often to end a line with¬
out any close in the sense, and as often to close the sense
during the running of a line ; though a close in the me¬
lody during the movement of the thought, or a close in
the thought during the movement of the melody, can¬
not be agreeable. lS^
The accent, to which we proceed, is not less essential ribserva-
than the other circumstances above noticed. By a good t‘ons on ^
ear it will be discerned, that in every line there is ()neacceut*
syllable distinguishable from the rest by a capital ac¬
cent : That syllable, being the seventh portion, is inva¬
riably long.
Nec bene promeritis || capitfir nee | tangitur ira
Again:
Mon sibi sed toto || genitum se | credere mundo
Again:
Qualls spelunca || subitd com’mota columba
In these examples the accent is laid upon the last syl¬
lable of a word ; which is favourable to the melody in
the following respect, that the pause, which for the sake
of reading distinctly must follow every word, gives op¬
portunity to prolong the accent. And for that reason,
a line thus accented has a more spirited air than when
the accent is placed on anv other syllable. Compare the
foregoing lines with the following.
Alba neque Assyrio || fucatur | lana veneno
Again :
Panditur interca || domus omnipojtentis OJympi
Again:
Olli sedato j| respondit | corde Latinus.
In lines where the pause comes after the short syllable
succeeding the 5th portion, the accent is displaced, and
rendered less sensible : it seems to he split into two, and
to be laid partly on the 5th portion, and partly on the
7th, its usual place ; as in
Nuda genu, nod6que || sinus coljlecta fluentes.
Again :
Formosam resonare || doces Ainarjyllida sylvas.
Beside this capital accent, slighter accents are laid
upon other portions ; particularly upon the 4th, unless
where it consists of two short sy llables ; upon the 9th,
which is always a long syllable; and upon the nth,
I’ where
42
IS4
Order and
arrange¬
ment do
not consti¬
tute the
whole me¬
lody of an
hexameter
verse.
POE
where the line concludes with a monosyllable. Such
conclusion, by the by, impairs the melody, and tor that
’ reason is not to be indulged unless where it is expressive
of the sense. The following lines are marked with all
the accents.
Ludere quae vellem calamo permisit agresti
Again :
Et duroe quercus sudabunt roscida mella
Again :
Parturiunt montes, nascitur ridiculus mus.
Reflecting upon the melody of hexameter ver*e, we
find, that order or arrangement doth not constitute ie
whole of it: for when we compare different lines,
equally regular as to the succession 01 long and short sy -
lables; the8melody is found in very different degrees of
perfection ; which is not occasioned by any particular
combination of dactyles and spondees, or of long and
short syllables, because we find lines where daetyles pre¬
vail and lines where spondees prevail, equally melodi¬
ous. Of the former take the following instance :
iEneadum genitrix hominum divumque voluptas.
Of the latter:
Molli paulatim flavescet campus arista.
What can be more different as to melody than the two
following lines, wind,, however, as to the succession ot
long and short syllables, are constructed precisely in the
same manner ?
SponL Daet. Spond. Spend. Dact. Spoud.
Ad tales stola dimissa et circumdata palla.
Spond. Dact. Spond. Spond. Dact. Spond.
Placatumque nitet diffuso lumine coelum.
Hor.
Lucret.
In the former, the pause falls in the middle of a word,
which is a great blemish, and the accent is disturbed by
a harsh elision of the vowel a upon the particle et In
the latter, the pauses and the accent are all of them
distinct and full: there Is no elision: and the words
are more liquid and sounding. In these particulars con¬
sists the beauty of an hexameter line with respect to me¬
lody ; and by neglecting these, many lines in the satires
and epistles of Horace are less agreeable than plain
prose ; for they are neither the one nor the other in per¬
fection. To draw melody from these lines, they must
be pronounced without relation to the sense : it must not
be regarded that words are divided by pauses, nor that
harsh ellisions are multiplied. To add to the account,
prosaic low-sounding words are introduced •, and, which
is still worse, accents are laid on them. Of such faulty
lines take the following instances.
Candida rectaque sit, munda hactenus sit neque longa.
Jupiter exclamat simul atque audirit j at in se
Custodes, lectica, ciniflones, parasitae
Optimus est modulator, ut Alfenus Aafer omni
Nunc illud tantum quaeranq meritone tibi sit.
These observations on pauses and semi-pauses, and 011
the structure of an hexameter line, are doubtless ingeni-
4
try. Part IIL
ous • hut it is l,y no means certain that a strict attention Versifies,
“ then, would List any man in.the wr.tmg of sue ,
verses as would have been pleasing to a Roman ear.
Many of bis lordship’s rules have no other foundation
than'what rests on our improper mode of accenting L
tin words j which to Virgil or Lucretius would proba¬
bly have been as offensive as the Scotch accent is to a
native of Middlesex.
II. Next in order comes English heroic verse y
which shall be examined under the heads of number, ac¬
cent, quantity, movement, ^ pause. Ihese have been
treated in so clear and masterly a manner by Shendan
in his Art of Reading, that we shall have little more to
do than abridge his doctrine, and point out the few in¬
stances in which attachment to a system and partiality
to his native tongue seem to have betrayed him into er¬
ror, or at least made him carry to an extreme what is
just only when used with moderation. , * 0f
“ Numbers in the strict sense of the word - , whet tie? Rettd;rtgt
with regard to poetry or music, consist in certain impres-vol iu
sions made on the ear at stated and regular distances.
The lowest species of numbers is a double stroke or tlie
same note or sound, repeated a certain number of times,
at equal distances. The repetitionof the same single not-e
in a continued series, and exactly at equal distances, like
the ticking of a clock, has in it nothing numerous j but
the same note, twice struck a certain number of times,
with a pause between each repetition of double the time
of that between the strokes, is numerous. The reason
is, that the pleasure arising from numbers, consists in
the observation oiproportion ; now the repetition of the
same note, in exactly the same intervals, will admit of
no proportion. Rut the same note twice struck, with
the pause of one betiveen the two strokes, and repeated
again at the distance of a pause equal to two, admits of
the proportional measurement in the pauses of tivoto one,
to-which time can be beaten, and is the lowest and sim¬
plest species of numbers. It may be exemplified on the
drum, as tu'm-tu'm—tu'm-tu'm—tu'm-tu'm, &c.
“ The next progression of numbers is, when the sam«
note is repeated, but in such a way as that one makes a
more sensible impression on the ear than the other, by
being more forcibly struck, and therefore having a great¬
er degree of loudness 5 as ti-tuhn—ti-tuhn } or, tu m-ti
—tu'm-tr: or when two weak notes precede a more
forcible one, as ti-ti-tu'm-ti-ti-tu'm •, or when the weak
notes follow the forcible one, tu'm-ti-ti—tu'm-ti-ti.
“ In the first and lowest species of numbers which we
have mentioned, as the notes are exactly the same in
every respect, there can be no proportion observed but
in the time of the pauses. In the second, which rises in
a degree just above the other, though the notes are still
the same, yet there is a diversity to be observed in their
respective loudness and softness, and therefore a mea¬
surable proportion of the quantity of sound. In them
we must likewise take into consideration the order of the
notes, whether they proceed from strong to weak, or
from weak to strong j for this diversity of order occa¬
sions a great difference in the impressions made upon the
ear, and in the effects produced upon the mind. To ex¬
press the diversity of order in the notes in all its several
kinds, the common term movement may be used, as
the term measure will properiy enough express the dif¬
ferent proportions of time both in the pauses and in the
notes,”
For
Fart TIT. POE
Versiiica- For it is to be observed, that all notes are not of the
tion. same length or on the same key. In poetry, as well as
"v™--' in music, notes may be high or low, flat or sharp and
some of them may be prolonged at pleasure. “ Poetic
numbers are indeed founded upon the very same prin¬
ciples with those of the musical kind, and are governed
by similar laws (see Music). Proportion and order are
the sources of the pleasure which we receive from both ;
and the beauty of each depends upon a due observation
of the laws of measure and movement. The essential
difference between them is, that the matter of the one
is articulate, that of the other inarticulate sounds: but
syllables in the one correspond to notes in the otlierj po¬
etic feet to musical bars } and verses to strains ; in a
word, they have all like properties, and are governed
by laws of the same kind.
” “ From what has been said, it is evident, that the es-
sence of numbers consists in certain impressions made on
the mind through the ear at stated and regular distances
of time, with an observation of a relative proportion in
those distances; and that the other circumstances of long
or short in syllables, or diversity of notes in uttering
them, are not essentials but only accidents of poetic num¬
bers. Should this be questioned, the objector might be
silenced by having the experiment tried on a drum, on
which, although it is incapable of producing long or
short, high or low notes, there is no kind of metre which
may not be beat. That, therefore, which regulates the
series and movement of the impressions given to the ear
by the recitation of an English verse, must, when pro¬
perly disposed, constitute the essence of English poetic
numbers ; but it is the accent which particularly im¬
presses the sound of certain syllables or letters upon the
ear; for in every word there is a syllable or letter ac¬
cented. The necessity and use of the accent, as well
in prose as in verse, we shall therefore proceed to ex¬
plain.
“ As words may be formed of various numbers of syl-
* Art of lables, from one up to eight or nine*, it was necessary
Reading, t|iat tj,ere should be some peculiar mark to distinguish
words from disjointed syllables, otherwise speech would
be nothing but a continued succession of syllables con¬
veying no ideas. This distinction of one word from an¬
other might be made by a perceptible pause at the end
of each in speaking, analogous to the distance made be¬
tween them in writing and in printing. But these pauses
would make discourse disgustingly tedious; and though
they might render words sufficiently distinct, they would
make the meaning of sentences extremely confused.
Words might also be distinguished from each other, and
from a collection of detached syllables, by an elevation
or depression of the voice upon one syllable of each word;
and this, as is well known to the learned, was the prac¬
tice of the Greeks and Romans. But the English tongue
has for this purpose adopted a mark ol the easiest and
simplest kind, which is called accent. By accent is
meant, a certain stress of the voice, upon a particular
letter of a syllable, which distinguishes it from the rest,
and at the same time distinguishes the syllable itself to
which it belongs from the other syllables which compose
the word. Thus, in the word hub'it, the accent upon
the b distinguishes that letter from the others, and the
first syllable from the last; add more syllables to it, and
it will still do the same, as hab'itable. In the word ac¬
cept, the is the distinguished letter, and the syllable
T R Y. 43
which contains it the distinguished syllable ; but if we Versifka-
arid more syllables to it, as in the word ac'ceptible, the tion.
seat of the accent is changed to the first syllable, of
which c is the distinguished letter. Every word in our
language of more syllables than one has one of the syl¬
lables distinguished from the rest in this manner, and
every monosyllable has a letter. Thus, in the word hat'
the t is accented, in hate the vowel a, in cub' the b,
and in cube the u: so that as articulation is the essence
of syllables, accent is the essence of words; which with¬
out it would be nothing more than a mere succession of
syllables.’’
We have said, that it was the practice of the Greeks
and Romans to elevate or depress their voice upon one
syllable of each word. In this elevation or depression
consisted their accent; but the English accent consists in
the mere stress of the voice, without any change of note.
“Among the Greeks, all syllables were pronounced ei¬
ther in a high, low, or middle note ; or else in a union
of the high and low by means of the intermediate. The
middle note, which was exactly at an e-qual distance be¬
tween the high and the low, was that in which the un¬
accented syllables were pronounced. But every word
had one letter, if a monosyllable ; or one syllable, if it
consisted of more than one, distinguished from the rest;
either by a note of the voice perceptibly higher than the
middle note, which was called the acute accent; or by
a note perceptibly, and in an equal proportion, lower
than the middle one, which was called the grave accent;
or by an union of the acute and grave on one syllable,
which was done by the voice passing from the acute,
through the middle note, in continuity down to the
grave, which was called the circumjlex.'1'1
“ Now in pronouncing English words, it is true that
one syllable is always distinguished from the rest; but
it is not by any perceptible elevation or depression of
the voice, any high or low note, that it is done, but
merely by dwelling longer upon it, or by giving it a
more forcible stroke. When the stress or accent is on
the vowel, we dwell longer on that syllable than on the
rest; as, in the words glory, father, holy. When it is
on the consonant, the voice, passing rapidly over the
vowel, gives a smarter stroke to the consonant, which
distinguishes that syllable from others, as in the words
bai’tie, hah'it, bar'row.'1’1
Having treated so largely of accent and quantity,
the next thing to be considered in verse ivill be quickly
discussed ; for in English it depends wholly on the seat
of the accent. “ When the accent or stiess is on the
vowel, the syllable is necessarily long, because the ac¬
cent cannot be made without dwelling on the vowel a
longer time than usual. When it is on the consonant,
the syllable is short; because the accent is made by pas¬
sing rapidly over the vowel, and giving a smart stroke
of the voice to the following consonants. Thus the
words ad'd, led', bid', cub', are all short, the voice pas¬
sing quickly over the vowel to the consonant; but for
the contrary reason, the words dll, laid, bide, cube, are
long ; the accent being on the vowels, on which the
voice dwells some time before it takes in the sound of
the consonant.”
“ Obvious as this point is, it has wholly escaped the
observation of many an ingenious and learned writer.
Lord Karnes affirms*, that accenting is confined in * E/. of
English heroic verse to the long syllables ; for a short OvY. vol ii»
F 2 syllable
44
* Art of
Heading,
■vol. ii.
Versifica- syllable (says lie) is not capable of an accent: and Dr
Forster, who ousrlit to have understood the nature ot
'the English accent better than his Lordship, asks, whe¬
ther we do not ‘ employ more time in uttering the
first syllables of heavily, hastily, quickly, slowly; and
'the second in solicit, mistaking, researches, delusive,
than in the others V To this question Mr Sheridan re¬
plies * that “ in some of these words we certainly do
as the Doctor supposes •, in hastily, slowly, mistaking,
delusive, for instance; where the accent being on the
vowels renders their sound long •, but m all the others,
heartily, quickly, solis'-it, re-sear'ches, where the accent
is on the consonant, the syllables heart, quick, hsl, sert,
are pronounced as rapidly as possible, and the vowels
are all short. In the Scotch pronunciation (continues
he) they would indeed be all reduced to an equal quan¬
tity, as thus; hai-vily, hdis-tily, queek-ly, slow-ly,
so-lee-cit, resdir-ches, de-lu-sive. But here we see that
the four short syllables are changed into four long ones
of a different sound, occasioned by their placing the seat
of the accent on the vowels instead of the consonants :
thus instead of fiert they szy hdiv; for quick, queetc ;
for Us, leece ; and for sert, sdir. .
It appears, therefore, that the quantity of English
syllables is adjusted by one easy and simple rule 5 which
is, that when the seat of the accent is on a vowel, the
syllable is long", when on a consonant, short 5 and that
all unaccented syllables are short. Without a due ob¬
servation of quantity in reciting verses there will be no
poetic numbers •, yet in composing English verses the
poet need not pay the least attention to the quantity ot
his syllables, as measure and movement tvill result trom
the observation of other laws, which are now to be ex¬
plained. . „ ...
It has been affirmed by a writer + of great authority
among the critics, that in English heroic verse every
line consists often syllables, five short and five long ;
from which there are but two exceptions, both of them
rare. The first is, where each line of a couplet is made
eleven syllables, by an additional short syllable at the
end.
There heroes wit's are kep't in pond’rous v&ses,
And beaus' in snuff-boxes and tweezer-cases.
The other exception, he says, concerns the second line
of a couplet, which is sometimes stretched out to twelve
syllables, termed an Alexandrine line.
A needless Alexandrine ends the song,
That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length
along.
After what has been just said, it is needless to stop for
the purpose of pointing out the ingenious author’s mi¬
stake respecting long and short syllables. Every atten¬
tive reader of what has been already laid down, must
perceive, that in the first line of the former couplet,
though there are no fewer than six accented syllables
when it is properly read, yet of these there are but
three that are long, viz. those which have the accent
on the vowel. Our business at present is, to show the
falsity of the rule which restrains the heroic line to ten
syllables 5 and this we shall do by producing lines of a
greater number.
tion.
f hord
Karnes.
_ ^ Ar Part III.
p o E T It Y.
And the shrill sounds ran echoing through the trood. ^
This line, though it consists of eleven syllables, and has
Z last of those accented, or, as Lord Karnes «ould say
lonjr is yet undoubtedly a heroic verse ot very tine
sound. Lhaps the advocates for the rule n,ay con-
tend, that the vowel o in echoing ought to be struct
out by an apostrophe; but as no one read s,
And the shrill sounds ran ech’ing through the wood,
it is surely very absurd to omit in writing what cannot
be omitted in utterance. The two following lines have
each eleven syllables, of which not one can be suppres¬
sed in recitation.
Their glittering textures of the filmy dew.
The great hierarchal standard was to move.
Mr Sheridan quotes as a heroic line,
O’er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp j
and observes what a monstrous line it would appear, if
pronounced,
O’er man’ a frozen, man’ a fi’ry Alp,
instead of that noble verse, which it certainly is, when
all the thirteen syllables are distinctly uttered. He
then produces a couplet, of which the former line has.
fourteen, and the latter twelve syllables.
And many an amorous, many a humorous lay,
Which many a bard had chaunted many a day.
That this is a couplet of very fine sound cannot be con¬
troverted } but wc doubt whether the numbers of it or
of the other quoted line of thirteen syllables be truly he¬
roic. To our ears at least there appears a very percep¬
tible difference between the movement of these verses
and that of the verses of Pope or Dryden ; and we
think, that, though such couplets or single lines may,
for the sake of variety or expression, be admitted into
a heroic poem, yet a poem wholly composed of them
would not be considered as heroic verse. It has a much
greater resemblance to the verse of Spenser, which is
now broke into two lines, of which the first has eight
and the second six syllables. Nothing, however, seems
to be more evident, from the other quoted instances,
than that a heroic line is not confined to the syllables,
and that it is not by the number of syllables that an
English verse is to be measured.
But if a heroic verse in our tongue be not composed,
as in French, of a certain number of syllables, how is it
formed ? We answer by feet, as was the hexameter line
of the ancients; though between their feet and ours
there is at the same time a great difference. The poetic
feet of the Greeks and Romans are formed by quantity,
those of the English by stress or accent. “ Though
these terms are in continual use, and in the mouths of
all who treat of poetic numbers, very confused and erro¬
neous ideas are sometimes annexed to them. Yet as the
knowledge of the peculiar genius of our language with
regard to poetic numbers and its cbaracteristical differ¬
ence from others in that respect, depends upon our hav¬
ing clear and precise notions of those terms, it will be
necessary to have them fully explained. The general
nature of them has been, already sufficiently laid open,
and
Partlll. POE
YersiSca- anti \re have now only to make some observations on
tioU* their particular efi’ects in the formation of metre.
a ]\yf0 scholar is ignorant that quantity is a term which
relates to the length or the shortness of syllables, and
that a long syllable is double the length of a short one.
Now the plain meaning of this is, that a long syllable
takes up double the time in sounding that a short one
does j a fact of which the ear alone can be the j.ulge.
When a syllable in Latin ends with a consonant, and
the subsequent syllable commences with one, every
school-boy knows that the former is long, to use the
technical term, by the law of position. This rule was
in pronunciation strictly observed by the Romans, who
always made such syllables long by dwelling on the
vowels •, whereas the very reverse is the case with us,
because a quite contrary rule takes place in English
words so constructed, as the accent or stress of the voice
is in such cases always transferred to the consonant,
and the preceding vowel being rapidly passed over,
that syllable is of course short.
“ The Romans had another rule of prosody, that
when one syllable ending with a vowel, was followed
by another beginning with a vowel, the former syllable
was pronounced short 5 whereas in English there is ge¬
nerally an accent in that case on the former syllable,
as in the word pious, which renders the syllable long.
Pronouncing Latin therefore by our own rule, as in the
former case, we make those syllables short which were
sounded long by them ; so in the latter we make those
syllables long which with them were short. We say
ar'mu and virum'que, instead of arma and virumque ;
scio and tuus, instead of sew and tuns'.
“ Having made these preliminary observations, we
proceed now to explain the nature of poetic feet. Feet
in verse correspond to bars in music : a certain number
of syllables connected form a foot in the one, as a cer¬
tain number of notes make a bar in the other. They
are called feet, because it is by their aid that the voice
as it were steps along through the verse in a measured
pace j and it is necessary that the syllables which mark,
this regular movement of the voice should in some
measure be distinguished from the others. This di¬
stinction, as we have already observed, was made among
the ancient Romans, by dividing their syllables into long
and short, and ascertaining their quantity by an exact
proportion of time in sounding them; the long being
to the short as two to one; and the long syllables, being
thus the more important, marked the movement of the
verse. In English, syllables are divided into accented
and unaccented ; and the accented syllables being as
strongly distinguished from the unaccented, by the pe¬
culiar stress of the voice upon them, are as capable of
marking the movement, and pointing out the regular
T It Y. 45
paces of the voice, as the long syllables were by their Yerufioa-
quantity among the Romans. Hence it follows, that tlon-
our accented syllables corresponding to their long ones,—v——J
and our unaccented to their short, in the structure of
poetic feet, an accented syllable followed by one unac¬
cented in the same foot will answer to their trochee ;
and preceded by an unaccented one, to their iambus ;
and so with the rest.
“ All feet used in poetry consist either of two or
three syllables 5 and the feet among the ancients were
denominated from the number and quantity of their
syllables. The measure of quantity was the short
syllable, and the long one in time was equal to two short.
A foot could not consist of less than two times, because
it must contain at least two syllables j and by a law re¬
specting numbers, which is explained elsewhere (see
Music), a poetic foot would admit of no more than
four of those times. Consequently the poetic feet were
necessarily reduced to eight j four of tivo syllables, and
four of three. Those of two syllables must either con¬
sist of two short, called a pyrrhic ; two long, called a
spondee ; a long and a short, called a trochee ; or a short
and a long, called an iambus. Those of three syllables
were, either three short, a tribrach ; a long and two
short, a dactyl; a short, long, and short, an amphibrach ;
or two short and a long, an anapaest (y).
We are now sufficiently prepared for considering what
feet enter into the composition of an English heroic verse.
The Greeks and Romans made use of but two feet iu
the structure of their hexameters j and the English he¬
roic may be wholly composed of one foot, viz. the iam¬
bic, which is therefore the foot most congenial to that
species of verse. Onr poetry indeed abounds with verses
into which no other foot is admitted. Such as,
The pow’rs | gave ear and granjted half | his prayV,
The rest' | the winds [ dispers’d J in emp'|ty Sir.
Our heroic line, however, is not wholly restrained to the
use of this foot. In the opinion of Mr Sheridan, it ad¬
mits all the eight before enumerated 5 and it certainly
excludes none, unless perhaps the tribrach. It is known
to every reader of English poetry, that some of the finest
heroic verses in our language begin with a trochee;
and that Pope, the smoothest of all our versifiers, was
remarkable for his use of this foot, as is evident from
the following example, where four succeeding lines out
of six have a trochaic beginning,
Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose,
Quick as | her eyes | and as unfix’d as those:
Favours | to none j to all she smiles extends,
O'ft she j rejects J but never once offends.
Bright as ] the sun | her eyes the gazers strike,
And like the sun she shines on all alike.
The
(y) For the convenience of the less learned reader we shall here subjoin a scheme of poetic feet, using the marks
(- o ) in use among the Latin grammarians to denote the genuine feet by quantity ; and the following marks
(' « ) to denote the English feet by accents, which answer to those.
Roman English
Trochee — o r o
Iambus o ■* o'
Spondee — — ' '
Pyrrhic 00 00
Roman
Dactyl -00
Amphibrach o — w
Anapaest o « —
Tribrach 000
• English
r o o
00 ;
a «
0 POE
\emfica- The use of this foot, however ^s "“eSSf“ J
tiou. filled to the beginning «f ^ ‘”e- 0?whiI
V—' introduces it into other parts ot the vei ,
take the following instances :
That all I was lost' | hack' to | the thick'|et slunk—
Of E've I whose ey'e | dirted conta|g.ous fire.
The last line of the following couplet begins with a
pyrrhic :
She said, | and mel ting as in tears she lay, .
In a | soft siljver stream dissolv’d away.
But this foot is introduced likewise with very good ef-
feet into other parts of the verse, as
Pant on { thy lip' | and to J thy heart | be prest.
The phantom flies me | as unjkind as you.
Leaps o’er the fence with ease | into | the fold.
A.nd the | shrill' sounds | ran echoing through the wood.
In this last line we see that the first foot is a pyrrMc^
and the second a spondee; but m the next
feet are spondees.
Hill's peep | o’er hill's \ and Alps j on Alps | arise.
In the following verse a trochee is succeeded by two spon¬
dees, of which the former is a genuine spondee by quan¬
tity, and the latter equivalent to a spondee by accent.
See the j bold yoilth | strain up' | the threatening steep.
We shall now give some instances of lines containing
both the pyrrhic and the spondee, and then proceec
the consideration of the other four ieet.
That on I weak wings | from far pursues your flight.
Thro’ tl J | fair scene | roll slow | the hng’rmg streams.
On her \ white breast' | a sparkling cross she wore.
Of the four trisyllabic feet, the first, of which we shall
give instances in heroic lines, is the dactyl; as
" Mur'mnring, | and with | him' fled] the shades) of night.
Hov'ering | on wing | un'der | the cape | of hell.
Tim'orous | and slothful yet he pleas d the ear.
Of truth | in word | mightier \ than they | m arms.
Of the anapeest a single instance shall suffice *, for ex¬
cept by Milton it is not often used.
The great | hierarjchal standard was to move.
The amphibrach is employed in the four following ver¬
ses, and in the three last with a very fine ellect. .
With wheels | yet hoverjing o’er the ocean brim.
Kous’d from their slumber on | that hejry | couch.
While the J promis'cu'ous crowd stood yet aloof.
Throws his steep flight \ in many | an ai|ry whirl.
Having thus sufficiently proved that the English heroic
verse admits of all the feet except the tribrach, it may
he proper to add, that from the nature of our accent we
have duplicates of these feet, viz. such as are formed by
quantity, and such as are formed by the mere ot the
voice; an opulence peculiar to our tongue, and which may
be the source of a boundless variety. But as feet formed
of syllables which have the accent or ictus on the conson¬
ant are necessarily pronounced in less time than similar
feet formed by quantity, it may be objected, that the
TRY- . , f
measure of a whole line, constructed in the former man¬
ner must be shorter than that of another line construct¬
ed iu the latter •, and that the intermixture of verses of
such different measures in the same poem must have a
bad effect on the melody, as being destructive of propor¬
tion. This objection would be well-founded, weie not
the time of the short accented syllables compensated by
a small pause at the end of each word to which they , -
long, as is evident in the following verse :
Then rus'ltling crackling crashjing thunder down.
This line is formed of iambics by accent upon conso¬
nants, except the last syllable 5 and yet jy means o
these soft pauses or rests, the measure of the uhole is
equal to that of the following, which consists of pure
iambics by quantity.
O’er heaps ! of r5|in strik’d \ the state|ly hind.
Part III.
Movement, of so much importance in versification, re¬
gards the order of syllables in a foot, measure their quan¬
tity. The order of syllables respects their progress from
short to long or from long to short, as in the Greek ami
Latin languages 5 or from strong to weak or weak to
strong, i. e. from accented or unaccented syllables, as in
our tongue. It has been already observed, that an Eng¬
lish heroic verse may he composed wholly of iambics ;
and experience shows that such verses have a fine me¬
lody. But as the stress of the voice in repeating verses
of pure iambics, is regularly on every second syllable,
such uniformity would disgust the ear in any ong suc¬
cession, and therefore such changes were sought fox as
might introduce the pleasure of variety without preju¬
dice to melody 5 or which might even contribute to its
improvement. Of this nature was the introduction ot
the trochee to form the first foot of an heroic verse,
which experience has shown us is so far from spoiling
the melody, that in many cases it heightens it. x lns
foot, however, cannot well he admitted into any other
part of the verse without prejudice to the melody, be¬
cause it interrupts and stops the usual movement by an¬
other directly opposite. But though it be excluded
with regard to pure melody, it may often be admitted
into any part of the verse with advantage to expression,
as is well known to the readers of Milton.
“ The next change admitted for the sake of variety,
without prejudice to melody, is the intermixture of
pyrrhics and spondees in which two impressions m tht
one foot make up for the want ot one in the other •, and
two long syllables compensate two short, so as to make
the sum of the quantity of the two feet equal to two
iambics. That this may be done without prejudice to
the melody, take the following instances :
On her | white breast | a sparkling cross she wore.—
Nor the | deep tract | of hell—say first what cause.—
This intermixture may be employed ad libitum, in any
part of the line \ and sometimes two spondees may be
placed together in one part of the verse, to he compen¬
sated by two pyrrhics in another •, of which Mr Sheri¬
dan quotes the following lines as instances:
Stood rul’d | sto5d vast | infinjitude j confined.
She all j night long | her amojious desjeant sung.
That the former is a proper example, will not perhaps
be questioned $ but the third foot in the latter is certain-
' f ijjt&i'i  mm
PartHI. POE
Versiiica- ly no pyrrhic. As it is marked here and by him, it is
tion. a tribrach ; hut ive appeal to our English readers, if it
“v 1 ought not to have been marked an amphibrach by ac¬
cent, and if the fourth foot be not an iambus. To us
the feet of the line appear to be as follow :
She all j night long her am'ojrous des'cant sun'g.
It is indeed a better example of the proper use of the
amphibrach than any which he has given, unless per-
!haps the two following lines.
Up to ] the fiejry conjc&ve tow'erjing high
Throws his | steep flight j in man'y | an ai|ry whirl.
That in these three lines the introduction of the amphi¬
brach does not hurt the melody, will be acknowledged
by every person who has an ear j and those who have
not, are not qualified to judge. But ive appeal to
every man of taste, if the two amphibrachs succeeding
each other in the last line do not add much to the
expression of the verse. If this be questioned, we have
only to change the movement to the common iambic,
and we shall discover how feeble the line will become.
Throws his | steep flight j in man|y airy whirls.
This is simple description, instead of that magical power,
of numbers which to the imagination produces the ob¬
ject itself, whirling as it were round an axis.
Having thus shown that the iambus, spondee, pyr¬
rhic, and amphibrach, by accent, may be used in our
measure with great latitude; and that the trochee may,
at all times begin the line, and in some cases with ad¬
vantage to the melody j it now remains only to add,
that the dactyl, having the same movement, may be in¬
troduced in the place of the trochee; and the anapaest
in the place of the iambus. In proof of this, were not
the article swelling in our hands, we could adduce many
instances which would show what an inexhaustible fund
of riches, and what an immense variety of materials, are
prepared for us, “ to build the lofty rhyme.” But we
hasten to the next thing to be considered in the art of
versifying, which is known by the name of pauses.
“ Of the poetic pauses there are two sorts, the ce-
sural and the final. The cesural divides the verse into
equal or unequal parts ; the final closes it. In a verse
there may be two or more cesural pauses, but it is evi¬
dent that there can be but one final. As the final pause
concerns the reader more than the writer of verses, it
has been seldom treated of by the critics, li et as it is
this final pause which in many cases distinguishes verse
from prose, it cannot be improper in the present article
to show how it ought to be made. Were it indeed a
law of our versification, that every line should terminate
with a stop in the sense, the boundaries of the measure
would be fixed, and the nature of the final pause could
not be mistaken. But nothing has puzzled the bulk of
readers, or divided their opinions, more than the manner
in which those verses ought to be recited, w here the
sense does not close with the line j and whose last words
have a necessary connection with those that begin the
subsequent verse. “ Some (says Mr Sheridan) wrho see
the necessity of pointing out the metre, pronounce the
last word of each line in such a note as usually accom¬
panies a comma, in marking the smallest member of a
sentence. Now this is certainly improper, because it
makes that appear to be a complete member of a sen?
TRY. 4.7
tence which is an incomplete one ; and by disjoining Versifica-
the sense as well as the words, often confounds the ti011-
meaning. Others again, but these fewer in number, v~r" ’
and of the more absurd kind, drop their voice at the
end of every line in the same note which they use in.
marking a full stop; to the utter annihilation of the.
sense. Some readers (continues our author) of a more
enthusiastic kind, elevate their voices at the end of all
verses to a higher note than is ever used in the stops
which divide the meaning. But such a continued re¬
petition of the same high note becomes disgusting by its-
monotony, and gives an air of chanting to such recita¬
tion. To avoid these several faults, the bulk of readers
have chosen what they think a safer course, which is that
of running the lines one into another without the least
pause, where they find none in the sense j but by this^
mode of recitation they reduce poetry to something
worse than prose, to verse run mad.
But it may be asked, if this final pause must be mark¬
ed neither by an elevation nor by a depression of the
voice, how is it to be marked at all ? To which Mr
Sheridan replies, by making no change whatever in the.
voice before it. This w'ill sufficiently distinguish it from
the other pauses, the comma, semicolon, &c. because
some change of note, by raising or depressing the voice,
always precedes them, whilst the voice is here only sus¬
pended.
Now this pause of suspension is the very thing want¬
ing to preserve the melody at all times, without inter¬
fering with the sense. For it perfectly marks the bound
of the metre : and being made only by a suspension, not
by a change of note in the voice, it can never affect the
sense j because the sentential stops, or those which affect
the sense, being all made with a change of note, where
there is no such change the sense cannot be affected.
Nor is this the only advantage-gained to numbers by
this stop of suspension. It also prevents the monotony
at the end of lines; which, however pleasing to a rude,
is disgusting to a delicate ear. For as this stop has no
peculiar note of its own, but always takes that which
belongs to the preceding word, it changes continually
with the matter, and is as various as-the sense.
PXaving said all that is necessary with regard to the
final, wTe proceed now to consider the cesural, pause. To
these two pauses it will be proper to give the denomi¬
nation of musical, to distinguish them from the comma,
semicolon, colon, and full stop, which may be called sen¬
tential pauses; the office of the former being to mark
the melody, as that of the latter is to point out the
sense. The cesural, like the final pause, sometimes co¬
incides with the sentential j and sometimes takes place
w here there is no stop in the sense. In this last case, it
is exactly of the same nature, and governed by the same
laws with the pause of suspension, which wTe have just
described.
The cesure, though not essential, is however a great
ornament to verse, as it improves and diversifies the
melody, by a judicious management in varying its situ¬
ation 5 but it discharges a still more important office than
this. Were there no cesure, verse could aspire to no
higher ornament than that of simple melody ; but by
means of this pause there is a new source of delight
opened in poetic numbers, correspondent in some sort
to harmony in music. This takes its rise from that act
of the mind which compares the relative proportions
that!
48
P O E
_r that the memhcrs of a verse thus divided bear to each
^ etl-S1?C other as well as to those in the adjoining lines. In or-
der to see tins matter in a clear light, let us examine
what efleet the cesure produces in single lines, an
afterwards in comparing contiguous lines with eacii
^With regard to the place of the cesure, Mr Pope and
others have expressly declared, that no line appeared
musical to their ears, where the cesure was not alter
the fourth, fifth, or sixth syllable of the verse, borne
have enlarged its empire to the third and seventh y
lables • whilst others have asserted that it may be ad¬
mitted into any part ol the line.
“ There needs but a little distinguishing (says Mr
Sheridan), to reconcile these different opinions. It me¬
lody alone is to be considered, Mr Pope is in the right
when he fixes its seat in or as near i,e to t.lie
middle of the verse. To form lines o the first melody,
the cesure must either he at the end of the second or
of the third foot, or in the middle of the third between
the two. Of this movement take the following exam¬
ples :
1. Of the cesure at the end of the second foot.
Our plenteous streams ]] a various race supply ",
The bright-ey’d per'ch || with fins of Tyrian dye j
The silver ee*l || in shining volumes roll’d ;
The yellow carp' !| in scales bedrop’d with gold.
2. At the end of the third foot.
With tender billet-doux || he lights the pyre,
And breathes three amorous sighs || to raise the fare.
3. Between the two, dividing the third foot.
The fields are ravish’d || from the industrious swains,
Prom men their cities, || and from gods their fanes.
These lines are certainly all of a fine melody, yet they
are not quite upon an equality in that respect. 1 hose
which have the cesure in the middle are of the first or¬
der ; those which have it at the end of the second foot
are next; and those which have the pause at the end ot
the third foot the last. The reason of this preference it
may not perhaps be difficult to assign.
In the pleasure arising from comparing the proportion
which the parts of a whole bear to each other, the more
easily and distinctly the mind perceives that proportion,
the greater is the pleasure. Now there is nothing which
the mind more instantaneously and clearly discerns, than
the division of a whole into two equal parts, which alone
would give a superiority to lines of the first order over
those of the other two. But this is not the only claim
to superiority which such lines possess. The cesure be-
iim in them always on an unaccented, and the final
pause on an accented syllable, they have a mixture of
variety and equality of which neither of the other orders
can boast, as in these orders the cesural and final pauses
are both on accented syllables.
In the division of the other two species, if we respect
quantity only, the proportion is exactly the same, the
one being as two to three, and the other as three to two 5
but it is the order or movement which here makes the
difference. In lines where the cesure bounds the second
foot, tht smaller portion of the verse is first in order, the
greater last; and this order is reversed in lines which
pave the cesure at the end of the third foot. Now, as
try. ,
the latter part of the verse leaves the strongest anJ most Ver.ilic,.
last „ t impression on the ear, where the larger portton
belongs to the latter part of the limb th- tmpress.onV—'
must h, proportion be greater; the eflect in sound be-
the same as that produced by a chmax ,n sense,
where one part rises above another.
Having shown in what manner the cesure improve
and diversifies the melody of verse we shall now treat
of its more important office, by which it is the chief
source of harmony in numbers. But, first, it will b
necessary to explain what we mean by the term /iar-
monu, as applied to verse. „ . , ,
Mdody in music regards only the effects produced by
successive sounds *, and harmony, strictly speaking, the
effects produced by different co-existing sounds which
are found to be in concord. Harmony, therefore, m
this sense of the word, can never be applied to poetic
numbers, of which there can be only one reciter, and
consequently the sounds can only be in succession. YV hen
therefore we speak of the harmony of verse, we mean
nothing more than an effect produced by an action ot
the mind in comparing the different members of verse
already constructed according to the laws of melody
with each other, and perceiving a due and beautiful
proportion between them. P r u
The first and lowest perception of this kind ot har¬
mony arises from comparing two members of the sam*
fine with each other, divided in the manner to be seen
in the three instances already given; because the beauty
of proportion in the members, according to each ot these
divisions, is founded in nature. But there is a percep¬
tion of harmony in versification, which arises from the
comparison of two lines, and observing the relative pro¬
portion of their members ; whether they correspond ex¬
actly to each other by similar divisions, as in the couplets .
already quoted ; or whether they are diversified by ce-
sures in different places. As,
See the bold youth || strain up the threatening steep.
Rush thro’ the thickets |j down the valleys sweep.
Where we find the cesure at the end of the second foot
of the first line, and in the middle of the third foot of
the last.
Hang o’er their coursers heads |j with eager speed,
And earth rolls back j| beneath the flying steed.
Here the cesure is at the end of the third foot in the
former, and of the second in the latter line --The
perception of this species of harmony is far superior to
the former; because, to the pleasure ol comparing the
members of the same line with each other, there is su-
peradded that of comparing the different members of
the different lines with each other; and the harmony is
enriched by having four members of comparison instead
of two. The pleasure is still increased in comparing a
greater number of lines, and observing the relative pro¬
portion of the couplets to each other in point of simila¬
rity and diversity. As thus,
Thy forests, Windsor, || and thy green retreats,
At once the monarch’s || and the muse’s seats,
Invite my lays. || Be present sylvan maids,
Unlock your springs || and open all your shades.
Here we find that the cesure is in the middle of the
verse in each line of the first couplet, and at the end of
the
Part III. POE
Versifica- the second foot in each line of the last; which gives a
tion. similarity in each couplet distinctly considered, and a
'''' ^ L_' diversity when the one is compared with the other, that
has a very pleasing effect. Nor is the pleasure less where
we find a diversity in the lines of each couplet, and a
similarity in comparing the couplets themselves. As in
these,
Not half so swift || the trembling doves can fly,
When the fierce eagle || cleaves the liquid sky j
Not half so swiftly || the fierce eagle moves,
When thro’ the clouds || he drives the trembling doves.
There is another mode of dividing lines well suited
to the nature of the couplet, by introducing semipauses,
which with the cesure divide the line into four portions.
By a semipause, we mean a small rest of the voice, dur¬
ing a portion of time equal to half of that taken up by
the cesure j as will be perceived in the following fine
couplet:
Warms | in the sun || refreshes | in the breeze,
Glows | in the stars || and blossoms | in the trees.
That the harmony, and of course the pleasure, result¬
ing from poetic numbers, is increased as well by the se-
mipause as by the cesure, is obvious to every ear j be¬
cause lines so constructed furnish a greater number of
members for comparison : but it is of more importance
to observe, that by means of the semipauses, lines which,
separately considered, are not of the finest harmony,
may yet produce it when opposed to each other, and
compared in the couplet. Of the truth of this observa¬
tion, the following couplet, especially as it succeeds that
immediately quoted, is a striking proof:
Lives | thro’ all life || extends | thro’ all extent,
Spreads | undivided || operates | unspent.
What we have advanced upon this species of vei’se,
will contribute to solve a poetical problem thrown out
by Dryden as a crux to his brethren : it was to account
for the peculiar beauty of that celebrated couplet in Sir
P O G
p0„ge POGGE, the Mailed or Armed Gurnard, or
|j Cottus Cataphractus. See Cottus, Ichthyolo-
Poggy gy, p. 89.
is^U^’ ■ POGGIUS Bracciolinus, a man of great parts
and learning, who contributed much to the revival of
knowledge in Europe, ivas born at Terranuova, in the
territories of Florence, in 1380. His first public em¬
ployment was that of writer of the apostolic letters,
which he held 10 years, and was then made apostolic
secretary, in which capacity he officiated 40 years, un¬
der seven popes. In 1453, when he was 72 years of
age, he accepted the employment of secretary to the re¬
public of Florence, to which place he removed, and died
in I459- He visited several countries, and searched
many monasteries, to recover ancient authors, numbers
of which he brought to light: his own works consist of
moral pieces, orations, letters, and A History of Flo¬
rence from 1350 1455, which is the most consider¬
able of them.
POGGY islands, otherwise called Nassau islands,
Vol. XVII. Part I. f
T K Y. 49
John Denham’s Cooper's Hill, where he thus describes Versifica-
the Thames: tion.
Tho’ deep | yet clear | tho’ gentle J yet not dull.
Strong | without rage | without o’erflowing | full.
This description has great merit independent of the
harmony of the numbers j but the chief beauty of the
versification lies in the happy disposition of the pauses
and semipauses, so as to make a fine harmony in each
line when its portions are compared, and in the couplet
when one line is compared with the other.
Having now said all that is necessary upon pauses and
semipauses, we have done the utmost justice to our sub¬
ject which the limits assigned us will permit. Feet and
pauses are the constituent parts of verse; and the proper
adjustment of them depends upon the poet’s knowledge
of numbers, accent, quantity, and movement, all of
which we have endeavoured briefly to explain. In con¬
formity to the practice of some critics, we might have
treated separately of rhime and of blank verse ; but as
the essentials of all heroic verses are the same, such a
division of our subject would have thrown no light
upon the art of English versification. It may be just
worth while to observe, that the pause at the end of a
couplet ought to coincide, if possible, with a slight pause
in the sense, and that there is no necessity for this coin¬
cidence of pauses at the end of any particular blank
verse. We might likewise compare our heroic line with
the ancient hexameter, and endeavour to appretiate their
respective merits ; but there is not a reader capable of
attending to such a comparison who will not judge for
himself; and it may perhaps be questioned, whether
there be two ivho will form precisely the same judge¬
ment. Mr Sheridan, and all the mere English critics,
give a high degree of preference to our heroic, on ac¬
count of the vast variety of feet which it admits : whilst
the readers of Greek and Latin poetry prefer the hexa¬
meter, on account of its more musical notes and ma¬
jestic length.
P O G
form part of a chain of islands which stretch along the
whole length of Sumatra, in the East Indies, and lie at
the distance of twenty or thirty leagues from the west
coast of that island.
The northern extremity of the northern Foggy lies
in latitude 2° 18' S. and the southern extremity of the
southern island in latitude 30 16' S. The two are sepa¬
rated from each other by a very narrow passage called
the strait of See Cockup, in latitude 30 40' S. and lon¬
gitude about ioo° 38' east from Greenwich.—The
number of inhabitants in these islands amounts to no
more than 1400. Mr Crisp, who staid about a month
among them, carefully collected many particulars re¬
specting their language, customs, and manners. He ad¬
verts to one circumstance relative to this people, which
may be considered as a curious fact in history :
“ From the proximity of the islands (says he), to Su¬
matra, which, in respect to them, may be considered as
a continent, we should naturally expect to find their in¬
habitants to be a set of people originally derived from
G 1 the
Peggy
islands.
Pogsy
islands.
the Sumatra stoclT and look for some affinity In their ances in the entra.ls of the oietrm.
ent and whose customs and habits of life indicate a
verv distinct origin, and bear a striking resemb ance to
those of the inhabitants of the late discovered islands in
,l1 tC'u s“fe rXgfor ships of any size in the straits
whlh hVve no other defect as a harbour than t e depth
nf the water (2C fathoms close in shore). I he tace ot
1 conn.rv, and its vegetable and an.mal productrons,
are described in the following words : .
“ The mountains are covered with trees to * |eir bI™'
mits among which are found species of excellent tin -
nuts, amo g Mdavi;. hmtaneoor. and
C' the^ree^11*called by the Malays, MtUrngtor, ami
thi’h in the hither India, is called po/won, abounds
here *Of this tree are made masts, and some au ou
of^fficient dimensions for the lower mast o a "
Ship of war. During my stay here I did not d^er
single plant which we have not on Sumatia. 1 he • g
trees grows in plenty, and constitutes the chief ai tide
of food to the inhabitants, who do not cultivate rice ,
the cocoa-nut tree and the bamboo two most use ul
plants, are found here in great plenty. They have a
variety of fruits, com“»n ‘a ‘hese chma es s„
But they have no
ances in the entrails °[ “,c . ir to have
form of re igious worship, nor uo y jt'F
the most distant idea of a future state ot rewards and
punishments. They do not practise circumcision.
^"etame by which the inhabitants of the
Philippine islands distinguish their quail, uhmh hc«|h
smaller than ours, is in every other respect very ike it.
POICT1ERS, an ancient, large, and considerable
town of France, capital of the department of Bienne
It was a bishop’s see, and contained four abbeys, a mint
an university famous for law, 22 parishes, 9 conven
for men and 12 nunneries. There are here several
Roman ’antiquities, and particularly an amphitheatre,
but partly demolished, and hid by the houses Ihere
is also a tnumphal arch, which serves as a gate to the
reut street. It is not peopled in proportion to its ex-
St Near this place Edward the Black Prince gamed
a decisive victory over the French, taking King John
and his son Philip prisoners m 1356, ^oni he after¬
wards brought over into England, bee E.-ance^ N ;!,
&c _It is seated on a hill, on the river Clam, 52 miles
south-west of Tours, and 120 north by east ot Bour-
deaux. E. Long. O. 25. N. Eat. 46. 35.
POICTOU, a province of ! ranee, lying south of the
* 1 .1! +1.^ w.-occnt rlpnartmentS OI
Foggy
islands
11
Point.
S of S com,non0in tlmse ciima.ee, S»ch ns ^e‘^^d^the present departments of
mangosteens, pine-apples, plantains, baa/, chapah &.C. I. ^ J Sevres and Vienne. The principal r.veis
0 kU..-‘ state, are impervious to Vendee, Lieu Gartenme, and
mangosteens,pine-app,., ^ . . n e‘vious to
The woods, in their present state, are 11 F
man * the species of wild animals which inhabit them
are but few*, the large red deer, some hogs, and several
kinds of monkeys are to be found here, but neither buf¬
faloes nor goats-, nor are these forests infested like
those of Sumatra, with tigers or any other beast of prey
Of domestic poultry, there is only the common fow ,
Avhich probably has been originally brought from Si....
tra but pork and fish constitute the favourite animal
food of the natives. Fish are found here in consider.
^TJm^lturff^inhabitants of these islands seldom
exceeds five feet and a half-, their colour is like that of
the Malays j they practise tattooing, and file their teeth
to a pointf-, and though of a mild disposition, hey have
some1 of the filthy customs of savages, particularly that
of picking vermin from their heads and eating them.
Their mode of tattooing, as well as the treatment of
their dead, is represented to be very similar to the prac-
tic6S of tli6 Otaheitans. • \ 'i.
“ The religion of this people, (says
can be said that they have any, may tru y be called t ic
religion of nature. A belief of the existence of some
Jjoire, anu compiein-umug r .
Vendee, Deux Sevres and Vienne. 1 he principal rivets
are the Vienne, the Deux Sevres, the Gartempe, and
tbe l av It is divided into the Upper and Lower j
and is fertile in corn and wine, and feeds a great num¬
ber of cattle, particularly mules. It was m possession
of the kings of England tor a considerable time, till it
was lost by the unfortunate Henry A I. I oictieis is
the capital town.
Colic of PoiCTOU. See MEDICINE, N 303.
POINCIANA, Barbadoes Flower fence ; a
genus of plants belonging to the decandna class ; an
in the natural method ranking under the 33d order, Ao-
mentacece. See Botany Index.—this genus there
is only one species, the pulchernma which is a nati e
of both Indies, and grows to the height of 10 or 12
feet, producing flowers of a very agreeable odour In
Barbadoes it is planted in hedges to divide the land.,
whence it has the name of Jlower-fence. In the M est
Indies, its leaves are made use of as a purgative insteai
of senna -, and in Jamaica it is called senna.
POINT, a term used in various arts.
Point, in Grammar, a character used to mark the
divisions of discourse. See Comma, COLON, &c. .
religion of nature A *1“^ Twllt we otherwise kll a full s,«p or
-nnwers more thfin liurns-n cannot laiL ^ o # o l^nvcTn atton#
the most uncultivated of mankind, from the o seTyations in Gc(mctr]h according to Euclid, is that
.roi-imis striking natural phenomena, such .... , • i i  nm- mncrnitude.
the most uncuitivaieu Oi ..—
of various striking natural phenomena, such as the d i
nal revolution of the sun and moon ; thunder and lig -
ning-, earthquakes, &e. &c.: nor will here ever be
wanting among them some, of superior talents and cun¬
ning, who will acquire an influence over weak minds,
by assuming to themselves an interest with, or a power
of controuling those super-human agents -, and such no¬
tions constitute the religion of the inhabitants of the
Poggys. Sometimes a fowl, and sometimes a hog, is
sacrificed to avert sickness, to appease the wrath ol the
offended power, or to render it propitious to some pro-
iected enterprise -, and Mr Best was mlormed that omens
of good or ill fortune were drawn from certain appear-
rioa. Dee x uxciuAiiv/n. _ . ,
Point, in Geometry, according to Euclid, is that
which has neither parts nor magnitude. _
Point, in Music, a mark or note anciently used to
distinguish the tones or sounds ; hence we still call it
simple counter-point, when a note of the lower part an¬
swers exactly to that of an upper; zm\ figurative coun¬
ter point, when any note is syncopated, and one ol the
parts makes several notes or inflexions of the voice,
while the other holds on one.
We still use a point, to raise the value of a note, and
prolong its time by one half, e. g. a point added to a
semibreve, instead of two minims, makes it equal to
three ; and so of the other notes. See the article Time..
Point
Points.
P O I [ 5i ]
tern) applied to certain
PgIn'T, in Astronomy, a
points or places marked in the heavens, and distin¬
guished by proper epithets.
The four grand points or divisions of the horizon,
viz. the east, west, north, and south, are called the car¬
dinal points.
The zenith and nadir are the vertical points ; the
points wherein the orbits of the planets cut the plane ot
the ecliptic are called the nodes: the points wherein the
equator and ecliptic intersect are called the equinoctial
points: particularly, that whence the sun ascends towards
the north pole, is called the vernal point; and that by
which he descends to the south pole, the autumnal point.
The points of the ecliptic, where the sun’s ascent above
the equator, and descent below it, terminate, are called
the solstitial points; particularly the former of them,
the estival or summer point ; the latter, the brumal or
winter point.
Point is also used for a cape or headland jutting out
into the sea : thus seamen say, two points of land are in
one another, when they are so in a right line, against
each other, as that the innermost is hindered from be¬
ing seen by the outermost.
Point, in Perspective, is used for various poles or
places, with regard to the perspective plane. See Per-
SPECTIVE.
Point is also an iron or steel instrument, used with
some variety in several arts. Engravers, etchers, cut¬
ters in wood, &c. use points to trace their designs on
the copper, wood, stone, &c. See the articles Engra¬
ving, &c.
Point, in the Manufactories, is a general term, used
for all kinds of laces wrought with the needle j such are
the point de Venice, point de France, point de Genoa,
&c. which are distinguished by the particular economy
and arrangement of their points.—Point is sometimes
used for lace woven with bobbins ; as English point,
point de Malines, point d’Havre, &.c.
Point, in Poetry, denotes a lively brisk turn or con¬
ceit, usually found or expected at the close of an epi¬
gram. See Poetry, N° 169.
PoiNT-Blank, in Gunnery, denotes the shot of a gun
levelled horizontally, without either mounting or sink¬
ing the muzzle of the piece.—In shooting point-blank,
the shot or bullet is supposed to go directly forward in
a straight line to the mark; and not to move in a curve,
as bombs and highly elevated random-shots do.— W hen
a piece stands upon a level plane, and is laid level, the
distance between the piece and the point where the shot
touches the ground first, is called the point-blank range
of that piece ; but as the same piece ranges more or less,
according to a greater or less charge, the point blank
range is taken from that of a piece loaded with such a
charge as is used commonly in action. It is therefore
necessary that these ranges of all pieces should be known,
since the gunner judges from thence what elevation he
is to give to his piece when he is either farther from or
nearer to the object to be fired at; and this he can do
pretty nearly bv sight, after considerable practice.
POINTING, in Grammar, the art of dividing a dis¬
course by points, into periods and members of periods,
in order to show the proper pauses to be made in read¬
ing, and to facilitate the pronunciation anti understand¬
ing thereof. See the article PUNCTUATION.
POINTS, ix\ Heraldry, are the several different parts
P O I
of an escutcheon, denoting the local positions of any fi¬
gure.
See Heraldry.
Points,
Poison
Points, in Electricity, are those acute terminations '■
of bodies which facilitate the passage of the electrical
fluid from or to such bodies. See Electricity.
Points, or Vowel Points, in the Hebrew language.
See Philology, Sect. 1. N° 31, &c.
POISON, is any substance which proves destructive
to the life of animals in a small quantity, either taken
by the mouth, mixed with the blood, or applied to the
nerves. See Medicine, N° 261, 269, 303, 322, 408,
&c. &c.
Of poisons there are many different kinds, which are
exceedingly various in their operations. The mineral
poisons, as arsenic and corrosive mercury, seem to at¬
tack the solid parts of the stomach, and to produce
death by eroding its substance : the antimonial seem
rather to attack the nerves, and to kill by throwing the
whole system, into convulsions; and in this manner also
most of the vegetable poisons seem to operate. All of
these, however, seem to be inferior in strength to the
poisons of some of the more deadly kinds of serpents,
which operate so suddenly that the animal bit by them
will be dead before another that had swallowed arsenic
would be affected.
Much has been written concerning a poison made use
of by the African negroes, by the Americans, and by
the East Indians. To this very strange effects have
been ascribed. It has been said, that by this poison, a
man might be killed at any certain time ; as, for in¬
stance, after the interval of a day, a wreek, a month, a
year, or even several years. These wonderful effects,
however, do not seem worthy of credit; as the Abbe
Fontana has given a particular account of an American
poison called ticunas, which in all probability is the
same with that used in Africa and the East Indies ;
and from his account it is extremely improbable that
any such effects could be produced with certainty.
With this poison the Abbe was furnished by Hr He-
berden. It was closed and sealed up in an earthen pot
inclosed in a tin-case. Within the tin-case was a note
containing the following words: “ Indian poison, brought
from the banks of the river of the Amazons by Hon
Pedro Maldonado. It is one of the sorts mentioned
in the Philosophical Transactions, vol. xlvii. N° 1 2.”
In the volume of the Philosophical Transactions here
quoted, mention is made of two poisons little different in
their activity ; the one called the poison of lamas, and
the other of ticunas. The poison in the earthen ves¬
sel used by the Abbe Fontana was that of the ticunas;
he was also furnished with a number of American ar¬
rows dipped in poison, but whether that of the lamas or
ticunas he could not tell.
Our author begins his account of the nature of this
poison with detecting some of the mistakes which had
been propagated concerning it.—It bad been asserted,
that the ticunas poison proves noxious by the mere ef¬
fluvia, but much more by the steam which exhales from
it in boiling or burning : that, among the Indians, it is
prepared only by women condemned to die ; and that
the mark of its being sufficiently prepared, is when the
attendant is killed by its steam. All these assertions are
by the Abbe refuted in the clearest manner. He ex¬
posed a young pigeon to the smell of the poison when
the vessel was opened, to the steam of it when boiling,
G ? and
P O I [52
Poison. ani? ^ie vaPour °f it when burning to the sides of the
_—v-~—) vessel, without the animal’s being the least injured j on
which, concluding that the vapours of this poison were
not to be dreaded, he exposed himself to them without
any fear.
This poison dissolves very readily even in cold water,
and likewise in the vegetable and mineral acids. With
oil of vitriol it becomes as black as ink, but not with the
rest of the acids. In oil of vitriol it also dissolves more
slowly than in any of the rest. It does not effervesce
with acids or alkalies; neither does it alter milk, nor
tinge it, except with the natural colour of the poison ;
nor does it tinge the vegetable juices either red or green.
When examined by the microscope, there is no appear¬
ance of regularity or crystallization ; but it for the most
part appears made up of very small, irregular, roundish
bodies, like vegetable juices. It dries without making
any noise, and has an extremely bitter taste when put
upon the tongue.
The ticunas poison is harmless when put into the eyes ;
nor is it fatal when taken by the mouth, unless the quan¬
tity is considerable. Six grains of the solid poison, dis¬
solved in water, killed a young pigeon which drank it
in less than 20 minutes. Five grains killed a small Gui¬
nea-pig in 25 minutes. Eight grains killed a rabbit in
an hour and eight minutes, &c. In those experiments
it was observed, that much less poison was required to
kill an animal whose stomach was empty than one that
had a full stomach. Three rabbits and two pigeons were
killed in less than 35 minutes, by taking a dose of three
grains each on an empty stomach; but when the expe¬
riment was repeated on five animals with full stomachs,
only one of them died.
The most fatal operation of this poison is when mixed
with the blood. The smallest quantity, injected into the
jugular vein, killed the animal as if by a stroke of light¬
ning. When applied to wounds in such a manner that
the flowing of the blood could not wash it away, the ani¬
mal fell into convulsions and a train of fatal nervous
symptoms, which put an end to its life in a few minutes.
Yet, notwithstanding these seeming affections of the
nerves, the poison proved harmless when applied to the
naked nerves themselves, or even to the medullary sub¬
stance of them slit open.
The strength of this poison seems to be diminished,
and even destroyed, by mineral acids, but not at all by
alkalies or ardent spirits; but if the fresh poison was
applied to a wound, the application of mineral acids im¬
mediately after could not remove the pernicious effects.
] P O I
So far, indeed, was this from being the case, that the ap- p0iSOD,
plication of nitrous acid to the wounded muscle of a
pigeon, killed the animal in a short time rvithout any
poison at all.—The effects of the arrows were equally
fatal with those ot the poison itself (a).
The poison of the viper is analogous in its effects
to that of ticunas, but inferior in strength ; the lat¬
ter killing more instantaneously when injected into a
vein than even the poison of the most venomous rattle
snake.
The Abbe has, however, observed a difference in the
action of the two poisons upon blood taken out of the
body. He cut off the head of a pigeon, and received
its blood into warm conical glasses, to the amount of
about 80 drops into each. Into the blood contained in
one porringer, he put four drops of water; and into the
other four drops of the poison dissolved in water as usual,
The event of this experiment was, that the blood, with
which the water only was mixed, coagulated in a short
time ; but that in which the poison was mixed did not
coagulate at all. The poison of the viper also hinders
the blood from coagulating, but gives it a much blacker
tinge than the poison of the ticunas. The poison of
the viper also proves certainly fatal when injected into
the veins, even in very small quantity ; but it produces
a kind of grumous coagulation and blackness in the blood
when drawn from a vein, though it prevents the proper
coagulation of that fluid, and its separation into crassa-
mentum and serum as usual.
In the Philosophical Transactions, N° 335. we have
a number of experiments which show the effects of ma¬
ny different poisons upon animals ; from whence it ap¬
pears, that many substances which are not at all account¬
ed poisonous, yet prove as certainly fatal when mixed
with the blood as even the poison of rattlesnakes, or the
ticunas itself.—An ounce of emetic wine, being inject¬
ed into the jugular vein of a large dog, produced no
effect for a quarter of an honr. At the expiration of
that space he became sick, had a continual vomiting,
and evacuation of some hard excrements by stool. By
these evacuations he seemed to be somewhat relieved ;
but soon grew uneasy, moved from place to place, and
vomited again. After this he laid himself down on the
ground pretty quietly ; but his rest was disturbed by a
return of his vomiting, and his strength greatly decrea¬
sed. An hour and a half after the operation he ap¬
peared half dead, but was greatly revived by having
some warm broth poured down his throat with a funnel.
This, however, proved only a temporary relief; for in
(a) Mr Paterson, in his travels in Africa, in the years 1777-8-9, fell in with an European woman who had
been wounded with a poisoned arrow. Great pains had been taken to cure her, but in vain; for at different pe¬
riods of the year an inflammation came on which was succeeded by a partial mortification. She told him that the
wound was easily healed up; but in two months afterwards there was a certainty of its breaking out again, and
this had been the case for many years. The Hottentots poison their arrows with a species of euphorbia. The
amaryllis disticha, a large bulbous plant growing about the Cape of Good Hope, called mad poison, is used for the
same purpose. The natives take the bulbs when they are putting out their leaves, cut them transversely, extract
a thick fluid, and keep it in the sun till it acquires the consistence of gum, when it is fit for use. With arrows
poisoned with this gum, they kill antelopes and other small animals intended for food. After they are wounded,
the animals Generally run for several miles, and are frequently not found till next day. When the leaves of this
plant are young, the cattle are very fond of them, though they occasion instant death. Mr Paterson mentions
another shrubby plant producing a nut, called by the Hutch wool/ gift or wolf poison, the only poison useful to the
European inhabitants. The nuts are roasted like coffee, pulverized, and stuffed into some pieces of meat or a
dead dog, which are thrown into the fields. By this means the voracious hyenas are generally killed.
P O I [ S3 ] P O I
Poison, a short time the vomiting returned, he made urine in
great quantity, howled miserably, and died in convul¬
sions.—A dram and a half of sal ammoniac dissolved
in an ounce and a half of water, and injected into the
jugular vein of a dog, killed him with convulsions al¬
most instantly.—The same effect followed from inject-
ina: a dram of salt of tartar dissolved in an ounce of
warm water; but a dram and a half of common salt
injected into the jugular produced little other bad conse¬
quences than a temporary thirst.—A dram of purified
white vitriol, injected into the crural vein of a dog,
killed him immediately.—Fifteen grains of salt of urine
dissolved in an ounce of w?ater, and injected into the
crural vein of a dog, threw him into such violent con¬
vulsions that he seemed to be dying; nevertheless he re~
covered from a second dose, though not without a great
deal of difficulty: but an ounce of urine made by a
man fasting produced no bad effect. Diluted aqua¬
fortis injected into the jugular and crural vein of a dog
killed him immediately by coagulating the blood. Oil
of sulphur (containing some quantity of the volatile vi¬
triolic aid) did not kill a dog after repeated trials. On
the contrary, as soon as he Avas let go, he ran into all
the corners of the room searching for meat; and hav¬
ing found some bones, he fell a gnawing them with
strange avidity, as if the acid, by injection into his veins,
had given him a better appetite.—Another dog, who
had oil of tartar injected into his veins, swelled and
died, after suffering great torment. His blood was
found florid and not coagulated.—A dram and a half
of spirit of salt diluted with water, and injected into the
jugular vein of a dog, killed him immediately. In the
right ventricle of the heart the blood was found partly
grumous and concreted into harder clots than ordinary,
and partly frothy. Warm vinegar was injected with¬
out doing any manifest harm.—Two drams of sugar
dissolved in an ounce of water were injected into the
jugular vein of a dog without any hurt.
These are the results of the experiments where saline
substances were injected into the veins. Many acrids
proved equally fatal. A decoction of two drams of
white hellebore, injected into the jugular vein of a dog,
killed him like a stx-oke of lightning. Another dog
was killed in a moment by an injection of an ounce of
rectified spirit of wine in which a dram of camphor was
dissolved.—Ten drams of highly rectified spirit of wine,
injected into the crural vein of a dog, killed him in a
very short time : he died quietly, and licking his jaws
with his tongue, as if with pleasure. In the vena cava
and right ventricle of the heart the blood was coagula¬
ted into a great many little clots.—Three drams of rec¬
tified spirit of wine, injected into the crural vein of a
small dog made him apoplectic, and as it were half dead.
In a little time he recovered from the apoplexy, and be¬
came giddy j and when he endeavoured to go, reeled
and fell down. Though his strength increased by de¬
grees, yet his drunkenness continued. His eyes were
red and fiery j and his sight so dull that he scarce seem¬
ed to take notice of any thing: and when he was beat,
he would scarce move. However, in four hours he be¬
gan to recover, and would eat bread when offered him 5
the next day he was out of danger.—Five ounces of
strong white wine injected into the crural vein of a dog
made him very drunk for a few hours, but did not pro¬
duce any other consequences. An ounce of strong de¬
coction of tobacco injected into a vein killed a dog in Poison,
a very short time in terrible convulsions. Ten drops of
oil of sage rubbed with half a dram of sugar, and thus
dissolved in water, did no harm by being injected into
the blood.
Mercury, though seemingly void of all acrimony,
proves also fatal when injected into the blood. Soon
alter the injection of half an ounce of this mineral into
the jugular vein of a dog, he was seized with a dry
short cough which came by intervals. About two days
after, he was troubled with a great difficulty of breath¬
ing, and made a noise like that of a broken-winded
horse. There was no tumour about the root of the
tongue or the parotid glands, nor any appearance of a
salivation. In four day^ he died ; having been for two
days before so much troubled with an orthopnoea, that
he could sleep only when he leaned his head against
something. When opened, about a pint of bloody se¬
rum was found in the thorax, and the outside of the
lungs in most places was blistered. Some of the blisters
were larger and others smaller than a pea, but most of
them contained mercurial globules. Several of them
were broken 5 and upon being pressed a little, the mer¬
cury ran out with a mixture of a little sanies ; but upon
stronger pressure, a considerable quantity of sanies issued
out. In the right ventricle of the heart some particles
of quicksilver were found in the very middle of the coa¬
gulated blood lodged there, and the same thing also was
observed in the pulmonary artery. Some blood also was
found coagulated in a very strange and unusual manner
between the columnseof the right ventricle of the heart,
and in this a greater quantity of quicksilver than any¬
where else. In the left ventricle was found a very tena¬
cious blood coagulated, and sticking to the great valve,
including the tendons of it, and a little resembling a po¬
lypus. No mercury could be found in this ventricle by
the most diligent search 5 whence it appears that the
mercury bad passed no farther than the extremities of
the pulmonary artery, where it had stuck, and occasion¬
ed fatal obstructions.—In another dog, which had mer¬
cury injected into the jugular, it appears to have passed
the pulmonary artery, as part of it was found in the ca¬
vity of the abdomen, and part also in some other ca¬
vities of the body. All the glandules were very tur¬
gid and full of liquor, especially in the ventricles of
the brain, and all around there was a great quantity of
serum.
In like manner, oil of olives proves certainly fatal
when injected into the blood. Half an ounce of this
injected into the crural vein of a dog, produced no ef¬
fect in half a quarter of an hour: but after that, the
animal barked, cried, looked dejected, and fell into a
deep apoplexy ; so that his limbs were deprived of all
sense and motion, and were flexible any way at plea¬
sure. His respiration continued very strong, wXh a
snorting and wheezing, and a thick humour sometimes
mixed with blood flowing out of his mouth. He lost
all external sense : the eyes, though they continued open,
W’ere not sensible of any objects that were put to them $
and even the cornea could be touched and rubbed,
without bis being the least sensible of it; his eyelids,
however, had a convulsive motion. The hearing was
quite lost; and in a short time the feeling became so
dull, that his claws and ears could be bored with red-
hot pincers without his expressing the least sense of pain.
Sometimes
Poison.
P O I [ 54 1
Sometimes lie was seized with a convulsive motion ot
i the diaphragm and muscles subservient to respiration }
upon which he would bark strongly, as it he had been
awake : but this waking was only in appearance ; for
all the time of this barking he continued as insensible
as ever. In three hours he died ; and on opening his
body, the bronchiae were filled with a thick froth.—
An "ounce of oil of olives injected into the jugular of
another dog killed him in a moment ; but a third
lived an hour after it. He was seized with great sleepi¬
ness, snorting, and wheezing, but did not bark like the
first. In ail of them a great quantity of thick froth
was found in the lungs.
We come now to speak of those poisons which prove
mortal (b) when taken by the mouth. Hie principal
of these are, arsenic, corrosive sublimate or.muriate of
mercury, glass of antimony, and lead. What the ef¬
fects of these substances are when injected into the blood,
cannot lie related, as no experiments seem to have been
made with them in that way, excepting antimony, whose
effects have been already mentioned. Hie effects^ of
opium,-when injected into the veins, seem to be similar
to its effects when taken by the mouth. I ilty grains of
opium, dissolved in an ounce of water, were injected into
the crural vein of a cat. Immediately after the operation
she seemed much dejected, but did not cry only made
alow, interrupted, and complaining noise. Ibis wras
succeeded by trembling of the limbs, convulsive motions
of the eyes, ears, lips, and almost all parts of the body,
with violent convulsions of the breast. Sometimes she
would raise up her head, and seem to look about her j
but her eyes were very dull, and looked dead. 1 hough
she was let loose, and bad nothing tied about her neck,
yet her mouth was so filled with froth, that she was
almost strangled. At last, her convulsive motions con¬
tinuing, and being seized with stretching of her limbs,
she died in a quarter of an hour. Upon opening the
body, the blood was found not to he much, altered from
its natural state. A dram and a half of opium was
dissolved in an ounce and a half of water, and then in¬
jected into the crural vein of a lusty strong dog. He
struggled violently; made a loud noise, though his
jaws were tied ; had a great difficulty of breathing,
and palpitation of the heart, with convulsive motions of
almost all parts of his body. These symptoms were
succeeded by a profound and apoplectic sleep. Having
untied him, be lay upon the ground without moving
•or making any noise, though severely beaten. About
half an hour after he began to recover some sense, and
would move a little when beaten. The sleepiness still
decreased so that in an hour and a half he would make
P O I
a noise, and walk a little when beat. However, be
died in four days, after having voided a quantity of fe-
tid excrements, in colour resembling the diluted opium
he had swallowed.
The oil of tobacco has generally been reckoned a
very violent poison when introduced into the blood ;
but from the abbe Fontana’s experiments, it appears
to be far inferior in strength to the poison ot ticu-
nas, or to the bite of a viper. A drop of oil of to¬
bacco was put into a small incision in the right thigh
of a pigeon, and in two minutes the animal could not
stand on its right foot. The same experiment was
repeated on another pigeon, and produced exactly the
same effect. In another case, the oil was applied to a
slight wound in the breast ; three minuteS after which,
the animal could not stand on the left foot. This expe¬
riment was also repeated a second time, with the same
success. A tooth-pick, steeped in oil of tobacco, and
introduced into the muscles of the breast, made the
animal fall down in a few seconds as if dead. Ap¬
plied to two others, they threw up several times all the
food they had eaten. Two others treated in the same
manner, but with empty stomachs, made many efforts
to vomit.—In general, the vomiting was found to be
a constant effect of this poison : but the loss of motion
in the part to which the poison is applied, was found
to be only accidental. None of the animals died by the
application of oil of tobacco. Dr Leake, however, as¬
serts the contrary ; saying, that this oil, which is used
by the Indians in poisoning arrows, when infused into
a fresh wound, besides sickness and vomiting, occasions
convulsions and death. See Practical Essay on Dis¬
eases ojlhe Viscera, p. 67.
The pernicious effects of laurel-water are taken no¬
tice of under the article Medicine, N° 261. The ac¬
count is confirmed by the experiments of the Abl:6
Fontana ; who tells us, that it not only kills in a short
time, when taken by the mouth, but that, when given
in small doses, the animal writhes so that the head joins
the tail,,and the vertebrae arch out in such a manner as
to strike with horror every one who sees it. In order
to ascertain the effects of this water when taken into
the blood, our author opened the skin of the lower belly
of a pretty large rabbit, and make a wound in it about
an inch long ; and having slightly wounded the muscles
under it in many parts, applied two or three tea spoon¬
fuls of laurel-water. The animal fell down convulsed
in less than three minutes, and died soon after. The
experiment was repeated with similar success in other
animals : but was always found to act most powerfully,
and in the shortest time, when taken by the mouth, or
Pni'ion.
* See (b) Of all poisons * those which may be called culinary are perhaps the most destructive, because they are
Leake'S generally the least suspected. All copper f vessels, therefore, and vessels of bell metal, which contains copper, | See Po^
Practical sjloujd b'e ]a;d £ven tiie COmmon earthen ware, when they contain acids, as in pickling, become very per-sow of Cop
'^tiisTases of nicious, as they are glazed with lead, which in the smallest quantity, when dissolved, is very fatal ; and even
thevLe/a. the least exceptionable of the metals for culinary purposes except iron, is not always quite free of poisonous quali¬
ties, it having been found to contain a small portion of arsenic. Mushrooms and the common laurel are also very
fatal. The bitter almond contains a poison and its antidote likewise. The cordial dram ratafia, much used in
France, is a slow poison, its flavour being procured from the kernels of peach, black cherry stones, &c.— The
spirit of kmro-cerasus is peculiarly fatal. The adulteration of bread, beer, wine, porter, &c. produces very fatal
consequences, and merits exemplary punishment. Next to culinary poisons, the abuse of medicines deserves par¬
ticular attention.
p O I [55
Poison, injected hy way of clyster. From these experiments,
—-V however, he concluded, that laurel-water would kill
by being injected into the blood : but in tills he was
deceived ; for two rabbits had each of them a large
tea-spoonful injected into the jugular vein, without any
inconvenience, either at the time of injection or after¬
wards. It proved innocent also when applied to the
bare nerves, and even when introduced into the medul¬
lary substance.
We ought now to give some account of the proper
antidotes for each kind of poison j but from wh it has
been related concerning the extreme activity of some
of them, it is evident that in many cases there can be
but very little hope. People are most apt to be bit by
serpents in the legs or hands; and as the poison, from
the Abbe Fontana’s experiments, appears to act only
in consequence of being absorbed into the blood, it is
plain, that to prevent this absorption is the chief indi¬
cation of cure. We have recommended several methods
for this purpose under the article,Medicine, N° 408.;
but the Abbe Fontana proposes another not mentioned
there, namely, ligature. This, if properly applied be¬
tween the wounded part and the heart, must certainly
prevent the bad effects of the poison; but then it tends
to produce a disease almost equally fatal; namely, a gan¬
grene of the part; and our author gives instances of
animals being thus destroyed after the effects of the
jioison were prevented ; for which reason he prefers am¬
putation. But the good effects of either of these me¬
thods, it is evident, must depend greatly on the nature
of the part wounded, and the time when the ligature
is applied, or the amputation performed. If the teeth
of the serpent, or the poisoned arrow, happens to strike
a large vein, the only possibility of escaping instant death
is to compress the trunk of the vein above the wounded
place, and to enlarge the wound, that the blood may
flow freely, and in large quantity, in order to wash
away the poison, and discharge the infected parts of the
blood itself. If this be neglected, and the person falls
into the agonies of death, perhaps strongly stimulating
medicines given in large doses, and continued for a
length of time, may enable nature to counteract the vi¬
rulence of the poison. For this purpose volatile alkalies
seem most proper, as acting soonest, (see Medicine);
and perhaps a combination of them with ether might be
advantageous, as by the volatility of that medicine the
activity of the alkali would probaoly be increased. In
the Philosophical Transactions, we have an account of
the recovery of a dog seemingly by means of the volatile
alkali, when probably he was in a dying condition.
This dog indeed seems to have had a remarkable strength
* of constitution. The poor creature had first got two
ounces of the juice of nightshade, which he bore without
any inconvenience. An equal quantity of the juice of
hemlock was then given him without effect. He then got
a large dose of the root of wolfsbane with the same suc¬
cess. Two drams of white hellebore root were next
given. These caused violent vomitings and purgings, but
still he outlived the operation. He was then made to
swallow five roots of the colchicum, or meadow-saffron,
dug fresh out of the earth. The effect of these was simi¬
lar to that of the white hellebore, but still he did not
die. Lastly, he got two drams of opium ; and he even
outlived this dose. Fie was first cast into a deep sleep
by it; but soon a\vaked, and was seized with violent
] P O I
vomitings and purgings, which carried off the effect of Poison.
the opium. Seeing then that the animal had resisted the ' v—
most violent poisons, it was resolved to try the effects of
the bite ot a viper; and he was accordingly bit three or
four times on the belly a little below the navel by one
enraged. The immediate consequence of this was an in¬
cipient gangrene in the parts adjoining to the wound, as
appeared by the rising of little black bladders filled with
a sanious matter, and a livid colour which propagated
itself all around. 1 he motion of the heart became very
faint and irregular, and the animal lay without strength
or sensation, as it he had been seized with a lethargy
or apoplexy. In this condition his wound was cupped
and scarified, and Venice treacle (a famous antidote) ap¬
plied to it. In two hours after this all the symptoms
were increased, and he seemed to be neatly dead ; upon
which halt a dram ot volatile salt ol heartshorn mixed
with a little broth was poured down his throat; and the
consequence was, that in a short time he was able to
stand on his leet and walk. Another dose entirely dis¬
pelled his lethargy, and the heart began to recover its
strength. However, he continued very iveak; and
though he ate no solid meat for three days, yet at the
end of that time his strength was evidently increased.
1 lie first day he drank W'ater plentifully and greedily,
and on the second day he drank some broth. On tlie
third day he began to eat solid meat, and seemed out of
danger ; only some large and foul ulcers remained on
that part ot the belly which was bit, and before these
were healed he was killed by another dog.
From comparing this with some other observations,
indeed, it would seem that volatile alkali is the best an¬
tidote against all poisons which suddenly kill by a mix¬
ture with the blood, and even of some others. Indeed
its effects in curing the bite of snakes seems to be put
beyond all doubt, by a paper in the 2d volume of the
Asiatic Researches, p. 323. “From the effect of a
ligature applied between the bitten part and the heart
(says Mr Williams, the author of the paper), it is evident
that the poison diffuses itself over the body by the re¬
turning venous blood ; destroying the irritability, and
rendering the system paralytic. It is therefore pro¬
bable, that the volatile caustic alkali, in resisting the
disease of the poison, does not act so much as a specific
in destroying its quality, as by counteracting the effect
on the system, by stimulating the fibres, and preserving
that irritability which it tends to destroy.”
But whatever be the mode of its operation, the me¬
dicine is unquestionably powerful. Mr Williams used
either the volatile caustic alkali or eau-de-luce ; the for¬
mer of which he seems to have preferred. Of it he
gave 60 drops as a dose in water, and of the eau-de-luce
he gave 40, at the same time applying some of the me¬
dicine to the part bitten, and repeating the dose as he
found occasion. Of seven cases, some of which were
apparently very desperate, only one died, and that appears
to have been occasioned by bad treatment after the cure.
Many of the patients were perfectly recovered in seven
or eight minutes, and none of them required more than
two hours: On the whole, Mr Williams says, that he
“ never knew an instance of the volatile caustic alkali
failing in its effect, where the patient has been able to
swallow it.” Hr Mead asserts, that the alkali counter¬
acts the deadly effects of laurel-water: we have seen its
effects in curing the bite of a viper, and of snakes ; and
from
P O I
[ 56 ]
P O I
Poison, from Dr Wolfe’s experiments on liydropliobous patients,
'-■""'v it may even claim some merit there. Still, hovvevei,
there is another method of attempting a cure in such
deplorable cases 5 and that is, by injecting into the
veins any thing which will not destroy life, but will
destroy the effects of the poison. It is much to be re¬
gretted, that in those cruel experiments which we have
already related, the intention seems almost always to
have been to kill the animal at all events 5 whereas, it
ought to have been to preserve him alive, and to ascer¬
tain what medicines could be safely injected into the
blood, and what could not, with the effects which fol¬
lowed the injection of different quantities, none of
which were sufficient to destroy life. But in the way
they were managed, scarce any conclusion can be drawn
from them. Indeed it appears that little good is to be
expected from.this mode; it is mere speculation, and
future experiments must show whether it ever shall be
used for the cure of poisons, or for any other purposes :
its being now totally laid aside, seems to militate strong¬
ly against the efficacy of it; besides, the extreme cruel¬
ty of the operation will ever be a strong bar to its gene¬
ral introduction. See Injection.
There still remains another method of cure in despe¬
rate cases, when there is a certainty that the whole mass
of blood is infected; and that is, by the bold attempt
of changing the whole diseased fluid for the blood of a
sound animal. Experiments of this kind have also been
tried ; and the method of making them, together with
the consequences of such as are recorded in the Philo¬
sophical Transactions, we shall notice under the article
Transfusion.
Dr Mead, finding that many pretenders to philoso¬
phy have called the goodness of the Creator in question,
for having created substances whose manifest and obvi¬
ous qualities are noxious and destructive, remaiks, by
way of answer, that they have also salutary virtues.
But, besides their physical effects, they are likewise food
for animals which afford us good nourishment, goats and
quails being fattened by hellebore, starlings by hemlock,
and hogs innocently eating henbane; besides, some of
those vegetables, which were formerly thought poison¬
ous, are now used in medicine, and future discoveries
may probably increase the number. The poison of
many vegetables is their only defence against the ra¬
vages of animals ; and by means of them we are often
enabled to defend useful plants from the destroying in¬
sect ; such as by sprinkling them with essential oil of
turpentine ; and by means of some substances poisonous
to them, we are enabled to destroy those insects which in¬
fest the human body, and the bodies of domestic animals,
&C,—As for poisonous minerals, arsenic for example,
Dr Mead observes, that it is not a perfect mineral, but
only an active substance, made use of by nature in pre¬
paring several metals in the earth, which are of great
service to mankind ; and, after confirming this by se¬
veral instances, he concludes by saying, the case will be
found much the same in all natural productions of this
kind. As for poisonous animals, &c. their noxious qua¬
lities may easily be accounted for, by reflecting that it is
their only mode of self-defence.
Poison of Copper. This metal, though when in an
undissolved state it produces no sensible effects, becomes
exceeding active when dissolved; and such is the faci¬
lity with which the solution is effected, that it becomes
a matter of some consequence to prevent the metal fiom
being taken into the human body even m its proper'—
form. It doth not, however, appear that the poison of
copper is equally pernicious with those of arsenic or
lead ; much less with some others treated of in the last
article. The reason of this is, that it excites vomiting
so speedily as to be expelled, even though taken incon¬
siderable quantity, before it has time to corrode the sto¬
mach. Roman vitrol, which is a solution of copper in
the vitriolic acid, has been used as a medicine in some
diseases with great success. Verdigrise also, which is
another very active preparation of the metal, has been
by some physicians prescribed as an emetic,especially in
cases where other poisons had been swallowed, in order
to procure the most speedy evacuation of them by vomit.
Where copper is not used with this view, it has been
employed as a tonic and antispasmodic., with which it
has been admitted into the Edinburgh Dispensatory un¬
der the title of Cuprum Ammoniacale. The effects of
the metal, however, when taken in a pretty large quan¬
tity, and in a dissolved state, or when the stomach
abounds with acid juices sufficient to dissolve it, are veiy
disagreeable and even dangerous; as it occasions violent
vomitings, pains in the stomach, faintings, and some¬
times convulsions and death. I he only cuie foi these
symptoms is to expel the poison by vomiting as soon as
possible, and to obtund its acrimony ; for which purpose
drinking warm milk will probably be found the most ef¬
ficacious remedy. In order to prevent the entrance of
the poison into the body, no copper vessels should be
used in preparing food but such as are either well tinned
or kept exceedingly clean. The practice of giving a
fine blue or green colour to pickles, by preparing them
in copper vessels, ought not to be tolerated ; for Dr
Falconer, in a treatise on this subject, assures us, that
these are sometimes so strongly impregnated by this me¬
thod of preparing them, that a small quantity of them
will produce a slight nausea.—Mortars of brass or bell-
metal ought for the same reason to be avoided, as by
this means a considerable quantity of the pernicious me¬
tal may be mixed with our food, or with medicines. In
other cases, an equal caution ought to be used. The
custom of keeping pins in the mouth, of giving copper
halfpence to children to play with, &c. ought .to be
avoided ; as thus a quantity of the metal may be insen¬
sibly taken into the body, after which its effects must be
uncertain.—It is proper to observe, however, that cop¬
per is much more easily dissolved when cold than when
hot ; and therefore the greatest care should be taken ne¬
ver to let any thing designed for food, even common wa¬
ter, remain long in copper vessels when cold ; for it is
observed, that though the confectioners can safely pre¬
pare the most acid syrups in clean copper vessels without
their receiving any detriment whilst hot, yet if the same
syrups are allowed to remain in the vessels till quite cold,
they become impregnated with the pernicious qualities
of the metal.
To what has now been said relative to the effects of
mineral poisons, we shall add an account of some experi¬
ments, showing that amineral poison mayproducesudden
and violent death, although the noxious matter cannot
be detected by chemical tests in the contents of the sto¬
mach. As the subject of this investigation is of great
importance in many points of view, we shall make no
apology for laying the whole detail before our readers
without
Poison.
P O I
Poison, without abridgement. The experiments were made by
■—  Dr Bostock of Liverpool, and the account of them is
given by the author in a letter to the editor of the Edin¬
burgh Med. and Surg. Journal, v. 14.
“ In compliance with your request, I send you an ac¬
count of some of the experiments which I made to il¬
lustrate the question, which was proposed to me at the
late memorable trial at Lancaster, whether it was pos¬
sible that a mineral poison might produce a sudden and
violent death, and yet be afterwards incapable of detec¬
tion in the contents of the stomach ? You have already
seen, in the pamphlet that was published by Drs Gerard
and Rutter, Mr Hay, and myself, the effect which was
produced upon dogs by corrosive sublimate. We there
relate the result of two experiments, in which it was
given to dogs in solution *, vomiting, purging, and
the symptoms of violent pain ensued, which after some
hours were terminated by death. The contents of the
stomach, it is there stated, were analysed by me, but none
of the sublimate could be detected. In the first experi¬
ment, i|- grains of the salt were given, and in the second
4 grains ; this latter being the larger quantity, and also
the one in which the process was conducted with the
most accuracy, I shall confine myself to relate the cir¬
cumstances of this alone.
“ When the stomach of the dog was opened, a small
quantity of water was added to wash out its contents
more completely, making the whole somewhat less than
one ounce. It was deeply tinged with blood, and I let
it remain at rest for 30 hours, in order that the colour¬
ing matter might subside from it. It had then acquired
a very foetid smell, and not being much clearer than at
first, I added to it about an equal quantity of water,
and passed it, first through a linen strain, and afterwards
through a paper filter. It was now nearly transparent,
but slightly tinged with blood.
“ A solution of corrosive sublimate was prepared,
containing ?^0-g of its weight of the salt. Into a quan¬
tity of this solution the recently prepared muriate of tin
was dropped, which produced an immediate and very
copious precipitation. Caustic potash also threw down
a precipitate, although in small quantity. The same
tests were then added to the fluid taken from the sto¬
mach, but no effect was produced by the muriate of tin
for some hours, when at length it became, in some de¬
gree, opake. The effect here, both as to time and the
nature of the appearance, was quite different from the
precipitate in the solution of corrosive sublimate, and I
considered it as depending upon the action of the mu¬
riate of tin upon the mucus. In proof of this, when the
stomach fluid had potash added to it, instead of having
a precipitate thrown down, it was rendered more trans¬
parent than before the experiment. The solution of
corrosive sublimate Was subjected to the action of gal¬
vanism, by having a piece of gold placed in it, clasped
by zinc wire ; in an hour the gold w'as obviously wdii-
tened by the precipitation of the mercury upon it. The
fluid taken from the stomach was submitted to the same
process for three hours, but no effect was produced (c).
The fluid from the stomach did not exhibit either acid
or alkaline properties ; it was copiously precipitated
Vol. XVII. Part I.
[ 57 1
P O I
Poison.
by the nitrate of silver, shewing that it contained muri¬
atic acid. 1 ii..-y
On the foliowing day, a slight brown precipitate
had subsided from the stomach fluid, and the whole had
become very opake. The precipitate was dissolved by
potash, at the same time that the fluid was rendered more
transparent. It was become extremely putrid. The
putridity increased : and, in two days more, a scum was
formed on the surface, and the sides of the glass were
also encrusted with a gray matter. The experiments
were performed between the 17th and 22d of August.
“ The following experiments were then made on the
corrosive sublimate, with every possible attention to accu¬
racy. Two grains of the salt were dissolved in 600 grains
of distilled water. This I call solution N° 1. Ten
grains of N° 1. were then added to 90 grains of water,
forming solution N° 2. in which the fluid would con-
ta^n T5“5"o'o' °f its weight of the sublimate. Into 10
drops of N° 2. two drops of the muriate of tin were add¬
ed, and caused a very obvious precipitate. Ten grains
of N° 2. were added to 90 grains of distilled water, ma¬
king the fluid to contain TooWo-o^ of its weight of the
salt. Into 10 drops of this solution, two drops of the
muriate of tin were added, and an immediate gray cloud
was perceptible in the fluid, although no precipitate was
thrown down. The galvanic process was repeated with
the solution N° 3. 5 it remained six hours, and I thought
I perceived a whiteness on one part of the gold; but it
was not very distinctly visible.
“ I rom these experiments, we may draw the follow¬
ing conclusions :—
“ 1. I he fluid taken from the dog’s stomach contain¬
ed muriatic acid, probably in the form of common salt,
and animal matter, probably mucus, in considerable
quantity.
“ 2. I he tests that were employed to discover the
corrosive sublimate, were capable of detecting it in a
fluid, when it composed only -^o^cToo of its weight.
“ 3’ "Ihese tests did not detect any corrosive sublimate
in the fluid taken from the dog’s stomach ; it may there¬
fore be concluded,
“ 4. That an animal may be suddenly killed by re¬
ceiving a metallic poison into the stomach, and yet
that the nicest tests may not be able to detect any por¬
tion of the poison after death, in the contents of the
stomach.
“ This conclusion appears incontrovertible ; and
though some analogous facts had occasionally been no¬
ticed*, it is so different from tbe generally received *
opinion upon the subject, that I think it must have con-rcus lie Ve-
siderable influence on all future judicial proceedings, \aneT,i dati
which the question of poisoning is agitated.”
Poison of Lead. See Medicine, N° 303.
PoisoN-Tree. See Rhus, Botany Index.
PoisoN-Tree of Java, called in the Malayan lan¬
guage bohun upas, is a tree which has often been de¬
scribed by naturalists ; but its existence has been very
generally doubted, and the descriptions given of it, con¬
taining much of the marvellous, have been often treated
as idle fictions, N. P. Foersch, however, in an account
o f it, written in Dutch, asserts that it does exist; and
H tells
Accuea-
tione.
(c) This experiment was performed at the suggestion of Dr Wollaston.
P O I [
Voiron tells us, thatl)e once doubted it as much as any person j
 y—- but, determined not to trust general opinions, he made
the most particular inquiries possible *, the result ol whic i
was, that he found that it is situated in the island ot
Java, about 27 leagues from Batavia, 14 °.ura
Charta, the emperor’s seat, and about 19 from linkjoe,
the residence of the sultan of Java. It is surrounded
on all sides by hills and mountains, and the adjacent
country for 12 miles round the tree is totally barren.
Our author says he has gone all round the spot at about
18 miles from the centre, and on all sides he found the
country equally dreary, which he ascribes to its noxious
effluvia. The poison procured from it is a gum, issuing
from between the bark and the tree ; and it is brought
by malefactors who have been condemned to death, but
who are allowed by this alternative to have a chance tor
their life. An old ecclesiastic, our author informs us,
dwelt on the outside of the surrounding hills, whose bu¬
siness it was to prepare the criminals tor their late, it
death should he the consequence of their expedition.
And indeed so fatal are its effluvia, that he acknow¬
ledged that scarcely two out of 20 returned trom above
*700 whom he had dismissed.
Mr Foersch farther tells us, that he had seen several
of the criminals who had returned, and who told him,
that the tree stands on the borders ot a rivulet, is ot a
middling size, and that five or six young ones ot the
same kind stand close to it. They could not, however
see any other plant or shrub near it •, and the ground
was of brownish sand, full of stones and dead bodies, and
difficult to pass. The Malayans think this tract was
thus rendered noxious and uninhabitable by the juc ge-
ment of God, at Mahomet’s desire, on account ot the
sins of the inhabitants. No animal whatever is ever
seen there •, and such as get there by any means never
return, but have been brought out dead by such ol the
criminals as have themselves escaped death.
Our author relates a circumstance which happened
in the vear 1775, to about 400 families (1600 souls),
who refused to pay some duty to the emperor and who
were inconsequence declared rebels and banished ; they
petitioned for leave to settle in the uncultivated parts
round Upas : the consequence of which was, that in
less than two months their number was reduced to
about 300 souls, who begged to he reconciled to the
emperor, and were again received under his protection.
Many of these survivors Mr Foersch saw, and they had
just the appearance of persons tainted with an infecti¬
ous disorder. , , ,
With the juice of this tree arrows, lancets, and other
offensive weapons, are poisoned. With lancets thus poi¬
soned Mr Foersch observes, that he saw 13 ot the em¬
peror’s concubines executed for infidelity to his bed in
February 1776- They were lanfd in, .th,e ™ddle °f
their breasts •, in five minutes after which they were
ueh/ed with a tremor and subsultus tendinum, and m
1 c minutes they were dead. Their bodies were full of
livid spots, like those of petechia, their faces swelled,
colour blue, and eyes yellow, &x. Soon after he saw
seven Malayans executed in the same way, and saw
the same effects follow j on which he resolved to try
, it on other animals, and found the operation similar
on three puppies, a cat, and a fowl, none of which sur¬
vived more than 13 minutes. He also tried its effects
58 ] p o 1
internally on a iog seven montlis oil! ; tlie animal lie-
came delirious, was seized with convulsions, and die
in half an hour. From all which our author concludes,
that it is the most violent of all vegetable poisons, and
that it contributes greatly to the unhealthiness ot the
island in which it grows. By means ot it many cruel
and treacherous murders are perpetrated. lie adds,
that there exists a sort of cajoe-upas on the coast
of Macassar, the poison of which, though not near
so violent or malignant, operates nearly in tae same
m Most of our readers will prol/ably consider this whole
account as highly incredible j but we have to add, that
it has been directly controverted in all its parts in a
memoir of Lambert Nolst, M. D. fellow ol the Ba¬
tavian Experimental Society at Rotterdam, (see Gcw-
tkman's Meg. May 1 794, P- 4330; Thls, memoir was
procured from John Matthew'a Rnyn, who had been
23 years, from 1763 to 1786, resident in the island, and
therefore had every opportunity of informing himself
on the spot. In this memoir we are told, that i oerscti s
account of the tree is extremely suspicious, from a vari¬
ety of circumstances : 1. Though he had letters of in¬
troduction, he went to no considerable house, and atter-
wards privately withdrew among the English. 2. hen
the emperor was asked respecting Foersch, and the lacts
he relates, he answered, that he had never heard either
of him or of the tree. 3. The distances given to mark
the situation of the tree are not accurate. 4. I he exe¬
cution of criminals is different from what he represents,
c. The circumstance of several criminals returning when
Foersch was there, has a suspicious appearance. 6.1 here
exists no such tradition, as that the tree was placed
there by Mahomet. 7. There were no such disturb¬
ances in 1775 as Foersch represents, the tract to which
he alludes having submitted to the Dutch East India
Company as early as 17 56. 8. The island is not un¬
healthy, as Foersch asserts ; nor are violent or prema¬
ture deaths frequent. 9. The Javanese are a curious
and intelligent people, and of course could not be so
ignorant of this tree if it had any existence. 10. Ihe
assertions and pretended facts of Foersch have no col¬
lateral evidence ; and every thing which we gather from
the accounts of others, or from the history of the people,
invalidates them. For these and other reasons, Dr,
Nolst concludes, that very little credit is due to the re¬
presentations of Foersch, and that the island of Java
produces no such tree, which, if it really grew there,
would he the most remarkable of all trees.
We must notice also, that the account of this very re¬
markable tree has been still farther controverted by Sir
George Staunton, who, during his stay at Batavia,
made the most particular inquiries concerning it, and
found, that the existence of such a tree had never been
known there. {Embassy to China). The fabulous his¬
tory of this tree, however, has produced a most beauti¬
ful description from the muse of Dr Darwin, whose
harmonious verses on the subject we shall present to
our readers.
Poison.
Where seas of glass with gay reflections smile
Round the green coasts of Java’s palmy isle,
A spacious plain extends its upland scene,
Rocks rise on rocks, and fountains gusli between;
Soft:
POL f 59 ] P 0 L
Poisoa Soft zephyrs blow, eternal summers reign,
|| And showers prolific bless the soil, in vain !
Poland. —No spicy nutmeg scents the vernal gales,
* ’v Nor towering plantain shades the mid-day vales ;
No grassy mantle hides the sable hills.
No flowery chaplet crowns the trickling rills $
Nor tufted moss, nor leathery lichen creeps
In russet tapestry o\r the crumbling steeps,
v—No step retreating, on the sand impress’d,
Invites the visit of a second guest ;
No refluent fin the unpeopled stream divides,
No revolant pinion cleaves the airy tides j
Nor handed moles, nor beaked worms return,
That mining pass the irremeable bourn.—
Fierce in dread silence on the blasted heath
Fell Up as sits, the Hydra-tree of deatln
Lo ! from one root, the envenom’d soil below,
A thousand vegetative serpents grow ;
In shining rays the scaly monster spreads
O’er ten square leagues his far-diverging heads ;
Or in one trunk entwists his tangled form,
Uooks o’er the clouds, and hisses in the storm.
Steep’d in fell poison, as his sharp teeth part,
A thousand tongues in quick vibration dart ;
Snatch the proud eagle towering o’er the heath,
Or pounce the lion, as he stalks beneath j
Or strew, as marshall’d hosts contend in vain,
With human skeletons the whiten’d plain.
—Chain’d at his root two scion-demons dwell,
Breathe the faint hiss, or try the shriller yell }
Rise fluttering in the air on callow wings,
And aim at insect-prey their little stings.
Loves of the Plants^ canto iii.
POLACRE, a ship with three masts, usually navi¬
gated in the Levant and other parts of the Mediterra¬
nean. These vessels are generally furnished with square
sails upon the mainmast, and lateen sails upon the fore¬
mast and mizenmast. Some of them, however, carry
square sails upon all the three masts, particularly those
of Provence in France. Each of their masts is com¬
monly formed of one piece, so that they have neither
topmast nor top-gallant mast $ neither have they any
horses to their yards, because the men stand upon the
topsail-yard to loose or furl the top-gallant-sail, and on
the lower yard to reef to loose, or furl, the topsail,
whose yard is lowered sufficiently down tor that pur¬
pose.
POLAND, a country of Europe, in its largest ex¬
tent bounded by Pomerania, Brandenburg, Silesia, and
Moravia, to the west 5 and, towards the east, by part of
Russia and the Lesser Tartary •, on the north, it has the
Baltic, Russia, the grand province of Livonia, and Sa-
mogitia $ and on the south, it is bounded by Bessarabia,
Transylvania. Moldavia, and Hungary. Geographers
generally divide it into the provinces of Poland Proper,
Lithuania, Samogitia, C- urland, Prussia, Massovia,
Poluchia, Polesia, Little Russia, called likewise Russia
Rubra or Red Russia, Podolia, and the Ukraine. The
present kingdom of Poland, however, lately the duchy of
Warsaw, occupies but a small part of these territories.
F t a mapof Poland and Prussia, see PI. CCCCXXX1V.
With regard to the history of Poland, we are not to
gather the early part of it from any accounts transmit¬
ted to us by the natives. The early histories of all na¬
tions indeed are involved in fable ; but the Poles never Poland,
had even a fabulous histo'-y of their own nation. The —•
reason of this is, that it was not the custom with that
nation to entertain itinerant poets for the amusement of
the great ; for to the songs of these poets entertained
among other nations we are obliged for the early part of
their history ; but this assistance being deficient in Po¬
land, we must have recour-e to what is recorded con¬
cerning it by the historians of other nations.
The sovereigns ot Poland at first had the title of duces, Polish s#.
dukes or generals, as it their office had been only to vereigns at
lead the armies into the field. The first of these is'‘rslon*y
universally allowed to have been Lechus or Lecht;^^
and to render him more illustrious, he is said to have 2
be n a lineal descendant from Japbet the son of Noah. Jkechus the
According to some writers, he migrated at the head of first duke,
a numerous body ot the descendants of the ancient Sola-
vi from some of the neighbouring nations j and, to this
dav, Poland is called by the Tartars the kingdom of
Lechus. Busching, however, gives a different account
of the origin of the Poles. Sarmatia, he observes, was
an extensive country, inhabited by a variety of nations
of different names. He supposes the Poles to be the
descendants of the ancient Lazi, a people who lived in
Colchis near the Pontus Euxinus j whence the Poles
are sometimes called Po/azi. Crossing several rivers,
they entered Posnania, and settled on the borders of
the Warta, while their neighbours the Zechi settled on
the Elbe, in the 550th year of Christ. As to the name
of Poland, or Polska, as it is called by the natives, it
comes from the Sclavonic word Pole, or Poln, which
signifies a country adapted to hunting, because the Derivation
whole country was formerly covered with vast forests, of the diffe-
exceedingly proper for that employment rtnt names
Of the transactions of Lechus during the time that ^
he enjoyed the sovereignty, we have no certain ac¬
count. His successor was named Viscimer, who is ge- Viscimer
nerally supposed to have been the nephew of Lechus. tk stooaS
He was a warlike and successful prince, subduing many duke,
provinces of Denmark, and building the city of Wis-
mar, so called from the name of the sovereign. But the
Danish historians take no notice of his wars with their
country ; nor do they even mention a prince of this
name. However, he is said to have reigned for a long
time with great glory ; but to have left the people in
gr^at distress, on account of the disputes which arose
about a successor. ' ^
After the death of Viscimer, the nobility were on the Form of go*
point of electing a sovereign, when the people, harassed vernment
by the grievous burdens occasioned by the wars of Vis-c^aI18e^.'n*,
cimer, unanimously demanded another form of govern-
ment, that they might no longer be liable to suffer from
ambition and tyranny. At first the nobility pretended
to vield to this humour of the people with great reluc¬
tance ; however, they afterwards determined on such a
form of government as threw all the power into their
own hands. Twelve palatines, or vaivodes, were cho¬
sen ; and thf Polish dominions divided into as many
provinces. These palatines exercised a despotic autho¬
rity within their several jurisdictions, and aggravated
the misery of the people by perpetual wars among
themselves j upon which the Poles, worn out with op¬
pression, resolved to return to their old form of govern¬
ment. Many assemblies were held lor this purpose $
but, by reason of the opposition of the vaivodes, they
H % cam©
POL
[
Poland.
Again abo
lished.
8
Restored
a second
time.
came to nothing. At last, however, they cast their
eyes upon Cracus, or Gracus, whose wealth ami popula¬
rity had raised him to the highest honours among his
countrymen. The Poles say that he was a native of
Poland, and one of the 12 vaivodes ; hut the Bohemi¬
ans affirm that he was a native of their country : how¬
ever, both agree in maintaining, that he was descended
from the ancient family of the Gracchi in Borne ; who,
they say, were banished to this country. He is said to
have signalized himself against the Franks, whom he
overthrew in some desperate engagements, and after¬
wards built the city of Cracow with their spoils. He
did not enlarge his dominions, but made his subjects
happy by many excellent regulations. At last, alter a
long and glorious reign, he expired, or, according to
some, was assassinated by a nobleman who aspired to the
crown. . ,
Cracus left three children •, Cracus, Cechus, and a
daughter named Vanda. The first succeeded to the
dukedom in virtue of his birthright; but was soon alter
murdered by his brother Lechus. However, it seems
the thoughts of the crime which he had committed so
disturbed his conscience, that the secret could not be
kept. When it was known that he had been the mur¬
derer of his late sovereign, he was deposed with all pos¬
sible marks of ignominy and contempt, and his sister
Vanda declared duchess. She was a most beautiful and
accomplished lady ; and soon after she had been raised
to the sovereignty, one Bithogar, a Teutonic prince,
sent an ambassador demanding her in marriage, and
threatening war if his proposals were refused. Vanda
marched in person against him at the head of a numer¬
ous army, and the event proved fatal both to Bithogar
and herself. The troops of Bithogar abandoned him
without striking a blow, upon which he killed himself
in despair ; and Vanda, having become enamoured of
him, was so much concerned lor his death, that she
drowned herself in the river Vistula or Wessel. From
this unfortunate lady the country of Vandalia takes rts
name. .
The family of Cracus having become extinct by the
death of Vanda, the Poles were again left at liberty to
choose a new sovereign or a new form of government.
Through a natural levity, they changed the form of go¬
vernment, and restored the vaivodes notwithstanding all
that they had formerly-suffered from them. The conse¬
quences were the same as before: the vaivodes abused
their power'; the people were oppressed, and the state
was distracted between foreign wars and civil conten¬
tions. At that time the Hungarian^ and Moravians had
invaded Poland with a numerous army, and were oppo¬
sed only by a handful of men almost ready to surrender
at discretion, when one ■ Premislaus, a private sol¬
dier, contrived a stratagem by which the numerous for¬
ces of the enemy were overthrown : and for his valour
was rewarded with the dukedom. M e are ignorant of
the other transactions of his reign ; but all historians
inform us that he died deeply regretted, and without
issue ; so that the Poles had once more to choose a so¬
vereign.
On the death of Premislaus several candidates appear¬
ed for the throne ; and the Poles determined to prefer
him who could overcome all his competitors in a horse¬
race. A stone pillar was erected near the capital, on
which were laid all the ensigns of the ducal authority ;
4
6o ] POL
and a herald proclaimed, that he who first arrived at Poland,
that pillar from a river at some distance, named i oudenc,' v
was to eniov them. A Polish lord named Lechus was
resolved to secure the victory to himself by a stratagem;
for which purpose he caused iron spikes to be driven ad
over the course, reserving only a path for his own horse.
The fraudulent design took effect in part, all the rest of
the competitors being dismounted, and some severely
hurt by their fall. Lechus, in consequence of this vic¬
tory, was about to be proclaimed duke ; when, unlucki-
ly for him, a peasant who had found out the artifice
opposed the ceremony; and upon an examination of the
fact, Lechus was torn in pieces, and the ducal authority
conferred upon the peasant.
The name of the new- monarch was also Lechus. He
attained the sovereignty in the year 774> and conducted
himself with great wisdom and moderation. Though he
possessed the qualities of a great warrior, and extended
his dominions on the side of Moravia and Bohemia, yet
his chief delight was to make his subjects happy by
peace. In the decline of life he was obliged to engage
in a war with Charlemagne, and is said by some to have
fallen in battle with that powerful monarch ; though
others assert that he died a natural death, having lived
so long that the springs of life were quite worn out.
Lechus HI. was succeeded by his son Lechus H „
who inherited all his father’s virtues. He suppressed
an insurrection in the Polish provinces, by which he
acquired great reputation ; after which he led his army
against the Greek and Italian legions who had overrun
Pannonia. He gained a complete victory over his ene¬
mies. Nor was his valour more conspicuous in the bat¬
tle than his clemency to the vanquished: for he dismis¬
sed all his prisoners without ransom ; demanding no
other conditions than that they should never again, di¬
sturb the peace of Poland, or the allies of that king¬
dom. This duke is said to have been endowed with
many virtues, and is charged only with the vice of in¬
continence. He left 20 natural children, and only one
legitimate son, named Popiel, to whom he left the so¬
vereignty. Popiel was also a virtuous and pacific prince,
who never had recourse to arms but through necessity.
He removed the seat of government from Cracow to
Gnesna, and was succeeded by his nephew Popiel II.
a minor.
The young king behaved with propriety as long as
he was under the tuition of others ; but as soon as he had
got the reins of government into his own hands the face
of affairs was altered. Lechus III. who, as hath been
already mentioned, had 20 illegitimate children, had
promoted them to the government of different provinces ;
and they had discharged the duties of their offices in
such a manner as showed that they were worthy of the
confidence reposed in them. But as soon as Po¬
piel came of age, being seduced by the advice of his
wife, an artful and ambitious woman, he removed them
from their posts, treated them with the utmost contempt,
and at last found means to poison them all at once at an
entertainment. A dreadful punishment, however, ac¬
cording to the historians of those times, attended his
treachery and cruelty. The bodies of the unhappy go¬
vernors were left unburied; and from them issued a
swarm of rats, who pursued Popiel, his wife, and chil¬
dren, wherever they went, and at last devoured them.
The nation now became a prey to civil discord at the
same
POL [
Poland. same t*ni€ ^iat ^ was liarasse<^ by a foreign enemy 5 and,
i_ “ ‘ in short, the state seemed to be on the verge of dissolu-
9 tion, when Piastus was proclaimed duke in 830, from
Why the wl10m the natives of ducal or regal dignity were called
SfVpolandS Piastes‘ See Piastus. This excellent, monarch died
are called in 861, and was succeeded by his son Ziemovitus, who
Piastes. was of a more warlike disposition than his father, and
who first introduced regular discipline among the Po¬
lish troops. He maintained a respectable army, and
took great pains to acquire a perfect knowledge in the
art of war. The consequence of this was, that he was
victorious in all his battles j and retook from the Ger¬
mans and Hungarians not only all that they had gained,
but enlarged his dominions beyond what they had been.
After his death nothing remarkable happened in Poland
till the time of Mieczslaus [. who attained the ducal au¬
thority in 964. He was born blind, and continued so
for seven years ; after which he recovered his sight with¬
out using any medicine 5 a circumstance so extraordina-
10 ry, that in those times of ignorance and superstition it
Christiani- was accounted a miracle. In his reign the Christian re-
* ty introdu- ligion was introduced into Poland. The most probable
ced by Mi-account of the manner in which Christianity was intro-
eczlaus I. tjucej ;s> t|iat Mieczslaus having by ambassadors made
his addresses-to Daborwka daughter to the duke of Bo¬
hemia, the lady rejected his ofi'er unless he would suffer
himself to be baptized. To this the duke consented,
and was baptized, after having been instructed in the
principles of Christianity. He founded the archbishop¬
rics of Gnesna and Cracow ; and appointed St Adal¬
bert, sent by the pontiff to propagate Christianity in Po¬
land, primate of the whole kingdom. On the birth of
his son Boleslaushe redoubled his zeal 5 founding seve¬
ral bishoprics and monasteries •, ordering likewise that,
when any part of the. Gospel was read, the hearers
should half draw their swords, in testimony of their rea¬
diness to defend the faith. But he was too superstitious
to attend to the duties of a sovereign; and therefore
suffered his dominions to be ravaged by his barbarous
neighbour the duke of Kussia. Yet, with all his devo¬
tion, he could not obtain the title- of king from the
pope, though he had warmly solicited it. That title
was afterwards conferred on his son, who succeeded to
all his dominions.
Boleslaus Boleslaus I. the first king of Poland, surnamed C/iro-
the first bry, succeeded to the sovereignty in 999. He also pro-
! king of Fo- fessed and cherished Christianity, and was a man of great
land. valour and prudence. However, the first transaction of
his reign savoured very much of the ridiculous piety of
those times. He removed from Prague to Gnesna the
remains of a saint which he had purchased at a consider¬
able price. The emperor Otho III. made a pilgrimage,
on account of a vow, to the tomb of this saint. He was
hospitably received by Boleslaus, whom, in return, he
invested with the regal dignity; an act which was con¬
firmed by the pope. This new dignity added nothing
to the power of Boleslaus, though it increased his con¬
sequence with his own subjects. He now aflected more
state than before: his body-guards were considerably
augmented ; and he was constantly attended by a nu¬
merous and splendid retinue whenever he stirred out of
his palace.. Thus he inspired his people with an idea
of his greatness, and consequently of their own import¬
ance ; which no doubt was necessary for the accomplish¬
ment of a design he had formed, namely, an offensive
1] POL
war with Russia : but when he was upon the point of Poland,
setting out on this expedition, he was prevented by the l—v——
breaking out of a war with the Bohemians. The ele¬
vation of Boleslaus to the regal dignity had excited the
envy of the duke of Bohemia, who had solicited the
same honour for himself, and had been refused. His
jealousy was further excited by the connection between
Boleslaus and the emperor, the former having married
Rixa the emperor’s niece. Without any provocation,
therefore, or without giving the least intimation of his
design, the duke of Bohemia entered Poland at the head
of a numerous army, committing everywhere dreadful 12
ravages. Boleslaus immediately marched against him, He con-
and the Bohemians retired with precipitation. Scarcity |tuers £»•
of provisions, and the inclemency of the season, prevent¬
ed Boleslaus at that time from pursuing ; but as soon as
these obstacles were removed, he entered Bohemia at the
head of a formidable army, with a full resolution of tak¬
ing ample revenge. The Bohemians were altogether
unable to resist; neither indeed had they courage to
venture a battle, though Boleslaus did all in his power
to force them to it. So great indeed was the cowardice
of the duke or his army, that they suffered Prague, the
capital of the duchy, to be taken after a siege of two
years ; having never, during all that time, ventured to
relieve it by fighting the Polish army. The taking of
this city was quickly followed by the reduction of all
the places of inferior note : but though Boleslaus was in
possession of almost all the fortified places in Bohemia,
he could not believe his conquests to be complete until
he became master of the duke’s person. This unfortu¬
nate prince had shut himself up with his son in his only
remaining fortress of Wissogrod, where he imagined that
he should be able to foil all the attempts of the Polish
monarch. In this, however, he found himself disap¬
pointed. Boleslaus invested the place, and made his ap¬
proaches with such rapidity, that the garrison, dreading
a general assault, resolved to capitulate, and persisted in
their resolution notwithstanding all the entreaties and
promises of the duke. The consequence was, that the
unhappy prince fell into the hands of his enemies, and
had his eyes put out by Boleslaus ; after which, his son
Jaremir was put iato perpetual and close confinement.
From Bohemia Boleslaus marched towards Moravia ; and Mora-
and no sooner did he arrive on the frontier than thevia-
whole province submitted without a blow. He then re¬
sumed his intention of invading Russia ; for which he had
now a very fair opportunity, by reason of a civil Avar
which raged Avith violence among the children of Duke
Volodomir. The chief competitors were Jarislaus and
Suantepolk. The latter, having been defeated by his
brother, was obliged to take refuge in Poland, Avhere
he used all the arguments in his poAver with King Bole¬
slaus in order to induce him to rev'enge his cause. Bo¬
leslaus having already an intention of invading that
country, needed but little intreaty ; and therefore mo¬
ved towards Russia at the head of a very numerous ar¬
my : giving out, that he had no other design than to
revenge the injustice done to Suantepolk. He was met
on the banks of the river Bog by Jarislaus at the head of
an army much superior in number to his oAvn ; and for
some days the Polish army Avas kept at bay by the Rus- Gains a
sians. At last Boleslaus, groAving impatient, resolved Sreat 'ic-
to pass the river at all events ; and therefore forming his
cavalry in the best manner for breaking the torrent, he g;ans>
exposed
POL
[ 62
Poland
15
Places
Su intepolk
on the
throne of
■Russia,
16
who at-
tt mj iK to
cut him off
wr h nis
whole ar¬
my, but is
defeated.
17
A dreadful
battle be¬
tween the
.Russians
18
Saxony *
conquered
b> Bole-
-&laus,
exposed his 6wh person to tlie utmost ofiis force. F.n-
couraged by his example, the Poles advanced breast-
high in the water to the opposite shore } from whence
the enemy gave them all the annoyance in their power.
In spite of all opposition, however, the Poles reached
the bank, and soon gained a complete victory, Parisians
being obliged to fly to Kiovia. This city was immedi¬
ately invested •, but Jarislaus retired farther into the
country in order to recruit his army, leaving the city to
its fate. The garrison made a brave defence, but were
at last compelled to surrender at discretion. A vast trea¬
sure wras found in the place} great part of which was
distributed by Boleslaus among the soldiers.
Though the king of Poland had now become master
of the greatest part of Russia, he knew that the only
possible means of keeping the country in subjection was
by placing a natural sovereign overthe inhabitants. For
this reason lie reinstated Suantepolk, though his preten¬
sions were still disputed by Jarislaus, I lie latter had
formed a flying camp, and meditated a scheme of sur¬
prising and carrying off his rival brother ^ hut ha'mg
failed In his attempt, he retired to Novogorod, where
the attachment of the inhabitants enabled him to make
some resistance, till at last he was attacked and defeated
by Boleslaus, which seemed to give the finishing stroke
to his aflairs. The king of Poland, however, now met
with a more dangerous enemy in the perfidious and un¬
grateful Suantepolk than he had experienced in Jarislaus.
The Russian prince, imagining himself a dependent on
Boleslaus, formed a conspiracy against him •, by which
he projected nothing less than the destruction of him
and his whole army. The massacre was already begun
when Boleslaus received intelligence. The urgency of
the case admitted of no delay: the king therefore
mounted his horse ; and having with the utmost haste
assembled part of his army, fell upon the traitors with
such fury, that tiny were obliged to betake themselves
to -flight, and Boleslaus got safe into Poland. But in
the mean time Jarislaus having assembled fresh forces,
pursued the Polish army j and having come up with
them just as one half had crossed the river Bori-thenes,
attacked them with the utmost fury. Boleslaus defend¬
ed himself with the greatest resolution *, but, by reason
of his forces being divided, victory was dubious for a
long time. At last, when the army had wholly crossed,
the Russians were entirely put to the rout, and a terrible
carnage ensued. The victory, however, though com¬
plete,°was not decisive; for which reason Boleslaus
thought prop* r to continue his retreat, without attempt¬
ing to conquer a country too extensive for him ever to
keep in subjection. Still, however, his martial inclina¬
tion continued, and he ltd his army into Saxony. The
inhabitants i f this country had hitherto resisted all at¬
tempts that had been made on their freedom, and still
made a violent struggle for liberty •, though, in spite of
their utmost efforts, they were obliged at last to submit
to the yoke. On his withdrawing the troops from
Saxonv, however, the king thought proper to leave the
people to their liberty, contenting himself with a rich
booty. The boundaries of his empire he now fixed at
the river Elbe •, where be erected two iron columns,
in order to transmit the memory of his conquest to pos-
rtenty.
Boleslaus, still unsated with victory, now meditated
S
] ' POL
the conquest of Prussia and Pomerania j tli6 latter of Poland.
which provinces had, in the former civil wars, been dis¬
membered from Poland. His arms were attended with
9
  — - f | • with P ms-
equal success against both : indeed the very terror or bis Sla an(j iJ(^
name seemed to answer all the purposes of a formidable meraiiia.
These, however, he seems to have designed to
army.
be the last of his warlike enterprise^ $ for he now applied
himself wholly to the enacting of wholesome laws for the
benefit of his people. But in the midst of this tran¬
quillity Jarislaus assembled the most numerous army that
had ever been beai d of in Russia, with which he appear- 20
ed on the frontiers of Poland. Boleslaus, though now Gains ano-
advanced in years, marched out against his adversaries,t! ei
and met them on the banks of the Boristhenes, rendered
famous by the victory he had lately gamed there. J he ryUssians,
Poles crossed the river by swimming j and attacked the011 w.iich
enemy before they had time to draw up in order ofiht "“ole
battle with such impetuosity, that a total rout soon
sued. The Russians were seized with a panic, and Ja¬
rislaus was hurried away, and almost trampled to death
by the fugitives. Many thousand prisoners were taken,
but BoleslauM released them upon very easy conditions j
contenting himself with an inconsiderable tribute, and
endeavouring to engage the affections of the people by
his kindness. This well-timed clemency produced such a
happy effect, that the Russians voluntarily submitted
to his jurisdiction, and again became his subjects. Soon Bokslauj
after this he died in the year 1025, a*t,“r having great dies,
ly extended bis dominions, and rendered his subjects
happy.
Boleslaus was succeeded by his son Mieczlaus II.
but he possessed none ot the great qualities of Ins fattier,
being indolent and debauched in his behaviour. In
the verv beginning of his reign, the Russians, bohe¬
mians, and Moravians, revolted. However, as the spirit
and discipline introduced by Boleslaus still remained in
the Polish army, Mieezslaus found no gnat difficulty
in reducing them ayain to obedience, after which, de¬
voting himself entirely to voluptuousness, he was seized
with a frenzy, which put an end to his life in the year 22
1034. The bad qualities of this pro ce proved very Hixa, a ty-
detrimental to the interest of his son Casimir ; thoughrannical
the latter had received an excellent education, and 'vasdriven out
possessed of many virtues. Insreacl ofe eet.ng him king, wjth her
they chose Rixa his mother queen re gent. She proved son Casimil?
tyrannical, and so partial to her countrymen the Ger¬
mans, that a rebellion ensued, and she was forced to fly
to Germany; where she obtained the protection ot the
emperor by means of the immense treasures ot Boleslaus,
which she had caused to be transported thither before
her. Her bad behavimirand expulsion proved still more
fatal to the aflairs of ( asimir than even that of his fa¬
ther. He was immediately driven out of the kingdom ;
and a civil war taking p'ace, a great many pretenders to 23
the crown appeared at once. To the oi’series occasioned ! 0l0,1d |b-
bv this were adch d those of a foreign war; for the Bo- (01^ ;lI^
hemians and Russians invaded the kingdom in d 1 Acrentdomestic
p ices, commiiting the most dreadful ravages. The wars,
consequence of the>e accumulated distresses was, that the
nobility came at last to the resolution of recalling Casi-
mir, and electing him sovereign. However, beiore they
took this measure, it was thought proper to send to
Rome to complain of *he behaviour of the duke of Bo¬
hemia. The uepulies were at first received favourably :
but
POL
[ 63 ]
P u
Poland.
24
Casimir re¬
called and
elected
Ung.
25
Poland sub
jected to
the tax cal
led Peter-
gence.
26
BoleslausII,
a valiant
and sue
cessful
prince.
37
Entertains
three un¬
fortunate
princes.
28
Affords
effectual
succour to
Jacomir
prince of
Bohemia.
but the Influence of the fluke’s golfl prevailing, no re¬
dress tvas obtained j so that at last, without farther
struggle, it was resolved to recal Casimir.
The only difficulty was where to find the fugitive
prince ; for he had been gone five years from the king¬
dom, and nobody knew the place of his retreat. At
last, by sending an embassy to bis mother, it wras found
out that he had retired into France, where he applied
closely to study at the university of Paris. Afterwards
he went to Italy j where, for the sake of subsistence,
be took upon him the monastic habit. At that time he
had returned to Fiance, and obtained some preferment
in the abbey of Clugni. Nothing now obstructed the
prince’s return but the sacred function with which be
was invested. However, a dispensation was obtained
from the pope, by which he was released from his ec¬
clesiastical engagements, on condition that he and all
the kingdom should become subject to the capitation tax
called Peter-pence. Some other conditions of less con¬
sequence were added j such as, that the Poles should
shave their heads and beards, and wear a white linen
robe at festivals, like other pi'ofessors of the Catholic
religion. Great preparations were made for the recep¬
tion of the young prince : and he was met on the fron¬
tier by the nobility, clergy, and forces of the nation ;
by whom he was conducted to Gnesna, and crowned by
the primate with more than usual solemnity. He proved
a virtuous and pacific prince, as indeed the distracted
situation of the kingdom would not admit of the carry¬
ing on of wars. However, Casimir proved his courage
in subduing the banditti by which the country was over¬
run ; and by m arrying the princess Mary, sister to the
duke of Russia, all quarrels with that nation were for
the present extinguished. Upon the whole, the king¬
dom flourished during his reign 5 and became more re¬
spectable from the wisdom and stability of the admini¬
stration than it could have been by many victories.
After a happy reign of 16 years, he died beloved and
regretted by all his subjects.
By the happy administration of Casimir the kingdom
recovered sufficient strength to carry on successful wars
against its foreign enemies. Boleslaus II. the son of Ca¬
simir, an enterprising and valiant prince, succeeded to
the throne j and soon made himself so famous, that three
unfortunate princes all took refuge at his court at once,
having been expelled from their own dominions by their
rebellious subjects. These were, Jacomir, son of Brite-
slaus duke of Bohemia •, Bela, brother to the king of
Hungary 5 and Zaslaus duke of Kiovia, eldest son to
Jarislaus duke of Russia, and cousin to the king of Po¬
land. Boleslaus determined te redress all their grievances;
but while he deliberated upon the most proper means
for so doing, the duke of Bohemia, dreading the conse¬
quences of Jacomir’s escape, assembled an army, and,
without any declaration of war, marched through the
Hercynian forest, desolated Silesia, and laid waste the
frontiers of Poland with fire and sword. Boleslaus
marched against him with a force greatly inferior; and,
by mere dint of superior capacity, cooped up his adver¬
sary in a wood, where he reduced him to the greatest
distress. ]n this extremity the duke sent proposals for
accommodation ; but they were rejected with disdain by
Boleslaus; upon which the former, ordering fires to be
kindled in his camp, as if he designed to continue there,
removed with the utmost silence in the night-time ; and
marching through narrow defiles, had advanced several Poland.
leagues before Boleslaus received advice of his retreat. —v  *
The king pursued him, but in vain; for which reason
he returned, after having ravaged the frontiers of Mo¬
ravia. The next year he entered Bohemia with a nu¬
merous army; but the duke, being unwilling to en¬
counter such a formidable adversary, submitted to such
terms as Boleslaus thought proper to impose. In these
the king of Poland stipulated for certain conditions in
favour of Jacomir, which he took care to see punctu¬
ally executed ; after which he determined to march to¬
wards Hungary, to assist the fugitive prince Bela. 29
This prince had been for some time solicited by a and to Bek
party of disaffected nobility to return, as his brother, P^nce of
the reigning king, had alienated the hearts of his sub-^un°aIJ
jects by his tyrannical behaviour: as soon therefore as
Boleslaus bad finished the war in Bohemia, he was so¬
licited by Bela to embrace so favourable an opportunity,
and put him in possession of the kingdom of Hungary.
This the king readily complied with, as being agreeable
to his own inclination ; and both princes entered Hun¬
gary by different routes, each at the head of a numer¬
ous body. The king of that country, however, was
not disconcerted by such a formidable invasion; and be¬
ing largely assisted by the emperor, advanced against his
antagonists with a vast army ; among whom was a nu¬
merous body of Bohemians, who had come to his assist¬
ance, though in direct violation of the treaty subsisting
between the duke and the king of Poland. At last a
decisive battle was fought, in which the Germans be¬
haved with the greatest valour, but were entirely de¬
feated through the treachery of the Hungarians, who in
the heat of the battle deserted and went over to Bela.
Almost all the foreign auxiliaries were killed on the
spot ; the king himself was seized, and treated with
such insolence by his perfidious subjects, that lie died
in a short time of a broken heart; so that Bela was
placed on the throne without further opposition, except
from a revolt of the peasants, which was soon quelled
by the Polish army.
Boleslaus, having succeeded so happily in these two He projects
enterprises, began to look upon himself as invincible ; the con-
and, instead of designing only to assist Zaslaus, as l)e
had first intended, now projected no less than the sub¬
jection of the whole country. He had indeed a claim
to the sovereignty by virtue of his descent from Mary,
queen of Poland, sister to Jarislaus ; and this lie endea¬
voured to strengthen by marrying a Russian princess
himself. Having therefore assembled a very numerous
and well-disciplined army, he entered the duchy of
Kiovia, where he was opposed by Wisseslaus, who had
usurped the sovereignty, with a vast multitude of forces.
Boleslaus, however, continued to advance ; and the Meets witKi
Russian prince being intimidated by the number and surprising
good order of his enemies, deserted his own troops, and success‘
fled away privately with a slender retinue; upon which i
his force dispersed themselves for want of a leader. The
inhabitants of the city of Kiovia now called to their
assistance Suamoslaus and Wszevold two brothers of
Wisseslaus; but these princes acting the part of media¬
tors, procured pardon for the inhabitants from Zaslaus
their natural sovereign. With the same facility the two
princes recovered all the other dominions belonging to
Zaslaus ; only one city venturing to stand a siege, and
that was soon reduced. But in the mean time the king
*iV
'oland.
enervates
himself
there.
■pox. L
of Hungary dying, a revolt ensued, and the two sons
^ ' of Bela were on the point of being deprived of their
paternal dominions. This Boleslaus no sooner heard of
than he marched directly into Hungary j where by the
terror of his name only, he re-established tranquillity,
and confirmed the princes in the enjoyment of then-
kingdom. In the time that this was doing, Zaslaus
was again driven from his territories, all the conquests
that had been formerly made were lost, and Suantoslaus
and Wszevold more powerful than ever. _ The king’s
vigour, however, soon disconcerted all their measures.
He ravaged all those territories which composed the
palatinates of Lusac and Chelm, reduced the strong city
of Wolyn, and transported the booty to Poland. The
campaign was finished by a battle with Wszevold j which
proved so bloody, that though Boleslaus was victorious,
his army was weakened in such a manner that he could
not pursue his conquests. In the winter he made nu¬
merous levies j and returning in the spring to Kioyia,
reduced it, after several desperate attacks, by famine.
On this occasion, instead of treating the inhabitants
with cruelty, he commended their valour, and strictly
prohibited his troops from pillaging or insulting them j
distributing provisions among them with the utmost li-
berality.
Reduces This clemency procured the highest honour to the
Kid via, hut king of Poland } but his stay here produced a most ter-
’ rible disaster. Kiovia was the most dissolute, as well as
the richest city, in the north $ the king and all his sol¬
diers gave themselves up to the pleasures of the place.
Boleslaus himself affected all the imperious state of an
eastern monarch, and contracted an inclination for the
grossest debaucheries. The consequence had almost
proved fatal to Poland. The Hungarian and Russian
wars had continued for seven years, during all which
time the king had never been at home excepting once
for the short space of three months. In the mean time
the Polish women, exasperated at hearing that their
husbands had neglected them and connected themselves
with the women of Kiovia, raised their slaves to the
beds of their masters ■, and in short the whole sex
conspired in one general scheme of prostitution, in or¬
der to be revenged of the infidelity of their husbands,
excepting one single woman, namely, Margaret, the wife
of Count Nicholas of Demboisin, who preserved her fi¬
delity in spite of all solicitation. Advice of this strange
revolution was soon received at Kiovia, where it excited
terrible commotions. The soldiers blamed the king for
their dishonour j forgetting how much they had to ac¬
cuse their own conduct in giving their wives such ex¬
treme provocation. The effect of these discontents was
a general desertion, and Boleslaus saw himself suddenly
left almost alone in the heart of Russia; the soldiers
having unanimously resolved to return home to take
vengeance of their wives and their gallants.
A dreadful kind of war now ensued. The women
knew that they were to expect no mercy from their
enraged husbands, and therefore persuaded their lovers
to take arms in their defence. They themselves fought
by the side of their gallants with the utmost fury, and
sought out their husbands in the heat of battle, in or¬
der to secure themselves from all danger ot punishment
by their death. They were, however, on the point of
being subdued, when Boleslaus arrived with the few re¬
maining Poles, but assisted by a vast army of Russians,
Poland.
35
33
Universal
defection
of the Po
lish wo¬
men.
34
A terrible
civil war
ensues.
64 ] POJ-
with whom he intended to take equal vengeance on the
women, their gallants, and his own soldiers who had
deserted him. This produced a carnage more dreadful
than ever. The soldiers united with their former wives
and their gallants against the common enemy, and
fought against Boleslaus and the Russians with the lury
of lions. At last, however, the fortune of the king
prevailed j the rebels were totally subdued, and the lew
who escaped the sword were tortured to death, or died
in prison. *
To add to the calamities of this unhappy kingdom, Religious
the schisms which for some time had prevailed in the
church ol Rome found their way also into Poland 5 and
the animosity of parties became aggravated in propor¬
tion to the frivolousness of their differences. By per¬
verse accident the matter came at last to be a contention
for wealth and power between the king and clergy. ,5
This soon gave occasion to bloodshed j and the bishop Boleslans
of Cracow was massacred in the cathedral while he was deposed^y
performing the duties of his office. This and some other
enormous crimes in a short time brought on the most wj10ie king,
signal vengeance of the clergy. Gregory VII. the pope dom put
at that time, thundered out the most dreadful anathe-under an
mas against the king, released his subjects from theirmter lct‘
.allegiance, deprived him of the titles of sovereignty,
and laid the kingdom under a general interdict, which
the archbishop of Gnesna saw punctually enforced. To
this terrible sentence Boleslaus in vain opposed his au¬
thority, and recalled the spirit which had formerly ren¬
dered him so formidable to the neighbouring states. The
minds of the people were blinded by superstition, so that
they deemed it a less heinous crime to rise in rebellion
against their sovereign than to oppose the tyranny of the
holy see. Conspiracies were daily formed against the per¬
son and government of Boleslaus. The whole kingdom
became a scene of confusion, so that the king could no
longer continue with safety in his own dominions. He
fled therefore with his son Mieczslaus, and took refuge
in Hungarybut here also the holy vengeance of the
clergy pursued him, nor did they cease persecuting him 37
till he was brought to a miserable end. Authors differ Tlie king’s
widely with respect to the manner of his death. Some extreme
say that he was murdered by the clergy as he was hunt-^^^8^
ing } others, that he killed himself in a fit of despair j
and one author tells us, that he wandered about in the
woods of Hungary, lived like a savage upon wild beasts,
and was at last killed and devoured by dogs. The great¬
est number, however,tell us, that being driven from place
to place by the persecutions of the clergy, he was at last
obliged to become a cook in a monastery at Carinthia,
in which mean occupation he ended his days.
The destruction of Boleslaus was not sufficient to al- The inter¬
lay the papal resentment. It extended to the whole king- diet remo-
dom of Poland. Mieczlaus, the son of Boleslaus, was
not suffered to ascend the throne j and the kingdom trfevous
continued under the most severe interdict, which could impositions,
be removed only by the force of gold, and the most ab¬
ject concessions. Besides the tax called Peter-pence, new
impositions were added of the most oppressive nature
till at length the pontift, having satiated his avarice,
and impoverished the country, consented that the bro¬
ther of the deceased monarch should be raised to the
sovereignty, but only with the title of duke. This
prince, named Uladislaus, being of a meek disposition,
with little ambition, thought it his duty to acquiesce
implicitly
POL
Poland.
39
Uladislaus
becomes
sovereign,
but is al¬
lowed on¬
ly the title
of duke.
40
Boleslaus
III. divides
his domi¬
nions be¬
twixt Sbig-
neus his
illegitimate
brother and
himself.
.4I
A civil
42 _
Generosity
of Bole¬
slaus, and
ingratitude
ofSbigneus,
implicitly in the will of the pope j and therefore accept¬
ed the terms offered, sending at the same time an embas¬
sy to Rome, earnestly intreating the removal of the in¬
terdict. The request was granted j but all his endea¬
vours to recover the regal dignity proved fruitless, the
pope having in conjunction with the emperor of Ger¬
many, conferred that honour on the duke of Bohemia.
This was extremely mortifying to Uladislaus, but it was
absorbed in considerations of the utmost consequence to
himself and his dominions. Russia took the opportunity
of the late civil disturbances to throw off the yoke 5 and
this revolt drew after it the revolt of Prussia, Pomerania,
and other provinces. The smaller provinces, however,
were soon reduced •, but the duke had no sooner returned
to Poland, than they again rebelled, and hid their fami¬
lies in impenetrable forests. Uladislaus marched against
them with a considerable army 5 but was entirely defeat¬
ed, and obliged to return back with disgrace. Next
year, however, he had better fortune j and, having led
against them a more numerous army than before, they
were content to submit and deliver up the ringleaders of
the revolt to be punished as the duke thought proper.
No sooner were the Pomeranians reduced, than civil
dissensions took place. Sbigneus, the son of Uladislaus
by a concubine, was placed at the head of an army by
the discontented nobility, in order to subvert his father’s
government, and dispute the title of Boleslaus, the legi¬
timate son of Uladislaus to the succession. The war was
terminated by the defeat and captivity of Sbigneus 3 who
was at first confined, but afterwards released on condition
that he should join his father in punishing the palatine of
Cracow. But before this could be done, the palatine
found means to effect a reconciliation with the duke;
with which the young princes being displeased, a war
took place between them and their father. The end of
all was, that the palatine of Cracow was banished, and
the princes submitted j after which, Uladislaus, having
chastised the Prussians and Pomeranians who had again
revolted, died in the year 1103, ^ie 59^5
Uladislaus was succeeded by bis son Boleslaus III.
who divided his dominions equally betwixt his brother
Sbigneus and himself. The former being dissatisfied with
his share, raised cabals against his brother. A civil war
was for some time prevented by the good offices of the
primate : but at last Sbigneus, having privately stirred
up the Bohemians, Saxons, and Moravians, against his
brother, made such formidable preparations as threatened
the conquest of all Poland. Boleslaus, being unprovided
with forces to oppose such a formidable power, had re¬
course to the Russians and Hungarians j who readily em¬
braced his cause, in expectation of turning it to their own
advantage. The event was, that Sbigneus was entirely
defeated ; and might easily have been obliged to surren¬
der himself at diseretion, had not Boleslaus generously
left him in quiet possession of the duchy of Mazovia, in
order to maintain himself suitably to the dignity of bis
birth. This kindness the ungrateful Sbigneus repaid by
entering into another conspiracy; but the plot being dis¬
covered, he was seized, banished, and declared a traitor
if ever he set foot again in Poland. Even this severity
did not produce the desired effect: Sbigneus persuaded
the Pomeranians to arm in his behalf 5 but he was de¬
feated, taken prisoner, and again banished. Almost all
the nobility solicited the king to put such an ungrateful
traitor to death ; however, that generous prince could
Vol. XVII. Part I. +
[ 55 ]
POL
43
not think of polluting his hands with the death of his Poland,
brother, notwithstanding all he had yet done. Nay, he '
even took him back to Poland, and appointed him a
maintenance suitable to his rank : but he soon had rea¬
son to repent of his kindness j for his unnatural brother wj)0
in a short time began to raise fresh disturbances, in last put to
consequence of which he soon met with the death which death,
he deserved.
Boleslaus was scarcely freed from the intrigues of his
brother, when he found himself in greater danger than 44
ever from the ambition of the emperor Henry IV. The War with
emperor had attacked the king of Hungary, yvith whom1*10 ernPc"
Boleslaus was in close alliance, and from whom he badly *lxm'
received assistance when in great distress himself. The
king of Poland determined to assist his friend 5 and there¬
fore made a powerful diversion in Bohemia, where he re¬
peatedly defeated the Imperialists: upon which, the em¬
peror collecting all his forces, ravaged Silesia, and even
entered Poland, where he laid siege to the strong town
of Lubusz ^ but was at last obliged to abandon the en¬
terprise, after having sustained much loss. However,
Henry was not discouraged, but penetrated still farther
into Poland, and was laying waste all before him, when
the superior skill of Boleslaus compelled him to retire,
after having almost destroyed his army with fatigue and
famine, without once coming to action. Enraged at this
disappointment, Plenry laid siege to Glogaw, in hopes
of drawing the Poles to an engagement before he should
be obliged to evacuate the country. The fortifications
of the place were weak; but the spirit of the inhabitants
supplied their deficiencies, and they gave the Imperialists
a most unexpected and vigorous reception. At last, how¬
ever, they were on the point of surrendering to superior
force ) and actually agreed to give up the place, provi¬
ded they did not receive any succours during that time.
Boleslaus determined, however, not to let such a brave
garrison fall a sacrifice to their loyalty *, and therefore
prevailed on the besieged to break the capitulation ra¬
ther than surrender when they were on the point of be¬
ing delivered. All this was transacted with the utmost
secrecy 5 so that the emperor advanced, without thoughts
of meeting with any resistance, to take possession of the
city •, but, being received by a furious discharge of ar¬
rows and javelins, he w'as so incensed, that be resolved
to storm the place, and give no quarter. On the ap¬
proach of the army, the Imperialists were astonished to
see not only the breaches filled up, but new walls, se¬
cured by a w'et ditch, reared behind the old, and erect¬
ed during the suspension of hostilities by the industry of
the besieged. The attack, however, went on 5 but the
inhabitants, animated by despair, defended themselves who is
with incredible valour, and at last obliged the Imperia-worsted,
lists to break up the siege with precipitation. Next day
Boleslaus arrived, and pursued the emperor with such
vigour, that he obliged him to fly with disgrace into his
own country. This soon brought on a peace, which
was confirmed by a marriage between Boleslaus and the
emperor’s sister. 45
Hitherto the glory of Bnleslaus had equalled, or even Boleslaus
eclipsed, that of his namesake and predecessor Boleslaus
the Great j but about the year 1135 he was brought”^^^
into difficulties and disgrace by his own credulity. He his own
was imposed upon by an artful story patched up by a credulity
certain Hungarian ; who insinuated himself so far intoullij Scne-
his affections, that he gave him the government of Wi-roslty‘
I slica,
POL
Poland, slica, a strong town on the river Nitla.
—y, ) tor gave up the place to the Russians, who pillaged and
burnt it } carrying the inhabitants at the same time
into slavery. Boleslaus was incensed, and entered im¬
mediately upon a war with Russia, by which means he
only heaped one calamity upon another. He received
a deputation from the inhabitants ot Halitz, to implore
his assistance in favour of a young prince, who had been
banished into Poland. Boleslans marched to their re¬
lief with a choice body of troops } but as he was pre¬
paring to enter the town, he was attacked by the whole
Russian army, and, after a most violent conflict, entirely
defeated. By this disgrace the duke was so much af¬
flicted, that he died in a short time, after having reign¬
ed 36 years. _ _
Boleslaus, by his will, left his dominions equally di
Poland;
A8
A civil
war.
47
Poland di   , —  7 _ - -
vided a- vided among his four sons. Uladislaus, the eldest, had
mons the provinces of Cracow, Sirad, Lencici, Silesia, and
iolcskus" Pomerania. Boleslaus, the second son, had for his share
the palatinates of Culm and Cujavia, with the dueny ot
Mazovia. The palatinates of Kaleszh and Posnama
fell to Mieczslaus the third son-, and to Henry, the
fourth son, were assigned those of Lublin and Sando-
mir. Casimir the youngest child, then an infant in the
cradle, was entirely forgotten, and no provision made for
him. There have been but very few instances where
dominions were thus divided, that the princes remain¬
ed satisfied with their respective shares j neither did the
sons of Boleslaus long continue at peace with one ano¬
ther. By the will of the late duke, all the brothers
were obliged to own the supremacy of Uladislaus, who
was declared duke of all Poland : they were restrained
from forming alliances, declaring war, or concluding
peace, without his approbation : they were obliged to
take the field with a certain number of troops, whenever
the duke required it-, and they were forbid to meddle
with the guardianship of the infant prince Casimir,^ his
education being left entirely to the sovereign. The
harmony of the princes was first disturbed by the am¬
bition of Christina, the wife of Uladislaus, who formed
a scheme to get possession of all Poland, and deprive
the younger children of the benefit of their father s
will. Having obtained her husband’s concurrence, she
assembled the states of Poland, and made a long speech,
showing the dangers which might arise irom a parti¬
tion of the ducal dominions among so many j and con¬
cluded with attempting to show the necessity of revoking
the ratification of the late duke’s will, in order to en¬
sure the obedience of the princes and the tranquillity
of the republic. Many of the nobility expressed their
resentment against this speech, and fully refuted every
article in it j but they were all afterwards gained over,
or intimidated by Uladislaus so that none appeared to
take the part of the young princes except a noble Dane,
who lost his life fur so doing.
Uladislaus now having got the nobifity on his side,
.unc*. first drove Boleslaus out of his territories j next, he
ail the rest, marcliefl against Henry, and dispossessed him al»o, lor-
ciugboth to take refuge with Mieczsiaus in Posnania,
where all the three brothers were besieged. Several of
the nobility interposed, and used all their influence to
effect a reconciliation, hut in vain *, for Uladislaus was
as inexorable as if be had received an injury ; and there¬
fore insisted that the besieged princes slionld surrender
at discretion, and submit to the will of the conqueror.
[ G6 ] POL
But tlie trai- Thus driven to despair, the brothers sained
attacked the duke’s army with such impetuosity, that
they obtained a complete victory, and took all las bag¬
gage and valuable effects. The brothers improved their
victory, and laid siege to Cracow. The Russians, who
had assisted Uladislaus at first, now entirely abandoned
him, and evacuated Poland, which obliged him to shut
himself up in Cracow *, but, finding the inhabitants att e
disposed to stand a siege, he retired into Germany in or¬
der to solicit assistance from his wife’s friends. But here
he found himself mistaken, and that these friends were
attached to him only in his prosperity 5 while in the
mean time the city of Cracow surrendered, the unfor-
tunate Uladislaus was formally deposed, and his brother and u <lc
Boleslaus raised to the supreme authority.
The new duke began his administration with an act
5°
49
Uladislaus
drives cut
of generosity to his brother Uladislaus, to whom he gave
the duchy of Silesia, which thus was separated from
Poland, and has never since been re-annexed to it. This
had no other effect upon Uladislaus than the putting
him in a condition to raise fresh disturbances $ for he
now found means to persuade the emperor Conrade tu
invade Poland : but Boleslaus so harassed and fatigued
his army by perpetual marches, ambuscades, and skir¬
mishes, that he was obliged in a short time to return to
his own country j and for some years Poland enjoyed
profound tranquillity.
During this interval Henry entered on a crusade ;
and, though he lost almost all his army' in that enthu¬
siastic undertaking, he is celebrated by the superstitious
writers of that age, as the bulwark ot the church, and
one of the greatest Christian heroes : however, in all
probability, the reason of this extraordinary fame is,
that he made large donations to the knights^of St John
of Jerusalem. Soon alter the return of Pienry, ^>0" p0ian(j in.
land was invaded by the emperor Frederic Barbarossa, vatje(j by
who was persuaded to this by the solicitations of Uta-theempe-
dislaus and his wife Christina. The number of the Im- ror Barba-
perialists was so great, that Boleslaus and his brothers ’
did not think proper to oppose them in the field 5 they
contented themselves with cutting off the convoys, pla¬
cing ambuscades, harassing them on their march, and
keeping them in perpetual alarms by false attacks and
skirmishes. With this view the three brothers divided
their forces, desolated the country before the enemy,
and burnt all the towns and cities which were in no
condition to stand a siege. Thus the emperor, advan¬
cing into the heart of a desolated country where he
could not subsist, was at last reduced to such a situation
that he could neither go forward nor retreat, and was 5J6
obliged to solicit a conference with Boleslaus. The lat- who is ob-
ter vvas too prudent to irritate him by an unseasonable liged t«
haughtiness, and therefore went to the German camp
attended only by his brothers and a slight guard. This1*'
instance of confidence was so agreeable to the emperor,
that a treaty was soon entered upon, which was con¬
firmed by a marriage between Adelaide, niece to the
emperor, and Mieczslaus duke of Posnania.
Boleslaus having thus happily escaped from so great
a danger, took it into his head to attempt the conquest
of Prussia, for no other reason but because the inhabi¬
tants were heathens. Having unexpectedly invaded the
country with a very numerous army, he succeeded in
his enterprise j great numbers of infidels were converted,
and many churches set up : but no sooner was Boleslaus
gone,
POL [ 67 ] POL
Poland. B°ne, Ilian tlie inhabitants returned to their old religion.
U ■ y—i > Upon this Boleslaus again came against them with a
formidable power j but being betrayed by some Prus¬
sians whom he had taken into his service and raised to
posts of honour, his army was led into defiles and almost
entirely cut off, Duke Henry was killed, and Boleslaus
and Mieczslaus escaped with great difficulty.
This misfortune was quickly followed by another $
for now the children of Uladislaus laid claim to all the
Polish dominions which had been possessed by their fa-
s, ther, most of which had been bestowed upon young Ca-
A civil simir. They were supported in their pretensions by a
war. great number of discontented Poles, and a considerable
body of German auxiliaries. Boleslaus, finding him¬
self unable to withstand his enemies by force, had re¬
course to negotiation, by which means he gained time
to recruit his army and repair his losses. An assembly
of the states was held, before which the duke so fully
lefuted the claims of the children of Uladislaus, that it
was almost unanimously voted that they bad kindled an
"unjust war-, and to take away every pretence for renew-
iog the civil discords of Poland, they were a second time
invested with the duchy of Silesia, which for the present
put an end to all disputes. After this, Boleslaus appli¬
ed himself to promote, by all means, the happiness of his
8ubjects, till his death, which happened in the year J174.
On the death of Boleslaus, the states raised his bro¬
ther Mieczslaus to the ducal throne, on account of the
great opinion they had of him. But the moment that
Mieczslaus ceased to be a subject, he became a tyrant,
and a slave to almost every kind of vice •, the conse¬
quence of which was, that in a very short time he was
54 deposed, and his brother Casimir elected in his stead.
€ a simir, an Casimir was a prince of the greatest justice and bene-
oxcellent vo]encej insomuch that he scrupled to accept of the ho-
jnnnce, nour wl1ich the states had conferred upon him, lest it
should be a trespass against the laws of equity. How¬
ever, this scruple being soon got over, he set himself a-
bout securing peace and tranquillity in all parts of his
dominions. He redressed all grievances, suppressed ex¬
orbitant imposts, and assembled a general diet, in which
it was proposed to rescue the peasants from the tyranny
of the nobility j an aflair of such consequence, that the
duke could not enter upon it by his own authority, even
though supported by the clergy. Yet it proved less
difficult than had been imagined, to persuade the nobi¬
lity to relinquish certain privileges extremely detrimen¬
tal to natural right. They were influenced by the ex¬
ample of their virtuous sovereign, and immediately
granted all that he required ; and to secure this decla¬
ration in favour of *he peasants, the archbishop of Gnes-
na thundered out anathemas against those who should
endeavour to regain the unjust privileges which they had
now renounced ; and to give still greater weight to this
decision, the acts of the diet were transmitted to Rome,
and were confirmed by the pope.
But though the nobility in general consented to have
their power somewhat retrenched, it proved matter of
discontent to some, who for this reason immediately be¬
came the partisans of the deposed Mieczslaus. This un¬
fortunate prince was now reduced to such indigence,
that he wrote an account of his situation to his brother
Casimir $ which so much affected him, that in an as¬
sembly of the diet he proposed to resign the sovereignty
in favour of his brother. To this the states replied in
the most peremptory manner : they desired him never Poland,
more to mention the subject to them, lest they should —v"— ';
be under the necessity of deposing him and excluding
his brother, who, they were determined, should never
more have the dominion of Poland. Casimir, however,
was so much concerned at the account of his brother’s
misfortunes, that he tried every method to relieve him,
and even connived at the arts practised by some discon¬
tented noblemen to restore him. By a very singular
generosity, he facilitated the reduction of Gnesna and
Lower Poland, where Mieczslaus might have lived in
peace and splendour, had not his heart been so corrupt¬
ed that it could not be subdued by kindness. The con¬
sequence was, that he used all his art to wrest from his
brother the whole of his dominions, and actually con¬
quered the provinces of Mazovia and Cujavia ; but of
these he was soon dispossessed, and only some place sin
Lower Poland were left him. After this he made an¬
other attempt, on occasion of a report that Casimir had
been poisoned in an expedition into Russia. He sur¬
prised the city of Cracow; but the citadel re fused to
surrender, and his hopes were entirely blasted by the re¬
turn of Casimir himself; who, with an unparalleled ge¬
nerosity and magnanimity, asked peace of his brother
whom he had vanquished and had m a manner at his 55
mercy.—The last action ot this amiable prince was the conquers
conquest of Russia, which he effected rather by the re- ^USiiii'
putation of his wisdom and generosity than by the force
of his arms. Those barbarians voluntarily submitted to
a prince so famed for bis benevolence, justice, and hu¬
manity. Soon after his return, he died at Cracow, la¬
mented as the best prince in every respect who had ever
filled the throne of Poland.
Casimir left one son, named Lechus, an infant; and
the states, dreading the consequences of a long mino¬
rity, hesitated at appointing him sovereign, considering
how many competitors he must necessarily have, and
how dubious it must be whether he might be fit for the $6
sovereignty after he had obtained it. At last, however,(war
Lechus was nominated, chiefly through the interest he
had obtained on account of the reputation of his father’s ^ j,ose(j
virtues. The consequence of his nomination was pre- Mieczslaus.
cisely what might have been expected. Mieczslaus
formed an alliance against him with the dukes of Op-
pelen, Pomerania, and Breslau ; and having raised all
the men in Lower Poland fit to bear arms, took the
road to Cracow with a very numerous army. A bloody
battle was fought on the banks of the river Mozgarva ;
in which both sides were so much weakened, that they
were unable to keep the fit id, and consequently were
forced to retire for some time in order to repair their
forces. Mieczslaus was first ready for action, and there¬
fore had the advantage : however, he thought proper to
employ artihee rather than open force; and therefore
having attempted in vain to corrupt the guardians of
Lechus, he entered into a treaty with the duchess-dow¬
ager his mother. To her hr represented in the strong¬
est manner the miseries which would ensue from her re¬
fusal of the conditions he proposed. He stipulated to
adopt Lechus and Conrade, her sons, for his own ; to
surrender the province of Cujavia for their present sup¬
port ; and to declare them heirs to all his dominions.
The principal nobility opposed this accommodation, but 57
it was accepted bv tbe duchess in spite of all their re- Mieczslaus
monstrances; and Mieczslaus was once more put in pos-ltstore*'
I 2 session
Poland.
58
Poland ra¬
vaged by
the Tar¬
tars.
POL [
session of the capital, after having taken a solemn oath
to execute punctually every article of the treaty.
It is not to be supposed that a prince of such a per¬
fidious disposition as Mieczslaus would pay much regard
to the obligations of a simple contract. It was a max¬
im with him, that a sovereign is no longer obliged to
keep his oath than while it is neither safe nor beneficial
to break it. Having therefore got all the power into
his hands, he behaved in the very same manner as if no
treaty with the duchess had subsisted. The duchess,
perceiving herself duped, formed a strong party, and
excited a general insurrection. The rebellion could not
be withstood : Mieczslaus was driven out of Cracow,
and on the point of being reduced to his former circum¬
stances, when he found means to produce a variance be¬
tween the duchess and palatine of Cracow and thus
once more turned the scale in his favour. The forces
of Mieczslaus now became superior, and he, in conse¬
quence, regained possession of Cracow, but did not long
enjoy his prosperity, falling a victim to his intempe¬
rance 5 so that Lechus was restored to the sovereignty
in the year 1206.
The government of Lechus was the most unfortunate
of any of the sovereigns of Poland. In his time the
Tartars made an irruption, and committed everywhere
the most cruel ravages. At last they came to an en¬
gagement with the Poles, assisted by the Russians j and
after an obstinate and dreadful conflict, obtained a com¬
plete victory. This incursion, however, terminated as
precipitately as it commenced 5 for without any appa¬
rent reason they retired, just as the whole kingdom was
ready to submit ; but the devastations they had com¬
mitted produced a famine, which was soon followed by
a plague that depopulated one of the most populous
countries of the north. In this unhappy situation of
affairs, death ended the misfortunes of Lechus, who was
murdered by his own subjects as he was bathing. A
civil war took place after his death 5 and the history
for some time is so confused, that it is difficult to say
with certainty who was his successor. During this un¬
fortunate state of the country, the Tartars made a se¬
cond irruption, laid all desolate before them, and were
advancing to the capital, when they were attacked and
defeated with great slaughter by the palatine of Cra¬
cow with only a handful of men. The power of the
enemy, however, ivas not broken by this victory ; for,
next year, the Tartars returned, and committed such
barbarities as can scarce be imagined. Whole provinces
were defeated, and every one of the inhabitants mas¬
sacred. They were returning, laden with spoil, when
the palatine fell upon them a second time, but not with
the same success as before : for, after an obstinate en¬
gagement, he -was defeated, and thus all Poland was
laid open to the ravages of the barbarians 5 the nobility
fled into Hungary, and the peasants sought an asylum
among rocks and impenetrable forests. Cracow, being
left entirely defenceless, was soon taken, pillaged, and
burnt', after which the barbarians, penetrating into Si¬
lesia and Moravia, desolated these countries, destroying
Breslau and other cities. Nor did Hungary escape the
fury of their barbarity: the king gave battle to the
Tartars, but was defeated with vast slaughter, and had
the mortification to see his capital laid in ashes, and
above 100,000 of his subjects perish by fire and sword.
The arms of the Tartars were invincible j nothing
Poland.
68 ] POL
could withstand the prodigious number of forces which
they brought into the field, and the fury with which
they fought. They fixed their head-quarters on the
frontiers of Hungary; and spread their devastations on
every side with a celerity and success that threatened
the destruction of the whole empire, as well as oi the
neighbouring kingdoms.
In this dreadful situation was Poland when Boleslaus,
surnamed the Chaste^ was raised to the sovereignty j
but this, so far' from putting an end to the troubles,
only superadded a civil war to the rest of the calamities.
Boleslaus was opposed by his uncle Conrade the bro¬
ther of Lechus, who was provoked at becoming the
subject of his own nephew. Having assembled a power¬
ful army, he gained possession of Cracow j assumed the
title ot duke of Poland; and might possibly have kept
possession of the sovereignty, had not his avarice and
pride equally offended the nobility and peasants. In
consequence of their discontents, they unanimously in¬
vited Boleslaus, who had fled into Hungary, to come
and head the insurrection which now took place in every ^
quarter. On his arrival, he was joyfully received into Knight 0f
the capital : but Conrade still headed a powerful party > the Teuto-
and it is reported that on this occasion the knights of
the Teutonic order were first called into I oland, f°jnt0 po.
dispute the pretensions of Boleslaus. All the endea-j^j,
vours of Conrade, however, proved unsuccessful : he
was defeated in two pitched battles, and forced to live
in a private situation; though he never ceased to ha¬
rass his nephew, and make fresh attempts to recover the
crown. However, of the reign ot Boleslaus we have
little account, except that he made a vow of perpetual
continency, and imposed the same on his wife j that he
founded near 40 monasteries ; and that he died after a
long reign in 1 279, after having adopted Lechus duke
of Cujavia, and procured a confirmation of his choice
by the free election of the people. <j0
The reign of this last prince was one continued scene Poland
of foreign and domestic trouble. On his first accession °^er™n by
he was attacked by the united forces of Russia and LiA®^ “p‘r_
thuania assisted by the Tartars : whom, however, he had tars ’and
the good fortune to defeat in a pitched battle. By this Litliuani-
victory the enemy were obliged to quit the kingdom : ans.
but Lechus was so much weakened, that civil dissen¬
sions took place immediately after. These increased to
such a degree, that Lechus was obliged to fly to Hun¬
gary, the common resource of distressed Polish princes.
The inhabitants of Cracow alone remained firm in their
duty; and these brave citizens stood all the fatigue and
danger of a tedious siege, till they were at last relieved
by Lechus at the head of a Hungarian army, who de¬
feated the rebels, and restored to his kingdom a legiti¬
mate government. He had scarce reascended the throne
when the united forces of the Russians, Tartars, and
Lithuanians, made a second irruption into Poland, and
desolated the country with the most savage barbarity.
Their forces were now rendered more terrible than ever
by their having along with them a vast number of large
dogs trained to the art of war. Lechus, however, with
an army much inferior, obtained a complete victory ;
the Poles being animated by despair, as perceiving, that,
if they were conquered, they must also be devoured.
Soon after this, Lechus died with the reputation of a
warlike, wise, but unfortunate prince. As he died
without issue, his crown was contested, a civil war again
ensued;
Poland.
61
War with
the Teuto¬
nic knights,
62
Russia Ni¬
gra con¬
quered by
(asiinir
the Great.
POL [
ensued ; and the affairs of the state continued in a very
declining way till the year 1 296, when Premislaus, the
duke at that time, resumed the title of king. However,
they did not revive in any considerable degree till the
year 1305, when Uladislaus Locticus, who had seized
the throne in 1300, and afterwards been driven out, was
again restored to it. The first transaction of his reign
was a Avar with the Teutonic knights, who had usurped
the greater part of Pomerania during the late disturb¬
ances. They had been settled in the territory of Culm
by Conrade duke of Mazovia ; but soon extended their
dominion over the neighbouring provinces, and had
even got possession of the city of Dantzic, Avhere they
massacred a number of Pomeranian gentlemen in cold
blood 5 which so much terrified the neighbouring tow ns,
that they submitted without a stroke. The knights
were commanded by the Pope himself to renounce
their conquests ; but they set at nought all his thunders,
and even suffered themselves to be excommunicated
rather than part with them. As soon as this happened,
the king marched into the territories of the marquis of
Brandenburg, because he had pretended to sell a right
to the Teutonic knights to those countries, when he had
none to them himself. Uladislaus next entered the ter¬
ritory of Culm, where he laid every thing waste with
fire and sword j and being opposed by the joint forces
of the marquis, the knights, and the duke of Mazovia,
he obtained a complete victory after a desperate and
bloody engagement. Without pursuing the blow, he
returned to Poland, recruited his army, and being rein¬
forced by a body of auxiliaries from Hungary and Li¬
thuania, he dispersed the enemy’s forces, and ravaged a
second time all the dominions of the Teutonic order.
Had he improved this advantage, he might easily have
exterminated the whole order, or at least reduced them
so low, that they could never have occasioned any more
disturbances in the state ; but he suffered himself to be
soothed and cajoled by the promises which they made
without any design of keeping them, and concluded a
treaty under the mediation of the kings of Hungary
and Bohemia. In a few months he rvus convinced of
the perfidy of the knights ; for they not only refused to
evacuate Pomerania as had been stipulated in the treaty,
but endeavoured to extend their usurpations, for which
purpose they had assembled a very considerable army.
Uladislaus, enraged at their treachery, took the field
a third time, and gave them battle with such success,
that 4000 knights rvere left dead on the spot, and
30,000 auxiliaries killed or taken prisoners. Yet,
though the king had it once more in his power to de¬
stroy the Avhcle Teutonic order, he satisfied himself rvith
obtaining the territories Avhich had occasioned the war j
after which he spent the remainder of his life in peace
and tranquillity.
Uladislaus Avas succeeded by his sou Casimir HI. sur-
named the Great. He subdued the province called Rus¬
sia Nigra in a single campaign. Next he turned his
arms against Mazovia ; and with the utmost rapidity
overran the duchy, and annexed it as a province to the
crown ; after which he applied himself to domestic af¬
fairs, and was the first Avho introduced a Avritten code of
Lavs into Poland. He was the most impartial judge,
the most rigid observer of justice, and the most submis¬
sive to the laAvs, of any potentate mentioned in the his¬
tory of Europe. The only vice with which he is char-
69 ] POL
ged is that of incontinency j but even this the clergy robiml.
declared to be a venial sin, and amply compensated by ' v '
his other virtues, particularly the great liberality Avhich
he showed to the clerical order. g-
Casimir was succeeded in 1370 by his nepheAV Louis Unhappy
king of Hungary ; but, as the Poles looked upon him reiS1.1 ot
to be a foreign prince, they were not happy under his^018'
administration. Indeed a coldness between this monarch
and his people took place even before he ascended the
throne ; for in the pacta conventa, to Avhich the Polish
monarchs Avere obliged to SAvear, a great number of un¬
usual articles Avere inserted. This probably was the
reason Avhy he left Poland almost as soon as his corona¬
tion Avas over, carrying Avith him the croAvn, sceptre,
globe, and sword of state, to prevent the Poles from
electing another prince during his absence. He left the
government in the hands of his mother Elizabeth 3 and
she Avould have been agreeable to the people, had her
capacity for government been equal to the task. At
that time, howcA'cr, the state of Poland Avas too much
distracted to be governed by a woman. The country
was overrun with bold robbers and gangs of villains,
Avho committed the most horrid disorders 3 the kingr
dom Avas likewise invaded by the Lithuanians ; the
Avhole province of Russia Nigra revolted 5 and the king¬
dom Avas universally filled Avith dissension. The Poles
could not bear to see their toAvns filled with Hungarian
garrisons 5 and therefore sent a message to the king,
telling him that they thought he had been sufficiently
honoured in being elected king of Poland himself, Avith-
out sufi'ering the kingdom to be governed by a woman
and his Hungarian subjects. On this Louis immediate¬
ly raised a numerous army, Avitb a design fully to con¬
quer the spirit of his subjects. His first operations Avere
directed against the Russians 3 whom he defeated, and
again reduced to subjection. Then he turned his arms
against the Lithuanians, drove them out of the king¬
dom, and re-established public tranquility. However,
instead of being satisfied Avith this, and removing the
Hungarian garrisons, he introduced many more, and
raised Hungarians to all the chief posts of government-
His credit and authority even went so far as to get a
successor nominated who Avas disagreeable to the whole
nation, namely Sigismund marquis of Brandenburg.
After the death of Louis, hoAvever, this election Avas set
aside 3 and Hedwiga, daughter of Casimir the Great,
was proclaimed queen.
This princess married Jagello duke of Lithuania, whouedAviga
Avas now converted to Christianity, and baptized by the marries the
name of Uladislaus. In consequence of this marriage,<1llke of Li¬
the duchy of Lithuania, as Avell as the vast provinces 0f
Samogitia and Russia Nigra, become annexed to the unPmgthat
croAvn of Poland. Such a formidable accession of power duchy, to-
excited the jealousy of the Teutonic knights, Avho Avere gether with
sensible that Uladislaus Avas hoav bound to undertake the Samo§*tia
reduction of Pomerania, and revenge all the injuries
which Poland had sustained from them for a great num- Poland,
her of years. From his first accession, therefore, they
considered this monarch as their greatest enemy, and en¬
deavoured to prevent his designs against them by effect¬
ing a revolution in Lithuania in favour of his brother
Andrew'. The prospect of success was the greater
here, as most of the nobility were discontented Avith the
late alliance, and Uiadislaus had proposed to effect a re¬
volution in religion, which rvas highly disagreeable.
On
P 0 L [?o
Poland. On a sudden, therefore, two armies marched towards
 v-—1 the frontiers of the duchy, which they as suddenly pe¬
netrated, laying waste the whole country, and seizing
upon some important fortresses, before the king ot Po¬
land had any notice of the matter. As soon as he re¬
ceived advice of these ravages, Uladislaus raised some
forces with the utmost celerity, which he committed to
the care of his brother Skirgello, who defeated the
Teutonic knights, and soon obliged them to abandon all
their conquests. In the mean time Uladislaus marched
in person into the Higher Poland, which was subjected
to a variety of petty tyrants, who oppressed the peo¬
ple, and governed with intolerable despotism. The pa¬
latine of Posnia, in particular, had distinguished himself
by his rebellious practices ; but he was completely de¬
feated by Uladislaus, and the whole country reduced to
gc obedience.
Troubles in Having secured the tranquillity of Poland, Uladislaus
lathuania. v;sited Lithuania, attended by a great number ot the
clergy, in order convert his subjects. 1 his he ef¬
fected without great difficultybut left the care ot the
duchy to his brother Skirgello. a man of a cruel, haugh¬
ty, and debauched turn, and who immediately began to
abuse his power. With him the king sent his cousin
Vitowda, a prince of a generous, brave, and amiable
disposition, to be a check upon his conduct j but the
barbarity of Skirgello soon obliged this prince to take
refuge among the Teutonic knights, who were now be¬
come the asylum of the oppressed and discontented. lor
sometime, however, he did not assist the knights in
their designs against his country j but having applied
for protection to the king, and finding him remiss in
affording the necessary assistance, he at last joined in the
schemes formed by the knights for the destruction of
Poland. Entering Lithuania at the head ot a nume¬
rous army, he took the capital, burnt part of it, and
destroyed 14,000 persons in the flames, besides a great
number who were massacred in attempting to make their
escape. The upper part of the city, however, was vi¬
gorously defended, so that the besiegers were at last
obliged'to abandon all thoughts of making themselves
masters of it, and to content themselves with desolating
the adjacent country. The next year Vitowda renewed
bis attempts upon this city, but with the same ill suc¬
cess j though he got possession of some places of less
note. As soon, however, as an opportunity offered, he
came to an accommodation with the king, who bestow¬
ed on him the government of Lithuania. During the
first vears of his government, he bestowed the most dili¬
gent attention upon domestic affairs, endeavouring to re¬
pair the calamities which the late wars had occasioned ;
but his impetuous valour had prompted him at last to en¬
gage in a tvar with Tamerlane the Great, after his vic¬
tory over Bajazet the Turkish emperor. For some time
before, Vitowda had been at ivar with the neighbour¬
ing Tartars, and had been constantly victorious, trans¬
porting whole hordes of that barbarous people into Po¬
land and Lithuania, where to this day they form a co¬
lony distinct in manners and dress from the other inha¬
bitants. Uladislaus, however, dissuaded him from at¬
tacking the whole strength of the nation under such a
celebrated commander as Tamerlane : but Vitowda was
Terrible obstinate } he encountered an army ol 400,000 lar-
fcattle with tars under Ediga, Tamerlane’s lieutenant with only a
the Tar- tenth part of their number. I he battle continued tor
tars. I
]
POL
a whole day, but at last Vitowda was surrounded Poland. <
by the numbers of his enemy, and m the utmost danger
of being cut in pieces. However, he broke tus way
through with prodigious slaughter on both sides ; and
came off at last without a total defeat, having killed a
number of the enemy equal to the whole of bis own ar-
67
During the absence of Vitowda, the Teutonic knights Wars witk
had penetrated into Lithuania^ committing every w 1ier^ knights,
the most dreadful ravages. On his return he attacked
and defeated them, making an irruption into Livonia,
to punish the inhabitants of that country for the assist¬
ance they had given to the Teutonic order. This was
succeeded by a long series of wars between Poland and
Prussia, in which it became necessary for Uladislaus him¬
self to take the field. The knights had now one way
or other got possession ot Samogitia, Mazovia, Culm,
SHesia, and Pomerania j so that Uladislaus resolved to
punish them before they became too powerful. With
this view he assembled an army composed of several dif¬
ferent nations, with which he penetrated into Prussia,
took several towns, and was advancing to Marienburg,
the capital of Pomerania, when he was met by the army
of the Prussian knights, who determined to hazard a
battle. When the engagement began, the Poles were
deserted by all their auxiliaries, and obliged to stand
the brunt of the battle by themselves. But the cou¬
rage and conduct of their king so animated them, that
after a most desperate battle they obtained a complete
victory } near 40,000 of the enemy being killed in the
field, and 30,000 taken prisoners. This terrible over¬
throw, however, was less fatal to the allairs of the 1 rus-
sian knights than might have been expected; as Uladi¬
slaus did not improve his victory, and a peace was con-
eluded upon easier terms than his adversaries had any
reason to expect.—Some infraction of the treaty occa¬
sioned a renewal of hostilities; and Uladislaus was sa
much elated with victory that he would hearken to no
terms, by which means the enemy were driven to the
desperate resolution of burying themselves in the ruins
of their capital. The siege was accordingly commen¬
ced, and both sides behaved with the greatest vigour;
but at last, through the good conduct and valour of the
grand master of the knights, named Plawen, the Polish
monarch found himself obliged to grant them an advan¬
tageous peace, at a time when it was universally ex¬
pected that the whole order would have been extermi¬
nated.
Uladislaus V. died in 1435, and was succeeded by
his son Uladislaus VI. at that time only nine years of
age. He had scarce ascended the throne, when the
kingdom was invaded by the Tartars, who defeated
Buccarius the general of the Polish forces; and com¬
mitting everywhere dreadful ravages, returned to their
own country loaded with booty. A tew years after,
the nation was involved in a war with Amurath the
emperor of the Turks, who threatened to break into
Hungary ; and it was thought by the diet to he good
policy to assist the Hungarians at this juncture, be¬
cause it was impossible to know where the storm might
fall after Hungary was conquered. But before all
things wrere prepared for the young king to take the
field? a strong body of auxiliaries was dispatched un¬
der the celebrated John Hunniades vaivode of Tran¬
sylvania, to oppose the Turks, and likewise to support
J the
POL [7
Poland. ^,e election oftlladislaus to tlie crown of Hungary. This
■■ i< detachment surprised the Turkish army near the liver
Morava, and defeated Amurath with the loss of 30,000
men; after which Hunniades retook all the places which
had been conquered by Amurath, the proud sultan was
forced to sue for peace, and Uladislaus was raised without
opposition to the crown of HungaPy. A treaty was
concluded, by which the Turks promised to relinquish
their designs upon Hungary, to acknowledge the king’s
right to that crown, and to give up all their conquests
in Rascia and Servia. This treaty was sealed by mutual
oaths: but Uladislaus broke it at the persuasion of the
pope’s legate ; who insisted, that now was the time for
humbling the power of the infidels ; and produced a spe-
68 cial commission from the pope, absolving him from the
Uladislaus {,e iJac| taken at the late treaty. The consequence
*nd killed Per^^y was’ Uladislaus was entirely defeated
tjie and killed at Varna, and the greatest part of his army
Turks. cut in pieces.
Uladislaus VI. was succeeded by CasimirlV. in whose
Teutonic rejgn the Teutonic knight were subdued, and obliged
subdued. UP ^,e territories of Culm, Michlow, and the
whole duchy of Pomerania, together with the towns of
Elbing, Marienburg, Talkmith, Schut, and Christ-
burgh, to the crown of Poland. On the other hand,
the king restored to them all the other conquests he had
made in Prussia, granted a seat in the Polish senate to
the grand-master, and endowed him with other privi¬
leges, on condition that, six months after his accession,
he should do homage for Prussia, and take an oath of
fidelity to the king and republic.
This success raised the spirits of the Polish nation,
which had drooped ever since the battle of Varna. The
diet did not, however, think proper to renew the war
against the Turks, hut took under their protection the
bospodar of Moldavia; as thinking that this province
would make a convenient harrier to the Polish domi¬
nions on one side. The request of the prince who asked
this protection was therefore readily granted, an oath of
fidelity exacted from him and the inhabitants, andf a tri¬
bute required ; regular payment of which was made for
a great number of years afterwards.
About this time also the crown of Bohemia beco¬
ming vacant, the people were extremely desirous of
gary united being governed by one of the princes of Poland ; upon
to t'oland. which the barons were induced to bestow the crown
upon Uladislaus, eldest son of Casimir, in opposit ion to
the intrigues of the king of Hungary. Not satisfied
with this acquisition, Uladislaus took advantage of the
dissensions in Hungary, in order to unite that crown to
his own: and this he also effected; by which means his
power was greatly augmented, though not the felicity
of his people. So many foreign expeditions had ex¬
hausted the treasury, and oppressed the peasants with
taxes; the gentry were greatly diminished by a number
of bloody engagements ; agriculture was neglected, and
the Country almost depopulated. Before a proper reme¬
dy could he applied for these evils, Casimir died in
1492; much more admired, than beloved or regretted,
by his subjects. It is related by the historians of this
period, that in the reign of Casimir IV. the deputies of
the provinces first appeared at the diet, and assumed
to themselves the legislative power ; all laws before
this time having been framed by the king in conjunc¬
tion with the senate. It is observed also, that before
Poland.
70
Crowns of
Bohemia
and Hun
7l
1 ] POL
Casimir’s time, the Latin language was understood on¬
ly by the clergy in Poland ; in proof of which, it is al¬
leged, that at an interview between this prince and the
king of Sweden at Dantzic, his Polish majesty was
forced to make use of the assistance of a monk to in¬
terpret between him and the Swedish monarch. Ca¬
simir, ashamed of the ignorance shown by himself and
court, published an edict, enjoining the diligent study
of the Latin, which in our days is spoken as vernacu¬
lar by every Polish gentleman, though very unclassi-
cally.
During the succeeding reigns of John, Albert, and
Alexander, the Polish affairs fell into decline ; the
kingdom being harassed by continual wars with the
Turks and Tartars. However, they were retrieved
by Sigismund I. who ascended the throne in 1507.
This monarch, having reformed some internal abuses, Exploits of
next set about rendering the kingdom as formidable as ^igismund
it had formerly been. He first quelled a rebellion1,
which broke out in Lithuania; after which, he drove
the Walachians and Moldavians out of Russia Nigra, and
defeated the Russians in a pitched battle, with the loss
of 30,000 men. In this engagement he was obliged to
cause his cavalry to swim across the Boristhenes in order
to begin the attack, while a bridge was preparing for
the infantry. These orders were executed with asto¬
nishing celerity, notwithstanding the rapidity of the
stream, the steepness of the banks, and the enemy’s op¬
position. The onset was led by the Lithuanians, who
were directed to retreat gradually, with a view of draw¬
ing the enemy within reach of the cannon. This the
Russians mistook for a real flight; and as they were pur¬
suing with eagerness, Sigismund opened his line to the
right and left, pouring in grape-shot from the artillei’y
with dreadful success. The Russian general, and seve¬
ral noblemen of the first distinction, were taken prisoners,
while the whole loss of the royal army did not amount
to 300 men.
After this complete victory, the king turned his
arms against the Teutonic knights, who had elected
the marquis of Brandenburg their grand-master ; and
this prince not only refused to acknowledge the sove¬
reignty of the crowm of Poland, but even invaded the
Polish territories. Sigismund marched against him,
and gained possession of several important places in
Brandenburg; but as he was pursuing his conquests,
the marquis was reinforced by 14,000 Germans, led
by the duke of Schonenburg, who ventured to lay
siege to Dantzic, after having ravaged all the neigh¬
bouring country. The Dantzickers, however, defend¬
ed themselves with so much spirit, that the besiegers
were soon obliged to relinquish their enterprise. In
their retreat they were attacked by a strong detachment
of Polish cavalry, who made prodigious havock among
them, and compelled the wretched remains to take shel¬
ter in Pomerania, where they were inhumanly butchered
by the peasants. Soon after this the marquis was ob¬
liged to submit to the clemency of the conqueror;
from whom, however, he obtained better conditions
than could have been expected, or indeed than he would
have got, had he not abandoned the interest of the Teu¬
tonic order, and resigned the dignity of grand-master.
In order to secure him in his interest, therefore, Sigis¬
mund granted him half the province of Prussia as a se¬
cular duke, and dependent on the crown of Poland ‘r
Poland.
P O L
by which means he entirely deprived that order of the
1 best part of their dominions, and put it quite out
of their power to disturb the tranquillity of Poland any
more. , .
The power of Sigismund had now excited the jealou¬
sy of the House of Austria } for which reason they took
every method in their power to stir up enemies against
1 *— jjy their means, the Russians, Moldavians, and
t 7* 1
POL
him.
'.72 1
Sigisniund
Augustus,
a wise and
■valiant
prince.
Tartars, were all excited to fall upon the Polish territo¬
ries at once. The vaivode ol Walachia, with co,ooo
men, made an irruption into the small province of 1 o-
katior, but ivas entirely defeated by Count laro at the
head of no more than 6ooo. This victory is wholly
ascribed to the good conduct of the commander, who
possessed himself of some eminences on the flanks ot the
enemy. On these he erected batteries, which played
with such fury as soon put their ranks in disorder : up¬
on which the Poles attacked them sword in hand, and
entirely dispersed them with the loss o( 10,000 killed or
taken. The count having then augmented his army
with a strong body ot Lithuanians, attacked the Mus¬
covites and Tartars, drove them entirely out of the
duchy, pursued them into Russia, reduced several towns,
and at last laid siege to the strong fortress of Straraduh }
in which the regent, together with some of the best
troops of Russia, were inclosed. 1 he garrison made a
gallant defence ; and the fortifications were composed
of beams joined together, and supported by a bulwark
of earth, upon which the cannon-shot made no impres¬
sion : but the count contrived a method of setting the
wood on fire 5 by which means the regent and nobility
were obliged to surrender at discretion, and l aro car¬
ried off upwards of 6o,ooo prisoners, with an immense
booty. .
In the reign of Sigismund, we may look upon tue
kingdom of Poland to have been at its greatest pitch
of glory. This monarch possessed, in his own person,
the republic of Poland, the great duchies ol Lithua¬
nia, Smolensko, and Saveria, besides vast territories
lying beyond the Luxine and Baltic •, while his ne¬
phew Louis possessed the kingdoms ot Bohemia, Hun¬
gary, and Silesia. But this glory received a sudden
check in i 54S, by the defeat and death of Louis,
who perished in a battle fought with Solyman the
Great, emperor of the Turks. The daughter of tins
prince married Ferdinand of Austria *, whereby the
dominions of Hungary, Bohemia, and Silesia, became
inseparably connected with the hereditary dominions of
the Austrian family. This misfortune is thought to
have hastened the death of Sigismund ; though, being
then in his 84th year, he could not have lived long by
the ordinary course of nature. He did not, however,
survive the news many months, but died ot a lingering
disorder, leaving behind him the character of the com-
pletest general, the ablest politician, the best piince, and
the strongest man, in the north •, of which last, indeed,
some instances are related by historians that are almost
. incredible. c. .
Si^ismund Augustus, who succeeded his father bigis-
mund I. proved also a very great and happy prince.
At that time the most violent and bloody wars were
carrying on in Germany, and indeed through other
parts of Europe, 011 account of religion j but Sigis-
mund wisely avoided interfering in these disputes. He
would not admit into his dominions any of those di-
2
u I * ^ %
vines who weffi faked with bolding heterodox opinions, Poland.
nor even allow bis people the liberty of corresponding    
with them 5 yet he never persecuted, or employed any
other means for the preservation of the state than those
of a well conducted and regular policy. Instead of dis¬
puting with his subjects about speculative opinions, 01-
gismund applied himself diligently to the reforming ot
abuses, enforcing the laws, enriching the treasury, pro¬
moting industry, and redeeming the crown-lands where
the titles of the possessors appeared illegal. Outot the
revenue recovered in this manner he obtained a for¬
midable standing army, without laying any additional
tax upon the subjects 5 and though he preferred peace
to war, he was always able to punish those that otler- 73
ed indignities to his crown or person. His knowledge War with
in the art of war was soon tried in a contest with the ussia.
Russians, who had made an irruption into Livonia, en¬
couraged by the disputes which had subsisted between
the Teutonic knights and the archbishop of Riga, cou¬
sin to Sigismund. rl he province was at that time di¬
vided between the knights and the prelate ; and the
Russians, under pretence of assisting the former, had
seized great part ot the dominions of the lattei. I he
archbishop had recourse to his kinsman the king of Po¬
land ; who, after fruitless efforts to accommodate mat¬
ters, marched towards the frontiers of Livonia with an
army of 100,000 men. The knights were by no means
able to resist such a formidable power ; and therefore,
deserting their late allies, put themselves under the pro¬
tection of the king of Poland. Ihe czar, John Lasi-
lides, though deserted by the knights, did not lose Ins
courage 5 nay, he even insolently refused to return any
answer to the proposals of peace made by Sigismund.
His army consisted of 300,000 men, with whom he
imagined himself able to reduce all Livonia, in spite
of the utmost efforts of the king of Poland : however,
havino’ met with some checks on that quarter, he di-
rectly"'invaded Poland with his whole army. At first
he carried every thing before him ; but the Poles soon
made a vigorous opposition. A et the Russians, thougii
everywhere defeated, still continued their incursions,
which Sigismund at last revenged by invading Russia 111
his turn. These mutual desolations and ravages at last
made both parties desirous of peace, and a truce for
three years was agreed on •, during the continuance ot
which the king of Poland died, and with him was ex- y4
tinguished the house of Jagellon, which had governed Extincti
Poland for near 200 years. of Jasell
On the death of Sigismund, Poland became a prey
to intestine divisions ; and a vast number of intrigues
were set on foot at the courts of Vienna, France, Sax¬
ony, Sweden, and Brandenburg ; each endeavouiing
to establish a prince of their own nation on the thione
of Poland. The consequence ot all this was, that the
kingdom became one universal scene of corruption, j)js^ract
faction, and confusion j the members of the diet con-stateof
suited only their own interest, and were ready on every land,
occasion to sell themselves to the best bidder. Ihe
Protestants had by this time got a considerable footing
in the kingdom, and thus religious disputes were in¬
termingled with political ones. One good efiect, how¬
ever, flowed from this confusion : for a law was passed,
by which it was enacted, that no difference in religious
opinions should make any contention among the sub¬
jects of the kingdom 5 and that all the Poles, without
discrimination^
Poland.
fS
•uke of
njou cho-
en king of
<*kad.
77
uns away
om his
ngdom,
POL [73
discrimination, should be capable of holding public of- <
flees and trusts under the government j and it tvas also
resolved, that the future kings should swear expi’essly
to cultivate the internal tranquillity of the realm, and
cherish without distinction their subjects of all persua¬
sions.
While the candidates for the throne were severally
attempting to support their own interest in the best
manner they could, John Crasoski, a Polish gentleman
of great merit, but diminutive stature, had just returned
from France, whither he had travelled for improve¬
ment. His humour, wit, and diverting size, had ren¬
dered him universally agreeable at the court of France,
and in a particular manner engaged the esteem of Ca¬
tharine de Medicis, which the little Pole had the ad¬
dress to make use of for his own advantage. He owed
many obligations to the duke of Anjou; whom, out of
gratitude, he represented in such favourable terms, that
the Poles began to entertain thoughts of making him
their king. These sentiments were confirmed and en¬
couraged by Crasoski, who returned into France by
order of several leading men in Poland, and acquainted
the king and Queen Catharine, that nothing Was want¬
ing besides the formality of an embassy to procure the
crown for the duke of Anjou, almost without opposi¬
tion. Charles IX. king of France, at that time also
promoted the scheme, being jealous of the duke of An¬
jou’s popularity, and willing to have him removed to
as great a distance as possible. Accordingly the par¬
ties came to an agreement; and it was stipulated that
the duke of Anjou should maintain the laws, liberties,
and customs of the kingdom of Poland, and of the
grand duchy of Lithuania ; that he should transport all
his effects and annual revenues in France into Poland :
that the French monarch should pay the late king Si-
gismund’s debts ; that he should maintain 100 young
Polish gentlemen at his court, and 50 in other places;
that he should send a fleet to the Baltic, to assist Po¬
land against the Russians ; and lastly, that Henry should
marry the princess Anne, sister to the late king Sigis*
mund ; but this article Henry would not ratify till his
return to Poland.
Every thing being thus settled, the young king quit¬
ted France, attended by a splendid retinue, and was
accompanied by the queen-mother as far as Lorrain.
He was received by his subjects on the frontiers of Po¬
land, and conducted to Cracow, where he was soon af¬
ter crowned. The affections of the Poles were soon
engaged by the youth and accomplishments of Henry ;
but scarce was he seated on the throne, when, by the
death of Charles IX. he became heir to the crow n of
France. Ot this he was informed by repeated mes¬
sages from Queen Catharine; he repented his having
accepted the crown of Poland, and resolved to leave it
for that of France. But being sensible that the Poles
would oppose his departure, he kept his intentions se¬
cret, and watched an opportunity of stealing out of the
palace in disguise in the night-time. The Poles, as
might w'ell have been expected, were irritated at being
thus abandoned, from the mere motive of interest, by
a prince whom they had loved and honoured so much.
Parties were dispatched after him by different roads;
•and Zamoski, a nobleman who headed one of these
parties, overtook him some leagues distant from Cra¬
cow. All the prayers and tears of that nobleman, kovv-
Vol. XVIL Part I. «
78
] POL
ever, could not prevail on Henry to return ; he rode Poland,
post to Vienna, and then passed into France by the way i——y—l—
of Italy.
In the mean time, the Poles were so much exaspera¬
ted against Henry and his whole nation, that all the
French in Cracow would have been massacred if the
magistrates had not placed guards in the streets. Henry,
however, had foreseen the consequences of his flight,
and therefore endeavoured to apologise for his behaviour.
One Danzai undertook his cause in full senate ; and
with great eloquence explained the king’s motives for
his abrupt departure. Henry also wrote to the chief
nobility and clergy with his own hand. But nothing
could satisfy the Poles ; who now acquainred their king,
that if he did not immediately return, they would be
obliged to divest him of the royal dignity, and to choose
another sovereign. Henry began to excuse himself on
account of the wars in which he was engaged, and pro¬
mised to send men of unexceptionable integrity to govern
Poland till he should return ; but no excuses could be
accepted; and, on the 15th of July 1575, he was solemn-and is de-
ly divested of the regal dignity in full diet, and thePose^*
throne declared vacant.
After the deposition of Henry, commotions and fac¬
tions again took place. However, the contending
parties were now reduced to two; one who supported
the interest of Maximilian emperor of Germany ; the
other, wdio were for electing the princess Anne, and
marrying her to Stephen Batori prince of Transylva- ^
nia. The latter prevailed through the courage of one Stephen,
gentleman, who, in imitation of the power assumed by
the Roman tribunes, stood up in the full senate, and
opposed the proclamation of Maximilian, declaring
that his election was violent and illegal. In this situa¬
tion of affairs, it was obvious that strength and cele¬
rity must determine which election was legitimate :
both parties wrote to the princes whose cause they had
espoused, intreating them to come with all possible ex¬
pedition to take possession of the throne. Batori pro¬
ved the more alert; for while Maximilian was disputing
about certain conditions which the Poles required for
the security of their privileges, he entered Poland, mar¬
ried the princess, and was crowned on the first of May
1^6' . . . 8*
No opposition was made to the authority of Batori Dantzie
except by the inhabitants of Dantzic. These ad he- revutts.
red to the interest of Maximilian evert after lie was
dead, and had the presumption to demand from the
king an oath acknowledging theif absolute freedom
and independence. Batori referred them to the senate*
declaring that he had no right to give up the privileges
of the republic ; but admonished the citizens to avoid
all occasion of a civil war, which must necessarily ter¬
minate in their disadvantage. But the obstinate Citi¬
zens, construing the king’s lenity into fear, shut the
gates against the ambassador, seized upon the fortress
of Grebin, and published a manifesto resembling a libel
upon the king and the republic. The king, incensed
at these proceedings, marched against Grebin, re¬
took the castle, and ravaged certain territories be-
longing to the Dantzickers; who retaliated by binning
to the ground a monastery named Oliva, to prevent
the Poles from taking possession of so important a si¬
tuation.
Notwithstanding these outrages, Batori renewed his
K overture?
Poland.
Si
Poland in¬
vaded by
the Rus¬
sians.
82
Bantzic
submits.
83
Cruelty of
the Rus-
P O L
overtures for an accommodation :
were deaf to these salutary proposals j so that he was
obliged to declare them rebels, and send against them a
body of troops under one Zborowski. As the number
of the Polish army, however, was not considerable, the
Dantzickers marched out to give him battle. They
were assisted by a corps of Germans, and a resolution
was foimed of attacking the Poles in their camp by sur¬
prise j but the project was disconcerted by a sudden
storm, accompanied with dreadful thunder and light¬
ning, which spread a panic through the army, as it it
had been a judgment from heaven, and obliged the
commander, John de Collen, to retire into the city. In
a short time, however, they recovered their spirits, and
came to an action with the Poles; but were defeated
with the loss of 8000 men killed on the spot, a great
many taken prisoners, and the loss of several pieces of
cannon. But this check, instead of abating the cou¬
rage of the Dantzickers, only animated them the more,
and they resolved to hold out to the last extremity. In
the mean time, the czar of Muscovy, thinking the pre¬
sent opportunity favourable forextending his dominions,
laid siege to Revel; but, not being able to make him¬
self master of that place, he was obliged to content him¬
self with ravaging Livonia, which he did in a dreadful
manner. This did not, however, hinder Batori from
laying siege to Dantzic in person, and pursuing the ope¬
rations with the utmost vigour. Collen made many vi¬
gorous sallies, in several of which he defeated the Poles 5
but, happening at last to be killed, nobody was found
capable of supplying his place, and the citizens were at
last obliged to surrender at discretion 5 though not till
they had obtained a promise from the elector of Saxony
and landgrave of Plesse of interposing as mediators in
their behalf. The only terms which the king demand¬
ed of them were, that they should ask his pardon, dis¬
miss their troops, and rebuild the monastei'y of Oliva
which tlury had destroyed j while his majesty, on the
other hand, confirmed all their privileges, and granted
them full liberty of adhering to the confession of Augs¬
burg, for which they had for some time been strenuous
advocates.
The war with Dantzic was no sooner ended, than the
king directed his whole strength against the czar of
Muscovy, who had made himself master of several im¬
portant cities in Livonia. The czar behaved every¬
where with the greatest cruelty, slaughtering all without
distinction who were able to bear arms, and abandoning
the women and children to the shocking brutality of the
Tartars who served in his army. Such was the horror
inspired by the perfidy and cruelty of the czar’s con¬
duct, that the inhabitants of Wender chose rather to bu¬
ry themselves in the ruins of their town than to submit
to such an inhuman enemy. For a considerable time
the Russians were allowed to proceed in this manner,
till the whole province of Livonia, excepting Riga and
Revel, had suffered the barbarities of this insulting con¬
queror ; but at last, in 1578, a body of forces was dis¬
patched into the province, the towns of Wender and
Dunnenburg were surprised, and an army sent by the
czar to surprise the former was defeated.
At this time the Muscovites were not the only ene¬
mies who opposed the king of Poland, and oppressed Li¬
vonia. That unhappy province was also invaded by the
Swedes, who professed themselves to be enemies equally
[ 74 ] P 0 L . . .
but the Dantzickers to both parties, and who w ere scarcely inferior in cruel- Poland.
ty to the Russians themselves. The king, however, was —v——J
not daunted by the number of his adversaries j but hav¬
ing made great preparations, and called to his assistance
Christopher prince of Transylvania, with all the stand¬
ing forces of that country, he took the field in person
against the Muscovites, and laid siege to Polocz, a town
of great importance situated on the river Dwina. The Siege of
Russians no sooner heard of the approach of the Polish Polocz.
army, than they resolved to put all the citizens to death,
thinking by this means to strike terror into the enemy.
When Batori came near the town, the most shocking
spectacle presented itself; the river appeared dyed with
blood, and a vast number of human bodies fastened to
planks, and terribly mangled, were carried down its
stream. This barbarity, instead of intimidating the
Poles, irritated them to such a degree, that nothing
could resist them. Finding that their cannon made lit¬
tle impression upon the walls of the city, which were
constructed of wood, they advanced to the assault with
burning torches in their hands 5 and would soon have
reduced the fortifications to ashes, had not a violent
storm of rain prevented them. The design, however,
was put in execution as soon as the rain slackened j and
the barbarous Russians were obliged to surrender at dis¬
cretion. It reflects the highest honour on Batori, that,
notwithstanding the dreadful instances of cruelty which
he had before his eyes, he would not suffer his soldiers to
retaliate. Indeed the cruelties committed by the Rus¬
sians on this occasion, seem almost to have authorised g-
any revenge that could possibly have been taken. A Monstrous
number of Germans were found in the city, some expir- barbarities
ing under the most dreadful tortures, and others dead of
pains which nature could no longer support. Several of s;ang jn
the officers had been dipped in cauldrons of boiling oil, that city,
with a cord drawn under the skin of the umbilical re¬
gion, which fastened their hands behind ; in which si¬
tuation their eyes had been torn out from their sockets,
or burnt with red-hot irons, and their faces otherwise
terribly mangled. The disfigured carcases, indeed,
plainly showed the barbarous treatment they had met
with } and the dreadful tale was confirmed by the testi¬
mony of the few who survived. The Polish soldiers
were exasperated almost to madness ; so that scarce all
the authority of Batori could restrain them from cutting
in pieces the wretches who had been the authors of sucu
a dreadful tragedy.
After the reduction of Polocz, Batori continued the Russia ra-
war with great success. Two detachments from the'aged by
army penetrated the enemy’s country by different roads, B*1100,
wasted all before them to the gates of Smolensko, and
returned with the spoils of 2000 villages which they had
pillaged and destroyed. In the mean time the Swedes
and Poles thought proper to come to an accommoda¬
tion : and though John king of Sweden was at that time
px-evented from bearing his slxai’e of the war, yet Batori
reduced such a number of cities, and committed such
devastations in the Russian territories, that the czar was
obliged to sue for peace $ which he obtained on condi--phe czar
tion of relinquishing Livonia, after having thrown away sues, lor
the lives of more than 400,000 of his subjects in attempt- peace,
ing to conquer it.
Batori, being thus freed from a most destructive and
cruel war, applied himself to the internal government of
his kingdom. He regulated the Polish cavalry in suck
Poland.
88 .
Batori civi
lizes the
Cossacks.
. 89
His death.
90
War with
tJustavus
Adolphus.
POL [ 75
ft lYianner as made them become formidable to the Turks
and other neighbouring nations: and this is the military
establishment to which the Poles have given the name
of quartienne; because a fourth part of the revenue is
employed in supporting them. Batori sent this body of
cavalry towards the frontiers of Tartary, to check the
incursions of those barbarians ; by which means the Uk¬
raine, a vast tract of desert country, was filled with flou¬
rishing towns and villages, and became a strong barrier
.against the Turks, Tartars, and Russians. The last
memorable action of Batori was his attaching the Cos¬
sacks to Poland, civilizing and instructing them in the
arts of war and peace. His first endeavour was to gain
their aft'ections by his liberality ; for which purpose, he
presented them with the city of Techtemeravia, situated
on the Boristhenes, which they formed into a magazine,
and made the residence of their chieftains. He gave
them officers of all degrees, established discipline among
them, altered their arms, and formed them into a regu¬
lar militia, which afterwards performed eminent services
to the state. All kinds of manufactures at that time
known in Poland were likewise established among the
Cossacks 5 the women were employed in spinning and
weaving woollen cloths, while the men were taught
agriculture, and other arts proper for their sex.
While Batori was employed in this manner, the
Swedes broke the convention into which they had en¬
tered with Poland, and Avere on the point of getting
possession of Riga. To this, indeed, Batori himself had
given occasion, by attempting to impose the Romish re¬
ligion upon the inhabitants, after having promised them
entire liberty of conscience. This so irritated them,
that they revolted, and were on the point of admitting
a Swedish garrison into the city, when the king was
informed of what was going forward. Upon this he
resolved to take a most exemplary vengeance on the in¬
habitants of Riga ; but before he could execute his in¬
tention, he died in the year 1586, the 54th of his age,
and 10th of his reign.
The death of Batori involved Poland in fresh troubles.
Four candidates appeared for the crown, viz. the princes
Ernest and Maximilian of the house of Austria, Sigis-
mund prince of Sweden, and Theodore czar of Muscovy.
Each of these had a separate party •, but Sigismund and
Maximilian managed matters so well, that in 1587 both
of them were elected. The consequence of this was a
civil war; in which Maximilian was defeated and taken
prisoner: and thus Sigismund III. surnamed De Vasa,
became master of the throne of Poland without oppo¬
sition. He waged a successful war with the Tartars,
and was otherwise prosperous ; but though he succeeded
to the crown of Sweden, he found it impossible for him
to retain both kingdoms, and he was formally deposed
from the Swedish throne. In 1610, he conquered
Russia, and placed his son on the throne ; but the Polish
Conquests of that country have always been but for a
short time. Accordingly the young prince was soon
after deposed ; and the Russians not only regained their
liberty, but began to make encroachments on Poland
itself. A very unfortunate Avar also took place with
SAveden, Avhich Avas now governed by the great Gusta-
vus Adolphus ; the particulars of Avhich, with the other
exploits of that renowned Avarrior, are related under the
article Sweden. At last Sigismund, AA'orn out vvith
cares and misfortunes, died in 1629.
Poland.
] POL
After Sigismund’s death the affairs of Poland seemed
to revive a little under Uladislaus VII.; for he obliged '——at-—-'
the Russians to sue for peace, and SAveden to restore
some of her conquests : but having attempted to abridge
the liberty of the Cossacks, they revolted, and gave the
Poles several terrible defeats. Nor was the Avar termi¬
nated in the lifetime of Uladislaus, Avho died in 1648.
His successor, John Casimir, concluded a peace Avith
these dangerous enemies: but the war was soon after
reneived; and while the kingdom was distracted be¬
tween these enemies and the discontents of its oaaui in¬
habitants, the Russians took the opportunity of invad¬
ing and pillaging Lithuania. In a little after theAvhole
kingdom Avas subdued by Charles Gustavus, successor Poland sub-
to Christina queen of Sweden. dued bj
Happily for Poland, hoAvever, a rupture took place ctstaTus
between the courts of SAveden and Copenhagen; by *
which means the Poles were enabled to drive out the
SAvedes in 1657. This was succeeded by civil wars
and contests Avith Russia, which so much vexed the
king, that he resigned the croAvn in 1668.
For Iavo years after the resignation of Casimir, the
kingdom Avas filled Avith confusion ; but on the 17th of
September 1760, one Michael Coribut Wiesnovviski,
collaterally descended from the house of Jagello, but in
a very mean situation at that time, was chosen king.
His reign continued but for three years ; during which
time John Sobieski, a celebrated Polish general, gave
the Turks a dreadful overthroAV, though their army con¬
sisted of more than 300,000 men; and had this blovv
been pursued, the Cossacks Avould have been entirely
subdued, and very advantageous terms might have been
obtained from the sultan. Of that vast multitude of
Turks no more than 15,000 made their escape, the rest,
being all either killed or taken: hoAvever, the Polish
soldiers, being bound by the Ioavs of their country only
to stay a certain time in the field, they refused to pur¬
sue this signal victory, and suffered the king to make
peace on any terms he could procure.
Wiesnowiski died before the hcavs of this transaction
reached Cracow ; and after his death a neAv scene of pz
confusion ensued, till at last the fortune of John Sobieski John So-
prevailed, and he was elected king of Poland in 1674. ler
Vr , . .tncves the
xle Avas a most magnanimous and heroic prince ; avIio, Po];^ af_
by his valour and good conduct, retrieved the affairs offairs.
Poland, and entirely checked the progress of the Turks
westAvard. These barbarians Avere everyAvhere defeat¬
ed, as is particularly related under the article Turkey ;
but iiotAvithstanding his great qualities, Poland was
noAv so thoroughly corrupted, and pervaded by a spirit
of disaffection, that the latter part of this monarch’s
reign was involved in troubles, through the ambition
and contention of some poAverful noblemen.
Sobieski died in 1696; and with him fell the glory
of Poland. Most violent contests took place about the
succession ; the recital of which Avould far exceed our
limits. At last Frederic Augustus, elector of Saxony,
prevailed; but yet, as some of the most essential cere¬
monies Avere Avanting in his coronation, because the pri¬
mate, who was in an opposite interest, Avould not per¬
form them, he found it extremely difficult to keep his
subjects in proper obedience. To add to his misfortunes,
having engaged in a league with Denmark and Russia
against Sweden, he was attacked Avith irresistible fury by
Charles XII. Though Augustus had not been betrayed,
K 2 as
Poland.
93
Poland
•onquered
by Clmrles
XII.
POL [7
as indeed he almost always was, he was by no means a
94
Degene-
Eacy of the
Poles.
95.
Elevation
•f Ponia-
towski, by
the name
of Stanis¬
laus Angus'
tus, to the
throne.
96
Interfe¬
rence of fo¬
reign
powers in
behalf of
the dissi¬
dents.
match for the ferocious Swede. The particulars of this
war, however, as they make great part of the exploits
of that northern hero, more properly fall to he related
under the article SWEDEN. Here, therefore, we shall
only observe, that Augustus was reduced to the humi¬
liating necessity of renouncing the crown of Poland on
oath, and even of congratulating his rival Stanislaus up¬
on his accession to the throne : but when the power of
Charles was broken by bis defeat at Pultowa, the for¬
tune of Augustus again prevailed 5 Stanislaus was driven
out 5 and the former being absolved from his oath by
the pope, resumed the throne of Poland.
Since that time the Polish nation has never made any
figure. Surrounded by great and ambitious powers, it has
sunk under the degeneracy of its inhabitants *, so that it
now scarcely exists as a nation, ibis catastrophe tooiv
place in the following manner : On the 5th ot October
I7^3> died Augustus III. elector of Saxony, and king of
Poland. He was succeeded by Count Poniatowski, a
Polish grandee, who was proclaimed Sept. 7th I7^4>
the name of Stanislaus Augustus, and crowned on the
25th of November the same year.—During the inter¬
regnum which took place between the death of Augus¬
tus III. and the election of Stanislaus, a decree had been
made by the convocation-diet of Poland, with regard to
the dissidents, as they were called, or dissenters from the
Polish religion. Ev this decree they were prohibited
from the free exercise of their religion, much more than
they had formerly been, and totally excluded from all
posts and places under the government. On this several
of the European powers interposed, at the application ol
the dissidents for their good offices. Hie courts of Rus¬
sia, Prussia, Great Britain, and Denmark, made remon¬
strances to the diet *, but notwithstanding these remon¬
strances, the decree was confirmed by the coronation-
diet held after the king’s election.
October 6. 1766, an ordinary diet was assembled.
Here declarations from the courts above mentioned were
presented to his Polish majesty, requiring the re-estab-
lishment of the dissidents in their civil rights and privi¬
leges, and the peaceable enjoyment of their modes of
worship secured to them by the laws of the kingdom,
which had been observed for two centuries. These pri¬
vileges, it was alleged, had been confirmed by the treaty
of Oliva, concluded by all the northern powers, which
could not be altered but by the consent of all the con¬
tracting parties. The Popish party contended strongly
for a confirmation of some decrees made against the dis¬
sidents in 1717, 1723, and 1736. The deputies from
the foreign powers replied, that those decrees bail passed
in the midst of intestine troubles, and were contradicted
by the formal protestations and express declarations of
foreign powers. At last, after violent contests, the mat¬
ter was referred to the bishops and senators for their
opinion. Upon a report from them, the diet came to a
resolution, That they would fully maintain the dissi¬
dents in all the rights and prerogatives to which they
were entitled by the laws of then country, particularly
by the constitutions of the year 17 >7, &c. and by trea¬
ties j and that as to their complaints with regard to the
exercise of their religion, the college of archbishops and
bishops, under the direction ol the prince primate, would
endeavour to remove those difficulties in a manner con¬
formable to justice and neighbourly love.—By this time,
6 ] POL
however, the court of Russia seemed determined to make
her remonstrances more effectual, and a small body ol'
Russian troops marched to within two miles ol the ca¬
pital of Poland.
These resolutions of the diet were by no means agree¬
able to the dissidents. They dated the beginning of their
sutferings from the year 17I7- ^ie re^eriinS gi10'-
antes to the archbishops and bishops was looked upon as
a measure the most unreasonable that could he imagined,
as that body ot men had always been their opposers, and
in fact the authors of all the evils which had befallen
them.—Shortly after matters were considered in tins
view, an additional body of Russians, to the number of
about 15,000, entered Poland.
Poland.
The dissidents, being now pretty sure of the protec- Com9e7qiieI),
tion of foreign powers, entered, on the 20th ol I\iarch cts 0f jJbjc I
1767, into two confederacies, at Hiovn and Sluck.
One of them was signed by the dissidents ol Great and
Little Poland, and the other by those of the Great
Duchy of Lithuania. The purpose of these confede¬
racies was, an engagement to exert themselves in the
defence of their ancient privileges, and the tree exercise
ot their religion professing at the same time, however,
the utmost loyalty to the king, and resolving to send a
deputation to him to implore his protection. I hey even
invited those of the Gatholic communion, and all tiue
patriots, to unite with them in maintaining the funda¬
mental laws of the kingdom, the peace ot religion, and
the right of each one jointly with themselves. They
claimed, by virtue of public treaties, the protection of
the powers who were guarantees of then rights and li¬
berties j namely, the empress ef Russia, and the kings
of Sweden, Great Britain, Denmark, and Prussia.
Lastly, they protested, that they had no intention of
acting to the detriment of the Roman Catholic religion,
which they duly respected : and only asked the liberty
of their own, and the re-establishment of their ancient
rights. The three, cities of Thorn, Llbing, and Dant-
zic, acceded to the confederacy ol Thorn on the 10th
of April ", as did the duke and nobles of Courland to
that of Stuck on the 15th of May.
The empress ol Russia and king of Prussia, in the
mean time, continued to issue forth new declarations in
favour of the dissidents 5 and the Russian troops in Po¬
land were gradually augmented to 30,000 men. Great
numbers of other confederacies were also formed in dif¬
ferent parts of the kingdom. These at first took little
part in the affairs of the dissidents : they complained
only of the administration of public allairs, in which
they alleged that innovations had been introduced, and
were therefore for some time called confederations of
malcontents. All these confederacies published mani¬
festoes, in which they recommended to the inhabitants
to quarter and treat the Russian troops as the defenders
of the Polish liberties.
The different confederacies of malcontents formed in General
the 24 districts of Lithuania united at Wilna on theeonisdera-
22d of June j and that general confederacy re-established cy’
Prince Radzivil, who had married th. king’s sioter, in
his liberty, estates, and honour, ot which he had been
deprived in 1764 by the states of that duchy. On the
23d of June Prince Radzivil was chosen grand marshal
of the general confederacy of all Poland, which then be¬
gan to be called the notional confederacy, and was said
to be composed of 72,000 noblemen and gentlemen.
The
POL [ 77 ] POL
Poland. The general confederacy took such measures as ap-
—y-—' peared most proper for strengthening their party. They
sent to the several waywodes of the kingdom, requiring
their compliance with the following articles: I. That
all the gentlemen who had not signed the confederacy
should do it immediately j 2. That all the courts of
justice should subsist as formerly, but not judge any of
the confederates *, 3. That the marshals of the crown
should not pass any sentence without the participation
of at least four of the confederates ; and, 4. That the
marshals of the crown and the treasurers should be im¬
mediately restored to the possession of their respective
rights. The Catholic party in the mean time were not
idle. The bishop of Cracow sent a very pathetic and
zealous letter to the dietines assembled at ’Warsaw on
the 13th of August, in *hich he exhorted them to arm
their nuncios with courage, by giving them orthodox
and patriotic instructions, that they might not grant the
dissidents new advantages beyond those which were se¬
cured to them by the constitutions of the country, and
treaties with foreign powers, &c. The pope also sent
briefs to the king, the great chancellor, the noblesse,
bishops of the kingdom, and to the prince primate,
with such arguments and exhortations as were thought
most proper to ward ofi' the impending danger. Coun¬
cils in the mean time were frequently held at the bishop
of Cracow’s palace, where all the prelates at Warsaw
99
Tumults in
the diet.
assembled.
On the 26th of September 1767 the confederacy of
dissidents was united with the general confederacy of
malcontents in the palace of Prince Radzivil, who on that
occasion expressed great friendship for the dissidents.
In a few days after, the Russian troops in the capital
were reinforced, and a considerable body of them was
posted at about five miles distance.
On the 5th of October an extraordinary diet was
held : but the affair of the dissidents met with such op¬
position, that it was thought necessary to adjourn the
meeting till the 12th j during which interval, every ex¬
pedient w7as used to gain over those who opposed Prince
Radzivil’s plan. This rvas, to appoint a commission,
furnished with full power to enter into conference with
Prince Repnin, the Russian ambassador, concerning the
affairs of the dissidents. Notwithstanding all the pains
taken, however, the meeting of the 12th proved exceed-
ingly tumultuous. The bishops of Cracow and Kiow,
with some other prelates, and several magnats, declar¬
ed, that they would never consent to the establishment
of such a commission ; and at the same time spoke with
more vehemence than ever against the pretensions of
the dissidents. Some of the deputies answered with
. great warmth j which occasioned such animosities, that
the meeting W'as again adjourned till the 16th.
On the 13th the bishops of Cracow and Kiow, the
palatine of Cracow, and the staroste of Domski, were
Russians^ carr^e^ ^’7 Russian detachments. The crime alleged
against them, in a declaration published next day by
Prince Repnin, was, that they had been wanting in
respect to the dignity of the empress of Russia, by at¬
tacking the purity of her intentions towards the repu¬
blic j though she was resolved to continue her protec¬
tion and assistance to the general confederacy united
for preserving the liberties of Poland, and correcting
all the abuses which had been introduced into the go-
■vernment, &c.
too
Violent
procee li¬
lt was probably owing to this violent proceeding of Poland.
the Russians, that Prince Radzivil’s plan was at last adop-  v—^
ted, and several new regulations were made in favour of
the dissidents. These innovations, however, soon pro¬
duced a civil war, which at last ended in the ruin of the
kingdom. In the beginning of the year 1768, a new
confederacy was formed in Podolia, a province border- ICT
ing on Turkey, which was afterwards called the confc- Confedera-
deracy nf Bar. The intention of it was, to abolish, by cy ®ar'
force of arms, the new constitutions, particularly those
in favour of the dissidents. The members of the new
confederacy likewise expressed great resentment against
the carrying away the bishops of Cracow', &c. and still
detaining them in custody.
Podoiia was reckoned the fittest place for the purpose
of the confederates, as they imagined the Russians could
not attack them there without giving umbrage to the Ot¬
toman court. SimiliarconfederacieSjbowever, were quick¬
ly entered into throughout the kingdom : the clergy ex¬
cited all ranks of men to exert themselves in defence of
their religion ; and so much were their exhortations re¬
garded, that even the king’s troops could not be trusted
to act against these confederates. The empress of Rus¬
sia threatened the new confederates as disturbers of the
public tranquillity,and declared that her troops would act
against them if they persisted. It was, however, some
time before the Russian troops were considerably reinfor¬
ced : nor did they at first seem inclined to act with the
vigour which they might have exerted. A good many
skirmishes soon happened between these two contending
parties, in which the confederates were generally defeat¬
ed. In one of these the latter being worsted, and hardly
pressed, a number of them passed the Niester, and took
refuge in Moldavia. This province had formerly belong¬
ed to Poland, but was now subject to the Grand Signior:
the Russians, however, pursued their enemies into Mol¬
davia ; but in order to prevent any offence being taken
by the Porte, Prince Repnin wrote to the Russian resi¬
dent at Constantinople, to intimate there, that the con¬
duct of the Russian colonel who commanded the partv
was quite contrary to the orders of his court, and that
therefore he would be turned out of his post.
Great cruelty in the mean time wras exercised against
the dissidents where there were no Russian troops to pro¬
tect them. Towards the end of October 1769, Prince
Martin Lubomirski, one of the southern confederates,
who had been driven out of Poland, and had taken shel¬
ter with some of his adherents among the mountains of
Hungary, got a manifesto posted up on several of the
churches of Cracow, in which he invited the nation to
a general revolt, and assuring them of the assistance of
the Ottoman Porte, with whom he pretended to have
concluded a treaty. This was the beginning of hosti¬
lities between the Turks and Russians, which were not
terminated but by a vast effusion of blood on both ,
sides. 102
The unhappy kingdom of Poland was the first scene War be-
of this war, and in a short time was reduced to the moat twe(e”
deplorable situation. In the end of the year 1768, the™ and the
peasants of the Greek religion in the Polish Ukraine, Russian».
and province of Kiow, took up arms, and committed the
greatest ravages, having, as they pretended, been threat¬
ened with death by the confederates unless they would
turn Roman Catholics. Against these insurgents the
Russians employed their armsj and made great numbers
POL
t 78 ]
POL
Poland, of them prisoners. The rest took refuge among the
i,,..—Haidamacks •, by whom they were soon joined, and in
the beginning of 1769 entered the Ukraine in conjunc¬
tion with them, committing every where the most horrid
massacres. Here, however, they were at last defeated
by the Polish troops, at the same time that several oi
the confederacies in Poland were severely chastised.
Soon after, the chan of the Grim Tartars, having been
repulsed with loss in an attempt on New Seryia, entered
the Polish territories, where he left frightful marks of
his inhumanity upon some innocent and defenceless per¬
sons. This latter piece of conduct, with the cruelties
exercised by the confederates, induced the Polish Cos¬
sacks of Braclau and Kioria, amounting to near 30,000
effective men, to join the Russians, in order to defend
their country against these destroyers. Matters conti¬
nued much in the same way during the rest of the year
1769 and m 1770, skirmishes frequently happened be¬
tween the Russians and confederates, in which the lat¬
ter were almost always worsted *, but they took care to
revenge themselves by the most barbarous cruelties on
the dissidents, wherever they could find them. In I77°»
a considerable number of the confederates of Bar, who
had joined the Turks, and been excessively ill used by
them, came to an accommodation with the Russians, who
took them under their protection on very moderate terms.
 Agriculture in the mean time had been so much ne¬
glected, that the crop of 1770 was very deficient. This
encouraged a number of desperadoes to associate undei
the denomination of confederates, who were guilty of
still greater excesses than those who had been under some
kind of regulation. Thus a great part of the country
was at last reduced to a mere desert, the inhabitants be¬
ing either exterminated, or carried off to stock the re¬
mote Russian plantations, from whence they never could
10, return.
New confe- In the year 1771, the confederacies, which seemed to
deracies. have been extinguished, sprang up afresh, and increased
to a prodigious degree. This was occasioned by then
having been secretly encouraged and supplied with mo¬
ney by France. A great number of French officers en¬
gaged as volunteers in their service 5 who having intro¬
duced discipline among their troops, they acted with
much greater vigour than formerly, and sometimes prov¬
ed too°hard for their enemies. These gleams of success
proved at last their total ruin. The Russians were rein¬
forced and properly supported. The Austrian and Prus¬
sian troops entei'ed the country, and advanced on dif¬
ferent sides *, and the confederates found themselves
in a short time entirely surrounded by their enemies,
who seemed to have nothing less in view than an abso¬
lute conquest of the country, and sharing it among them-
Scl V6S#
Attempt to Before matters came to this crisis, however, the
assassinate confederates formed a design of assassinating the king,
the king. 011 account of his supposed attachment to the dissi¬
dents. Of this singular occurrence wre have the fol¬
lowing account in the travels of Mr Coxe, communi¬
cated to the author by Mr Wraxall “ A Polish noble¬
man, named Pulaski, a general in the army of the con¬
federates, was the person who planned the atrocious
enterprise j and the conspirators who carried it into
execution were about 40 in uumber, and were headed
by three chiefs, named Lukawski, Strawenski, and Ko-
sinski. These three chiefs had been engaged and hired
3
Polancf.
*°5
for that purpose by Pulaski, who in the town of Ciets-
chokow in Great Poland obliged them to swear in the 1
most solemn manner, by placing their hands, between
his, either to deliver the king alive into his hands,
or, in case that was impossible, to put him to death. Ihe
three chiefs chose 37 persons to accompany them. On
the second of November, about a month alter they had
quitted Czetschokow, they obtained admission into W ar¬
saw, unsuspected or undiscovered, by the following stra¬
tagem. They disguised themselves as peasants who
came to sell hay, and artfully concealed their saddlesr
arms, and clothes, under the loads of hay which they
brought in waggons, the more eflectually to escape de¬
tection.
“ On Sunday night, the third of September I77I> a
few of these conspirators remained in the skirts ol the
town} and the others repaired to the place ol ren¬
dezvous, the street of the Capuchins, where his maje¬
sty was expected to pass by about his usual hour of re¬
turning to the palace. The king had been to visit his
uncle Prince Czartoriski, grand chancellor ol Lithuania,
and was on his return from thence to the palace be¬
tween nine and ten o’clock. He was in a coach, ac¬
companied by at least 15 or 16 attendants, beside anwhoi
aid-de-camp in the carriage: scarce was he at the di- ^en *
stance of 200 paces from Prince Czartoriski’s palace,
when he was attacked by the conspirators, who com¬
manded the coachman to stop on pain ol instant death.
They fired several shot into the carriage, one of which
passed through the body of a heyduc, who endeavoured
to defend his master from the violence ol the assassins.
Almost all the other persons who preceded and accom¬
panied his majesty were dispersed 5 the aid-de-camp
abandoned him, and attempted to conceal himself by
flight. Meanwhile the king had opened the door of
his carriage with the design of effecting his escape un¬
der shelter of the night, which was extremely dark.
He had even alighted, when the assassins seized him by
the hair,exclaiming in Polish, with horrible execrations,
‘ We have thee now ; thy hour is come.’ One ol them
discharged a pistol at him so very near, that he felt the
heat of the flesh ; while another cut him across the ^
head with his sabre, which penetrated to the h0116*andwoond-
They then laid hold of his majesty by the collar, and^
mounting on horseback, dragged him along the ground
between their horses at full gallop for near 500 paces
through the streets of Warsaw.
“ Soon finding, however, that he was incapable of
following them on loot, and that he had already almost
lost his respiration from the violence with which they
had dragged him, they set him on horseback; and then
redoubled their speed for fear of being overtaken. W hen
they came to the ditch which surrounds Warsaw, they
obliged him to leap his horse over. In the attempt the
horse fell twice, and at the second lall broke its leg.
They then mounted his majesty upon another, all cover¬
ed as he was with dirt. 107
“ The conspirators had no sooner crossed the ditch, and rifled,
than they began to rifle the king, tearing off the order
of the Black Eagle of Prussia which he wore round his
neck, and the diamond cross hanging to it. He request¬
ed them to leave his handkerchief, which they consented
to : his tablets escaped their rapacity. A great number
of the assassins retired after having thus plundered him,
probably with intent to notify to their respective leaders
the
POL [
Poland, the success of their enterprise; and the king’s arrival as
—-v1 a prisoner. Only seven remained with him, of whom
Kosinski was the chief. The night was exceedingly
dark j they were absolutely ignorant of the way j and,
as the horses could not keep their legs, they obliged his
majesty to follow them on foot, with only one shoe, the
other being lost in the dirt.
“ They continued to wander through the open mea¬
dows, without following any certain path, and with¬
out getting to any distance from Warsaw. They again
mounted the king on horseback, two of them holding
him on each side by the hand, and a third leading his
horse by the bridle. In this manner they were pro¬
ceeding, when his majesty, finding they had taken the
road which led to a village called Burakow, warned
them not to enter it, because there were some Russians
stationed in that place who might probably attempt to
rescue him (a), finding himself, however, incapable
of accompanying the assassins in the painful posture
in which they held him kept down on the saddle, he re¬
quested them, sinoe they were determined to oblige him
to proceed, at least to give him another horse and a
boot. This request they complied with ; and conti¬
nuing their progress through almost impassable lands,
without any road, and ignorant of their way, they at
length found themselves in the wood of Bielany, only
a league distant from Warsaw. From the time they
had passed the ditch they repeatedly demanded of Ko¬
sinski their chief, if it was not yet time to put the
king to death 5 and these demands wrere reiterated in
proportion to the obstacles and difficulties they encoun¬
tered, till they were suddenly alarmed by a Russian pa-
trole or detachment. Instantly holding council, four
of them disappeared, leaving him with the other three,
who compelled him to walk on. Scarce a quarter of an
hour after, a second Russian guard challenged them
anew. Two of the assassins then fled, and the king
remained alone with Kosinski the chief, both on foot.
His majesty, exhausted with all the fatigue which he
bad undergone, implored his conductor to stop, and
suffer him to take a moment’s repose. Kosinski refu¬
sed it, menacing him with his naked sabre ; and at the
same time informed him, that beyond the wood they
should find a carriage. They continued their walk, till
they came to the door of the convent of Bielany. Ko¬
sinski appeared lost in thought, and so much agitated by
his reflections, that the king perceiving his disorder, and
observing that he tvandered without known’ng the road,
•aid to him, ‘ I see you are at a loss which wray to pro¬
ceed. Let me enter the convent of Bielany, and do you
provide for your own safety.’ ‘ No (replied Kosinski)
I have sworn.’
“ They proceeded till they came to Mariemont, a
small palace belonging to the house of Saxony, not
above half a league from Warsaw : here Kosinski be-
79 ] POL
trayed some satisfaction at finding where he was, and the Poland,
king still demanding an instant’s repose, he consented
at length. They sat down together on the ground, 109
and the king employed these moments in endeavouring
to soften his conductor, and induce him to favour orc0i1£incto,
permit his escape. His majesty represented the atro-effects hi«
city of the crime he had committed in attempting tocscaPeiand
murder his sovereign, and the invalidity of an oath ta¬
ken to perpetrate so heinous an action : Kosinski lent
attention to this discourse, and began to betray some
marks of remorse. But (said he), if I should consent and
reconduct you to Warsaw, what will be the conse¬
quence P I shall be taken and executed! I give you my
word (answered his majesty), that you shall suffer no
barm j but if you doubt my promise, escape while there
is yet time. I can find my wray to some place of secu¬
rity j and I will certainly direct your pursuers to take
the contrary road to that which you have chosen. Ko¬
sinski could not any longer contain himself, but, throw¬
ing himself at the king’s feet, implored forgiveness for
the crime he had committed; and sw'ore to protect him
against eveiy enemy, relying totally on his generosity
for pardon and preservation. His majesty reiterated to
him his assurances of safety. Judging, however, that
is was prudent to gain some asylum without delay, and
recollecting that there was a mill at some considerable
distance, he immediately made towards it. Kosinski
knocked, but in vain ; no answer was given : he then
broke a pane of glass in the window, and intreated
for shelter to a nobleman who had been plundered by
robbers. The miliar refused, supposing them to be
banditti, and continued for more than half an hour to
persist in his denial. At length the king approached,
and speaking through the broken pane, endeavoured to
persuade him to admit them under his roof, adding, ‘ If
we were robbers, as you suppose, it would be very easy
for us to break the whole window, instead of one pane
of glass.’ Tliis argument prevailed. They at length
opened the door and admitted his majesty. He im¬
mediately wrote a note to General Coccei, colonel of
the foot-guards, informing him of his danger and mi¬
raculous escape.
“ When the messenger arrived with the note, the
astonishment and joy was incredible. Coccei instantly
rode to the mill, followed by a detachment of the guards.
He met Kosinski at the. door with his sabre drawn,
who admitted him as soon as he knew him. The king
had sunk into a sleep, caused by his fatigue; and was
stretched on the ground, covered with the miliar’s
cloak. Coccei immediately threw himself at his majes¬
ty’s feet, calling him his sovereign, and kissing his hand.
It is not easy to paint or describe the astonishment of the
miller and his family, who instantly imitated Coccei’s
example, by throwing themselves on their knees (b).
The king returned to Warsaw in General Coccei’s car¬
riage,
(a) “ This intimation, which the king gave to his assassins, may at first sight appear extraordinary and un¬
accountable, but,was really dictated by the greatest address and judgment. He apprehended with reason,
that, on the sight of a Russian guard, they would instantly put him to death with their sabres, and fly ; where¬
as by informing them of the danger they incurred, he in some measure gained their confidence : in effect, this
behaviour of the king seemed to soften them a little, and made them believe he did not mean to escape from
them.”
(is) “ I have been (says Mr Wraxall) at this mill, rendered memorable by so deplorable an event. It is a
wretched
POL
[
Poland.
riage, and reached the palace about five in the morning.
His wound was found not to be dangerous 5 and he soon
recovered from the bruises and injuries which he had
suffered during this memorable night. So extraordinary
an escape is scarce to be paralleled in history, and affords
ample matter of wonder and surprise.
“ It is natural to inquire what is become of Kosinski,
the man who saved his majesty’s life, and the other con¬
spirators. He was horn in the palatinate of Cracow, and
of mean extraction •, having assumed the name of Ao-
sinsht (c), which is that of a noble family, to give him¬
self credit. He had been created an officer in the troops
of the confederates under Pulaski. It would seem as if
Kosinski began to entertain the idea of preserving the
king’s life from the time when Luskawski and Stra-
wenski abandoned him 5 yet he had great struggles with
himself before he could resolve on this conduct, after the
solemn engagements into which he had entered, liven
after he had conducted the king back to W arsaw, he
expressed more than once his doubts of the propi lety of
what he had done, and some remorse for having decei¬
ved his employers. He was detained under a very strict
confinement, and obliged to give evidence against his
two companions Lukawski and Strawenski, who were
beheaded, his majesty having obtained tor them from
the diet a mitigation of the horrible punishment which
the laws of Poland inflicts upon regicides. About a week
after the execution of these conspirators, Kosinski was
sent out of Poland, after the king had settled upon him
an annual pension, which he enjoyed at Semigallia, in
the papal territories.”
Is rereived Upon the king’s return to Warsaw he was received
at Warsaw with the utmost demonstrations of joy. Every one ex-
with de- claimed with rapture, “The king is alive!” and all strug-
moHstra- , ^ t(j get near i1;mj t0 kiss his hand, or even to touch
tions ot joy. j\g clotjies> gut neJther the virtues nor the popularity
of the sovereign could allay the factious spirit of the
ITt Poles, nor prevent the dismemberment of his kingdom.
Partition of “ The partition of Poland was first projected by the
Poland pro ^ng 0f Prussia. Polish or Western Prussia had long
jec ed by an 0j,ject: 0f his ambition : exclusive, of its fertility,
Suss£g0f commerce, and population, its local situation rendered
it highly valuable to that monarch $ it lay between his
German dominions and Eastern Prussia, and while pos¬
sessed by the Poles, cut off at their tvill all communi¬
cation between them.” The period was now arrived
when the situation of Poland seemed to promise the easy
acquisition of this valuable province. Frederic pur¬
sued it, however, with all the caution of an able poli¬
tician. On the commencement of the troubles, he
showed no eagerness to interfere in the affairs ot this
country 5 and although he had concurred with the em¬
press of Russia in rai-ing Stanislaus Augustus to the
tin-one of Poland, yet he declined taking any active
part in his favour against the confederates. Afterwards,
when the whole kingdom became convulsed throughout
with civil commotions (1769), and desolated likewise
by the plague, he, under pretence of forming lines to
prevent the spreading of the infection, advanced his
Poland.
80 ] POL
troops into Polisli Prussia, and occupied that whole dt-
strict. 1
Though now completely master of the country, an“wll in#
by no means apprehensive ot any formidable resistance ovei. t]le
from the disunited and distracted Poles, yet, as he was enij)eror
well aware that the security of his new acquisition de-aiiJ the
pended upon the acquiescence of Russia and Austria,
planned the partition of Poland. He communicated
the project to the emperor, either upon their interview
at Niess in Silesia in 1769, or in that of the following
year at Newstadt in Austria •, from whom the overture
met with a ready concurrence. To induce the empress
of Russia to acquiesce in the same project, he dispatch¬
ed his brother Henry to Petersburg, who suggested to
the empress that the house of Austria was forming an
alliance with the Porte, with which she was then at
war-, that if such alliance took place, it would create a
most formidable combination against her j that, nevei-
theless the friendship of that house was to be purchased
by acceding to the partition , that, upon this condition,
the emperor was willing to renounce his connection
with the Grand Signior, and would sufier the Russians
to prosecute the war without interruption. Catharine,
anxious to push her conquest against the T urks, and
dreading the interposition of the emperor in that quar¬
ter j perceiving likewise, from the intimate union be¬
tween the courts of Vienna and Berlin, that it would
not be in her power, at the present juncture, to prevent
the intended partition-closed with the proposal, and
selected no inconsiderable portion of the Polish territo¬
ries tor herself. The treaty was signed at 1 etersbui g
in the beginning of February 1772> the Russian,
Austrian, and Prussian plenipotentiaries. It would be
tedious to enter into a detail of the pleas urged by the
three powers in favour of their several demands 5 it
would be no less uninteresting to lay before the reader
the answers and remonstrances of the king and senate, as
well as the appeals to the other states which had guaran- II3
teed the possessions of Poland. T-he courts ot Eondon, Poland dis^
Paris,Stockholm, and Copenhagen, remonstrated against memberei
the usurpations but remonstrances without assistance
could be of no effect* Poland submitted to the dismem¬
berment not without the most violent struggles j and
now for the first time felt and lamented the fatal effects
of faction and discord.
A diet being demanded by the partitioning powers,
in order to ratify the cession of the provinces, it met on
the 19th of April 1773 and such was the spirit of the
members, that, notwithstanding the deplorable situation
of their country, the threats and bribes of the three
powers, the partition-treaty was not carried through
without much difficulty. For some time the majo¬
rity of the nuncios appeared determined to oppose the
dismemberment, and the king firmly persisted in the
same resolution. The ambassadors of the three courts
enforced their requisitions by the most alarming menates,
and threatened the king with deposition and imprison¬
ment. They also gave out by their emissaries, that in
case the diet continued refractory, Warsaw should be
pillaged.
wretched Polish hovel, at a distance From any house. The king rewarded the miller to the extent of his wishes*
in building him a mill upop the Vistula, and allowing him a small pension.
(c) His real name was John Kutsma,
J
POL [ Si ] POL
Poland.
H4
The kintcs
ef Poland
originally
hereditary,
”5
afterwards
elective.
Universal
History.
n5
Place and
manner of
the elec¬
tion.
pillaged. This report was industriously circulated, and
/ made a sensible impression upon the inhabitants. By
menaces of this sort, by corrupting the marshal of the
diet, who was accompanied with a Russian guard; in a
word, by bribes, promises, and threats, the members of
the diet were at length px-evailed on to ratify the dis¬
memberment.
The partitioning powers, however, did less injury to
the republic by dismembering its fairest provinces, than
in perpetuating the principles of anarchy and confu¬
sion, and establishing on a permanent footing that exor¬
bitant liberty which is the parent of faction, and has
proved the decline of the republic. Under pretence of
amending the constitution, they confirmed all its defects,
and took effectual precautions to render this unhappy
country incapaple of emerging from its present deplor¬
able state, as was seen in the failure of the most patri¬
otic attempt that was perhaps ever made by a king to
reform the constitution of his kingdom.
The kings of Poland were anciently hereditary and ab¬
solute; but afterwards became elective and limited. In
the reign of Louis, towards the end of the 14th century,
several limitations were laid on the royal prerogative.
In that of Casimir IV. who ascended the throne in 1446,
representatives from the several palatinates were first
called to the diet; the legislative power till then hav¬
ing been lodged in the states, and the executive in the
king and senate. On the decease of Sigismund August¬
us, it was enacted by law “That the choice of a king
for the future should perpetually remain free and open
to a!) the nobles of tbe kingdom;” which law was ac¬
cordingly observed to the great injury of the kingdom.
“ As soon as the throne is vacant, ail the courts of
justice, and other ordinary springs of the machine of go¬
vernment, remain in a state of inaction, and all the au¬
thority is transferred to the primate, who, in quality of
interrex, has in some respects more power than the king
himself; and yet the republic takes no umbrage at it,
because lie has not time to make himself formidable.
He notifies the vacancy of the throne to foreign prin-
ce«, which is in effect proclaiming that a crown is to be
disposed of; he issues the universalia, or circula-r letters
for the election ; gives orders to the starosts (a sort of
military officers who have great authority, and whose
proper business it L to levy the revenue) to keep a strict
guard upon the fortified places, and to the grand-gene¬
rals to do the same upon the frontiers, towards which
the army marches.
“ The place of election is the field of Wola, at the
gates of Warsaw. All the nobles of the kingdom have
a right of voting. The Poles encamp on the left side
of the Vistula, and the Lithuanians on the right, each
under the banners of their respective palatinates, which
makes a sort of civil armv; consisting of between a hun¬
dred and fifty and two hundred thousand men, assem¬
bled to exercise the highest act of freedom. Those
who are not able to provide a horse and a sabre stand
behind on foot, armed with scythes, and do not seem at
all less proud than the rest, as they have the same right
of voting.
“ The field of election is surrounded by a ditch with
three gates, in order to avoid confusion, one to the
east for Great Poland, another to the south for Little
Poland, and a third to the west for Lithuania. In the
middle of the field, which is called Kolau, is erected a
VOL. XVII. Part I. f
great building of wood, named the szopa or hall for Poland,
the senate, at whose debates the deputies are present,v—/
and carry the result of them to the several palatinates.
The part which the marshal acts upon this occasion
is very important; for, being the mouth of the nobility,
he has it in his power to do great service to the candi¬
dates ; he is also to draw up the instrument of election,
and the king elect must take it only from his hand.
“ It is prohibited, upon pain of being declared a pu¬
blic enemy, to appear at the election with regular
troops, in order to avoid all violence. But the nobles,
who are always armed with pistols and sabres, commit
violence against one another, at the time that they cry
out ‘ liberty !’
“ All who aspire openly to the crown are expressly
excluded from the field of election, that their presence
may not constrain the voters. The king must be elect¬
ed nemine contradicente, by all the suffrages without ex¬
ception. The law is founded upon this principle, that
when a great family adopts a lather, all the children,
have a right to be pleased. Tbe idea is plausible in spe¬
culation ; but if it was rigorously kept to, Poland could
have no such thing as a lawful king. They therefore
give up a real unanimity, and content themselves with
the appearance of it; or rather, if the law, which pre¬
scribes it, cannot be fulfilled by means of money, they
call in the assistance of the sabre.
“ Before they come to this extremity, no election
can possibly be carried on with more order, decency,
and appearance of freedom. The primate in few words
recapitulates to the nobles on horseback the respective
merits of the candidates ; he exhorts them to choose
the most worthy, invokes heaven, gives his blessing to
the assembly, and remains alone with the marshal of
the diet, while the senators disperse themselves into the
several palatinates, to promote an unanimity of senti¬
ments. If they succeed, the primate goes himself to
collect the votes, naming once more all the candidates.
‘ Szoda (answer the nobles), that is the man we choose ;’
and instantly the air resounded with his name, with cries
of vivat, and the noise of pistols. If all the palatines
agreed in their nominations, the primate got on horse¬
back; and then the profoundest silence succeeding to the
greatest noise, he asked three times if all were satisfied?
and after a general approbation, three times proclaim¬
ed the king; and the grand-marshal of the crown re¬
peated the proclamation .iiree times at the three gates
of the camp. How glorious a king this, if endued with
royal qualities! and how incontestable his title in the
suffrages of a whole people ! But this sketch of a free
and peaceable election is by no means a representation
of what usually happened. The corruption of the great,
the fury of the people, intrigues and factions, the gold
and the arms of foreign powers, frequently filled the
scene with violence and blood.”
Before the king was proclaimed, the pacta convent a The facta
was read aloud to him, which on his knees at the altar
he swore to observe. As this contract, which was drawn
up, methodized, and approved, by the senate and no¬
bility, was deemed the great charter of Poland, we shall
enumerate the principal articles of which it consisted.
These are, that the king should not attempt to en¬
croach on the liberty ot the people, by rendering the
crown hereditary in his family ; but that he should pre¬
serve all the customs, laws, and ordonnances, respecting
L the
Poland.
■pOT [” 82 1 POL
^^ . , T. , • _ T,r„a QR.rpPfi that every third diet Poland
the freedom of election: that he should ratify all treaties ^ Qr0(jn0< “When it is proposed to 1 v
subsisting with foreign powers which were approver iy > o-pnernl diet the king, or, in case of an inter-
the diet: that it shodd be his chief study to culttvate issued t’eits’to the palatines of the
peace, preserve the public tranquillity, and promo ^ 1 ’ r0vinces specifying the time and place ot the
interest of the realm: that he should not coin money £1: ^eJc/likewise was sent of the business to
except in the name of the republic, or appropriate to meeting.. A siverci .  —
himself the advantages arising from coinage : that in
1 1 •  1 rv-»oL 1 nrr Ipvii
II LlIloCl L Lilt; rttVi V  Wj - ^ ' 1 • *
declaring war, concluding peace, making levies, lining
auxiliaries, or admitting foreign troops upon any pre¬
text within the Polish dominions, the consent oi the
diet and senate should be necessary: that all offices and
preferments should be given to the natives of Poland and
Lithuania-, and that no pretence should excuse or palli¬
ate the crime of introducing foreigners into the king s
council or the departments of the republic : that the of¬
ficers of his majesty’s guards should be Poles or Lithu¬
anians and that the colonel should absolutely he a na¬
tive of Poland, and of the order of nobility: that all
the officers should he subordinate to the authority of the
mareschal : that no individual should he vested with
more employments than the law allows : that the king
should not marry without the approbation oi the senate
and that the household of the queen should be determin¬
ed and regulated by the republic : that the sovereign
should never apply his private signet to acts and papers
of a public nature : that the king should dispose or the
offices both of the court and of the republic 5 and re¬
gulate with the senate the number of forces necessary
for the defence of the kingdom: that he should ad¬
minister justice by the advice of tjie senate and Ins coun¬
cil : that the expences of his civil list should be the
same with those of his predecessors : that he should nil
up all vacancies in the space of six weeks : that this
should be his first business in the diet,, obliging the
chancellor to publish his appointments in due form :
that the king should not diminish the treasure kept at
Cracow but, on the contrary, endeavour to augment
that and the number of the crown-jewels : that he
should borrow no money without the consent of the
diet: that he should not equip a naval force without
the consent and full approbation of the republic : that
he should profess the Roman Catholic faith, promote,
maintain, and defend it, through all the Polish do¬
minions : and finally, that all their several liberties,
rights, and privileges, should be preserved to the Polan-
ders and Lithuanians in general, and to all the di¬
stricts and provinces contained within each of these
great divisions, without change, alteration, or the small¬
est violation, except by the consent of the republic, l o
these articles a variety of others were added, accord¬
ing to circumstances and the humour of the diet; but
what we have recited formed the standing conditions,
which were scarcely ever altered or omitted.
The diet of The diet of Poland was composed of the king, the
Poland, and senate> bishops, and the deputies of the nobility or gen¬
try of every palatinate, called, in their collective capa¬
city, comitia togata, that is, when the states assembled
in the city without arms and horses; or comitia paluda-
ta when they met in the fields armed, as dining an in¬
terregnum, at the diet of election. It was a prerogative
of the crown to assemble the diet at any particular place,
except on occasion of a coronation, which the custom
of the country required should be celebrated at the ca¬
pital. For a number of years, indeed, the diet regu¬
larly assembled at Warsaw j but, on complaint made by
119
11S
meeting..   
he deliberated on by the assembly j the senate was con¬
sulted in this particular, and six weeks were allowed the
members to prepare themselves for the intended session.
It is remarkable, that the diet never sat more than six
weeks in the most critical conjunctures and pressing
emergencies : they have been known to break up in tiie
middle of an important debate, and to leave the business
to a future meeting. This custom has been justly es¬
teemed one of the greatest defects of the 1 ohsh consti¬
tution, which probably owed its origin to convenience,
but was afterwards superstitiously observed from whim
and caprice. On receipt of the king’s writ, the pala¬
tine communicated the meeting of the diet to all the
castellans, starostas, and other inferior officers and gen¬
try within his jurisdiction, requiring them to assemble on
a certain day to elect deputies and take into considera-
tion the business specified in the royal summons, i bese Dwtine*.
meetino s were called petty diets, dwtines, or lantage, m
the language of the country J every gentleman possessing
three acres of land having a vote, and matters being de¬
termined by a majority; whereas in the general diet de¬
crees were only valid when the whole body was unaui,
mous. Every palatinate had three representatives,
thouoh the business devolved on one called a nuncio*,
who was elected for his ability and experience; and the
other two were added only to give weight to this leading
member, and do honour by their magnificent appearance
to the palatinate they represented. As these deputies,
since the reign of Casimir III. had seats in the diet, it
naturally divided the general assembly into two bodies,
the upper and lower j the one being composed ot the
senate, the superior clergy, and the great officers 5 the
other of the representatives of the palatinates, who pre¬
pared all business tor the superior body.
The first business of the assembly was to choose a
mareschal 5 upon which occasion the debates and tu¬
mults ran so high, that the whole time tor the session
of the diet was often consumed in altercation and wrang¬
ling about the election of a speaker, who had now no¬
thing farther to do than return quietly to his own home.
After his election, he kissed the king’s hand} and the
chancellor, as the royal representative, reported the mat¬
ters to be deliberated by the diet. Then the mareschal
acquainted the king with the instructions of the deputies
from their constituents, the grievances which they would
have redressed, and the abuses they required to be reme¬
died. He likewise requested of his majesty to fill up the
vacant offices and benefices, according to law' 5 and he
was answered by a set speech from the chancellor, who
reported the king’s inclination to satisfy his people, as
soon as he had consulted his faithful senate. Iheie was i%o
something very peculiarly absurd in some of the customs Absurd cro-
ohserved by the Polish diet : one in particular merits at-“^
tention. Not only an unanimity of voices was necessary ^ diet
to pass any bill, and constitute a decree of the diet, hut
every bill must likewise he assented to unanimously, or
none can take effect. Thus, if out of twenty bills one I2I
happened to be opposed by a single voice, called li- The HU-
berum veto,, all the rest were thrown out, and the diet ram
met,
POL [ 83 ] POL
Poland, met, deliberated, and debated, for six weeks, to no pur-
V ' poso.
“ To add to the other inconveniences that attended
the constitution of the diet of Poland, a spirit of venali¬
ty in the deputies, and a general corruption, had seized
all ranks and degress in that assembly. There, as in
some other countries, the cry of liberty was kept up for
the sake of private interest. Deputies came with a full
resolution of profiting by their patriotism, and not
lowering their voice without a gratification. Deter¬
mined to oppose the most salutary measures of the court,
they either withdrew from the assembly, protested
against all that should be transacted in their absence, or
else excited such a clamour as rendered it necessary lor
the court to silence them by some lucrative pension, do¬
nation, or employment. Thus not only the business of
the assembly was obstructed by its own members, but
frequently by largesses from neighbouring powers, and
sometimes by the liberality of an open enemy, who had
I22 the art of distributing his money with discretion.
The senate “ Perhaps the most respectable department of the
of Poland. Polish government was the senate, composed of the bi¬
shops, palatines, castellans, and ten officers of state, who
derived a right from their dignities of sitting in that as¬
sembly j in all amounting to 144 members, who were
styled senators of the kingdom or counsellors of the state,
and had the title of excellency, a dignity supported by
no pension or emoluments necessarily annexed. The se¬
nate presided over the laws, was the guardian of liberty,
the judge of right, and the protector of justice and
equity. Ail the members, except the bishops, who
were senators ex officio, were nominated by the king, and
they took an oath to the republic before they were per¬
mitted to enter upon their functions. Their honours
continued for life : at the general diet they sat on the
right and left of the sovereign, according to their dig¬
nity, without regard to seniority. They were the me¬
diators between the monarch and the subject, and, in
conjunction with the king, ratified all the laws passed by
the nobility. As a senator was bound by oath to main¬
tain the liberties of the republic, it -was thought no dis¬
respect to majesty that they reminded the prince of his
duty. They were his counsellors, and this freedom of
speech was an inseparable prerogative of their office.”
Such was the constitution of Poland before it rvas
new-modelled by the partitioning powers. That it was
a very bad constitution needs no proof; but those fo¬
reign reformers did not improve it. For two centuries
at least, the Poles had with great propriety denomina¬
ted their government a republic, because the king was
so exceedingly limited in his prerogative, that he resem¬
bled more the chief of a commonwealth than the sove-
ThJperma-reign °f a powerful monarchy. That prerogative, al-
aent coun- ready too confined to afford protection to the peasants,
-il. groaning under the aristocratic tyranny of the nobles,
was, after the partition treaty, still further restrained by
the establishment of the permanent counsel, which was
vested with the whole executive authority, leaving to
the sovereign nothing but the name. The permanent
council consisted of 36 persons, elected by the diet out
of the different orders of nobility; and though the king,
when present, presided in it, he could not exert a single
act of power but with the consent of the majority of per¬
sons, who might well be called his colleagues.
That the virtuous and accomplished Stanislaus should
labour to extricate himself and the great body of the Poland,
people from such unparalleled oppression, and that the J
more respectable part of the nation should wish to give
to themselves and their posterity a better form of go¬
vernment, was surely very natural and very meritorious.
The influence of the partitioning powers was indeed ex¬
erted to make the king contented with his situation.
His revenues, which before did not exceed ioo,oook
Were now increased to three times that sum. The re¬
public likewise agreed to pay his debts, amounting to
upwards of 400,000k It bestowed on him also, in
hereditary possession, four starosties, or governments of
castles, with the districts belonging to them; aud re¬
imbursed him of the money he had laid out for the state.
It was also agreed, that the revenues of the republic
should be enhanced to 33 millions of florins (near two
millions sterling), and the army should consist of 30,000
men. Soon after the conclusion of the peace with Tur¬
key, the empress of Ilussia also made the king a present
of 250,000 rubles, as a compensation lor that part of
his dominions which fell into her hands. 124
These bribes, however, were not sufficient to blind A new c°n-
the eyes of Stanislaus, or to cool the ardour of his Pa" ^.^inied
triotism. He laboured for posterity, and with such ap-jn
parent success, that on the 3d of May 1791, a new con¬
stitution of the government of Poland was established
by the king, together with the confederate states as¬
sembled in double number to represent the Polish nation.
That this was a perfect constitution, we are far from
thinking; but it was probably as perfect as the invete¬
rate prejudices of the nobles would admit of. It devi¬
ated as little as possible from the old forms, and was
drawn up in 11 articles, respecting the government of
the republic; to which were added 21 sections, regula¬
ting the dietines or primary assemblies of Poland. 125
Of this constitution, the first article established the Substance
Homan Catholic faith, with all its privileges and immu-°f ^Jjrst
• • • ' • . live articles
mties, as the dominant national religion ; granting to0fjt
all other people, of whatever persuasion, peace in mat¬
ters of faith, and the protection of government. The
second article guaranteed to the nobility or the equestri¬
an order, all the privileges which it enjoyed under the
kings of the house of Jagellon. The third and fourth
articles granted to the free royal towns internal jurisdic¬
tions of their own ; and exempted the peasants from sla¬
very, declaring every man free as soon as he set his foot
on the territory of the republic. The fifth article, after
declaring, that in civil society all power should be deriv¬
ed from the will of the people, enacted that the govern¬
ment of the Polish nation should be composed of three
^distinct powers, the legislative, in the states assembled ;
the executive, in the king and the council of inspection ;
and doe. judicial power, in the jurisdictions existing, ot¬
to be established. The sixth and seventh articles, as
being of more importance, we shall give in the tvords
of the constitution itself. 126
VI. The Diet, or the legislative power, shall be divid- r^ie diet t0
ed into two houses, viz. the house of nuncios, or deputies,
and the house of senate, where the king is to preside, vjZt ^
The former being the representative and central point house of
of supreme national authority, shall possess the pre-emi-nuacios»
nence in the legislature ; therefore all bills are to be
decided first in this house.
1. All General Laws, viz. constitutional, civil, cri¬
minal, and perpetual taxes ; concerning which maters,
L 2 the
\
POL
[
Poland.
127
and the
house of
senate.
12S
The libe¬
rum veto
abolished.
the king is to issue Ins propositions t>y the circular let¬
ters sent before the dietines to every palatinate and
to every district for deliberation, which coming before
the house with the opinion expressed in the instructions
given to their representatives, shall be taken the first
for decision.
2. I* articular Laws, viz. temporal taxes-, regulations
of the mint; contracting public debts •, creating nobles,
and other casual recompenses; reparation of public ex¬
pellees, both ordinary and extraordinary j concerning
war 5 peace *, ratification of treaties, both political and
commercial •, all diplomatic acts and conventions rela-
tive to the laws of nations-, examining and acquitting
different executive departments, and similar subjects ari¬
sing from the accidental exigencies and circumstances ot
the state -, in which the propositions, coming directly
from the throne into the house of nuncios, are to have
preference in discussion before the private bills.
In regard to the house of senate, it is to consist of
bishops, palatines, castellans, and ministers, under the
presidency of the king, who shall have hut one vote, aiid
the casting voice in case of parity, which he may give
either personally, or by a message to the house. Its
power and duty shall be,
1. Every general law that passes formally through
the house of nuncios, is to be sent immediately to this,
■which is either accepted, or suspended till further nation¬
al deliberation, by a majority of votes, as prescribed by
]awr. If accepted, it becomes a law in all its force -, 11
suspended, it shall be resumed at the next diet; and if
it is then agreed to again by the house of nuncios, the
senate must submit to it.
2. Every particular law or statute of the diet in mat¬
ters above-specified, as soon as it has been detei mined
bv the house of nuncios, and sent up to the senate, the
votes of both houses shall be jointly computed, and the
majority, as described by law, shall be considered as a
decree and the will of the nation. Those senators and
ministers who, from their share in executive power, are
accountable to the republic, cannot have an active voice
in the diet, but may be present, in order to give neces¬
sary explanations to the states.
These ordinary legislative diets shall have their unin¬
terrupted existence, and be always ready to meet-, re¬
newable every two years. The length of sessions shall
be determined by the law concerning diets. If conven¬
ed out of ordinary session upon some urgent occasion,
they shall only deliberate on the subject which occasion¬
ed such a call, or on circumstances which may arise out
°f it*
No law or statute enacted by such ordinary diet can
be altered or annulled by the same. The complement
of the diet shall be composed of the number of persons
in both houses to be determined hereafter.
The law concerning the dietines or primary elections,
as established by the present diet, shall be regarded as
a most essential foundation of civil liberty.
The majority of votes shall decide every thing, and
everywhere j therefore we abolish, and utterly annihi¬
late, veto, all sorts of confederacies and confede-
rate’ diets, as contrary to the spirit of the present con¬
stitution, as undermining the government, and as being
ruinous to society.
Willing to prevent, on one hand, violent and fre-
Poland.
. ] p 0 L .
quent changes in the national constitution, yet, consider-1
ing on the other, the necessity ol perfecting it, alter
experiencina; its effects on public prosperity, we deter- l^|)
mine the period of every 2S years for an extraordinary Extraordi-
constitutional diet, to be held purposely for the revision naiy diet
and such alterations of the constitution as may be *ound‘or reding
requisite : which diet shall be circumscribed by a sepa- tuliou
rate law hereafter.
VII. The most perfect government cannot exist or
last without an effectual executive power. The happi¬
ness of the nation depends on just laws, but the good
effects of laws flow only from their execution. Ex¬
perience has taught us, that the neglecting this essen¬
tial part of government has overwhelmed Poland with
disasters.
Having, therefore, secured to the free Polish nation
the right of enacting laws for themselves, the supreme I30
inspection over the executive power, and the choice of Powers 0f
their magistrates, we entrust to the king and Ins coun-t^king^^
cil the highest power of executing the laws. _ Ihis of inspec-
council shall be called straz, or the council of inspec-tioiu
tion.
The duty of such executive power shall be to watch
over the laws, and to see them strictly executed accord¬
ing to their import, even by the means ol public force,
should it be necessary. All departments mid magistra¬
cies are bound to obey its directions. I 0 this power
we leave the right ot controlling such as are refractory,
or of punishing such as are negligent in the execution
of their respective offices.
This executive power cannot assume the right of ma¬
king laws, or of their interpretation. It is expressly
forbidden to contract public debts -, to alter the repar¬
tition of the national income, as fixed by the diet j to
declare war; to conclude definitively any treaty, or any
diplomatic act; it is only allowed to carry on negoeia-
tions with foreign courts, and facilitate temporaly oc¬
currences, always with reference to the diet. ^ . i3t
The crown of Poland we declare to be elective in re- Crown e-
gard to families, and it is settled so for ever. lectivein
Having experienced the fatal effects of interregna,
periodically subverting government, and being desirous
of preventing for ever all foreign influence, as vvell as of I 32
insuring to every citizen a perfect tranquillity, we have,but here¬
from prudent motives, resolved to adopt hereditary suc-dnaryin
cession to our throne : therefore vye enact and declare,
that, after the expiration of our life, according to the tmetien,
gracious will of the Almighty, the present elector of
Saxony shall reign over Poland, and in his person shall
the dvnasty of future kings of Poland begin. AVe re¬
serve to the nation, however, the right of electing to
the throne any other house or family, after the extinc¬
tion of the first. 133
Every king, on his accession to the throne, shall take Coronation
a solemn oath to God and the nation, to support the oath,
present constitution, to fulfil tbe pacta conventa, which
will be settled with the present elector of Saxony, as ap¬
pointed to tbe crown, and which shall bind him in the
same manner as former ones. 134
The king’s person is sacred and inviolable ; as no act King's pej-
can proceed immediately from him, be cannot be in any on sacie ’
manner responsible to the nation; he is not an absolute
monarch, but the father and the head of the people ; bis
revenues, as fixed by the pacta conventa, shall be sacred-
]y
POL
[ 3
Poland.
lion.
137
Powers of
the mar¬
shal.
ly preserved. All public acts, the acts of magistracies,
-v—1 ' and the coin of the kingdom, shall bear his name.
I35_ The king, who ought to possess every power of doing
liar^ovms ^00C*’ Iiave the right of pardoning those that are
ai pimci . con(jemne(| dejul^ except the crimes be against the
state. In time of war, lie shall have the supreme com¬
mand of the national forces: he may appoint the com¬
manders of the army, however, by the will of the states.
It shall be his province lo patentee officers in the army,
and other dignitaries, consonant to the regulations here¬
after to be expressed, to appoint bishops, senators, and
ministers, as members of the executive power.
Members of The king’s council of inspection is to consist, x. Of
the council the primate, as the head of the clergy, and the president
of mspec- 0f t.|ie commission of education, or the first bishop in or-
dine. 2. Of five ministers, viz. the minister of police,
minister of justice, minister of war, minister of finances,
and minister for the foreign affairs. 3. Of two secreta¬
ries to keep the protocols, one for the council, another
for the foreign department ; both, however, without de¬
cisive vote. The hereditary prince coming of age, and
having taken the oath to preserve the constitution, may
assist at all sessions of the council, but shall have no vote
therein. The marshal of the diet, being chosen for two
years, has also a right to sit in this council, without ta¬
king any share in its resolves; for the end only to call
together the diet, always existing, in the following case :
should he deem, from the emergencies hereunder speci¬
fied, the convocation of the diet absolutely necessary,
and the king refusing to do it, the marshal is bound to
issue bis circular letters to all nuncios and senators, ad¬
ducing real motives for such meeting.
The cases demanding such convocation of the diet are
the following : 1, In a pressing necessity concerning the
law of nations, and particularly in case of a neighbour¬
ing war. 2. In case of an internal commotion, mena¬
cing with the revolution of the country, or of a collision
between magistrates. 3. In an evident danger of gene¬
ral famine. 4. In the orphan state of the country, by
demise of the king, or in case of the king’s dangerous
illness. All the resolutions of the council of inspection
are to be examined by the rules above mentioned. The
king’s opinion, after that of every member in the coun¬
cil has been heard, shall decisively prevail. Every re¬
solution of this council shall be issued under the king’s
signature, countersigned by one of the ministers sitting
therein ; and thus signed, shall be obeyed by all execu¬
tive departments, except in cases expressly exempted by
the present constitution.
Should all the members refuse their countersign to
any resolution, the king is obliged to forego his opinion •,
but if he should persist in it, the marshal of the diet may
demand the convocation of the diet 5 and if the king
will not, the marshal himself shall send his circular let¬
ters as above. Ministers composing this council cannot
he employed at the same time in any other commission
or department.
If it should happen that two-thirds of secret votes in
both houses demand the changing of any person, either
in the council, or anv executive department, the king
is bound to nominate another. Willing that the conn
cil of inspection shru'd be responsible to the nation for
their actions, we decree, that when these ministers are
denounced and accused before tl e diet (bv the special
committee appointed for examining their proceedings)
S J i W ^
of any transgression of positive law, they are answerable Poland,
with their persons and fortunes. Such impeachments be-
ing determined by a simple majority of votes, collected
jointly from both houses, shall be tried immediately by
the comitial tribunal, where the accused are to receive
their final judgment and punishment, if found guilty j
or to be honourably acquitted on sufficient proof of in¬
nocence. r,g
In order to form a necessary organization of the exe-Commis-
cutive power, we establish hereby separate commissions, sions of e*
connected with the above council, and subjected to obey ^"^ation’
its ordinations. These commissions are, 1. Of educa- ° lce’ c“
tion ; 2. Of police; 3. Of war ; 4. Of treasury. It is
through the medium of these four departments that all
the particular orderly commissions, as established by the
present diet, in every palatinate and district, shall de¬
pend on, and receive all orders from, the council of in¬
spection, in their respective duties and occurrences. 139
The eighth article regulates the administration of jus- Admini-
tice, beginning with a very sensible declaration, that the ?u'V“a 0
judicial power is incompatible with the legislative, and'
that it cannot be administered by the king. It there¬
fore constitutes primary courts of justice for each palati¬
nate or district, composed of judges chosen at the die-
tine ; and appoints higher tribunals, erected one in each
of the three provinces into which the kingdom is di¬
vided, with which appeals may be lodged from the pri¬
mary courts. It appoints likewise for the trial of per¬
sons accused of crimes against the state, one supreme ge¬
neral tribunal for all classes, called a comitial tribunal
or court, composed of persons chosen at the opening 140
of every diet. The ninth article provides a regency Regency on
during the king’s minority, in case of his settled alie-cerf!Un oc“
nation of reason, or upon the emergency of his being Ct‘bl011S'
made a prisoner of war. This regency was to be com¬
posed of the council of inspection, with the queen at
their head, or, in her absence, the primate of the king¬
dom. The tenth article enjoins, that the education of
the king’s sons shall be entrusted to the king with the
council, and a tutor appointed by the states ; and the
eleventh regulates the army in such a manner, as to
prevent it from being employed to overturn the constitu¬
tion.
The regulation of the dietines contains nothing that
can be interesting to a British reader, except what re¬
lates to the election and duties of nuncios or represen- ^
tatives to the general diet. A id here it is enacted, that The elec-
persons having a right to vote are all nobles of the^on and_
equestrian order; i. e. 1. All hereditary proprietors of^^j^
landed property, or possessed of estates by adjudication
for a debt, paying territorial tax to government: sons
also of such proprietors dining the life of their parents,
before the ex-division of patrimony. 2. Brothers inhe¬
riting estates before they have shared their succession.
3. All mortgages who pay 100 florins ("50 shillings) of
territorial tax per year from their possessions. 4. All
life-holders of lands paying territorial tax to the same
amount. 5. All nobles in the army possessed of such
qualifying estates have a vote in their respective districts
in time of peace, and properly furloughed by their com¬
manders. 6. Legal possession is understood to lie quali¬
fying when it has been formerly acquired and actually
enjoyed for twelve calendar months previously.
Persons who have no right to vote are, 1. Those of
the equestrian order that are not actually possessed of a
property
h!e.
POL [ »6
Poland. property, as described in tile foregoing article. 2. Such
  v—— as hold royal, ecclesiastical, or noble lands, even with
right of inheritance, but on condition ot some duty or
payment to their principals, consequently dependent
thereon. 3. Gentry possessing estates on feudal tenure,
called ordynackie, as being bound to certain personal ser¬
vice thereby. 4. All renters of estates that have no
other qualifying property. 5. Those that have not ac¬
complished 18 years of age. 6. Crimine notati, and
those that are under a decree passed in default, even
in the first instance, for having disobeyed any judicial
I<2 court.
Persons e- Every person of the equestrian order that pays terri-
ligible and torial tax to government for his freehold, let it be ever
not eliai- sraall, is eligible to all elective offices in his respective
district.
Gentlemen actually serving in the army, even posses¬
sed of landed hereditary estate, must have served sixcom-
plete years before they are eligible to the office of a
nuncio only. But this condition is dispensed with in
favour of those that have filled before some public
function.
Whoever is not personally present at the dietine ;
whoever has not completed 23 years of age ; whoever
has not been in any public function, nor passed the bien¬
nial office of a commissary in the orderly commission *,
those that are not exempted by law from obligations of
scarta bellatus, which subjects all newly-nobilitated per¬
sons to certain civil restrictions until the next genera¬
tion ; and, lastly, all those against whom may be ob¬
jected a decree in contumaciam in a civil cause j are not
eligible.
During the business of election, the president who
opened the meeting, with the rest of the committee,
except those who are assessors, shall prepare instructions
for procedure 5 and in regard to the propositions sent by
the king and the council of inspection, these instructions
shall be worded thus: “ Our nuncios shall vote ajjirma-
to^lie^iun8 ^ve to t*ie art‘c^e or> “ Gur nuncios shall vote ne-
cios^ UU yative to the article A7,” in case it is found contrary to
the opinion of the dietine : and should any amendment
or addition be deemed necessary and agreed on, it may
be inserted in the instructions at the end of the relative
proposition.
At the meeting of the dietines, after the diet has sat,
the nuncios are bound to appear before their constitu¬
ents, and to bring their report of the whole proceedings
of that assembly, first, respecting the acts of legislature j
next, with respect to the particular projects of their pa¬
latinate or district recommended to them by the instruc¬
tions.
It is at these dietines that nuncios, after they have
rendered to their constituents a clear account ot their
proceedings and of the diet, may be either confirmed
or changed, and new ones elected in their steael till the
general election for the following ordinary diet.
New nuncios are chosen, 1. In the room of the de¬
ceased. 2. In the room of those that are become sena¬
tors or ministers of state. 3. In case of resignation.
4. In the room of such as are disqualified by the diet.
3. When any of the assembly desires a new election, to
substitute another nuncio in the room of one expressly
pointed out •, which request must be made in writing,
signed by 12 members besides, and be delivered to the
-marshal of the dietine. In this last case, the marshal is
i43
144
who are
accountable,
to their
constitu¬
ents.
] POL
to read the name of the nuncio objected to, and to make Polana.
the following proposition : “ Shall the nuncio JN be v J j
confirmed in his function ? or, shall there be a new
election made in his stead?” I be opinion of the meet¬
ing being taken by a division, the majority shall decide
the question, and be declared by the marshal. If the
majority approves the conduct ot the nuncio, the mai-
shal and the assessors shall certify this confirmation on
the diploma j and in case of disapprobation, the marshal
shall declare the vacancy, and begin the form of a new
election. _ . . 145
Such are the outlines of the Polish constitution esta-This Con-
blished by the king and the confederates in 1791. ItstituUon
will not bear a comparison with fhat under which Bri- ^eI^r t0
tons have the happiness to live} but it is surely infinite-^yie f01Tner)
ly superior to that motley form of government which, protested
for a century past, rendered Poland a perpetual scene of against by |
war, tumult, tyranny, and rebellion. Many of the
corrupt nobles, however, perceiving that it would curb
their ambition, deprive them of the base means which
they had long enjoyed of gratifying their avarice by set¬
ting the crown to sale, and render it impossible for them
to continue with impunity their tyrannical oppiession of
the peasants, protested against it, and withdrew from
the confederates. rIhi8 was nothing more than what ,
might have been expected, or than what the king and
his friends undoubtedly did expect. But the malcon¬
tents rvere not satisfied with a simple protest} they pie-
ferred their complaints to the empress of Russia, who,
ready on all occasions, and on the slightest pretence, to
invade Poland, poured her armies into the republic,
and surrounding the king and the diet with ferocious ^
soldiers, compelled them, by the most furious and inde- aI1(j0pp0S€(]
cent menaces, to undo their glorious labour of love, and by theltus-
to restore the constitution as settled after the partition sians.
treaty.
Of the progress of the Russians in this work of dark¬
ness, our readers will he pleased with the following
manly and indignant narrative, taken from a periodical ^
work* of acknowledged merit. _ *
“ It was on the 21st of April 1792, that the diet re-™" ^ |
ceived the first notification from the king, of the inimi¬
cal and unjust intentions of Russia. He informed them
that, without the shadow of pretence, this avowed ene¬
my of the rights of mankind had determined to invade
the territory of the republic with an army of 60,coo
men. This formidable banditti, commanded by gene¬
rals Soltikow, Michelson, and*Kosakowski, was after¬
wards to he supported by a corps of 20,000, and by the
troops then acting in Moldavia, amounting to 70,00c.
The kine:, however, professed that he was not discoura¬
ged, and declared his readiness to put himself at the
head of the national troops, and to terminate his exist¬
ence in a glorious contest for the liberties of his country.
Then, and not before, the diet decreed the organization
of the army, and its augmentation to 100,000. The
king and the council of inspection were invested with
unlimited authority in every thing that regarded the de¬
fence of the kingdom. Magazines were ordered to be
constructed when it was too late, and quarters to be pro¬
vided for the army. 147
“ The diet and the nation rose as one man to main-The nation
tain their independence. All private animosities were™*^.^
obliterated, all private interests were sacrificed } thc^depend-
greatest encouragements were held forth to volunteers cnce.
to
P O L [ By ] POL
Poland, to enroll themselves under the national standard, and it
—v   was unanimously decreed by the diet, that all private
losses should be compensated out of the public trea¬
sury.
“ On the 18th of May, the Russian ambassador deli¬
vered a declaration, which was worthy of such a cause.
It was a tissue of falsehood and hypocrisy. It asserted,
that this wanton invasion, which was evidently against
the sense of almost every individual Polander, was meant
entirely for the good of the republic. It censured the
precipitancy with which the new constitution was adopt¬
ed, and ascribed the ready consent of the diet to the in¬
fluence of the Warsaw mob. It represented the consti¬
tution as a violation of the principles on which the Po¬
lish republic was founded—complained of the licen¬
tiousness with which i\\e sacred name of the empress was
treated in some speeches of the members ; and con¬
cluded by professing, that on these accounts, and in be¬
half of the emigrant Poles, her imperial majesty had
ordered her troops to enter the territories of the re¬
public.
“ At the moment this declaration was delivered to the
diet, the Russian troops, accompanied by Counts Po-
tocki, Rzewuski, Branicki, and a few Polish apostates,
appeared upon the frontiers, and entered the territories
of the republic in several columns, before the close of
irk of ^ month* The spirit manifested by the nobility was
he nobles, truly honourable. Some of them delivered in their plate
to the mint. Prince Radzvil engaged voluntarily to
furnish 10,000 stand of arms, and another a train of ar^
tillery. The courage of the new and hastily embodied
soldiers corresponded with the patriotism of their nobles.
Prince Poniatowski, nephew to the king, was appointed
commander in chief 5 and though his force was greatly
inferior to the enemy, it must be confessed that he made
a noble stand. On the 24th of May, the enemy’s Cos¬
sacks were repulsed, and pursued by the patroles of the
republic to the very entrenchments. On the 26th,
about one o’clock, the piquets of the republic discover¬
ed a large body of Don Cossacks approaching the out¬
posts ; and a squadron of cavalry, commanded by Lieu¬
tenant Kwasniewski, supported by Lieutenant Golejow-
ski with two squadrons more, in all about 300, march¬
ed out to meet them. They attacked the Cossacks with
success, but pursued them with more valour than pru¬
dence to the side of a wood, where they found them¬
selves drawn into an ambuscade, and surrounded by
2000 horse, two battalions of chasseurs, and six pieces
of cannon. The intrepid Poles bravely fought their way
through the Russian line, and killed upwards of 200 of
the enemy. The Poles in this engagement lost too men
and two officers ; one of whom, Lieutenant Kwasniew¬
ski, was wounded and made prisoner. The remainder
of the detachment reached their quarters in safety,
duct of “ Perhaps the history of man can scarcely furnish an
e court ol ^stance 0f perfi(ly^ meanness, and duplicity, equal to
that which was manifested by Prussia on this occasion.
By the treaty of defensive alliance, solemnly contracted
between the republic of Poland and the king of Prus¬
sia, and ratified on the 23d of April 179°’ ex>
pressly stipulated, ‘ That the contracting parties shall
do all in their power to guarantee and preserve to each
other reciprocally the whole of the territories which
they respectively possess : That, in case of menace or
invasion from any foreign power, they shall assist each Poland.
other with their whole force, if necessary :—and by the ^ 
sixth article, it is further stipulated, ‘ that if any fo¬
reign power whatever shall presume to interfere in the
internal affairs of Poland, his Prussian majesty shall
consider this as a case falling within the meaning of the
alliance, and shall assist the republic according to the
tenor of the fourth article,” that is, with his whole
force. What then is the pretext for abandoning this
treaty ? It is, that the empress of Russia has shown a
decided opposition to the order oj things established in
Poland on the third of May 1791, and is provoked by
Poland presuming to put herself into a posture to de¬
fend it.—It is known, however, by the most authentic
documents, that nothing was effected on the 3d of May
1791, to which Prussia had not previously assented,
and which she did not afterwards sanction j and that
Prussia, according to the assertion of her own king,
did not intimate a single doubt respecting the revolu¬
tion till one month (and according to the Prussian mi¬
nister till six months) after it had taken place j in
short, to use the monarch’s own words as fully expla¬
natory of bis double politics, ‘ uot till the general tran-
cjuillity of Europe permitted him to explain himself.’—
Instead, therefore, of assisting Poland, Prussia insult¬
ingly recommended to Poland to retrace her steps ; in
which case, she said that she would be ready to attempt
an accommodation in her favour. This attempt was
never made, and probably never intended 5 for the em¬
press pursued her measures.. 1^0
The duchy of Lithuania was the great scene of action War with
in the beginning of the war j but the Russians had made Russia,
little progress before the middle of the month of June.
On the 10th of that month. General Judycki, who com¬
manded a detachment of the Polish troops, between
Mire and Swierzna, was attacked by the Russians j but,
after a combat of some hours, he obliged them to re¬
tire with the loss of 300 men dead on the field.—The
general was desirous of profiting by this advantage, by
pursuing the enemy, but was prevented by a most vio¬
lent fall of rain. On the succeeding day, the Russians
rallied again to the attack ; and it then too fatally ap¬
peared, that the Poles were too young and undisciplined
to contend with an inferior force against experienced
troops and able generals. By a masterly manoeuvre, the
Russians contrived to surround their antagonists, at a mo¬
ment when the Polish general supposed that he had
obliged the enemy to retreat j and though the field was
contested with the utmost valour by the troops ot the
republic, they were at length compelled to give way,
and to retire towards Nieswiesz.
On the 14th another engagement took place near
Lubar, on the banks of the river Sluez, between a de¬
tachment of the Russian grand army and a party of
Polish cavalry dispatched by Prince Joseph Poniatow¬
ski, to intercept the enemy. The patriotic bravery ot
the Poles wras victorious in this contest 5 but upon re¬
connoitring the force of the enemy, the prince found
himself incapable of making a successful stand against
such superior numbers. He therefore gave orders to
strike the camp at Lubar, and commenced a precipi¬
tate retreat. During their march, the Polish rear was
harassed by a body of 4000 Russians, till arriving at
Boruskowee, the wooden brjdge unfortunately gaVe
way
POL
[ 83
Poland, way, umler the weight of the cavalry. The enemy, m
 *   the mean time, brought their artillery to play upon the
rear of the fugitives, who lost upwards of 250 men.
The Polish army next directed its course towards Lieh-
me, where meeting, on the 17th, with a reintorcement
from Zaslow, it halted to give battle to the enemy.
The Russians were upwards of 17,000 strong, with 24
pieces of cannon, and the force of the republic much
inferior. After a furious contest from seven m the
morning till five in the afternoon, the Russians were at
length obliged to retreat, and leave the field of battle
in possession of the patriots. The Russians were com¬
puted to have lost 4000 men in this engagement, and
the Poles about 1100.
Notwithstanding these exertions, the I oles were obli¬
ged giadually to retire before their numerous and disci¬
plined enemies. Nieswez, Wilna, Minsk, and several
other places of less consequence, tell into their hands
one after another. On a truce being proposed to the
Russian general Kochowski, the proposal was haughtily
rejected; while the desertion of \ ice-brigadier Kud-
nicki and some others, who preferred dishonour to per¬
sonal danger, proclaimed a tottering cause. 1 he pro¬
gress of the armies of Catharine was marked with de¬
vastation and cruelty, while, such was the aversion ot
the people both to the cause and the manner of conduc¬
ting it, that, as they approached, the country all around
became a wilderness, and scarcely a human being was
to be seen. , ...
In the mean time, a series of little defeats, to wine 1
the inexperience of the commanders, and the intempe¬
rate valour of new raised troops appear to have greatly
contributed, served at once to distress and to dispirit
these defenders of their country. Prince Poniatowski
continued to retreat, and on the 17th ol July, his rear
being attacked by a very superior force, it suftered a
considerable loss, though the skill and courage ol Gene¬
ral Kosciusko enabled him to make a most respectable
defence. On the 18th, a general engagement took
place between the two armies. 1 he Russian line ex¬
tended opposite Dubienka, alonn the river Bog, as far as
Opalin. The principal column, consisting ol 14,000
men, was chiefly directed against the division of Gene¬
ral Kosciusko, which consisted of 5000 men only. Af¬
ter a most vigorous resistance, in which the Russians lost
upwards of 4000 men, and the troops ol the republic
only some hundreds, the latter was compelled to give
way before the superior numbers of the enemy, and to
retire further into the country.
This unequal contest was at last prematurely termi-
11 ated. The king, whose benevolent intentions were
submission, perhaps, overpowered by his mental imbecility, and
-whose age and infirmities, probably, rendered him un¬
equal to the difficulties and dangers which must attend
a protracted war, instead of putting himself, according
to his resolve, at the head ol his army, determined^
at once to surrender at discretion. On the 23d ot
July, he summoned a council of all the deputies at
that moment in Warsaw. He laid before them the last
dispatches from the empress, which insisted upon total
and unreserved submission. He pointed out the dan¬
ger of a dismemberment of the republic, should they
delay to throw themselves upon the clemency of the
empress, and to entreat her protection. He mentioned
the fatal union of Austria and Prussia with Russia;
I5I
The king
proposes
] POL
and the disgraceful supineness manilested by eveiy oilier , J
court in Europe. . . _ ,
Four citizens, the intrepid and patriotic malachow-
ski, the princes Sapieha, Radzvil, and Soltan, vehement¬
ly protested against these dastardly proceedings; and
the following evening a company of gentlemen from the
different provinces attended lor the same pm pose. . H*e
assembly waited immediately on these four distinguished
patriots, and returned them their acknowledgements lov
the spirit and firmness with which they had resisted the
usurpations of despotism. The submission of the king to
the designs of Russia was no sooner made known, than
Poland was bereft of all her best and most respectable
citizens. Malachowski as marshal of the diet, and
Prince Sapieha, grand marshal ol Lithuania, entered
strong protests on the journals ot the diet against these
hostile proceedings, and declared solemnly that the diet
legally assembled in 1788 was not dissolved. 152
On the second of August a confederation was form-Confedera-
ed at Warsaw, of which the grand apostate, 1 otocki, W"rsaw ^
was chosen marshal. The acts ot this confedeiation r9We(j ^
were evidently the despotic dictates ol Russia, and were Russia, re¬
calculated only to restore the ancient abuses, and to store* ihe
place the country under the aggravated oppression ol
foreign yoke.
It is remarkable, that at the very moment when Po¬
land was surrendering its liberties to its despotic inva¬
ders, the generous sympathy ol Great Britain was evin¬
ced by a liberal subscription, supported by all the most
respectable characters in the nation, of every party and
of every sect, for the purpose of assisting the king and
the republic to maintain their independence. Though
the benevolent design was frustrated, the lactiemains on
record as a noble testimony of the spirit of Britons in
the cause of freedom, of the indignation which fills every
British heart at the commission of injustice, and of the
liberality with which they are disposed to assist those
who suffer from the oppression ot tyrants. . 153
Not satisfied with restoring the old wretched consti- The ein
tution, the empress of Russia seized upon part of the press seizi
territory which, at the last partition, she and her coad-“P™
jutors had left to the republic; and her ambassador terri-
tering into the diet with a crowd of armed ruffians, com-tory.
pelled the king and that assembly to grant the form of
legality to her usurpations. The nation, however, did
not submit.
In Februrary 1794 General Kosciusko appeared in
the neighbourhood of Cracow with a small lorce of arm¬
ed peasants. He beat some detachments ol Russians
and Prussians, compelled them to evacuate Cracow,
and proclaimed there the constitution of 1791’ Every
where the people and the nobles flew to arms. 1 lie
Russians, who occupied Warsaw with 15,000 men, be¬
gan to seize suspected persons, and demanded possess
sion of the arsenal. But at that moment the news ar¬
rived of a defeat sustained by a corps ol 6000 Russians,
with the loss of 1000 killed, and their general Woron-
zovv made prisoner. Encouraged by this event, the people
rose on the garrison, and after 48 hours hard fighting,
drove them out, with the loss ol 6000 killed, 3000 pri¬
soners, and 50 pieces of cannon. The whole country
was now in arms. Russia and Prussia, however, sent
110,000 men into Poland. Kosciusko, pressed by su¬
perior forces, made an able retreat upon Warsaw. 1 he
king of Prussia, after besieging this city during three
months.
J’hMis/u Jty-d.ConstaMe£-c'?EJint’iini/i /x/.o
POL
Poland, months, was compelled to retire towards his own terri-
—Y—tories, with the loss of 20,000. Here he was harassed
for some time by Madalinsky with a small corps of ca¬
valry. Kosciusko, relieved from the Prussians, march-
ed against the new Russian armies, which, during the
[ 89 ]
POL
Poland.
perate in the other parts both in summer and winter, and
the weather in both more settled than in many other conn-1
tries. The face of the country is for the most part level 155
and the hills are but few. The Crapack or Carpathian Air> cii*
mountains separate it from Hungary on the south. The mate’ &c'
soil is verv frniif'iil IiAtL In  ^  t . Poland.
. 0 p vrr , , , I . , ». Hum xaungary on tUe south. The
siege of Warsaw had reconquered Lithuania and Vol- so.l is very fruitful both in corn and pasturage, hemn and
hynia. But the battle of Noezylac, on the 10th Oc- flax. Such is the luxuriance of the pastures in Podolia
tober 1794, in which the Poles fought with heroic re
solution against overpowering numbers, proved fatal to
that unhappy country. Kosciusko was made prisoner,
and carried to Petersburgh, where he remained confined
in a dungeon till the death of Catherine. The Russians, af¬
ter this event, united their forces and marched upon War¬
saw, where the Poles had named Wavvrzecky general in
chief. Though he had only 10,000 men to oppose
50,000, an obstinate resistance was made. At length
the suburb named Prague was taken by assault, and
the city surrendered. Nine thousand Poles fell in the
fight j 30,000 persons of all ages and either sex were
destroyed in cold blood; and 30,000 more, who still re¬
fused to submit, were suffered to leave the place, and
afterwards hunted down by the soldiery on every side.
The most distinguished chiefs were carried away
to distant provinces; the wretched king was sent to
Russia, where he soon after died, not without suspicious
circumstances. The two powers were proceeding to
divide between them the remaining provinces, when
Austria interfered, and declared thatshecould not permit
the destruction of Poland unless she received a share.
At that moment it was not thought prudent to raise up
a new enemy; and Austria obtained a considerable ad¬
dition of territory without having struck a blow or ex¬
pended a florin. The negociations continued till 1795,
when the definitive treaty of partition was signed, which
closed a series of transactions unparalleled, for perfidy,
cruelty, and infamy, in the annals of Europe. The to¬
tal acquisitions of each power, from the first dismem¬
berment in 1772 the final partition in 1795, were as
follows :—(Mentelle et Malte Brun, Geog. iv. 402.)
Sq. miles, Inhabitants.
Poland when entire contained, 290,000 12,000,000
Russia obtained
Prussia obtained
Austria obtained
At the peace of Tilsit in 1807, Prussia lost three-
fourths of her Polish conquests, which were erected in¬
to a principality, under the name of the Duchy of War¬
saw. The sovereignty of this duchy was given to the
king of Saxony. At the peace of Presburg in 1809,
Austria was also compelled to cede a portion of her ac-
q-uisitions to the duchy of Warsaw. After the peace of
Paris in 1814, Prussia recovered a part of what she
had lost; and, at the congress of Vienna in 1815,
the duchy was raised to the rank of a kingdom, under
the name of the kingdom of Poland, the crown of which
was annexed to that of Russia. No part of the origi¬
nal acquisitions of Russia is included in this kingdom,
which consists entirely of the parts ceded by Prussia
and Austria. It contained in 1815 about 47,000
square English miles, and 2,793,000 inhabitants. In
1818 the kingdom of Poland received from the empe¬
ror Alexander a representative constitution, founded on
principles similar to those of the constitution of 1791.
The air of this country is cold in the north, but tem-
Vol. XVII. Part I. t
176,000
51,000
63,000
5.764.400
2.596.400
3,600,000
that it is said one can hardly see the cattle that are graz¬
ing in the meadows. Vast quantities of corn are yearly
sent down the Vistula to Dantzic, from all parts of Po¬
land, and bought up chiefly by the Dutch. The eastern
part of the country is full of woods, forests, lakes, mar¬
shes, and rivers ; of the last of which, the most consider¬
able in Poland are the Vistula, Nieper, Niester, Duna
Bog, Warta, and Memel. The metals found in this
country are iron and lead, with some tin, gold, and sil¬
ver; but there are no mines of the two last wrought at
present. The other products of Poland are most sorts of
precious stones, ochre of all kinds, fine rock-crystal
Muscovy glass, talc, alum, saltpetre, amber, pitcoal’
quicksilver, spar, sal-gem, lapis calaminaris, and vitriol.
In Lesser Poland are salt mines, which are the chief
riches of the country, and bring most money into the
exchequer. In the woods, which consist mostly of oak
beech, pine, and fir-trees, besides the more common
wild beasts, are elks, wild asses,wild oxen or uri, lynxes
wild horses, wild sheep with one horn, bisons, hnenas’
wild goats, and buffaloes. In the meadows and fenny
ground is gathered a kind of manna ; and the kermes-
bernes produced in this country are used both in dye¬
ing and medicine. }
The inhabitants consist of nobles, citizens, and pea-Different
sants. 1 lie first possess great privileges, which they en- classes of
joy partly by the indulgence of their kings, and partly byinhabi-
ancient custom and prescription. Some of them have
the title q[prince, count, or baron; but no superiority or
pie-eminence on that account over the rest, which is only
to be obtained by some public post or dignity. Formerly
they had the power of life and death over their vassals ■
paid no taxes; were subject to none but the king; had
a mines and salt-works on their estates; to
all offices and employments, civil, military, and eccle¬
siastic ; could not be cited or tried out of the kingdom ;
might choose whom they will for their king, and lay
him under what restraints they please by the Pacta
Conyenta; and none but they and the burghers of some
particular towns can purchase lands.
1 he Polish tongue is a dialect of the Sclavonic : fsee DanSuage.
philology, N 222.). It is neither copious nor har¬
monious. Many of the words, as they are written, have
not a single vowel in them; but the High Dutch and La¬
tin are understood, and spoken pretty commonly, though
incorrectly. The language in Lithuania differs much
from that of the other provinces. True learning, and
the study of the arts and sciences, have been little at¬
tended to 111 Poland, till of late they began to be re¬
garded with a more favourable eye, and to be not only
patronized, but cultivated, by several of the nobles and
others, both laymen and ecclesiastics. ^9
There are few or no manufactures in the kingdom, if Maautac.
we except some linen and woollen cloths and hardwares •tuies*
and the whole trade is confined to the city of Dantzic’
and other towns on the Vistula or Baltic. ’ '
Before the troubles, the king’s revenue was all clear ReTenw*
to himself, for he paid no troops, not even his own
^ guards;
160
Order of
knight¬
hood.
161
Forces.
162
Character
of the
people.
POL [ 9° 3
„uards • but all the forces, as well as the officers of state dean of Exeter,
fere paid by the republic. The public revenues arose
chiefly from the crown-lands, the salt-nnnes in ic pa
tinate of Cracow, from the rents of Manenbnrg Dw-
shau, and Regenhus, from the government of C acow
and district of Niepolom.ea, and from ancmn oUs
customs, particularly those ot Elbrng and OanUrc.
The order of the White Eagle was instituted b> A
Ihe order 0 6 Its ensign is a cross of
gustos 11. m tne yeai x / o 2 ; o Llnp rib-
" Id enamelled with red, and appendant to a blue
bon. The motto, Pro fide, rege, et lege.
The standing forces of Poland were divided rnto the
crown-army, and that of Lithuania, consisting of hor
1 fnnt and amounting to between 20,000 and 30,00
fen Ke tro=7>vere mostly cantoned on the crown-
lands and in Poland were paid by a capitation or pol -
^inLithna^er^we^levredffir^
Snf ndtm7n"r. the whole body of the no
bi'itv with their vassals, was obliged to appear in the
fiekUn horseback j and the cities and towns furnished
a certain number of foot-soldiers, w.ti cairia^ •,
military stores : but for want of proper arms, piovismns,
subordination, and discipline, and by being at liberty
after afew weeks to return I-c this body prove bo
of little advantage to the republic. Dantz.,cis
only place in the Polish dominions that deserve
^ f for-tress and it fell to the possession ot 1 rus-
name ot a fortress, anu u. ici r llto
sia Foreign auxiliaries were not to be biou
the* kingdom, nor the national troops to march on of
without he consent of the states. Such wa the
military establishment of Poland before the partrt.on
without dissim'flatron, and «ceedingl yjosp.U^ -
without dissimulation, aim cAvre- & ^ 1 ,| th
clnthe themselves in furs in winter, and over all y
throw a short cloak. No people keep g^-der eqn.pages
than the gentry. .They ^ t'ds77^
SrmSTpU imns'r hu't theg,ower’sort of
of the world, or the poles of artificial globes.
Polar Regions, those parts of the world which he
near the north and south poles. See the article 1 ole.
POLARITY, the quality of a thing considered a
i _ frirn itselt into one cer-
POL
dean ol r-xeter. We are not surprised at this young
nobleman’s early preferments, wire,, we consider him as u
the kinsman of Henry VIII. and that he was bred to
the church by the king’s special command.
Being now about the age of 19, ^ -f ,sPnt; a1CC°;d'
ing to the fashion of the times, to finish his studies at
Padua in Italy, where he resided some time in great
splendour, having a handsome pension from the king.
He returned to England in 1525, where he was most
graciously received at court, and universally admired for
his talents and address ; hot preferring study and seqnes-
tration to the pleasures ot a court, he retired to the Car¬
thusian convent at Shene, where he had continued about
Lo years, when the pious king began to divulge h„
scruples of conscience concerning Ins marriage with C a-
barine of Spain. Pole foresaw that this affair would
necessarily involve him in difficulties ; he therefore de¬
termined ^0 quit the kingdom, and accordingly ob ain-
ed leave to visit Paris. Having thus avoided the storm
for the present, he returned once more to his convent at
Shene; but his tranquillity was again interrupted by
the king’s resolution to shake off the pope^s supremacy,
of which Pole’s approbation was thought indispensably
necessary. How lie managed in this affair, is not very
clear. However, he obtained leave to revisit Italy, and
his pension was continued tor some time. .
The king, having now divorced Queen Catharine,
married Anne Boleyn, and being resolved to throw oft
the papal yoke, ordered Dr Richard Sampson to wr.te
a book in justification of his proceemngs, which he sent
to Pole for his opinion, io this 1 ole, secure in t
pope’s protection, wrote a scurrilous answer, ent.tled
Pro Unitate Ecclesiastica, and sent it to the king ; w1h>
was so offended with the contents, that he withdrew his
pension, stripped him of all his preferments and pro¬
cured an act of attainder to be passed against him. In
i.- .. t»~i0 xvoq created a cardinal, and
Pt
cured an actor auamuci 0 j 0
the mean time, Pole was created a cardinal, and sent
nuncio to different parts of Europe. King Henry made
several attempts to have him secured and brought to
England, but without effect. At length the pope fix¬
ed him as legate at Viterbo, where he continued till
the year 1C43, when he was appointed egate at the
council of Trent, and was afterwards employed by the
pope as his chief counsellor.
Pope Paul III. dying m 1540, Pole was twice elect¬
ed his successor, and, we are told, twice refused the pa-
nal dignity : first, because the election was made in too
great haste •, and the second time, because it was done
in the night. This delicacy in a cardinal is truly won¬
derful : but the intrigues of the French party seem to
have been the real cause of his miscarriage j they start-
• • ,• _i_x>„i„ Exrilxnt mpnns o-ained time
near tne norm mnsidered as have been the real cause u. ,
POLARITY, the quality of a ‘W col,S1“enrce cer_ ed mairy objections to Pole, and by that means gained time
having poles, or a tendency to turn » to nrocure a maiority against him. Cardinal Maria de
Having po , , • a nse2 :n sneaking of the magnet, to procure a major y ?  
SS hr„.acS; -ffnpeaking of the magnet
POLE, Reginald, cardinal, and archbishop o an
terbury, a younger son of Sir Rich. Pole Lord Mon-
taguei’was born at Stovertou castle, in Staffordsh.re m
he year I too. At seven years of age be rvas sent to a
Carthusian monaster, at Shene, near Richmond in Surry
and thence, when he was about .2 years old removed
ami lucu ,   bv the instruc-
to procure a majority against him. Gardina Maria do
Monte obtained the triple crown; and Pole, having
kissed his slipper, retired to the convent of Magazunc
near Verona, where he continued till the death ot Ed¬
ward VI. in the year 1553. On the accession of Queen
Mary, Pole was sent legate to England, where lie was
received by her majesty with great veneration and con-
, . .1 _i_i • .1 !nnc ot- l.nmiieth. noor
^aiuiuarctu ^ . 11 rf-mfivcd received ov uer majcsi-y vrit.i
and thence, when he was about 12 1°^ instruc. ducted to the archbishop’s palace at Lambeth, poor
to Magdalen college m Oxford, wh ^ made Cranmer be;ng at that time prisoner m the 1 ower. He
tions of the celebrated Linacre a h’ t k tbe immediately appeared in the House ot Lords, where he
=: iSirSiS'tirKSr-i;
£;TSiS.‘Si.'..r .......n-
POL [ 91 ] POL
They presented it on their knees to the setting of the sun, without any sensible twilight j
Pole, the see of Rome.
—v ■1 her majesty, who interceded with the cardinal, and he
graciously condescended to give them absolution. This
business being over, the legate made his public entry
into London, and immediately set about the extirpation
of heresy. The day after the execution of Cranmer,
which he is said, though we believe falsely, to have ad¬
vised, he was consecrated archbishop of Canterbury. In
the same year, 1556, he was elected chancellor of the
university of Oxford, and soon after of Cambridge ;
both which he visited, by his commissioners. He died
of a double quartan ague in the year 1558, about 16
hours after the death of the queen ; and was buried in
the cathedral of Canterbury.
As to his character, the Romish writers ascribe to
him every virtue under heaven: even Bishop Burnet is
extremely lavish in his praise, and attributes the cruel¬
ties of Mary’s reign to the advice of Gardiner. In this
Mr Hume agrees with the bishop, and represents Pole
as the advecate of toleration. By every impartial ac¬
count, he seems to have been a man of mild manners,
and of real worth, though undoubtedly a zealous mem¬
ber of the church of Rome.—He wrote, Pro imitate ec-
clesiastica, De ejusdem potestate, A treatise on Justifi¬
cation, and various other tracts.
Mr Philips published a very well written, though a
very partial account, of Pole’s life, to which Glocester
Ridley replied. This last rvork, which is entitled a
Review of Mr Philips'1 s Life of Reginald Pole, was
published in 1766. It is a complete confutation of the
former, and is a very learned and temperate vindica¬
tion of the doctrines of the Reformation.
Pole, in Astronomy, that point in the heavens round
which the whole sphere seems to turn. It is also used
for a point directly perpendicular to the centre of any
circle’s plane, and distant from it by the length of a ra¬
dius.
Pole, in Geography, one of the points on which the
terraqueous globe turns j each of them being 90 de¬
grees distant from the equator, and, in consequence of
their situation, the inclination of the earth’s axis, and
its parallelism during the annual motion of our globe
round the sun, having only one day and one night
throughout the year.
It is remarkable, that though the north in Hebrew,
Gx-eek, Latin, and French, derives its name from gloom,
obscurity, and darkness, the poles enjoy more light than
T any other part of the world. The ancients believed the
north to be covered with thick darkness : Strabo tells
Pole.
'he poles
njoy much us, that Homer, by the word which properly sig-
ght; nifies obscurity or darkness, meant the north ; and thus
Tibullus, speaking of the north, says,
lllic ct densa tellus absconditur umbra,
Paneg. ad Missel.
The Arabians call the northern ocean the dark sea ; the
Latins gave the name of Aquilo to the north wind, be¬
cause aquilus signifies black ; and the French call it la
bise, from bis, “ black.” According to the ancients, the
Cimmerians lived in darkness, because they were placed
near the north. But all this is mere prejudice j for there
are no places in the world that enjoy light longer than
the arctic and antarctic poles j and this is accounted
lid ^ ^°r ^7 considering the nature of twilight. In the tor-
rid zone, and under the line, night immediately follows
whereas the twilight begins and continues increasing in -v-—-
proportion as places are distant from the equator, or ap¬
proach the pole. To this long twilight we must add
the aurora borealis, which appears in the northern re¬
gions, Greenland, &c. in clear nights, at the beginning
of the new moon, casting a light equal to that of full
moon. See Gassendi, in the Life of Peyresc, book iii.
and La Perere in his Account of Greenland. There
is also long moonlight at the poles during winter.
See Astronomy. But though there is really more
light in the polar regions than elsewhere, yet owing to
the obliquity with which the rays of the sun fall upon
them, and the great length of winter night, the cold is
so intense, that those parts of the globe which lie near
the poles have never been fully explored, though the at¬
tempt has been repeatedly made by the most celebrated
navigators. Indeed their attempts have chiefly been
confined to the northern regions ; for with regard to
the south pole, there is not the same incitement to at¬
tempt it. The great object for which navigators have
ventured themselves in these frozen seas, was to find out
a more quick and more ready passage to the East In¬
dies*; and this hath been attempted three several ways : * See Cook,
one by coasting along the northern parts of Europe and fife 0l<
Asia, called the north-east passage ; another, by sailing
round the northern part of the American continent,
called the north-west passage ; and the third, by sailing
directly over the pole itself.
We have already given a short account of several un¬
successful attempts which have been made from Eng¬
land to discover the first two of these. See Nobth-
West Passage, and ISoRTii-East Passage. But before
we proceed to the third, we shall make a few further
observations on them, and mention the attempts of some
other nations. ^
During the last century, various navigators, Dutch- Attempts
men particularly, attempted to find out the wo/T/z-eosH0 fe'd out
passage, with great fortitude and perseverance. They nort^-east
always found it impossible, however, to surmount the PasSA&e'
obstacles which nature had thrown in the way. Sub¬
sequent attempts are thought by many to have demon¬
strated the impossibility of ever sailing eastward along
the northern coast of Asia ; and this impossibility is ac¬
counted for by the increase of cold in proportion to the
extent of land. See America, N° 3—5. This is in¬
deed the case in temperate climates ; but much more so
in those frozen regions where the influence of the sun,
even in summer, is but small. Hence, as the continent
of Asia extends a vast way from west to east, and has
besides the continent of Europe joined to it on the west,
it follows, that about the middle part of that tract of
land the cold should be greater than anywhere else. 4
Experience has determined this to be fact; and it now Why it is
appears that about the middle part of the northern ,niP°ssible
coast of Asia the ice never thaws ; neither have even i°nt,a
tire hardy Russians and Siberians themselves been able nonli-east
to overcome the difficulties they met with in that part coast of
of their voyage. In order to make this the more plain,
and the following accounts more intelligible, we shall
observe, that from the north-western extremity of Eu¬
rope, called the North Cape, to the north-eastern extre- * See
mity of Asia, called the Promontory of the Tschutski*, ^ooi''8
is a space including about 160 degrees of longitude, vim.
from 40 to 200 east from Ferro: the port of Archan-and’11S. 9
M 2 gel
Pole.
POL [ 92
pel lies in about 57 degrees east longitude, Nova Zem-
Pole.
Voyage of
Morzo-
vieft’, &-c.
6
Of Pront-
tliistclieff.
bla between 70 and 95 , which last is also the situation
of the mouth of the great river Oby. Still farther east¬
ward are the mouths of the rivers Jenisey in 100 Pi-
asida in 105°; Chatanga in 124°', Lena, which has
many mouths, between 134° an(i I42° • Indigirka in
162° and the Kovyma in I75°' The coldest place in
all this tract, therefore, ought to be that between the
mouths of the Jenisey and the Chatanga ^ and indeed
here the unsurmountable difficulty has always been, as
will appear from the following accounts of the voyages
made by the Russians with a view to discover the north¬
east passage.
In 1734, Lieutenant MorzoviefF sailed from Arch¬
angel towards the river Oby, but could scarce advance
20 denrees of longitude during that season. The next
summer he passed through the straits of Wyegatz into
the sea of Kara j but he did not double the promontory
which separates the sea of Kara from the bay or mouth
of Oby. In 1738, the lieutenants Malygin andShura-
koff doubled that promontory with great difficulty, and
entered the bay of Oby. Several unsuccessful attempts
were made to pass from the bay of Oby to the Jenisey j
which was at last effected, in 1738, by two vessels com¬
manded by lieutenants Offzin and Koskeleff. The same,
year the pilot Feodor Menin sailed eastward from the
Jenisey to the mouth of the Piasida: but here he was
stopped by the ice ; and finding it impossible to force a
passage, he returned to the Jenisey.
In July 1735, Lieutenant Prontshistcheff sailed down
the river Lena, in order to pass by sea to the mouth of
the Jenisey. The western mouths of the Lena were so
choked up with ice, that he was obliged to pass through
the most easterly one j and was prevented by contrary
winds from getting out till the 13th of August. Ha¬
ving steered north-west along the islands which lie scat¬
tered before the mouths of the Lena, he found himself
in lat. 70. 4.} yet even here he saw pieces of ice from
24 to 60 feet in height, and in no place was there a
free channel left of greater breadth than 100 or 200
yards. His vessel being much damaged, he entered the
mouth of the Olenek, a small river near the western
mouth of the Lena-, and here he continued till the
ensuing season, when he got out in the beginning of
August. But before he could reach the mouth of the
Chatanga, he was so entirely surrounded and hemmed
in with ice, that it was with the utmost difficulty he
could get loose. Observing then a large field of ice
stretching into the sea, he was obliged to sail up the
Chatanga. Getting free once more, he proceeded north¬
ward, doubled the cape called Taimura, and reached the
bay of that name, lying in about 1150 east from Ferro ;
from thence he attempted to proceed westward along
the coast. Near the shore were several small islands,
between which and the shore the ice was immoveably
fixed. He then directed his course towards the sea, in
order to pass round the chain of islands. At first he
found the sea more free to the north of these islands,
but observed much ice lying between them. At last he
arrived at what he took to be the last of the islands
lying in lat. 77. 25. Between this island and the shore,
as well as on the other side of the island which lay most
to the north, the ice was firm and immoveable. He
attempted, however, to steer still more to the north ;
and having advanced about six miles, he was prevented
3.
] POL
by a thick fog from proceeding: this fog being dis¬
persed, he saw nothing everywhere but ice, which at >
last drove him eastward, and with much danger and dif¬
ficulty he got to the mouth of the Olenek on the 29th
of August. 7
Another attempt to pass by sea from the Lena to the Ckari-
Jenisey was made in 1739 ^7 Lhariton Laptieft, but *7^ p
with no better success than that just mentioned. This
voyager relates, that between the river Piasida and Tai¬
mura, a promontory stretches into the sea, which he
could not double, the sea being entirely frozen up before
he could pass round. g
Besides the Russians, it is certain that some English Mr Coxe’s
and Dutch vessels have passed the island of Nova Zem-®t>serva-
bla into the sea of Kara: “But (says Mr Coxe in hist,ons-
Account of the Russian voyages) no vessel of any na¬
tion has ever passed round that cape which extends to
the north of the Piasida, and is laid down in the Russian
charts in about 78° lat. We have already seen that no
Russian vessel has ever got from the Piasida to the Cha¬
tanga, or from the Chatanga to the Piasida and yet
some authors have positively asserted that this promon¬
tory has been sailed round. In order therefore to elude
the Russian accounts, which clearly assert the contrary,
it is pretended that Gmelin and Muller have purposely
concealed some part of the Russian journals, and have
imposed on the world by a misrepresentation of facts.
But without entering into any dispute upon this head,
I can venture to affirm, that no sufficient proof has
been as yet advanced in support of this assertion ; and
therefore, until some positive information shall be pro¬
duced, we cannot deny plain facts, or give the preference
to hearsay evidence over circumstantial and well attested
accounts.” _ p
The other part of this north-east passage, viz. from Of the na-
the Lena to Kamtschatka, though sufficiently difficult ligation
and dangerous, is yet practicable 5 as having been once
performed, if we may believe the accounts of the Hus-Kamts-
sians. According to some others indeed, says Mr Coxe, chatka.
this navigation has been open a century and a half j
and several vessels at different times have passed round
the north-eastern extremity of Asia. But if we consult
the Russian accounts, we shall find that frequent expe¬
ditions have been unquestionably made from the Lena
to the Kovyma, but that the voyage from the Kovyma
round Tschutskoi Noss into the Eastern ocean has been
performed but once. According to Mr Muller, this
formidable cape was doubled in the year 1648. The
material incidents of this remarkable voyage are as fol¬
low. 1-0
“ In 1648 seven kotches, or vessels, sailed from the Voyage of
mouth of the river Kovyma, in order to penetrate into Deshneff,
the Eastern ocean. Of these, four were never more
heard of: the remaining three were commanded by Si- ’
mon Deshneff, Gerasim Ankudinoff, and Fedot Alex-
eeff. Deshneff and Ankudinoff quarrelled before their
departure concerning the division of profits and honours
to be acquired by their voyage ; which, however, was
not so easily accomplished as they had imagined. Yet.
Deshneff in his memorials makes no mention of obstruc¬
tions from the ice, nor probably did he meet with any j
for he takes notice that the sea is not every year so free
from ice as it was at that time. The vessels sailed from
the Kovyma on the 20th of June, and in September
they reached the promontory of the Tschutski, where
Ankudinoff’st
! ’
POL [ 93 ] POL
Pole.
* See
Cook’s
Discover
ti
lusar-
monntable
obstacles
in the
north-east
passage.
AnkudinofTs vessel was wrecked, and the crew distri¬
buted among the others two. Soon after this the two
vessels lost sight of each other, and never joined again.
Deshneff was driven about by tempestuous winds till
October, when he was shipwrecked considerably to the
south of the Anadyr. Having at last reached that ri¬
ver, he formed a scheme of returning by the same way
that he had come, but never made the attempt. As
for AlexeefF, after being also shipwrecked, he had died
of the scurvy, together with AnkudinolF; part of the
crew were killed by the savages, and a few escaped to
Ivamtschatka, where they settled.
From Captain * Cook’s voyage twards the north¬
eastern part of Asia, it appears that it is possible to
double the promontory of Tschutski without any great
ries, N° 95 difficulty *, and it now appears, that the continents of
I0°' Asia and America are separated from one another but
by a narrow strait, which is free from ice ; but, to the
northwards, that experienced navigator was everywhere
stopped by the ice in the month of August, so that he
could neither trace the American continent fai’ther than
to the latitude of 70*, nor reach the mouth of the river
Kovyma on the Asiatic continent; though it is pro¬
bable that this might have been done at another time,
when the situation of the ice was altered either by "winds
or currents.
On the whole, therefore, it appears that the insur¬
mountable obstacle in the north-east passage lies between
the rivers Piasida and Chatanga 5 and unless there be in
that space a connection between the Asiatic and Ame¬
rican continents, there is not in any other pax-t. Ice,
however, is as effectual an obstruction as land : and
though the voyage were to be made by accident for
once, it never could be esteemed a passage calculated
for the purposes of trade, or any other beneficial pux*-
I2 pose whatever.
Of the With regard to the north-west passage, the same dif-
Hortb-west ficulties occur as in the other. Captain Cook’s voyage
passage. jias now assured us, that if there is any strait which di¬
vides the continent of America into two, it must lie in
a higher latitude ^han 70°, and consequently be perpe¬
tually frozen up. If a north-west passage can be found
then, it must be by sailing round the whole American
continent, instead of seeking a passage through it, which
some have supposed to exist at the bottom of Baffin’s
bay. But the extent of the American continent to the
northward is yet unknown ; and there is a possibility of
its being joined to that part of Asia between the Piasida
and Chatanga, which has never yet been circumnavi-
* See gated*. It remains therefore to consider, whether there
Cook's is any possibility of attaining the wished-for passage by
Ducove- sailing directly north, between the eastern and western
ries. N° 11. .• , ^
continents.
Barring- Of the practicability of this method, the Honourable
ton’s argu- Haines Barrington is very confident, as appeai-s by se-
ments in veral tracts which he published in the years 1775 and
favour of in consequence of the unsuccessful attempts made
of reachin" ky Captain Phipps, afterwards Loi'd Mulgrave. See
the pole. NoRTH-East Passage.—In the tracts now alluded to
he instances a great number of navigators who have
reached very high northern latitudes ; nay, some who
have been at the pole itself, or gone beyond it.—
These instances are 1., One Captain Thomas Robertson
assured our author, that he had been in latitude 82^,
that the sea was open, and he was certain that he could
have reached the latitude of 83°.—2. From the testi¬
mony of Captain Cheyne, who gave answers to ceidain
queries drawn up by Mr Halrymple concerning the po¬
lar seas, it appears that he had been in the latitude of
82°.—3. One Mr Watt informed our author, that when
he was 17 years of age, at that time making his first
voyage with Captain M‘Callam, a bold and skilful na¬
vigator, who commanded a Scotch whale-fishing ship, as
during the time that the whales are supposed to copu¬
late no fishing can be carried on, the captain resolved
to employ that interval in attempting to reach the north
pole. He accoi'dingly pi'oceeded without the least ob¬
struction to 834-, when the sea was not only open to
the northward, but they had seen no ice for the last
three degrees ; but while he still advanced, the mate
complained that the compass was not steady, and the
captain was obliged with reluctance to give over his
attempt.—4. Hr Campbell, the continuator of Harris’s
voyages, informed Mr Barrington, that Dr Dallie, a na¬
tive of Holland, being in his youth on board a Dutch
ship of war which at that time was usually sent to su¬
perintend the Greenland fishery, the captain determined,
like the Scotchman above mentioned, to make an attempt
to reach the pole during the interval between the first
and second fisheries. He penetrated, according to the
best of Dr Campbell’s recollection, as far as 88° $ when
the weather was warm, the sea free from ice, and rolling
like the bay of Biscay. Dallie now pressed the captain
to proceed : but he answered, that he had already gone
too fax', and should be blamed in Holland for neglecting
his station; upon which account he would suffer no
journal to be kept, but returned as soon as possible to
Spitsbergen.—5. In the year 1662-3, Mr Oldenburg,
then secretary of the Roval Society, was ordered to re¬
gister a paper, entitled “ Several Inquiries concerning
Greenland, answered by Mr Gray, xvho had visited
these parts.” The 19th of these queries is the follow¬
ing: How near hath any one been known to approach
the pole P—The answer is, “ I once met upon the coast
of Greenland a Hollander that swore he had been half
a degree from the pole, showing me his journal, which
was also attested by his mate j where they had seen no
ice or land, but all watei\”—6. In Captain Wood’s ac¬
count of a voyage in quest of the north-east passage,
wre have the following account of a Dutch ship which
reached the latitude of 89°. “ Captain Goulden, xvho
had made above 30 voyages to Greenland, did relate to
his majesty, that being at Greenland some 20 years be¬
fore, he was in company with two Hollanders to the
eastward of Edge’s island 5 and that the whales not ap¬
pearing on the shore, the Hollanders were determined to
go farther northward ; and in a fortnight’s time return¬
ed, and gave it out that they had sailed into the lati¬
tude 89°, and that they did not meet with any ice, but
a free and open sea, and that there run a very hollow
grown sea like that of the bay of Biscay. Mr Gouk.
den being not satisfied xvith the bare relation, they pro¬
duced him four journals out of the txvo ships, xvhich
testified the same, and that they all agreed within four
minutes.”—7. In the Philosophical Transactions for
1675 we have the following passage : “ For it is well
known to all that sail northward, that most of the north¬
ern coasts are frozen up for many leagues, though in the
open sea it is not so, no nor under the pole itself, unless by
accident.” In which passage the having reached thi
pole
POL
t 9
Pole.
"Why we,
Cannot sup
pose the
sea all
round the
pole to be
frozen.
pole is alluded to as a known fact, and as such stated to
the Royal Society.—S. Mr Miller, in his Gardener s
Dictionary, mentions the voyage of one Captain John¬
son, who reached 88 degrees ol latitude. Mr Barring¬
ton was at pains to find a full account of this voyage
but met only with the following passage rn Billion’s
Natural History, which he takes to he a confirmation
of it. “ I have been assured by persons ol credit, that
an English captain, whose name was Monson, instead of
seeking a passage to China between the northern coun¬
tries, had directed his course to the pole, and had ap¬
proached it within two degrees, where there was an
open sea, without any ice.” Here he thinks that M.
Buffon has mistaken Johnson for Monson.—-9. A map
of the northern hemisphere, published at Berlin (under
the direction of the academy of Sciences and. Belles
Lettres), places a ship at the pole, as having arrived
there according to the Dutch accounts.—10. Moxon,
hydrographer to Charles IT. gives an account of a
Dutch ship having been two degrees beyond the pole,
which was much relied on by Wood. Ihis vessel
found the weather as warm there as at Amsterdam.
Besides these, there are a great number of other tes¬
timonies ofships which have reached the latitude of 81,82,
83, 84 (a), &c.; from all which our author concludes,
that if the voyage is attempted at a proper time of the
year, there would not be any great difficulty of reaching
the pole. Those vast pieces of ice which commonly
obstruct the navigators, he thinks, proceed from the
mouths of the great Asiatic rivers which run northward
into the frozen ocean, and are driven eastward and west¬
ward by the currents. But though we should suppose
them to come directly from the pole, still our author
thinks that this affords an undeniable proof that the
pole itself is free from ice •, because, when the pieces
leave it, and come to the southward, it is impossible
that they can at the same time accumulate at the pole.
The extreme cold of the winter air on the continents
of Asia and America has afforded room for suspicion,
that at the pole itself, and for several degrees to the
southward of it, the sea must be frozen to a vast depth
in one solid cake of icej but this Mr Barrington refutes
from several considerations. In the first place, he says,
4 1 POL
that on such a supposition, by the continual intensity
of the cold, and the accumulation of snow and frozen v'
vapour, this cake of ice must have been increasing in
thickness since the creation, or at least since the de¬
luge ; so that now it must be equal in height to the
highest mountains in the world, and be visible at a
great distance. Besides, the pieces broken off from
the sides of such an immense mountain must be much
thicker than any ice that is met with in the northern
ocean ; none of which is above two yards in height
above the surface of the water, those immense pieces
called ice mountains being always formed on land.
Again, the system of nature is so formed, that all parts
of the earth are exposed for the same length of tune, or
nearly so, throughout the year to the rays of the sun.
But, by reason of the spheroidal figure of the teiraque-
ous globe, the poles and polar regions enjoy the sun
somewhat longer than others $ and hence the Dutch
who wintered in Nova Zembla in 1672 saw the sun a
fortnight sooner than they ought to have done by astro¬
nomical calculations. By reason of this flatness about
the poles, too, the sun not only shines for a greater
space of time on these inhospitable regions, but with
less obliquity in the summer-time, and hence the efiect
of his rays must be the greater. Now Mr Barrington
considers it as an absurd supposition, that this gloiious
luminary should shine for six months-on a cake of bar¬
ren ice where there is neither animal nor vegetable.
He says that the polar seas are assigned by nature as
the habitation of the whales, the largest animals in the
creation; but if the greatest part of the polar seas are
for ever covered with an impenetrable cake of ice,
these huge animals will be confined within very narrow
bounds *, for they cannot subsist without frequently
coming to the top of the water to breathe. - I5
Lastly, the quantity of water frozen by different de- Quantity of
grees of cold is by no means directly in proportion to ice fanned
the intensity of the cold, but likewise to the duration ^
of it. Thus, large bodies of water are never frozen in ^portion
any temperature of short duration, though shallow bo- to the de¬
dies often are. Our author observes, that as much ofgree of
a given mass of water was frozen in five hours of a tern- cold,
perature 12° below the freezing point, as was frozen in
one
caJ See Jf. Bauche'ls Observations on the North or Ice Sea, where he gives an account of various attempts
made to reach the pole, from which he is convinced that the sea is there open, and that the thing is practicable.
M. de Pages, in his Travels, vol. ill. informs us, that he wished to take a voyage to the north seas, tor the pur¬
pose of bringing under one view the various obstacles from the ice, which have impeded the researches of navi¬
gators in those seas; and for this purpose he was prepared to continue his voyage to as high a latitude as pos¬
sible and that he might be able to say whether any land actually exists north from the coast of Greenland, lie
sailed without any encouragement from his court (France) on the 16th of April 1776 from the Texel, in a Dutch
vessel bound to Spitsbergen. On the 16th of May she was a little way north of 8l°, the highest latitude she
“ Beinw now Gays the author) less than 180 leagues from the pole, the idea of so small a distance served
effectually to awaken my curiosity. Had I been able to inspire my fellow-voyagers with sentiments similar to
my own, the winds and currents which at this moment carried us fast towards the pole, a region hitherto deem¬
ed inaccessible to the eye of mortals, would have been saluted with acclamations of joy. This quarter, however,
is not the most eligible for such an enterprise : here the sea lying in the vicinity of those banks of ice, so frequent
a little farther to the west, is much too confined. Nevertheless, when I consider the very changeable nature of
the shoals under whatever form, even in their most crowded and compact state } their constant changes and con¬
cussions which break and detach them from one another, and the various expedients that may be employed for
freeing the ship from confinement, as well as for obviating impending danger—I am far from viewing a voyage
to the pole as a chimerical idea.”
POL
[ 95 ]
POL
Pole.
16
Mr Fors¬
ter’s argu¬
ment* a-
sgainst the
possibility
)>f reach¬
ing the
pole.
one hour of the temperature 50° below it; and that
' long duration of the temperature between 20 and 32
is, with regard to the congelation of water, equivalent
to intensity of cold such as is marked o and below o in
Fahrenheit, but of short duration. See Cold and Con¬
gelation.
On the other hand, PvTr Forster, in bis Observations,
takes the contrary side of the question with no little
vehemence. “ I know (says he) that M. de Buffon,
Lomonosof, and Crantz, were of opinion, that the ice
found in the ocean is formed near the lands only, from
the fresh water and ice carried down into the sea by the
many rivers in Siberia, Hudson’s bay, &c.; and there¬
fore, when we fell in with such quantities of ice in De¬
cember 1772, I expected we should soon meet with the
land from whence these ice masses had been detached.
But being disappointed in the discovery of this land,
though we penetrated beyond the 67° twice, and once
beyond 710, south latitude, and having besides some
other doubts concerning the existence of the pretended
southern continent, I thought it necessary to inquire
what reasons chiefly induced the above authors to form
the opinion that the ice floating in the ocean must be
formed near land, or that an austral land is absolutely
requisite *for that purpose : and having looked for their
arguments, I find they amount chiefly to this : ‘ That
the ice floating in the ocean is all fresh : that salt water
does not freeze at all; or if it does, it contains briny
particles. They infer from thence, that the ice in the
ocean cannot be formed in the sea far from any land :
there must therefore exist austral lands; because, in or¬
der to form an idea of the original of the great ice masses
agreeably to what is observed in the northern hemisphere,
they find that the first point for fixing the high ice-
islands is the land ; and, secondly, that the great quan¬
tity of flat ice is brought down the rivers.’ I have im¬
partially and carefully considered and examined these
arguments, and compared every circumstance with what
we saw in the high southern latitude, and with other
known facts ; and will here insert the result of all my
inquiries on this subject.
“ First, they observe the ice floating in the ocean to
yield, by melting, fresh water: which I believe to be
true. However, hitherto it has by no means been ge¬
nerally allowed to be fresh : for Crantz says expressly,
that ‘ the flat pieces (forming what they call the ice¬
fields') are salt, because they were congealed from sea¬
water.’ The ice taken up by us for watering the ship
was of all kinds, and nevertheless we found it constant¬
ly fresh : Which proves, either that the principle of
analogy cannot be applied indiscriminately in both
hemispheres ; and that one thing may be true in the
northern hemisphere which is quite otherwise in the
southern, from reasons not yet known or discovered by
us; or we must think that Crantz and others are mistaken,
who suppose the ice floating in the ocean to be salt.
“ The next remark is, That salt water does not freeze
at all; or if it does, it contains briny particles. M. de
Buffbn tells us, ‘ that the sea between Nova Zembla and 1
Spitzbergen, under the 790 north latitude, does , not
freeze, as it is there considerably broad : and that it is
not to be apprehended to find the sea frozen not even
under the pole itself; for indeed there is no example of
having ever found a sea wholly frozen over, and at a
considerable distance from tbe shores ; that the only in¬
stance of a sea entirely frozen is that of the Black sea,
which is narrow and not very salt, and receives a great
many rivers coming from northern regions, and bring-
rng down rce : that this sea therefore sometimes freezes
to such a degree, that its whole surface is congealed to
a considerable thickness; and, if the historians are to be
credited, was frozen, in the reign of the emperor Con¬
stantine Copronymus, 30 ells thick, not including 20
ells of snow which was lying on the ice. This fact,
continues M. de Bufi'on, seems to be exaggerated : but
it is true, however, that it freezes almost every winter ;
whilst the high seas which are 1000 leagues nearer to-
wards the pole do not freeze; which can have no other
cause than the difference in saltness, and the little quan¬
tity of ice carried out by rivers, if compared to the
enormous quantity of ice which the rivers convey into
the Black sea.’ M. de Buffon is not mistaken when be
mentions that the Black sea frequently freezes. Strabo-
informs us, that the people near the Bosphorus Cimme-
rius pass this sea in carts from Panticapaeum to Phana-
gorea ; and that Neoptolemus, a general of Mithridates
Eupator, won a battle with his cavalry on the ice on
the very spot where he gained a naval victory in the
summer. Marcellinus Comes relates, that under tire
consulship of Vincentius and Fravita, in the year 401
after Christ, the whole surface of the Pontuswas cover¬
ed with ice, and that the ice in spring was carried
through the Propontis, during 30 days, like mountains.
Zonaras mentions the sea between Constantinople and
Scutari frozen to such a degree in the reign of Constan¬
tine Copronymus, that even loaded carts passed over it.
The prince Demetrius Cantemir observes, that in the
year 1620-1 there happened so intense a frost, that tbe
people walked over the ice from Constantinople to Isko-
dar. All these instances confirm M. de Buffon’s asser¬
tion. But as this great natural historian says that the
Black sea is the only instance of a sea being entirely
frozen (b), I must beg leave to dissent from him; for it
is equally well attested that the Baltic is sometimes en¬
tirely frozen, according to Caspar Schutz’s account. In
the year 1426, the winter was so severe, that people
travelled over the ice across the Baltic from Dantzic to
Lubeck ; and the sea was likewise passable from Den¬
mark to Mecklenburg: and in the year 1459 the
whole Baltic was entirely frozen, so that persons travel¬
led both on foot and on horseback, over ice, from Den¬
mark to tbe Venedick Hans-towns, csWeA Lubeck, Wis-
mar, Rostock, and Stralsund, which had never happened
before ; people likewise travelled across the Baltic over
(b) In the year 86q the Mediterranean was covered with ice, so that people travelled in carts and horses across
the Ionian sea to Venice; (LLernuennus Contractus ap. Pistor. Script, tom. ii. p. 236.). And in 1234 the Me¬
diterranean was again thus frozen, that the Venetian merchants travelled over the ice with their merchandise to
what place they chose ; Matt. Paris, p. 78.
Pol*.
Pole.
POL t 9s
ice from Revel in Estland to Denmark and to Sweden,
1 and back again, without the least danger (c). But, ac¬
cording to Ssemund Erode, even the great German
ocean between Denmark and Norway was frozen in the
year 1040, so that the wolves frequently ran over the
ice from one country to the other. The great northern
ocean is likewise most certainly sometimes frozen to a
great distance from any land : for Muller relates, that
in the year 1715 a Cossack called Markoff, with some
other persons, was sent by the Russian government to
explore the north sea ; but finding it next to impossible
to make any progress during summer on account of the
vast quantities of ice commonly filling this ocean, he at
last determined to try the experiment during winter.
He therefore took several sledges drawn according to
the custom of the country by dogs, which commonly go
about 80 or 10O versts per day, 105 of which make a
degree j and on March the 15th, old style, with this
caravan of nine persons, he left the shores of Siberia at
the mouth of the river Yana, under the 710 of north
latitude, and proceeded for seven days together north¬
ward, so that he had reached at least the 770 or 78
north latitude, when he was stopped by the ice, which
there began to appear in the shape of prodigious moun¬
tains. He climbed up to the top of some of these ice-
mountains: but seeing from thence no land, nor any
thing except ice a# far as the eye could reach, and hav¬
ing besides no more food for his dogs left, he thought it
very necessary to return ; which he with great difficulty
performed on April the 3d, as several of the dogs,
which had perished for want, were employed to sup¬
port those that remained alive. These facts, I believe,
will convince the unprejudiced reader, that there are
other seas besides the Black sea which really do freeze
in winter, and that the ice carried down the rivers could
not at least freeze the German ocean between Norway
and Denmark, because the rivers there are so small, and
bear a very inconsiderable proportion to the immense
ocean, which, according to experiments made by Mr
Wilkie, is very salt, though near the land, in the Swe¬
dish harbour of Landscrona.
“ Now, if six or seven degrees of latitude, containing
3
POL
from 360 to 420 sea-miles, are not to be reckoned a
great distance from the land, I do not know in vyfiat
manner to argue, because no distance whatsoever will jo
reckoned far from any land. Nay, if the Cossack Mar¬
koff, being mounted on one of the highest ice-moun-
tains may be allowed to see at least to the distance ot
20 leagues, the extent alluded to above must then be
increased to 480 English sea-miles j which ceitainly is
very considerable, and makes it more than probable that
the ocean is frozen in winter, in high northern latitudes,
even as far as the pole. Besides, it invalidates the ar-*
gument which these gentlemen wish to infer from thence,
that the ocean does not Jree%e in high latitudes, espe¬
cially where there is a considerably broad sea ; for we
have shown instances to the contrary.
“ But M. de Buffon speaks of ice carried down the
rivers into the northern ocean, and forming there these
immense quantities of ice. “ And in case, says he, wa
would suppose, against all probability, that at the pole
it could be so cold as to congeal the surface ot the sea,
it would remain equally incomprehensible how these
enormous floating ice-masses could be formed, if they
had not land for a point to fix on, and from whence
they are severed by the heat of the sun. The two ships
which the India Company sent in 1739 upon the disco¬
very of the austral lands, found ice in 470 or 48° south
latitude, but at no great distance from land •, which they
discovered, without being able to appioach it. This
ice, therefore, must have come from the interior parts of
the lands near the south pole j and we must conjecture,
that it follows the course of several large rivers, washing
these unknown lands, in the same manner as the rivers
Oby, the Yenisea, and the other great rivers which fall
into the northern sea, carry the ice-masses, which stop
up the straits of Waigats for the greater part of the
year, and render the artanan sea inaccessible upon this
course.’ Before we can allow the analogy between the
rivers Oby, Yenisea, and the rest which fall into the
northern ocean, and those coming from the interior
parts of the austral lands, let us compare the situation of
both countries, supposing the austral lands really to ex¬
ist. The Oby, Yenisea, and the rest of the Siberian
rivers,
Pole.
Incerti auctoris Annales Dcnor. in Ji estphahi
(c) In 1296 the Baltic was frozen from Gothland to Sweden.
monument. Cimbr. tom. i. p. I392- ... , ,, 1 • 1 jo r 1 • 1
In 1306 the Baltic was, during fourteen weeks, covered with tee between all the Danish and Swedish islands.
CLudwig, reliquiee, MSS tom. ix. p. I7°')» . 1 t> i.- j • • 1
In 1323 there was a road for foot passengers and horsemen over the ice on the Baltic during six week.8.
^’n 1349 people walked over the ice from Stralsund to Denmark. {Incerti auct. cit. ap. Ludwig, tom. ix.
P* In 1408 the whole sea between Gothland and Oeland, and likewise between Rostock and Gezoer, was frozen.
^11/1423 the ice bore riding from Prussia to Lubec. {Crantxii Vandal, lib. x. c. 40.). The whole sea was
covered with ice from Mecklenburg to Denmark. {Incert. auct. cit. ap. Ludwig, tom. ix. p. 125.).
In 1461 (says Nicol. Marschallus in Annul. Herul. ap. Westphal. tom. i. p. 261.), “ tanta erat hyems, ut con-
creto gelu oceano, plaustris millia passuum supra CCC merces ad ultimam Thylen {Iceland') et Orcades veheren-
tur e Germania tota pene bruma.” ... ^ c
In 1545 the sea between Rostock and Denmark, and likewise between Fionia and Sealand, was thus frozen,
that the people travelled over the ice on foot, with sledges to which horses and oxen were put. {Anonym, ap.
Ludwig, tom. ix. p. 176.).
In 1294 the Cattegat or sea between Norway and Denmark was frozen j that from Oxslo in Norway, they
could travel on it to Jutland. {Strelow Chron. Juthiland, p. 148.).
POL [ 97 1 POL
Pole, rivers, falling down into the northern ocean, have their
^sources in 48° and 50® north latitude, where the cli¬
mate is mild and capable of producing corn of all kinds.
All the rivers of this great continent increasing these
great rivers have likewise their sources in mild and tem¬
perate climates, and the main direction of their course is
from south to north ”, and the coast of the northern
ocean, not reckoning its sinuosities, runs in general west
and east. The small rivers which are formed in high la¬
titudes have, properly speaking, no sources, no springs,
but carry oft’ only the waters generated by the melting
of snow in spring, and by the fall of rain in the short
summer, and are for the greatest part dry in autumn.
And the reason of this phenomenon is obvious, after
considering the constitution of the earth in those high
northern climates. At Yakutsk, in about 62° north la¬
titude, the soil is eternally frozen, even in the height of
summer, at the depth of three feet from the surface. In
the years 1685 and 1686, an attempt was made to dig
a w'ell; and a man, by great and indefatigable labour,
continued during two summer seasons, and succeeded so
far in this laborious task, that he at last reached the
depth of 91 feet 5 but the whole earth at this depth was
frozen, and he met with no water ; which forced him
to desist from so fruitless an attempt. And it is easy to
infer from hence how impossible it is that springs should
17 be formed in the womb of an eternally frozen soil.
Of the “ The argument, therefore, is now reduced to this,
“■--g That salt water does not freeze at all; or, if it does, the
water" con^a^ns briny particles. But we have already pro¬
duced numberless instances, that the sea does freeze ;
nay, Crantz allows, that the flat pieces of ice are salt, be¬
cause they were congealed from sea-water. We beg
leave to add a few decisive facts relative to the freezing
of the sea. Barentz observes in the year 1596, Septem¬
ber the 16th, the sea froze two fingers thick, and next
night the ice was as thick again. This happened in the
middle of September; what effect then must the intense
frost of a night in January not produce? When Captain
James wintered in Charleton’s isle, the sea froze in the
middle of December 1631. It remains, therefore, only
to examine, whether the ice formed in the sea must ne¬
cessarily contain briny particles. And here I find my¬
self in a very disagreeable dilemma; for during the in¬
tense frost of the winter in 1776, two sets of experi¬
ments were made on the freezing of sea-water, and pub¬
lished, contradicting one another almost in every mate¬
rial point. The one by Mr Edward Nairne, F. B. S.
an ingenious and accurate observer; the other by Dr
Higgins, who reads lectures on chemistry and natural
philosophy, and consequently must be supposed to be
well acquainted with the subject. I will therefore still
venture to consider the question as undecided by these
experiments, and content myself with making a few ob¬
servations on them: but previously I beg leave to make
this general remark, that those who are well acquainted
with mechanics, chemistry, natural philosophy, and the
various arts which require a nice observation of minute
circumstances, need not be informed, that an experiment
or machine succeeds often very well when made upon a
smaller scale, but will not answer if undertaken at large;
Vol. XVII. Part I.
and, vice versa, machines and experiments executed up- Pole,
on a small scale will not produce the ellect which they ‘ -1 v “ 1
certainly have when made in a more enlarged manner.
A few years ago an experiment made on the dyeing of
scarlet, did not succeed when undertaken on a small
scale, whereas it produced the desired effect when tried
at a dyer’s house with the large apparatus; and it evi¬
dently confirms the above assertion, which I think I
have a right to apply to the freezing of salt water. It
is therefore probable, that the ice formed in the ocean
at large, in a higher latitude, and in a more intense de¬
gree of cold, whereof we have no idea here, may be¬
come solid, and free from any briny particles, though a
few experiments made by Dr Higgins, in his house, on
the freezing of salt water, produced only a loose spongy
ice filled with briny particles. 18
“ The ice formed of sea-water by Mr Nairne rvas Result of
very hard, three inches and a half long, and two inches MrNaimc’s
in diameter : it follows from thence, that the washing
the outside of this ice in fresh water, could not aflect the this subject,
inside of a hard piece of ice. This ice when melted
yielded fresh water, which was specifically lighter than
water which was a mixture of rain and snow water, and
next in lightness to distilled water. Had the ice thus
obtained not been fresh, the residuum of the sea-water,
after this ice had been taken out, could not have been
specifically heavier than sea-water, which, however, was
the case in Mr Nairne’s experiment. It seems, there¬
fore, in my opinion, evident from hence, that salt rvater
does freeze, and has no other briny particles than what
adhere to its outside. All this perfectly agrees with the
curious fact related by Mr Adanson (d), who had
brought to France two bottles of sea water, taken up in
different parts of the ocean, in order to examine it, and
to compare its saltness, when more at leisure ; but both
the bottles containing the salt water were burst by being
frozen, and the water produced from melting the ice
proved perfectly fresh. This fact is so fairly stated, and
so very natural, that I cannot conceive it is necessary
to suppose, without the least foundation for it, that the
bottles were changed, or that Mr Adanson does not
mention the circumstance by which the sea water was
thus altered upon its being dissolved: for as he express¬
ly observes the bottles to have been burst, it is obvious
that the concentrated briny parts ran out, and were
entirely drained from the ice, which was formed of the
fresh water only.
“ The ice formed by Dr Higgins from sea water, con¬
sisted of thin laminae, adhering to each other weakly. Dr
Higgins took out the frozen ice from the vessels wherein
he exposed the sea water, and continued to do so till the
remaining concentrated sea rvater began to form crystals
of sea salt. Both these experiments, therefore, by no
means prove what the Doctor intended to infer from
thence ; for it was wrong to take out such ice, which
only consisted of thin laminae, adhering to each other
weakly. Had he waited with patience, he would have
obtained a hard ice as well as Mr Nairne, which, by a
more perfect congelation, would have excluded the briny
particles intercepted between the thin laminae, adhering
to each other weakly; and would have connected the la-
I N min a?,
(d) Second Supplement to the Probability of reaching the North Pole, p. 119.
POL [98
minse, hy others formed by fresh water. The Doctor
found afterwards, it is true, thicker and somewhat more
solid ice : but the sea water had already been so much
concentrated by repeated congelations, that it is no
wonder the ice formed in it became at last brackish : it
should seem, then, that no conclusive arguments can be
drawn from these experiments.
“ There are two other objections against the tor-
mation of the ice in the great ocean. Thejirst is taken
from the immense bulk and size of the ice masses form¬
ed in the ocean, which is the deepest mass of water we
know of. But it has been experimentally proved^that
in the midst of summer, in the latitudes ol 550, J5° 26',
and 64° south, at 100 fathoms depth, the thermometer
stood at 340, 34i°, and 32° j and that in all instances,
the difference between the temperature at top and 100
fathoms depth never exceeded four degrees of Fahren¬
heit’s thermometer, or that the temperature of the air
did not differ five degrees from that of the ocean at
IOO fathoms deep. If we now add to this, that be¬
yond the 710 south the temperature of the air and
ocean must be still colder, and that the rigours of an
antarctic winter are certainly more than sufficient to
cool the ocean to 28which is requisite for congeal¬
ing the aqueous particles in it 5 if we moreover con¬
sider, that these severe frosts are continued during six
or eight months of the year, we may easily conceive that
there is time enough to congeal large and extensive
masses of ice. But it is likewise certain, that there is
more than one way by which those immense ice masses
are formed. We suppose very justly, that the ocean
does freeze, having produced so many instances of it j
we allow likewise, that the ice thus formed in a calm,
perhaps does not exceed three or four yards in thickness j
a storm probably often breaks such an ice-field, which
Crantz allows to be 200 leagues one way and 80 the
other j the pressure of the broken fragments against one
another frequently sets one upon the other piece, and
they freeze in that manner together j several such double
pieces, thrown by another pressure upon one another,
form at. last large masses of miles extent, and of 20,
40, 60, and more fathoms thickness, or of a great
bulk or height. Martens, in his description ol Spitz-
bergen, remarks, that the pieces of ice cause so great
a noise by their shock, that the navigators in those re¬
gions can only with difficulty hear the words of those
that speak •> and as the ice-pieces are thrown one upon
another, ice-mountains are formed by it. And I ob¬
served very frequently, in the years 1772 and 1773>
when we were among the ice, masses which had the
most evident marks of such a formation, being compo¬
sed of strata of some feet in thickness. This is in some
measure confirmed by the state in which the Cossack
Markoff found the ice at the distance of 420 miles north
from the Siberian coasts. The high masses were not
found formed, as is susp. cted in the Second supplement
to the probability of reaching the north pole, p. 143 145,
near the land, under the high cliffs, but tar out at sea j
and when these ice mountains were climbed by Markoff,
nothing but ice, and no vestiges of land, appeared as
far as the eye could reach. The high climates near
the poles are likewise subject to heavy falls o* snow,
of several yards in thickness, which grow more and
rijorc compact, and by thaws and ram are formed into
]' POL
solid ice, which increase the stupendous size of the float- Pole,
ing ice mountains. —y—
“ The second objection against the freezing of the
ocean into such ice as is found floating in it, is taken
from the opacity of ice formed in salt water j because
the largest masses are commonly transparent like cry¬
stal, with a fine blue tint, caused by the reflection of
the sea. This argument is very specious, and might
be deemed unanswerable by those who are not used to
cold winters and their effects. But whosoever has
spent several winters in countries which are subject to
intense frosts, will find nothing extraordinary or diffi¬
cult in this argument : for it is a wrell-known fact in
cold countries, that the ice which covers their lakes
and rivers is often opaque, especially when the frost
sets in accompanied by a fall of snow ; for, in those
instances, the ice looks, before it hardens, like a dough
or paste, and when congealed it is opaque and white \
however, in spring, a rain and the thaw, followed by
frosty nights, change the opacity and colour of the ice,
and make it quite transparent and colourless like a cry¬
stal : but, in case the thaw continues, and it ceases
entirely to freeze, the same transparent ice becomes
soft and porous, and turns again entirely opaque. This
I believe may be applicable to the ice seen by us in
the ocean. The field-ice was commonly opaque \ some
of the large masses, probably drenched by rain, and fro¬
zen again, were transparent and pellucid j but the small
fragments of loose ice, formed by the decay of the large
masses, and soaked by long-continued rains, we found to
be porous, soft, and opaque.
“ It is likewise urged as an argument against the
formation of ice in the ocean, that it always requires
land, in order to have a point upon which it may be
fixed. First, I observe, that in Mr Nairne’s experi¬
ments, the ice was generated on the surface, and was
seen shooting crystals downwards : which evidently
evinces, in my opinion, that ice is there formed or ge¬
nerated where the intensest cold is 5 as the air sooner
cools the surface than the depth of the ocean, the ice
shoots naturally downwards, and cools the ocean more
and more, by which it is prepared for further conge¬
lation. I suppose, however, that this happens always
during calms, which are not uncommon in high lati¬
tudes, as we experienced in the late expedition. Nor
does land seem absolutely necessary in order to fix the
ice j for this may be done with as much ease and pro¬
priety to the large ice mountains which remain undis¬
solved floating in the ocean in high latitudes; or it may*
perhaps, not be improper to suppose, that the whole
polar region, from 82° and upwards, in the southern
hemisphere, remains a solid ice for several years toge¬
ther, to which yearly a new circle of ice is added, and
of which, however, part is broken off by the winds
and the return of the mild season. Wherever the ice
floats in large masses, and sometimes in compact bo¬
dies formed of an infinite number of small pieces, there
it is by no means difficult to freeze the whole into one
piece ; for amongst the ice the wind has not a power
of raising high and great waves. This circumstance
was not entirely unknown to the ancients ^ and it is
probable they acquired this information from the natives
of ancient Gaul, and from the Britons and other north¬
ern nations, who sometimes undertook long voyages.
The
V
Pole.
POL [ 99 ]
The northern ocean was called by the ancients the fro- penetrate
,hy the
\Cimbri.
to
(Observa¬
tion' O'
]\ir Fors¬
ter's rea-
> ‘Zen, the dead, the lazy, and immoveable sea : sometimes
they give it the name ?nare croninm, the concrete sea,
* So called and morimorusum *, the dead sea. And, what is very
remarkable, in all the northern cold countries the frost
sometimes is so intense, that ail the waters become sud¬
denly coagulated into a kind of paste or dough, and
thus at once congeal.”
On this reasoning of Mr Forster’s, however, we must
observe, that it cannot possibly invalidate anv fact which
Mr Barrington has advanced. The best concerted and
most plausible theory in the world must yield to expe¬
rience ; for this is in fact what must judge ail theories.
Now, from what we have already related, it is demon¬
strated, that in the space between the mouths of the
rivers Piasida and Chatanga more ice must be formed,
-and more intense colds generated, than in any other
part of the world •, consequently, for a considerable
space both on the east and west side of that, the sea
must be more full of ice than anywhere else. Now,
between these two rivers there is the promontory of
Taimura, which runs out to the latitude of 78°, or near
it. and which of necessity must obstruct the disper-ion
of the ice; and that it actually does so is in some de¬
gree probable, because in one of the Russian voyages
above mentioned the eastern mouth of the Lena was
quite free, when the western ones were entirely choked
tip with ice. Now the mouth of the Yana lies several
degrees to the eastward of the Lena: consequently, v. hen
the ice comes eastward from the cape of Taimura, it
must necessarily fill all that sea to the latitude of 78°
and upwards ; but the Cossack Markoff, if he proceeded
directly north, could not be farther than the promonto¬
ry of Taimura, and consequently still enveloped among
the ice. Besides, we are certain, that the sea in 78° is
not at all frozen into a solid cake in some places, since
Lord Muljrrave, in 177-5, reached 8l°. Mr Forster’s
argument, therefore, either proves nothing, or it proves
too much. If it proves, that about the middle of the
eastern continent the cold is so intense that a sufficient
quantity of ice is formed to obstruct the navigation for
several hundred miles round, this proves nothing ; be¬
cause we knew before that this must be the case: But
if it proves, that the sea must be unnavigable by reason
of ice all round the globe at 78° north latitude, this is
too much1, because we certainly know, that in 1773
Lord Mulgrave reached the latitude of 81°. However,
though it should be allowed that the sea is quite clear
all the way to the pole, it must be a very great uncer¬
tainty whether any ship could by that way reach the
East Indies; because we know that it must sail down
between the continents of Asia and America, through
that strait whose mouth must often be blocked up with
ice driving eastward along the continent of Asia.
The south pole is still more inaccessible than the
north pole; for the ice is found in much lower south¬
ern than northern latitudes. This superior degree
of cold has by many been supposed to proceed
from a greater quantity of land about the south than
the north pole *; and the notion of a vast con¬
tinent in these regions prevailed almost universally,
mi cTok’ inSOmUch many have sought for it, but hitherto
p scove- vain* See the articles Cook's Discoveries, N°
iet. 38—49, and N0 68, and 69 ; South Sea, and Terra
2,%, &(!• Australis. A new attempt was made in 1818 to
POL
into the polar seas. Two expeditions were
fitted out at Deptford, the one under Captain Ross,
bay, the other under Captain Buchan for
for Baffin’
( See A.-
(ekica
3—S'
the polar seas beyond Spitzbergen. They sailed in
April. Captain Buchan returned in October, having
been unable to penetrate beyond the latitude of 8o° 30"
on account of the ice. Captain Ross also jailed in his
attempt to find a passage out of Baffin’s bay to the
westward, and returned in November. The result of
Captain Ross’s investigation seems not to have been
considered decisive, as a new expedition has since
been fitted out for the same object.
Magnetic Pole. See Magnetism.
North Pole. See Bole.
Pole-Axe, a sort of hatchet nearly resembling a
battle-axe, having an handle about 13 inches in length,
and being furnished with a sharp point or claw, bend¬
ing downwards from the back of its head ; the blade
whereof is formed like that of any other hatchet. It
is principally employed in sea-fights to cut away and
destroy the rigging of any adversary who endeavours to
board.
Pole-axes are also said to have been successfully used
on some occasions in boarding an enemy, whose sides
were above those of the boarder. This is executed by
detaching several gangs to enter at different parts of
the ship’s length, at which time the pole-axes a-'e for¬
cibly driven into her side, one above another, so as to
form a sort of scaling-ladders.
Pole Cat. See Mustela, Mammalia Index.
Pole Star. See Astronomy, N° 3, 17, and 39.
POLE IN, in English antiquity, is a sort of shoe,
sharp or piked at the point. This fashion took its
rise in the time of King William Rufus ; and the pikes
were so long, that they were tied up to the knees with
silver or golden chains. They were forbidden by stat*
an. 4. Ed w. IV. cap. 7. Tunc fliixus crinium, tunc
luxus vestium, tunc usus calceorum cum arevatis acu-
leis inventus est. Malmesb. in Will. ii.
POLEMARCHUS was a magistrate at Athens, wh«
had under his care all the strangers and sojourners in
the city, over whom he had the same authority^ that the
archon had over the citizens. It was his duty to offer Potter't
a solemn sacrifice to Enyalus (said to be the same with^0^
Mars, though others will have it that he was only
of his attendants), and another to Diana, surnamed
Aygorsgaf, in honour of the famous patriot Harmodius.
It was also his business to take care that the children
of those that had lost their lives in the service of their
country should be provided for out of the public trea¬
sury.
POLEMICAL, in matters of literature, an appella¬
tion given to books of controversy, especially those in
divinity.
POLEMO, who succeeded Xenocrates in the direc¬
tion of the academy, was an Athenian of distinguished
birth, and in the earlier part of his life a man of loose
morals. The manner in which he was reclaimed from
the pursuit of infamous pleasures, and brought under the
discipline of philosophy, affords a memorable example of
the power of eloquence employed in the cause of virtue,
His history is thus related by Dr Enfield: “ As he
was, one morning about the rising of the sun, returning
home from the revels of the night, clad in a loose robe,
crowned with garlands, strongly perfumed, and intoxi-
N 2 catyd
POL C 1
Pokmo cated with wine, he passed by the school of Xenocvates,
H and saw him surrounded with his disciples.. Unable to
Pokttburg. rpuUf- —J fortunate ?'1 ^nporfenity of indulging his spor-
    'tive humour, he^rushed without ceremony into the
school, and took his place among- the plnlosoph^s.
The whole assembly was astonished at this rnde and
decent intrusion, and all but Xenocrates cHscovered signs
of resentment. Xenocrates, however, preserv ed the per^
feet command of his countenance *, and with great 1
sence of mind turned his discourse from the subject on
which he was treating to the topics ot temperance anj.
modesty which he recommended with such stieng
argument, and energy of language, lolemo vva
constrained to yield to the force oi conv.ction Instead
of turning the philosopher and his doc nne to ridicule,
as be at first intended, he became sensible of the folly ot
his former conduct; was heartily ashamed of the con¬
temptible figure which he had made in so respectable an
assembly *, took his garland from Ins head ; concealed
his naked arm under his cloak', assumed a sedate and
thoughtful aspect 5 and, in short, resolved from that
hoiw to relinquish his licentious pleasures, and devote
himself to the pursuit of wisdom. Thus was this young
man by the powerful energy of truth and eloquence, in
an instant converted from an infamous libertine to a re-
spectable philosopher. In such a sudden change ot dia¬
meter it is difficult to avoid passing from one
to another. Polemc^ after his reformation, xn order to
brace up his mind to the tone of rigid virtue, cptantl}
practised the severest austerity and most hardy foititu de.
From the thirtieth year of his age to Ins death he
drank nothing hut water. When he suffered violent
pain, he showed no external sign of anguish. In on er
to preserve his mind undisturbed by passion, he habi¬
tuated himself to speak in an uniform tone of voice,
without elevation or depression. The austerity ot l is
manners was, however, tempered with urbanity and ge¬
nerosity. He was fond of solitude, and passed much ot
his time in a garden near his school. He died, at an
advanced age, of a consumption. Of Ins tenets it tie is
said by the ancients, because he strictly adhered to the
doctrine of T
POLEMONIUM, Greek Valerian, or Jacob s
Ladder ; a genus of plants belonging to the pentandria
class ; and in the natural method ranking under the
2nth order, Campanacece. See Botany Index
FOLEMOSCOPE, in Optics, the same with Ope¬
ra-glass. See Dioptrics.
POLENBURG, Cornelius, an excellent painter
of small landscapes and figures, was born at Utrecht in
i c86 and educated under Blomaert, whom he soon
quitted to travel into Italy and studied for a long time
in Home and Florence, where he formed a style en¬
tirely new, which, though preferable to the Flemish, js
unlike any Italian, except in his having adorned Ins
landscapes with ruins. There is a varnished smoothness
and finishing in his pictures, that render them always
pleasing, though simple and too nearly resembling one
another. The Roman cardinals were charmed with
the neatness of his works, as was also the great duke j
but could not retain him. He returned to Utrecht,
and pleased Rubens, who had several of his performances.
Kimj Charles I. invited him to London, where he ge¬
nerally painted the figures in Steenvyyck’s perspectives :
but the king could not prevail on him to fix here j tor
00 ] POL
after staving only four years, ami being handsomely re- Poieaborg
warded by 1.1s majesty for several pieces '» ueb he
formed for him, he returned to Utrecht, and died  ^
there at the age of 74. His works are very scarce and
VapOLERON, one of the Banda or Nutmeg islands
In the East Indies. This was one of those spice islands
which put themselves under the protection ot the Eng¬
lish, and voluntarily acknowledged James 1. king of
England for their sovereign •, for which reason the na¬
tives of this and the rest of the islands were murdered
or driven thence by the Dutch, together with the Eng-
POLESIA, a province of Poland, hounded by Po~
lachia and Proper Lithuania on the north, and by Vol-
hinia on the south. It is one ot the palatinates ot Li¬
thuania, and is commonly called Brescia, and its capi¬
tal is of this name. It is lull ot torests and lakes.
P0LE81N0 DE Rovigo, a province of Italy, in
the republic of Venice, lying to the north of the river
Po • and bounded on that side by the Paduan, on the
south by the Eerrarese, on the east by Degado, and on
the west by the Veronese. It is 45 miles in length, and
17 in breadth, and is a fertile country. Rovigo is the
capital. _ .
POLETiE were ten magistrates of Athens, who,
witli three that had the management of money allowed
for public shows, were empowered to let out the tri¬
bute-mom v snd Other public revenues, and to sell con¬
fiscated estates} all which bargains were ratified by
their president, or in his name. They were by their
office also bound to convict such as had not paid the
tribute called and sell them in the market by
auction. The market where these wretches were sold
was called ffwAuliigiov ra fteloixm.
POLIANTHES, the Tuberose-, a genus ot plants
belonging to the hexandria class j and in the natural
method ranking under the 10th order, Coronarue. bee
Botany Index. The varieties are the common tube¬
rose with single flowers,—double-flowered,—dwarf-
stalked,—variegated leaved. They all flower here in
June, July, and August. • .
All the varieties being exotics from warm countries,
although they are made to flower in great perfection in
our gardens by assistance of hot-beds, they will not
prosper in the open ground, and do not increase freely
in England j so that a supply of the roots is imported
hither annually from Genoa, and other parts of Italy,
by most of the eminent nursery and seedsmen, and the
Italian warehouse-keepers5 generally arriving in Febru¬
ary or March, time enough for the ensuing summer s
bloom -, and are sold commonly at the rate of twelve or
fifteen shillings per hundred, being careful always to
procure as large roots as possible, for on this depends
the success of having a complete blow. Requiring artifi¬
cial heat to blow them in this country, they are planted
in pots, and plunged in a hot-hed, under a deep frame
furnished with glass lights j or placed m a hot-house,
where they may be blowed to great perfection with
little trouble. The principal season for planting them
is March and April: observing, however, that in order
to continue a long succession ot the bloom, it is proper
to make two or three different plantings, at about a
month interval j one in March, another in April, and a
third the beginning of May, whereby, the blow may be
r.nn tinned
POL [
ianthes continued from June until September j observing, as
|] above mentioned, they may be flowered either by aid of
olidoro. a common dung or bark, hot-bed, or in a hot-house.
'Vvitii respect to the propagation of these plants, it
is principally by offsets of the roots. The blowing
roots that are brought annually from abroad for sale are
often furnished with offsets, which ought to be separated
previous to planting. Those also that are planted here
in our gardens frequently furnish offsets fit for separation
in autumn when the leaves decay: they must then be
preserved in sand all winter in a dry sheltered place 5
and in the beginning of March, plant them either in
a bed of light dry earth in the full ground ; or, to for¬
ward them as much as possible, allow them a moderate
hot-bed : and in either method indulge them with a
shelter in cold weather, either of a frame and lights, or
arched with hoops and occasionally matted j but let
them enjoy the full air in all mild weather, giving also
plenty of water in dry weather during the season of
their growth in spring and summer. Thus let them
grow till their leaves again decay in autumn: then take
them up, clean them from earth, and lay them in
sand till spring 5 at which time such roots as are large
enough to blow may be planted and managed as al¬
ready directed, and the small roots planted again in a
nursery-bed, to have another year’s growth 5 afterwards
plant them for flowering. The Egyptians put the
flowers of tuberose into sweet oil j and by this means
give it a most excellent flavour, scarce inferior to oil of
jasmine.
POLICANDRO, a small island in the Archipelago,
seated between Milo and Morgo. It has no harbour,
but has a town about three miles from the shore near a
huge rock. It is a rugged stony island, but yields as
much corn as is sufficient for the inhabitants, who con¬
sist of about 120 Greek families, all Christians. The
only commodity is cotton: of which they make napkins,
a dozen of which are sold for a crown. E. Long. 35. 25.
N. Lat. 36. 36.
P0L1CASTR0, an episcopal town of Italy, in the
kingdom of Naples, and in the Hither Principato j but
now almost in ruins, for which reason the bishop resides
in another town. E. Long. 15. 46. N. Lat. 40. 26.
POLICY, or Polity, in matters of government.
See Polity.
Policy of Insurance, or Assurance, of ships, is a con¬
tract or convention, whereby a person takes upon him¬
self the risks of a sea-voyage j obliging himself to make
good the losses and damages that may befal the vessel,
its equipage, tackle, victualling, lading, &c. either from
tempests, shipwrecks, pirates, fire, war, reprisals, in part
or in wdiole j in consideration of a certain sum of seven,
or eight, or ten per cent, more or less according to the risk
run j which sum is paid down to the assurer by the as-
suree upon his signing the policy. See Insurance.
POLIDORO da Caravaggio, an eminent painter,
born at Caravaggio in the Milanese in 1492. tie went
young to Rome, where he worked as a labourer in
preparing stucco for the painters ; and was so animated
by seeing them at work in the Vatican, that he solicited
some of them to teach him the rules of designing. He
attached himself particularly to Maturino, ayoungtlo-
rentine j and a similarity in talents and taste producing
a disinterested affection, they associated like brothers,
iqi ] POL
laboured together, and lived on one common purse, un- Polidoro
til the death of Maturino. He understood and practised II
the chiaro-scuro in a degree superior to any in the Ro- /‘obslnn^
man school: and finished an incredible number of pic-
tures both in fresco and in oil, feiv of the public build¬
ings at Rome being without some of his paintings. Be¬
ing obliged to fly from Rome when it was stormed and
pillaged, he retired to Messina, where he obtained a
large sum of money with great reputation, by painting
the triumphal arches for the reception of Charles V. af¬
ter his victory at Tunis : and when he was preparing
to return to Rome, he was murdered, for the sake of
his riches, by his Sicilian valet with other assassins, in
the year 1543.
POLIFOLIA. See Andromeda, Botany In¬
dex.
POLIGNA, Melchier de, an excellent French
genius and a cardinal, was born of an ancient and noble
family at Puy, the capital of Velay, in 1662. He
was sent by Louis XIV. ambassador extraordinary to
Poland, where, on the death of Sobieski, he formed a
project of procuring the election of the prince of Conti.
But failing, he returned home under some disgrace j
but when restored to favour, he was sent to Rome as
auditor of the Rota. He was plenipotentiary during
the congress at Utrecht, at which time Clement I.
created him a cardinal; and upon the accession of Louis
XV. he was appointed to reside at Rome as minister of
France. He remained there till the year 1732, and
died in the year 1741. He left behind him a MS. poem
entitled Anti-Lucretius, seuDeDeo et Natura; the plan
of which he is said to have formed in Holland in a con¬
versation with Mr Bayle. This celebrated poem was
first published in the year 1749, and has since been seve¬
ral times printed in other countries besides France. He
had been received into the French Academy in I704>
into the Academy of Sciences in 1715, into that of the
Belles Lettres in 1717: and he would have been an
ornament to any society, having all the accomplish¬
ments of a man of parts and learning.
POLISHER, or Burnisher, among mechanics, an
instrument for polishing and burnishing things proper
to take a polish. The gilders use an iron-polisher to
prepare their metals before gilding, and the blood-stone
to give them the bright polish after gilding.
The polishers, among cutlers, are a kind of wooden
wheels made of walnut-tree, about an inch thick, and
of a diameter at pleasure, which are turned round by a
great wheel; upon these they smooth and polish their
work with emery and putty.
The polishers for glass consist of two pieces of wood;
the one flat, covered with old hat; the other long and
half-round, fastened on the former, whose edge it ex¬
ceeds on both sides by some inches, which serves the
workmen to take hold of, and to work backwards and
forwards by.
The polishers used by spectacle-makers are pieces of
wood a foot long, seven or eight inches broad, and an
inch and a half thick, covered with old beaver hat,
whereon they polish the shell and horn frames their
spectacle-glasses are to be set in.
POLISHING, in general, the operation of giving
a gloss or lustre to certain substances, as metals, glass,
marble, See.
The
c? W I
£
*
TolM i'p;.
1 0 i'ClK S',
* DrK.no.
f Beauties
ilf History
VOL
The operat ion of polishing optiC-glaRses,
properly ground, is one ot the most difficult points of
the whole process. See 1 rxESCOFE.
POLITENKSS means elegance of manners or good
breeding: Lord Chesterfield calls it the art ol pleasing.
It has also been called an artificial good nature ; and in¬
deed good nature is the foundation of true politeness j
without which art will make but a very indifferent fi¬
gure, and will generally defeat its own ends. “ Where
compliance and assent, caution and candour, says an
.elegant essayist *, arise from a natural tenderness ot dis¬
position and softness of nature, as they sometimes do,
they are almost amiable and certainly excusable j but
as the effects of artifice, they must be despised. The
persons who possess them are, indeed, often, themselves
dupes of their own deceit, when they imagine others
are deluded by it. For excessive art always betrays
itself*, and many, who do not openly take notice of the
deceiver, from motives of delicacy and tenderness foi his
character, secretly deride and warmly resent his ineffec¬
tual subtilty.”
“ True politeness (says another authorf) is that con¬
tinual attention which humanity inspires us with, both to
please others, and to avoid giving them offence. The
surly plain-dealer exclaims loudly against this virtue, and
prefers his own shocking bluntness and Gothic freedom.
The courtier and fawning flatterer, on the contrary,
substitute in its place insipid compliments, cringings, and
a jargon of unmeaning sentences. The one blames polite¬
ness, because he takes it for a vice } and the other is the
occasion of this, because that which he practices is really
■ so.”
Both these characters act from motives equally absurd,
though not equally criminal. The conduct of the art-
fu flatterer is guided by self-love, while that of the
plain-dealer is the effect of ignorance : for nothing is
more certain, than that the desire of pleasing is found¬
ed on the mutual wants and the mutual wishes of man¬
kind ; on the pleasure which we wish to derive from so¬
ciety, and the character which we wish to acquire. Men
having discovered that it was necessary and agreeable to
unite for their common interests, they have made laws
to repress the wicked, they have settled the duties of so¬
cial life, and corrmcted the idea of respectability with
the practice of those duties*, and after having prescribed
the. regulations necessary to their common safety, they
have endeavoured to render their commerce with one
another agreeable, by establishing the rules of politeness
and good breeding. “ Indeed,” as an elegant author al¬
ready quoted remarks, “ the philosopher who in the au¬
sterity of his virtue, should condemn the art of pleasing
as unworthy cultivation, would deserve little attention
from mankind, and might be dismissed to his solitary
tub, like bis brother Diogenes. It is the dictate of hu¬
manity, that we should endeavour to render ourselves
agreeable to those in whose company we are destined to
travel in the journey of life. It is our interest, it is the
source of perpetual satisfaction ; it is one of our most
important duties as men, and particularly required in
the professor of Christiantty.,,
It is needless to particularize the motives which have
induced men to practise the agreeable virtues j for,
from whatever source the desire of pleasing proceeds, it
has always increased in proportion to the general civili-
Aatioo «f mankind. In a rude stale of society, pleasure
5
[ io2 ] POL
after being is limited in its sources and its operation.
          _r  When the Politeness,
wants of mankind, and the means of attaining them, are —y—
few, personal application is necessary to gratify them,
and it is generally sufficient; by which means an indivi¬
dual becomes more independent than can possibly be the
case in civilized life, and ot course less disposed to jn'O
or receive assistance. Confined to tiie solitary wish of
furnishing means tor his own happiness, he is little in¬
tent on the pleasures of conversation and society. His
desire of communication is equal to the extent of his
knowledge. But as soon as the natural wants of’hfe are
filled up, we find unoccupied time, and we labour hard
to make it pass in an agreeable manner. It is then we
perceive the advantage of possessing a rational nature,
and the delights of mutual intercourse. When vVe con¬
sider society in that -tate of perfection which enables
great part of the members of it to pursue at leisure the
pleasures of conversation, we should expect, both from
the ease of acquitting ourselves to the satisfaction ol our
associates, and from the advantages arising from this
conduct, that the art of pleasing might be reduced to a
few plain and simple rules, and that these might be de¬
rived from a slight attention to general manners.
The art of pleasing, in our intercourse with mankind,
is indeed so simple, that it requires nothing more than
the constant desire to please in all our words and actions ;
and the practice of it can neither wound a man’s self-
love, nor be prejudicial to his interest in any possible
situation.
But though this be certain, it is doubtless less attend¬
ed to than in reason it ought to be. Each particular
man is so zealous to piomote his own ends or his own
pleasure, as to forget that his neighbour has.claims
equal to his own; that every man that enters into com¬
pany gives up for the time a great many of his peculiar
rights j and that he then forms part of an association,
met together not for the particular gratification of any
one, but for the purpose of general satisfaction. See
Brfeuixg, Conversation, and Good Manners.
The qualities essential in the art of pleasing, are vir¬
tue, knowledge, and manners. All the virtues which
form a good and respectable character in amoral sense
are essential to the art of pleasing. This must be an
established principle, because it depends on the wants
and mutual relations of society. In all affairs of com¬
mon business, we delight in transacting with men in
whom we can place confidence, and in whom we find
integrity ; but truth is so naturally pleasing, and the
common affairs of life are so interwoven with social in¬
tercourse, that we derive abundantly more satisfaction
from an honest character than from specious manners.
“ Should you be suspected (says Chesterfield) of injus¬
tice, malignity, peifidy, lying, &c. all the parts and
knowledge of the world will never procure you esteem,
friendship, and respect.”
The first of virtues in our commerce with the world,
and the chief in giving pleasure to those with whom we
associate, is inviolable sincerity of heart. We can never
be too punctual in the most scrupulous tenderness to our
moral character in this respect, nor too nicely affected
in preserving our integrity.
The peculiar modes, even of the fashionable world,
which are founded in dissimulation, and which on this
account have induced several to recommend the prac¬
tice, would not prevent a man of the highest integrity
from
POL
eliteness, from being acceptable in the very best company. Ac¬
knowledged sincerity gives the same ornament to cha¬
racter that modesty does to manners. It would abun¬
dantly atone for the want of ridiculous ceremony, or
false and unmeaning professions ; and it would in no re¬
spect diminish the lustre of a noble air, or the perfection
of an elegant address.
If integrity be the foundation of that character which
is most generally acceptable, or which, in other Avoids,
possesses the power of pleasing in the highest degree, hu¬
manity and modesty are its highest ornaments.
The whole art of pleasing, as far as the virtues are
concerned, may be derived from the one or other of these
sources. Humanity comprehends the display of every
thing amiable to others *, modesty removes or suppresses
every thing offensive in ourselves.
This modesty, however, is not inconsistent with firm¬
ness and dignity of character ; it arises rather from
the knowledge of our imperfection compared with a
certain standard, than from conscious ignorance of what
we ought to know. We must therefore distinguish be¬
tween this modesty and what the French call mauvaise
honte. The one is the unaffected and unassuming prin¬
ciple which leads us to give preference to the merit of
others, the other is the awkward struggling of nature
over her own infirmities. The first gives an additional
lustre to every good quality ; while some people, from
feeling the pain and inconveniency of the mauvaise
honte, have rushed into the other extreme, and turned
impudent, as cowards sometimes grow de-perate from
excess of danger. The medium between these two ex¬
tremes marks out the well-bred man ; he feels himself
firm and easy in all companies, is modest without being
bashful, and steady without being impudent.
A man possessing the amiable, virtues is still farther
prepared to please, by having in his own mind a perpe¬
tual fund of satisfaction and entertainment. He is put
to no trouble in concealing thoughts which it would be
disgracef ul to avow, and he is not anxious to display vir¬
tues which his daily conversation and his constant looks
render visible.
The next ingredient in the art of pleasing, is to pos¬
sess a correct and enlightened understanding, and a fund
of rational knowledge. With virtue and modesty, we
must be able to entertain and instruct those with whom
we associate.
The faculty of communicating ideas is peculiar to
man, and the pleasure which he derives from the inter¬
change alone is one of the most important of his bles¬
sings. Mankind are formed with numberless wants, and
with a mutual power of assisting each other. It is a
beautiful and happv part of the same perfect plan, that
they are likewise formed to delight in each other’s com¬
pany, and in the mutual interchange of their thoughts.
The different species of communication, in a highly po¬
lished age, are as numerous as the different ranks, em¬
ployments, and occupations of men j and indeed the
knowledge which men wish to communicate, takes its
tinge from their peculiar profession or occupation.
Thus commercial men delight to talk of their trade,
and of the nature of public business j men of pleasure,
who wish merely to vary or quicken their amusements,
are in conversation light, trifling, and insincere 5 and
the literati delight to dwell on new books, learned men,
and important discoveries in science or in arts. But as
POL
thedilferent classes of men null frequently meet together, p
ail parties must so contrive matters, as to combine the
useful and agreeable together, so as to give the, greatest
delight at the time, and the greatest pleasure on reflec¬
tion. An attention to these principles would make the
man of pleasure and the man of learning meet together
on equal terms, and derive mutual advantage from their
different qualifications. With due attention to such
ideas, we proceed to mention the kinds of knowledge
which are most fitted for conversation. Those who
wish to please should particularly endeavour to be in¬
formed in those points which most generally occur..
An accurate or extensive knowledge on learned subjects
is by no means sufficient: we must also have an accurate
and extensive knowledge of the common occurrences of
life.
It is the knowledge of mankind, of governments, of
history, of public characters, and of the springs which
put the great and the little actions of the world in
motion, which give real pleasure, and rational instruc¬
tion. The knowledge which we communicate must
in some shape be interesting to those to whom we com¬
municate it } of that nature, that the desire of recei¬
ving it may overbalance every kind of disgust, excited
too often on the score of envy and self-love, against
those who happen to possess superior endowments, and
at the same time of that importance, as to elevate the
thoughts somewhat above the actions and the faults of
the narrow circle formed in our own immediate neigh-
bourhood On this account it is recommended by an
author who fully knew mankind, as a maxim of great
importance in the art of pleasing, to be acquainted with
the private character of those men who, from their sta¬
tion or their actions, are making a figure in the world.
We naturally wish to see such men in their retired and
undisguised moments ; and he who can gratify us is
highly acceptable. History of all kinds, fitly introdu¬
ced, and occasionally embellished with pleasing anec¬
dotes, is a chief part of our entertainment in the inter¬
course of life. This is receiving instruction, without
exciting much envy $ it depends on memory, and me¬
mory is one of those talents the possession of which we
least grudge to our neighbour. Our knowledge of his¬
tory, at the same time, must not appear in long and te¬
dious details \ but in apt and well chosen allusions, cal¬
culated to illustrate the particular subject of conversa¬
tion. But the knowledge most necessary is that of the
human heart. This is acquired by constant observation
on the manners and maxims of the world, connected
with that which passes in our own minds. This leads us
from the common details of conduct, from slander and
defamation, to the sources and principles of action, and
enables us to enter into what may be called the philoso¬
phy of conversation. We may see both the practicability
of this kind of discourse, and the nature of it, in the fol¬
lowing lines of Horace :
Sermo oritur, non de villis domibusve alienis j
Nec male necne Lepos saltet: sed quod magis ad noa^
Pertinet, & nescire malum est, agitamus r utrumne
Hivitiis homines, an sint virtute beati ?
Quidve ad amiekias, u-us rectumne, trahat nos ?
Et quae sit natura boni, summumque quid ejus? &c<.
By this means constant materials are supplied for free,
easy, and spirited communication. The restraints which
are
Ic3
'ulilmrs*!.
——v
POL .[I04] POL
. , . i -(i r i ! tiie;r own contrary to the bienseances: they should seldom seem Pohtenea,
are imposed on mankmd etth r Horn "hat ^ use s„me softe.mngm.trgatmg ex-
character may suffer, or tom the apprehension ol
There is a bienseance also with regard to people ot
the lowest degree : a gentleman observes it with his foot-
° , , .1 .1 1  • cl oCccof No
cnaraeiei mcty  - - ri
offence to others, are entirely taken oft, and they ha
a sufficient quantity of current coin for all the common
PUIn°addition to virtue and knowledge, which are the
chief ingredients in the art of pleasing, we have to con¬
sider graceful and easy manners. Lord Chesterfield in¬
deed considers these as the most essential and important
part; as if the diamond received its whole value irom
the polish. But though he is unquestionably mistaken,
there is yet a certain sweetness of manners which is par¬
ticularly engaging in our commerce with the world. It
is that which constitutes the character which the French,
under the appellation of Paimable, so much talk ol, and
so lastly value. This is not so easily described as felt.
It is the compound result of different things ; as com¬
plaisance, a flexibility but not a servility ol manners, an
air of softness in the countenance, gesture, and expres¬
sion, equally whether you concur or differ with the per¬
son you converse with. This is particularly to be studi¬
ed when we are obliged to refuse a favour asked ot us,
or to say what in itself cannot be very agreeable to the
person to whom we say it. It is then the necessary gi <-
inO- of a disagreeable pill. But this, which may be call-
ed°the suaviter inmodo, would degenerate and sink into
a. mean and timid complaisance and passiveness, it not
supported by firmness and dignity of character. Hence
the Latin sentence, suaviter in modo, for titer in re, be¬
comes a useful and important maxim in life.
Genuine easy manners result from a constant attention
to the relations of persons, things, time, and places.
Were we to converse with one greatly our superior, we
are to be as easy and unembarrassed as with our equals ;
but yet every look, word, and action, should imply, with¬
out any kind of servile flattery, the greatest respect. In
mixed companies, with our equals, greater ease and i-
berty are allowed : but they too have their pioper i-
mits. There is a social respect necessary. Our words,
vestures, and attitudes, have a greater degree of latitude,
though not an unbounded one. That easiness of car¬
riage and behaviour which is exceedingly engaging,
widely differs from negligence and inattention, and by
no means implies that one may do whatever he pleases 5
it only means, that one is not to be stiff, formal, and em¬
barrassed, disconcerted and ashamed; but it requires great
attention to, and a scrupulous observation of, what the
French call ies bienseances ; a word which implies “ de¬
corum, good-breeding, and propriety.” W hatever ive
ought to do, is to be done with ease and unconcern ;
whatever is improper, must not he done at all. In mix¬
ed companies, also, different ages and sexes are to be dif¬
ferently addressed. Although we are to he equally easy
with all, old age particularly requires to he treated Avith
a degree of deference and regard. It is a good general
rule, to accustom, ourselves to have a kind feeling to
every thing connected with man, and when this is the
case’ Ave shall seldom err in the application. Another
important point in the bienseances is, not to run our oavii
present humour and disposition indiscriminately against
every body, but to observe and adopt theirs. And if we
cannot command our present humour and disposition, it
is necessary to single out those to converse Avith aa'Iio hap¬
pen to be in the humo.ur the nearest to our own. Pe«
remptoriness and decis'on, especially in young people, is
4
man, and e\ren indeed Avith the beggar in the street. 1 e
considers them as objects of compassion, not ot insult j
he speaks to neither in a harsh tone, but corrects the
one coolly, and refuses the other with humanity.
The following observations perhaps contain the sum
of the art of pleasing:
X. A fixed and habitual resolution of endeavouring
to please, is a circumstance which Avill seldom fah of
effect, and its effect will every day become more visible
as this habit increases in strength.
2. This resolution must be regulated by a very consi¬
derable degree of good sense.
3. It is a maxim of almost general application, that
what pleases us in another will also please others in us.
4. A constant and habitual attention to the difteient
dispositions of mankind, to their ruling passions, and to
their peculiar or occasional humours, is absolutely ne¬
cessary.
5. A man Avho Avould please, must possess a firm, equal,
and steady temper. And,
6. An easy and graceful manner, as distant from bash¬
fulness on the one hand as from impudence on the other.
“ He who thinks himself sure of pleasing (says Lord
Chesterfield), and he who despairs of it, are equally sure
to fail.” And he is undoubtedly m the right. 1 he one,
by his assuming vanity, is inattentive to the means of
pleasing •, and the other from fear, is rendered mcapaole
of employing them. > ,
A variety of excellent rules for acquiring politeness,
"with strictures on particular kinds of impoliteness, maj
be found in the Spectator, Rambler, Idler, Lounger,
Mirror, and other periodical Avorks of that kind j in
Knox's Essays, and among Swift's Works ; see Good
Manners, Chesterfield's Art ofi Fleasing, and h\s Letters,
are also worthy of perusal, provided the reader be on his
guard against the insincerity and other vices which those
hooks are calculated to infuse, and provided he always
bear in mind, what Ave have endeavoured to show in this
article, that true politeness does not consist in specious
manners and a dissimulating address, but that it must
always be founded on real worth and intrinsic viitue.
FOLITIAN, Angelo, Avas born at Monte Pulciano
in Tuscany in 1454* learned the Greek tongue, of
Avhich he became a complete master, under Andronicus
of Thessalonica. He is said to have written verses both
in Greek and Latin when he was not more than 12 years
of age. He studied also the Platonic philosophy under
Marsilius Ficinus, and that of Aristotle under Argyro-
pylus. He Avas one of the most learned and polite Avri-
ters of his time. The first Avork which gained him a
reputation Avas a poem on the tournament of Julian de
Medicis. The account he Avrote some time after of
the conspiracy of the PazzPs Avas very much esteem¬
ed. He Avrote many other pieces Avhich have merited
approbation j and had he lived longer, he Avould have
enriched the republic of letters Avith many excellent
Avorks 5 but he died at the age of 40 years. His mo¬
rals ansAvered the homeliness of his face rather than the
beauty of Ins genius, for Paul Joauus informs us, that
“ he was a man of awkAvard and perverse manners, ot
POL [ 105 ] POL
Politian a countenance by no means open and liberal, a nose re-
[| markably large, and squinting eyes. He was crafty,
Political satirical, and full of inward malice : for his constant
\nthuietic. way waSj t0 sneer an(j ridicule the productions of other
men, and never to allow any criticism, however just,
upon his own.”
He was, nevertheless, as all acknowledged, a man of
most consummate erudition j and not only so, but a very
polite and elegant writer. Erasmus, in his Ciceronianus,
calls him a rare miracle of nature, on account of his ex¬
celling in every kind of writing ; his words are remark¬
able : “ Fateor Angelum prorsus angelica fuisse mente,
rarum natures miraculum, ad quodcunque scripti genus
applicaret animum. Some of his poems were so much
admired, that several learned men have made it their
business to comment on them. It has been often report¬
ed that he spoke of the Bible with great contempt j and
that, having read it but once, he complained he had ne¬
ver spent his time so ill. But this is not probable, for
it must be remembered that he was a priest and canon of
Florence \ and we learn from one of his Epistles that
he preached a whole Lent. It does not indeed follow
hence, that he did not think contemptuously of the Bible,
because many of his church, especially among the better
sort, have not been very good believers, and he might be
one ot them : but it is not likely he would speak out so
freely. “ I could (as Bayle says) much more easily
believe the judgment he is said to have made on the
Psalms of David and the Odes of Pindar: he did not
deny that there are many good and fine things in the
Psalms j but he pretended that the same things appear
in Pindar with more brightness and sweetness. The two
Scaligers have spoken highly of Politian : the elder has
preferred a consolatory elegy of his to that which Ovid
sent to Livia upon the death of Drusus, and says, he
had rather have been the author of it : the younger calls
him an excellent poet, but thinks the style of his epistles
too elate and declamatory.
His works have been printed at various times, and
in various jdaces: his epistles have probably been most
read, because these are things which the generality of
people are best pleased with.
POLITICAL, from ttoXis, “ a city,” signifies any
thing that relates to policy or civil government.
Political Arithmetic, is the art of reasoning by fi¬
gures upon matters relating to government, such as the
revenues, number of people, extent and value of land,
taxes, trade, &c. in any nation.
These calculations are generally made with a view to
ascertain the comparative strength, prosperity, &c. of
any two or more nations. With this view, Sir William
Petty, in his Political Arithmetic, p. 74, &c. computes
the land of Holland and Zealand to be about 1,000,000
acres, and that of France to be 8,000,000 j and yet the
former is one-third part as rich and strong as the lat¬
ter. The shipping of Europe he computes to be about
2,ooo,oco: of which Britain has 500,000; Plolland
900,000; France 100,000; Hamburgh, Denmark,
Sweden, and Dantzic 250,000 ; and Spain, Portugal,
Italy, &c. the rest. The exports of France he com¬
putes at 5,000,000!. of which one-fourth came to
Britain; of Holland i8,ooo,oool. of which 300,000!.
came to Britain. The money raised yearly by the king
of France was about 6,500,000!. Sterling ; that of all
the Dutch provinces 3,000,000!. of which 2,100,000
VOL. XVII. Part. I. f
was raised in Holland and Zealand. The number of political
people in England he computed to be six millions, and Arithmetic.
their expences, at 7I. per annum a head, 42,000,000k ; 1 v 1
the rent of land 8,000,000k and the interests, &c. of
personal estates as much; the rents of houses 4,000,000k
and the profits of labour 26,000,000k The people of
Ireland he reckoned 1,200,000. The corn spent in
England, at 5s. a bushel for wheat, and 2s. 6d. for bar¬
ley, amounts to 10,000,000k a-year. The navy of
England then required 36,000 men to man it, and other
trade and shipping 48,000. In France, to manage the
whole shipping trade, there were then required only 1500
men. The whole people of France were 13,500,000;
and those of England, Scotland, and Ireland, about
9,500,000. In the three kingdoms are about 20,000
churchmen, and in France more than 270,000. In the
dominions of England were above 40,000 seamen, and in
France not more than 10,000. In England, Scotland,
and Ireland, and all their dependencies, there was then
about 60,000 ton of shipping, worth about 4, ^00,000k
in money. The sea line round England, Scotland, and
Ireland, and the adjacent isles, is about 3800 miles. In
the whole world he reckoned about 350,000,000 of peo¬
ple ; and those with whom the English and Dutch have
any commerce, not more than eighty millions ; and the
value of commodities annually traded for in the whole
not above 45,000,000k That the manufactures ex¬
ported from England amounted to about 5,000,000k per
annum; lead, tin, and coals, to 500,000k per annum.
The value of the French commodities then brought
into England did not exceed 1,200,000k per annum;
and the whole cash of England in current money was
then about 6,000,000k Sterling.
With these calculations Dr Davenantwas dissatisfied;
and therefore, from the observations of Mr Greg. King,
he advanced others of his own. He reckons the land of
England 39 millions of acres : the number of people 3
millions and a half, increasing 9000 a-year, making al¬
lowance for wars, plagues, and other accidents. He
reckons the inhabitants of London 530,000 : of other
cities and market-towns in England 870,000 ; and those
of villages, &c. 4,100,000. The yearly rent of land
he reckons 10,000,000k; of houses, &c. 2,000,000k ;
the produce of all kinds of grain in a tolerable year
9,075,000k ; the annual rent of corn lands 2,200,0001.
and the net produce 9,000,000k; the rent of pa¬
sture, meadows, woods, forests, commons, heaths, &c.
7,000,000k ; the annual produce by cattle in butter,
cheese, and milk, about 2,500,000k ; the value of
the wool yearly shorn about 2,000,000k ; of horses
yearly bred about 250,000k; of the flesh yearly spent
as food about 3,350,000k; of the tallow and hides
about 600,000k; of the hay yearly consumed by horses
about 1,300,000k; of the hay consumed by other
cattle 1,000,000k ; of the timber yearly felled for build¬
ing 500,000k ; and of the timber yearly felled for fir¬
ing, &c. about 500,000k The proportion of the land
of England to its inhabitants is now about 7^ acres per
head ; the value of the wheat, rye, and barley, necessary
for the sustenance of England, amounts to at least
6,000,000k Sterling per annum ; of the woollen ma¬
nufacture about 8,000,000k per annum ; and exports of
all kinds of the woollen manufacture amount to above
2,ooo,oook per annum ; the annual income of England,
on which the whole people subsist, and out of which all
O taxes
POL [ ic
t;i vps are paid, is reckoned to be about 43,000,000). t.iat
of France 8i,000,000l. and of Holland 18,250,000).
See Davenant’s Essay on Trade, in vol. vi. of his works.
For calculations respecting mortality, see Major Grant s
Observations on the Bills of Mortality) and our aiticle
Bills of Mortality.
In vol, xlix. of the Philosophical Transactions we have
an estimate of the number of people in England by Dr
Brakenridge, from considering the number of houses and
quantity of bread consumed. On the former principle
he computes the number of people to be 6,257,410 of
all ages, counting in England and Wales 911,310 houses,
and allowing six persons to a house. I rom a survey of
the window-lights after the year 1750, the number of
houses charged in England and Wales was 690,000,
besides 200,000 cottages that pay nothing j the whole
number therefore was 890,000, and the number ol peo¬
ple, allowing six to a house, 5,340,000. On the latter
principle, he estimates the number of quarters of wheat
consu med at home to be 2,026,100 J and allowing a
quarter for three persons in a year, or seven ounces a day
for each person, he concludes the number of people to
be 6,078,300. Of this number, according to Dr Hal¬
ley’s rule^he supposes about 1,500,000 men able tocarry
arms. The country he supposes capable of supporting
one half more inhabitants, or 9,000,000 •, for, accor ding
to Mr Templeman’s survey, England contains 49,450
square miles,thatis,3 r,648,oooacres,of which 23,000,000
POLITICAL
MAY be defined the science which relates to the pro¬
duction, multiplication and distribution of Wealth.
HISTORY.
The acquisition of wealth must at all times have been
an object of interest and attention to mankind. Yet it
•was not for a long time reduced into a science, but was
left merely to the industry and practical observation of
men engaged in the different branches of industry. We
find little or nothing in the ancient writers which can
be considered as belonging to this department of science.
Among them agriculture appears to have been more
honoured and attended to, than either trade or manufac¬
tures. The latter especially were considered as unworthy
of freemen, and were abandoned entirely to slaves. Yet
the ancient world had its commercial states ; and per¬
haps had the monuments of Phenician or Carthaginian
literature come down to us, they might in some measure
have supplied this blank.
During the middle ages, the reign of disorder and
violence checked the practical, and still more the theo¬
retical pursuit of these important objects. The feudal
system, in which the lordly baron ruled with licentious
sway over his little territory, and carried on almost per¬
petual war with his neighbours, was hostile to all im¬
proved agriculture, and absolutely precluded any pro¬
gress in manufactures and commerce. These took re¬
fuge in the large maritime towns, where fortifications
secured the inhabitants from lawless inroads, and a regu-
x
5 ] POL
acres are proper to be cultivated j and allowing three p0]xtiCiri
acres, well manured, for the maintenance of one person, Arithmetic,
there will be maintenance in England for 8,430,000
people ; to which add the produce of fishing, and it will
enable the country to support 9,000,000. In Ireland,
Mr Temple man reckons 17,536,000 acres, of which Dr
Brakenridge thinks 12,000,000 are capable of cultiva¬
tion •, and allowing four acres to each person, and the
number of inhabitants to be only 1,000,000, Ireland
could maintain 2,000,000 more people than it has
now. In Scotland, containing 1,500,000 people, and
17 728,000 acres ol land, of which there are x 1,000,000
good acres, allowing five for each person, he supposes
there may be provision for 2,200,000 people, or for
700,000 more than there are at present. Hence he
infers, that were both the British isles properly cultivat¬
ed, there is a provision for 6,000,000 inhabitants beyond
the present number. Extending his survey to the whole
globe, he supposes the whole surface to be to the quan¬
tity of land as 8 to 3,?. e. as 1971^19,550 to 74,182,331
square miles ; out of which deducting one-third tor
waste-ground, there will be 49,454,887 square miles, or
31,651,127,680 good acres. And stating the whole
number of inhabitants on the globe to be 400,000,000,
there will be 79 good acres to each person. See Dr
Halley’s Calculations on the same subject,andH/'P/'/ce 5
(for a list of whose works see his life at the word Price),
and King on the National Debt.
ECONOMY
lar police placed person and property in safety. The
gradual growth of these cities constituted tlm grand
cause winch induced the civilization of modern Europe.
The models of beautiful workmanship which were pro¬
duced, and the various means which ingenuity discover¬
ed for multiplying the accommodations of life, gradual¬
ly brought about a complete change in the habits of
landed proprietors. Power, not wealth, had foimerly
been their object; and to promote this power, they spent
almost all their revenues in maintaining a crowd of idle
retainers. But when, by the improvement of arts, they
had got a taste for luxury, the gratification of which re¬
quired an augmentation of wealth, their object came to be,
how to turn their estates to the best account. This could
only be done by granting the farmer a longer lease, which,
enabling him to make improvements, led to a better system
of agriculture. The same tastes drew them to large cities,
and thus led them into extravagant habits, which often
brought their estates to market, and placed them in the
hands of the commercial and industrious. Thus the im¬
provement of modern Europe, contrary to the natural
course of things, began with the manufacturing and com¬
mercial classes, anil was from them reflected to the agri¬
cultural part of the community. The consequence was,
that commerce and manufactures were long looked upon
as the grand source of wealth, and were the objects of pe¬
culiar favour to the legislator. Hence arose the mercantile
system, which, till about the middle of the last century,^
was completely predominant in Europe. A sketch ol
its leading principles will be introduced in the course of
Dhap. I. POLITIC AI
History, the present treatise, and they are fully detailed and sup-
  ":v- ' ported in the writings of Davenant, Petty, Child, and
other writers by whom its tenets were adopted.
This system had a powerful influence on the legislation
of the different European nations, England not except¬
ed. But in France, above all, it reigned with absolute
sway. Colbert, the celebrated minister of Lewis XIV.
in his zeal for the promotion of trade and manufactures,
not only neglected, hut even depressed agriculture, by
laving absurd restraints on the exportation of corn. One
extreme leads to another. Thinking men in France,
observing the pernicious consequences of this system,
were led to the adoption of one directly opposite. Ac¬
cording to them, agriculture formed the only real source
of wealth. This opinion was first advanced by M. Ques-
nay, a physician of Paris •, he was followed by a multi¬
tude of philosophers, who espoused his opinion with all
the union and zeal of a sect. Accordingly they went
under the name of Economists, and the Economical Sect.
The Encyclopedic of Diderot and D’Alembert was con¬
ducted entirely upon their principles, and tended to give
them a wide circulation. Turgot, in the reforms which
he undertook during his short administration, was chief¬
ly guided by the principles of the Economists.
Soon after this, Scotland had the honour of produ¬
cing a system, which has obtained the general approba¬
tion of thinking men, and has gradually superseded all
others. Adam Smith, being professor in the first com¬
mercial city of Scotland, had his attention naturally
drawn to these subjects. In his class he had already
begun to illustrate the true principles of political econo¬
my. Travelling afterwards in France, he became ac¬
quainted with the leading members of the Economical
school. On his return he spent nine years in maturing
his ideas, and preparing his great work “ On the Wealth
of Nations,” which was published in 1776. Here, like
the Economists, he shewed the errors of the mercantile
system, but in a much more solid and satisfactory man¬
ner. He shewed also their own principles to be in many
respects erroneous *, and he investigated the effects of the
division of labour, and various other circumstances which
had not occurred to any former writer.
Although the system of Smith gave general satisfac¬
tion to all who were able to investigate the subject, and
though it was even adopted by Mr Pitt as the basis of
his financial and commercial arrangements, yet it did
not for a long time acquire a very general currency with
the public. It was adopted by the learned only, and
not always by them (a). In this respect, the publication
of the Edinburgh Review may be considered as forming
an era in the history of this science. This celebrated
journal, by illustrating in a popular manner the leading
subjects of political economy, and by beating down, with
its keen powers of ridicule, the opinions of those who still
adhered to the obsolete system, has done more towards
diffusing the true principles of the science, than any for¬
mer publication. Lord Lauderdale also has recently
published a work, in which, with some paradoxes, he has
ECONOMY. 107
made also some important additions and corrections to Nature of
the doctrine of Smith. Wealth,
In the following sketch, considering Smith as the fa- ^•c*
ther of political economy, we shall closely follow his
steps, adopting however a somewhat different arrange¬
ment, and including such improvements as the science
has received since his time.
The subject, it appears to us, may be treated with
advantage under the following heads :
I. The nature and different species of wealth.
II. The sources of wealth.
III. The manner in which wealth is produced and
distributed.
IV. Views of the mercantile and economical systems,
V. Public revenue.
These topics will form the subjects of the following
chapters.
Chap. I. On the Nature and different Species of
Wealth.
Sect. I. Of the Definition of Wealth; and of Price.
Wealth has been defined to consist of every thing
which can be exchanged for another. Lord Lauder¬
dale gives a more general definition, and considers it as
consisting of every thing which is useful or agreeable to
man*. We conceive, however, that this must be limit-* Lauder.
ed to objects of external accommodation ; for knowledge on
and mental qualifications of every kind, though mostc^'
useful and agreeable, cannot be said to constitute wealth, fSUi ,r,a
nor to form the subject of political economy. Again,view s°
external accommodations, which are in complete andviii art. 8.
universal abundance, the air wTe breath, the light of hea¬
ven, are not wealth. To constitute this, the article must
exist in some degree of scarcity. It is then only that it
can possess an exchangeable value, that its possessor can
procure other commodities in return for it. Thus there
are two circumstances to be considered in any commo¬
dity ; its value in list, and its value in exchange. Water,
air, &c. are of the greatest use ; but from their great
abundance, nothing can be got in exchange for them.
Diamonds, on the contrary, are of very little use, but
from their great rarity, their exchangeable value, or
price, is beyond that of any other substance.
The price of an article depends entirely upon two
circumstances. 1. The demand, or the number of per¬
sons who desire to possess it, and have something to give
in exchange, 2. The supply, or the quantity brought
to market. The price is directly as the demand, and
inversely as the supply $ the former raises, the latter
sinks it. Where there are many bidders, and where
the quantity is small, the competition must be increased,
each must seek to outbid the other, and the price of the
commodity must rise. On the contrary, if the bidders
are few, and the commodity in great abundance, the
possessor, in order to dispose of it, will be under the ne¬
cessity of oft’ering it at a low price.
O 2 Sect
(a) In the scarcity of 1799 or 1800, the university of Cambridge was announced in the newspapers as having
subscribed 50I. to be employed in the apprehension of regraters and fore stallers ! !
io8
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
Chap. I.
Nature of
Wealth,
&C.
* Book ii.
ch. iii.
f Lauder¬
dale on
Wealth.
Sect. II. Of Capital.
Every man’s wealth is of two kinds } the one which
he lays aside for immediate consumption 5 the other
which he reserves for the supply oi luture wants, or
employs in such a manner as to make it produce new
wealth. The former is called his income, the latter
his capital. In proportion as he devotes his property to
the former of these purposes, his wealth is diminished j
in proportion as he devotes it to the latter, it is increas¬
ed. This evidently takes place in the case of an indi¬
vidual ; and Smith seems to consider it as taking place
equally in the case of a nation *. Later inquirers, how¬
ever, seem to have proved, that there is here a difler-
ence. Extreme parsimony throughout a nation, by
preventing the production ot all articles but those of the
first necessity, would induce general poverty f. Still,
however, it is essential to the prosperity of a people,
that their annual produce should not be all consumed,
but that a considerable portion should be set aside and
converted into capital.
Capital is divided into fixed and circulating. Fixed
capital consists of all those articles, which, without be¬
ing themselves calculated for exchange or consumption,
tend to increase the production of those articles which
are so. Such are all kinds of machinery, farming stock,
erections for the purpose of mining or manufacture,
ships, &c. These form a most valuable part of the
property of the nation, and make its revenue much
greater than it would otherwise be. At the same time,
as they are of no use in themselves, provided the same
effects can be produced without them, or by cheaper
instruments, their disuse, by saving expence, forms a
real addition to the national wealth.
Circulating capital consists of all those commodities
which are produced or purchased for the purpose of be¬
ing wrought upon, or transported elsewhere, and again
sold. It comprises almost all the wealth not included
under fixed capital. The seed corn of the farmer, the
materials of the manufacturer, the goods purchased by
the merchant, come all under this description. Lands,
mines, and fisheries, are the sources from which circu¬
lating capital originally proceeds 5 whence, after passing
through various hands, it arrives at length, and is lost,
in those of the consumer.
Sect. III. Of Money %.
Iv.'ti'.Book Barter, or tlie exchange of one thing for another
ii. cli.’ii. of equal value, is essential to the supply of the varied
wants of man, and is the grand principle on which com¬
merce depends. Thus it is that men, while merely
consulting their own interests, minister to each others
necessities. It is attended, however, with an obvious
inconvenience. A man may have goods to exchange,
which do not suit his neighbour. The farmer has a
sheep, and is in want of cloth 5 but the cloth merchant
may not be in want of mutton, or at least may not wish
so large a quantity. Hence the necessity of finding
some commodity which may at all times be in demand,
and which every one may be ready to receive in ex¬
change for every other article. This commodity-ought
evidently to possess some quality which may render it
an object of universal estimation ; it ought also to pos¬
sess great value in a small compass, so as to be portable, Nature of
and not to encumber its possessor } it ought to be dm- ’Wealth,
sible into the smallest portions ; and it ought to be du-
rable, so as to be capable of being treasured up till
wanted. All these qualities are united in the precious
metals. Their beauty, their durability, their very scar- =
city, render them better fitted than any other commo¬
dity for being the standard of value and the medium of
exchange. All nations, accordingly, after a trial ot
some ruder expedients, have finally had recourse t»
them for this purpose. _ / .
Money is in one view a fixed, and in another a cir¬
culating capital. rI 0 the individual it stands m the lat¬
ter capacity, for no one receives money unless for the
purpose of sooner or latter exchanging it for something
else. To the nation, however, it is a fixed capital }
being not destined for consumption, but merely an in¬
strument for transacting business with greater facility
and advantage.
As the facility of exchanging the precious metals tor
every other commodity, renders the demand for them
constant and universal, their price depends almost whol¬
ly on the supply. This, too, is more uniform than that
of most other commodities. A great revolution, how¬
ever, took place at the beginning of the 16th century,
in consequence of the discovery of America. lor some
time before, the value of silver seems rather to have
been rising. But the immense mines of Mexico and
Peru furnished such a copious supply, as soon reduced it
to about one-third of its former value. Smith is ot
opinion, that since that time there has been rather a
rise in the value of these metals. The East Indies,
where they still continue scarcer than in Europe, forms
a constant drain. The mines, in the course of working,
approach nearer to an exhaustion; accordingly, the
king of Spain, who originally levied a tax amounting
to half the produce of silver, has found it necessary to
reduce it successively to one-third, one-fifth, and at last,
to one-tenth. The tax on gold is reduced to one-twen-
tieth. The annual importation of gold and silver into
Spain is estimated at about six millions.
It has been a frequent practice with sovereigns to re¬
duce the quantity of bullion in any given denomination
of coin, and thus to pay their debts with a smaller
amount of gold and silver-. To such an extent has this
practice been carried, that in England the pound ster¬
ling is not quite a third of the real pound of silver, and
in France the depreciation is far greater. This practice
is completely fraudulent and dishonourable. No power
of the sovereign can really make this debased coin pass
for as much as it formerly did ; the consequence is, an
immediate rise in the nominal or money price of every
commodity. All those, however, who are in the pay
of government, suffer, and so do all creditors both public
and private ; for though the law cannot compel the na¬
tion to set the same value on the new- coin as on the
old, it can compel the creditor to accept it in payment
of the sums wbicl} he has previously advanced in good
coin.
All states reserve to themselves the privilege of coin¬
ing money. Some, as England, perform this office
gratis; while others, as France, impose a small seigno¬
rage at the mint. The latter mode seems rather pre¬
ferable : for when the circulating coin, as frequently
happens, is reduced by long use and attrition, beneath its
real
"hap. I.
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
I09
Mature of
'Wealth,
&c.
Smith,
ook ii.
Kdin-
'.rgh Re-
ew, N° i,
it 25-
real value in bullion, the issuing of new coin which pos¬
sesses that value a fiords a temptation to melt it down
and recoin it.
Sect. IV. Of Paper Money *.
Money, we have had occasion to observe, considered
in a national point of view, is fixed capital. Like other
fixed capitals, therefore, although its functions be most
essential to the maintenance of trade, yet if any less
costly substitute can be found, by which the same func¬
tions may be equally Well performed, the public is de¬
cidedly a gainer. Such a substitute is paper money.
By employing it, a nation saves the expence of gold and
silver, and at the same time derives all the commercial
advantages which money can afford. It is even in some
respects more convenient, as being more easily transport¬
ed, and less liable to accident.
There are, however, extraordinary dangers attending
the excessive and incautious use of this instrument, and
no cause perhaps has been productive of more signal
commercial disasters. The apparent facility of thus
creating wealth, as it were, tempts banks and other pub¬
lic bodies to an excessive issue of it. The circulation of
the country, however, can absorb only a certain quanti¬
ty 5 and as soon as more is thrown in, it immediately re¬
turns upon the issuer, in a quantity for which he is pro¬
bably unprepared. As soon as he shows any hesitation
in discharging the demand, the whole rushes in, and
bankruptcy and ruin ensue. Where the paper indeed
has been issued by the government, payment may be re¬
fused •, but in this case an immediate depreciation takes
place in the value of the notes, and a deep injury is
sustained by all who are possessed of them. From this
cause it was that the French assignats fell so far below
their original value j and for the same reason the Ame¬
rican currency is considerably beneath its nominal value.
Where, however, peculiar circumstances have produced
an accidental scarcity of money, a temporary suspension
of payment may become necessary, and with due cau¬
tion may be productive of no serious bad consequen¬
ces 5 such has been lately the case of the bank of Eng¬
land f.
Banks can with no propriety advance to merchants
the whole capital on which they trade, but only that
part of it which they would otherwise be obliged to
keep bv them for the purpose of answering occasional
demands. This they do in two ways. 1. By discount¬
ing bills. 2. By granting cash accounts. The former
only of these is practised in England. The latter is pe¬
culiar to Scotland. It is managed thus. Two persons
of respectable, commonly of landed, property, becoming
caution to the extent of a certain sum, the merchant is
allowed to draw to the extent of that sum. Merchants,
however, do not always content themselves with the de¬
gree of assistance above pointed out. They endeavour to
carry on extensive speculations merely on paper money.
For this purpose they draw fictitious bills for the mere
purpose of having them discounted 5 and by drawing a se¬
cond before the first becomes due, they delay still farther
the repayment of the original advance. Banks ought
always, if possible, to avoid the discounting of fictitious
bills 5 and should take care, in cash accounts, that the ad¬
vances and repayments nearly keep pace with each other.
tVealtl),
&e.
In this case there is little danger of an over issue of Nature of
notes.
It does not appear eligible, however, that gold and
silver should be entirely supplanted by paper money. In v
all transactions with foreign nations, the former be¬
comes necessary ; and even domestic inconveniences
would arise from its absolute exclusion. For the preven¬
tion of this, it is adviseable not to isue notes below a
certain value. In England, this, till of late was fixed
at five or ten pounds ; though in a recent scarcity, notes
for twenty shillings began to be issued. In Scotland
these have long been in circulation 5 and notes even for
five shillings were some time ago introduced, though
these, as soon as the pressure of necessity admitted, have
been discontinued.
Sect. V. Of the Variations in the Prices oj Commo¬
dities.
The price of commodities fundamentally depends on
the capacity which they possess, of ministering to the
use and pleasure of man. Great variations, however,
are seen to take place ; and in this country particularly,
in consequence of national prosperity, a great rise has
occurred in a variety of articles. This is vulgarly as¬
cribed to the greater plenty of money; an assertion eve¬
ry way vague, and which has no foundation in fact.
Had the increase taken place in consequence of any re¬
markable increase in the supply of gold and silver,
through the discovery of new mines, the assertion would
have been just. No such general increase, however,
has taken place, at least to any very sensible degree.
The increase in this particular country has been owing
to the augmentation in the number and value of all
other commodities, for the circulation of which a great¬
er quantity of this instrument of exchange becomes ne¬
cessary. The relation, however, between it and other
commodities, continues unaltered ; and the quantity of
any particular commodity, for which a certain quantity
of it can be exchanged, remains the -same. Indeed the
augmentation has taken place, not so much in gold and
silver, as in paper money, the substitute of those metals.
The same arguments would hold against a rise occasion¬
ed by the use of this instrument, which can happen only
where it is depreciated, as in some government paper,
by the refusal of payment on demand. This case, how¬
ever, would be indicated by a difference between its va¬
lue and that of gold and silver \ a difference which has
no place in this country.
Smith has illustrated*, in a most able and satisfac-* Book i.
tory manner, the source of those variations of price, chap. xi.
which take place in consequence of advancing cultiva¬
tion. He divides commodities into three kinds, which
are as follows:
The first consists of those productions of nature which
human efforts have no power of multiplying. Such are
a variety of rare birds and fishes, most kinds of game,
and particularly birds of passage. The growth of
wealth and population has a natural tendency to increase
the demand for these articles $ and as the supply cannot
be made to meet this demand, the price must conse¬
quently rise. Accordingly, in a highly opulent state
of society, it becomes, in some instances, enormous.
The Roman epicures are said sometimes to have given
60I. or Sol. for a single bird.
The
no
Nature, of
Wealth,
Ste.
POLITICAL
The second sort Is of those which human industry can
multiply in proportion to the demand. Where the
commodity, as corn, is such as cannot be produced but
by human industry, the price is more uniform than m
almost any other case. The increasing scarcity ami
consequently value oi land, tends indeed to imst it}
hut this is counteracted by the invention of machinery,
and improved methods of labour. The opposite agency
of these two causes has a constant tendency to preserve
uniformity in the value of grain ; though we cannot,
with Smith, consider this uniformity as likely to be so
complete, as to render the prim of grain a sure standard
for the value of silver.
There are other commodities, however, which nature
produces in abundance, or which, where land is plenti¬
ful, can be multiplied with little or no cultivation.
these the principal is butcher meat. Lands can be co¬
vered with cattle or sheep by the labour of lew hands,
and sometimes without any labour at all. Hence, m
rude times, butcher meat is always cheaper than corn *,
in improved periods, the reverse is the case. I or a long
time the price continues constantly to rise, as we have
seen it do throughout Great Britain, the pasture lands
being more and more converted into arable. At last,
however, it becomes so high as to make it an object tor
the farmer to stall his cattle, and to cultivate ground
for the purpose of feeding them. After this era, the
price is likely to experience a certain diminution, irom
the improved modes of feeding and rearing, which, in
consequence of this newr attention, aie likely to he t is
covered and adopted.
There are certain animals, as hogs, poultry, otc.
which are fed on mere ollals, and in a rude state, there¬
fore, are still cheaper than butcher meat. In an im¬
proved state they are dearer j for they have not as yet,
at least in this country, become an object of separate
cultivation. . , . . .. i.
The third sort consists of those, in the multiplication
of which the power of man is either limited or uncer¬
tain. In these the rule is various. Some commodities
are not cultivated on their own account, but are appen¬
dages to others •, as wool and hides to the carcase of the
ox*or sheep. Both these commodities are much more
portable, and more easily preserved, than the flesh of
the animals from which they are taken ; the market for
them is thus much more extensive, and the demand
more equal at all times. Hence, in rude periods, when
the flesh of animals, from its abundance, is of small va¬
lue, these appendages equal or surpass it in price. At
Buenos Ayres frequently, and sometimes even in Spain,
an ox is killed for the sake of the hide and tallow. In
an improved state of society, on the contrary, the hide
and fleece become considerably inferior in value to the
Fish is an article, the supply of which is considerably
limited, as man has no power of production in respect
to it, though, by the exertion of industry, he can col¬
lect a greater quantity. Shoals of fish are generally co¬
pious, but uncertain.
Metals and minerals are articles, the supply of which
is not precisely limited, hut extremely uncertain. The
discovery of new mines, or the continuance of fertility
in the old, are equally beyond the reach of calcula¬
tion.
ECONOMY.
Chap. II. Of the Sources of Wealth.
Chap. II.
Source of
W ealth.
All wealth arises from three sources •, it is either
produced by the spontaneous bounty of nature, or it is
the fruit of human industry, or it is generated by the
judicious employment of a quantity of wealth previously
accumulated. To these three heads then ot land, la¬
bour, and capital, all national wealth may be re¬
ferred.
Smith has treated of the revenue derived from these
three sources as forming the constituent parts of the
price of commodities j and with regard to labour in
particular, repeatedly considers it as the only souice of
wealth *. According to the view, however, given above, ^ ^
the price of ali commodities depends entirely on the pro¬
portion between the demand and the supply. Labour,
therefore, (and the same may he said ol land and capi¬
tal), is only a means of furnishing or increasing a supply
of those articles for which there already exists a demand,
and unless it be successful in so doing, the most severe
labours will meet with no remuneration whatever. Me
shall therefore proceed to consider the revenue which
arises from these different sources, and the circumstances
by which it is increased or diminished.
Sect. I. Land.
All land which is not naturally barren, and is culti¬
vated with any ease, affords something more than is
necessary to pay the expence of labouring it. Ibis sur¬
plus goes as a rent to the landlord, who, in considera¬
tion of receiving it without risk or trouble, relinquishes
to the farmer the profits of cultivation.
The proportion of the produce ol a field which is to
go for rent, varies with different circumstances. T-he
chief of these is the fertility ol the soil, the extent ol
the market, which enables the produce to he disposed of
to greater advantage, the prosperity or poverty oi the
country, which causes a greater or less demand for that
produce, and the average skill and activity ol the far¬
mers, which will enable them to turn the fertility ot
the ground to better account. It is almost needless to
observe, were it not for the vague language often made
use of upon this subject, that the rate at which farms
let, must, like all other commodities, depend altogether
upon the demand and the supply. 11 much is to be
made by farming, many will bid for larms, and the
rent will be raised by their competition, and vice versa.
The idea that all the landlords of an extensive country
may combine to raise their rents, is altogether chimeri¬
cal. Even could it take place, it could he accomplished
only by a certain number ol them allowing their lands
to lie waste, which diminishing the supply, would
doubtless raise the rent ol the cultivated lands. But
we need not fear that any landlord should leave his
lands in this condition, from a culpable scheme of ag¬
grandizing the rest ot his body at his own expence, as
well as that of the public.
Land which produces food for man will at all times
afford rent to the landlord, in proportion to its fertility,
and the other circumstances mentioned above. Men
multiply in proportion to the means of subsistence j they
have even a constant tendency to multiply beyond these
means j hence there is always a full demand for this
Chap. II. POLITICAL
[Nature of species of produce. The rent, therefore, afforded by
Wealth, the ground which is employed in cultivating whatever
is the staple food of the community, regulates the rent
' y of all other ground. No one, unless forced to it by pe¬
culiarities of soil, would cultivate any article which af¬
forded less rent than this. There may be soils indeed
which are only fit for the production of an inferior ar¬
ticle, and there are others which are fitted for the pro¬
duction of those of higher value. In vine countries, the
rent of an ordinary vineyard seems to be nearly on a le¬
vel with that of corn. But there are others, whose
wines being regarded as superior, make them yield a
much higher rent. The West India islands, before
the late depreciation of their produce, seem to have
been nearly in the same predicament.
These observations, however, apply chiefly to that
produce of land which is the result of human labour.
In regard to the spontaneous produce of land, it depends
upon circumstances, whether or not it yields any rent at
all. In a rude state of society, above all, the demand
is often so slender, that, unless through the intervention
of foreign commerce, this produce will bear scarcely
any value. Such countries are often covered with im¬
mense natural woods, the cutting down of which is a
burden instead of an advantage. In an improved coun¬
try this wood would afford a large revenue. Most of
the materials of clothing and lodging are of this nature.
In the infancy of society, the great object is food ; and
provided men can procure that, they are satisfied with
very moderate accommodations in other respects. The
hides and furs of their cattle, and of the wild animals
whom they kill in hunting, are more than sufficient to
supply them with coverings. But as society becomes
opulent, and luxury is introduced, clothes are among the
favourite objects on which this luxury is vented. A
great increase therefore takes place in the demand for
its materials. The same may be said of those of lodg¬
ing and furniture.
Mines, in political economy, may be considered in the
same light as land. Like it, they yield a rent, which,
however, from the difficulty of working, is generally less
than that of land. Coal, an important article, is kept
down both by its great bulk, which narrows the market,
and by its relation to the price of wood, which price it
cannot exceed, otherwise wood would be preferred as
fuel. A fifth of the whole produce is reckoned a great
rent for a coal mine j a tenth is the most common.
Metals, even the coarse, and still more the fine, will
bear very extensive carriage. In general, however, their
rent is not very high. The tin mines of Cornwall, said
to be the richest in the world, yield on an average only a
sixth part of their gross produce. The king of Spain’s
tax of a fifth on the silver mines in America, formed
indeed the rent of those mines ; but this tax he was oh-
Smith lige(l 1° reduce to one tenth. It is said to be ill paid *.
| ok i. ch. Fisheries form another source of wealth similar to
land and mines. The sea, however, has never yet been
appropriated, nor a rent exacted for its use. The right
of fishing, however, in some seas of peculiar fertility,
has been claimed as national property. River fisheries
let frequently at a very high rent.
Sect. II. Labour.
The great source of exchangeable commodities, is the
labour ol man. Even those powers of nature for which
ECONOMY. in
rent is paid, rarely afford any thing valuable unless aid- yjatare of
ed by human efforts. Capital, however powerful an in- Wealth,
strument, consists merely of accumulated labour. Ori- &c-
ginally the fruit of every man’s industry would belong 'V—
entirely to himself. Soon, however, the proprietor of the
land from which he drew food, would claim a share. As
the structure of society became more complicated, and
markets more remote, something more would be found
requisite. It would be necessary to have subsistence
while the article was producing and carrying to market,
to be able to purchase materials on which to work, and
to command machinery or fixed capital in order to ren¬
der labour more productive. For all these purposes,
capital would become necessary \ and the person who
had accumulated a portion ot it would be able to com¬
mand tbe services of several others, to whom he rvould
advance subsistence and the materials of working, and
would receive in return the fj-uits of their labour. As
capitals accumulate, this becomes almost universally the
case j in a commercial state, few independent workmen
are to be found.
The price of labour or wages is regulated, like every
thing else, by the demand and the supply. If there arc
many who want and can employ workmen, and if few
can be found, the competition of the masters will raise
the wages, until the whole capital, not otherwise employ¬
ed, is distributed among that small number. In the op¬
posite circumstance, workmen, glad to work for any
thing rather than starve, will bid against each other till
all are employed, at however small a recompense. The
combinations among workmen, so much complained of,
can never have any permanent effect, unless accompanied
by those circumstances which necessarily lead to a rise.
The combination of masters, though less heard of, is
more to be feared. Their numbers are smaller, and
from their greater command of property, they can hold
out for a longer time. From the above causes, however,
there is no reason whatever to dread any serious or last¬
ing consequences from such a measure.
The supply of labour, or the population, has a natural
tendency to suit itself to the demand. High wages, by
encouraging early marriage, and enabling the labourer
to take better care of his children, soon cause an addi¬
tion to the numbers of a state, which, in its turn, brings
down the wrages. Hence uncommonly high wages take
place chiefly in an advancing state of society, when a
number of employments are open, for which a sufficiency
of labourers cannot be found. When the wealth of a
country is stationary, the wages will be moderate, suffi¬
cient to admit of the rearing of such a number of child¬
ren, as may keep up the population, but not sucli as to
admit of any increase. When the country is in a de¬
clining state, the wages will fall even below this. They
will scarcely enable the labourer to subsist j compara¬
tively few will be able to rear families, and population
will decline f. \ Smith,
From what has been said above, there will appear no^!l?^ l'
reason to suppose, that the price of subsistence has any
immediate influence on the wages of labour j an idea
which even Smith seems strangely to have entertained f lb. book
The demand for labour, the funds by which it is paid,”*'
and the number of labourers continuing the same, no al¬
teration in its price can take place. For masters to give
higher wages on account of scarcity, is, we suspect, a
very injudicious benevolence. The funds for the main¬
tenance
1I2 POLITICAL
Sources of tenance of labour, far from being increased by a dearth,
Wealth, are rather diminished ; so that the giving a greater pio-
‘ r-—' portion of them than before to some, must be the means
of throwing others altogether onto! employment', and to
this cause we suspect that the want ol work usually com¬
plained of at these periods, is very much to be ascribed.
Where the rise of provisions is permanent, however, that
of labour though not immediate, takes place ultimately,
in consequence of a diminution of the supply. The diffi¬
culty of subsistence prevents labourers from rearing such
numerous families j population is thinned j and the di¬
minished competition causes a rise in the price of wages.
Wages in general are nearly the same over a coun¬
try } for if they are higher in any one place, this proves
a natural attraction to those of other districts, who soon
reduce the rate to its proper level. This free circulation
of labour, however, may be prevented by artificial re¬
straints, as was the case, till of late, in England, by
means of the poor laws. I hese authorized the parish
officers to prevent any one who was ever likely to be¬
come a burden on the parish from settling in it. Ihe
most obnoxious part of these laws,however, has been done
away, chiefly through the exertions of Mr Rose.
Wages are generally higher in cities than in the coun¬
try. The capitals there are greater. The country too
is more prolific, while few towns keep up their own
numbers. Many indeed migrate from the former to the
latterbut the predilection for their native spot, and to
more wholesome and cheerful occupations, prevents this
migration from being so great as completely to equalize
the rate. Another cause arises, in modern Europe,
from the corporation system which has generally pre¬
vailed. Almost every trade has some regulations^ to
limit the number of its members, and thus by restraining
competition, to increase their wages. The principal of
these regulations are those regarding the duration of ap¬
prenticeship. Ry the fifth of Elizabeth, no trade can
be exercised in England, till after an apprenticeship of
seven years 5 and the only freedom from this statute is in
the case of those trades which were at that tune un¬
known. In Scotland, apprenticeships are in general
much shorter.
Wages, however, vary not only from local causes,
but from others connected with the nature of the trades
by which they are earned. There seem to be five cir¬
cumstances which tend to raise the wages of any class of
men above the ordinary level.
First, When any employment is of an unwholesome
and disagreeable nature. Thus miners, blacksmiths,
butchers, and innkeepers, earn higher wages than those
•whose occupation is not liable to the same objections.
On the other hand, hunting and fishing, being naturally
agreeable, and pursued by many for mere amusement,
are by no means profitable.
Secondly, Where a profession is difficult to learn, as
in the fine arts and liberal professions, which require
many years study before a man is qualified to exercise
them. ,
Thirdly, Where employment is precarious. Ihus
masons whose employment depends on the weather, and
all workmen wdio are liable to be called upon and dis¬
missed at a moment’s warning, receive higher wages to
compensate for this uncertainty m the means of their sub-
■ sistence.
Fourthly, Where great trust is reposed in the work-
ECONOMY.- Chap. II.
man. On this ground, goldsmiths and physicians are Sources of
entitled to higher gains than others, m order that such Jtealtk
important trusts may be reposed m persons who have
something to lose. „
Fifthly, Where there is any peculiar risk, either of
failure, or of other disasters. Thus in the case of phy¬
sicians, and still more of lawyers, it is only a m
those who apply to the profession to whom it ever yields
a subsistence. Those who rise to eminence, therefore
have gained prizes in a lottery, which ought to be high
in proportion to the number of blanks. * effect of
this circumstance, however, is diminished by the natural
confidence which every one has in his talents and good
fortune, and by the brilliant reputation which accompa¬
nies success in these departments. Ihe same remark ap¬
plies to those professions which present a life of danger
and adventure, as the naval and military service, for¬
tunately for the public, notwithstanding the danger, the
hardship, and the slender emolument with which these
professions are accompanied, no want is found of persons
who are ready to engage in them.
Lastly, There are some circumstances, to which ad
trades are occasionally liable. In a new trade, the
wages are generally higher. The success, and conse¬
quently the duration, of such must be more or less un¬
certain j and men will not be inclined, without some
extraordinary temptation, to quit tbeirold and established
occupations, in order to engage in it. An extraordinaiy
demand too sometimes arises for the commodities fur¬
nished by some particular trade ; more labourers than
usual will consequently be wanted ; and these must be
allured by the offer of higher wages. Sometimes, on the
other hand, work is done cheaper than usual, from be¬
ing taken up as a bye-employment, by those who derive
their subsistence from a different source ^ as, for instance,
stockings in the north of Scotland. Ibis takes place,
however, only where the demand for labour is slender,
as otherwise the whole of a man’s time may be advanta¬
geously employed. . , . .
In considering the effects of labour in the proouction
of wealth, Smith divides it into twokinds, which he calls
productive and unproductive. Productive labourers aie
those whose industry produces a commodity which re¬
mains and can be exchanged for another. 1 bus the
farmer produces corn, the manufacturer cloth or hard¬
ware. The unproductive, on the contrary, are those
whose services perish in the moment of performance,
and never produce any commodity to which value can
be attached. These include a variety of professions both
the most respectable and the least so. It includes, on
one hand, all those employed in the executive govern¬
ment, officers of the army and navy, officers of justice,
public teachers of every descriptionon the other, me¬
nial servants, players, musicians, &c. The more a man
maintains of the former kind of labourers, the richer he
becomes the more he maintains of the latter, he be¬
comes the poorer.
The most eminent writers on this subject, in the pre¬
sent age, seem disposed to treat this distinction as nuga¬
tory. They urge, that wealth consists merely in the abun-
danceof conveniences and pleasures of life} and thatwho-
evercontributestoaugmentthese is a productive labourer,
although he may not present us with any tangible com¬
modity. The professor who gives me a lecture, and the
musician who gives me a tune, give something subser¬
vient
Chap. II.
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
1 Sources of
Wealth.
Smith,
i >ook iii.
iL-hap. 3.
Lauder-
dale ;
Edin. Re¬
view,
N° viii.
art. S.
Fay, Ele-
\ mens d'
I Economic
Politique,
book i.
ch. 42.
vient to use or pleasure, and for which other articles
t may he had in exchange. We are rather disposed,
however, to adhere to the doctrine of Smith, and to
doubt how far these perishing and immaterial commodi¬
ties, however valuable they may be, can, strictly speak¬
ing, be considered as wealth *.
Sect. III. Of Capital.
Capital or stock, as already hinted, is merely the pro¬
duce of land and labour accumulated, and employed in
such a manner as to cause an augmentation of the wealth
of the community. It acts, however, too important a
part, not to deserve separate consideration. We have
already, considering it as one of the divisions of wealth,
explained, at some length, its nature and office. We
shall now consider it in the relation which it bears to
revenue, which, when arising from this source, is usual¬
ly called the profits of stock.
It is difficult to obtain direct information with regard
to the rate of profit in any particular country •, but it
may be inferred with considerable certainty from the
rate of interest, which always bears a certain relation to
these profits. The more advantageously a man can em¬
ploy stock, the more will he be inclined to pay for the
use of it. Profit is generally supposed to be about
double of the interest.
In poor but advancing communities profits are high.
There is a great demand for stock, and little to he had ;
lienee men are glad to pay a high premium for the use
of it. In North America interest is from six to eight
per cent. New colonies afford almost the only in¬
stances in which both profit and wages are high at the
same time. The employment is so ample as to demand
at once more men, and more stock, than can be supplied
to it. As the country advances in wealth, stock be¬
comes more abundant, and the competition of different
stocks lowers the profit of each. Hence, in a rich coun¬
try, profits are low. In England the current rate of
interest is (or at least was, before the immense loans of
the present war) from four to four and a half per cent.
In Holland, the richest country perhaps in the world,
interest is two or three per cent, and the Hutch are
observed to trade on lower profits than any other peo¬
ple. But when a country is in a state of decline, in
consequence of its property being plundered or destroy¬
ed, stock, from its scarcity, acquires often an enormous
value. In Bengal money is said to be lent to the far¬
mer at forty per cent, and upwards. We must observe,
however, that even in opulent countries the opening of
new channels of employment, by increasing the demand,
tends to raise the profits of stock, while the shutting of
former channels has the contrary effect.
Profit does not vary nearly so much as labour, ac¬
cording to the different modes in which it is employed.
Scarcely any of the five circumstances mentioned under
that head, except the last, affect it at all. Smith seems
indeed to consider the first, viz. the agreeableness or
disagreeableness of the employment, as somewhat affect-
ing it *, but this it appears to us to do, only from the la¬
bour with which it is accompanied. It is by the drud¬
gery and inconvenience of constant attendance on his
guests that the employment of an inn-keeper is render¬
ed disagreeable.
The safety or risk, however, attendant on the differ-
Vol. XVII. Part I. t
113
ent modes of employing a capital, is a most serious con- Sources of
sideration. A man will not, without some temptation Wealth,
of extraordinary profit, embark in a concern where a '-—v~—'
part or the whole of his capital may be lost. We are
disposed, indeed, to consider this as the only circum¬
stance which raises the profits of stock above the market
rate of interest. In almost all modes of employing ca¬
pital, there is some risk j and it may be supposed, that
where that risk is greatest, the profit should be greatest
also. Yet employments attended with very great risk,
provided that risk be compensated by the chance of
very great gains, are the most crowded. Such is the
sanguine and adventurous spirit of men, that specula¬
tion, as it is called in trade, as well as such uncertain
trades as that of the corn-merchant or the smuggler, are
always overstocked j and though productive of occasion¬
al gains, prove commonly ruinous in the end.
In some of the Asiatic countries, where property is
remarkably insecure, the accumulation of capital is
thereby so much discouraged as to render it scarce, even
w here the annual produce of the land and labour is con¬
siderable. Even the quantity which is accumulated, in¬
stead of being employed in trade, is concealed or bu¬
ried in the earth. The same w'as the case anciently in
European kingdoms, before the establishment of law and
order; accordingly, at that time, treasure-trove formed
an important part of the revenue of the sovereign.
It may be observed, that what goes under the deno¬
mination of profit is often merely wages. A merchant
or shopkeeper who conducts his own business, besides
the profit of his stock, must receive some remuneration
for the portion of time and attention he devotes to the
employment. Thus, especially in a country town, a
grocer or apothecary will, on a small stock, make 50 or
100 per cent. 5 but this may be no more than sufficient
to repay him for that skill and knowdedge which are
equally necessary for conducting these employments on
a small as on a great scale.
Although, however, the variations in the profits of
stock occasioned by the nature of the employment be
not cbnsiderable, it is otherwise with those which have
been occasioned by the policy of modern Europe. As
the improvements introduced into it have been chiefly
by cities, and by the mercantile part of the community,
that part has been extravagantly favoured. The interest
of the agriculturist and of the consumer has, till of late,
been uniformly sacrificed to theirs. The regulations
prompted by this system have not indeed been of any
real service to trade; but, by narrowing the competition,
they have secured to some commercial bodies a certain
monopoly of the articles in which they dealt, and there¬
by enabled them to raise their profits above the natural
level. This they do sometimes directly, by vesting the
privilege of conducting certain trades altogether in the
hands of an exclusive company, who can set their own
price on commodities which are produced or imported
by them alone. At other times, they impose prohibi¬
tions or high duties on the importation of certain arti¬
cles from abroad. Bounties are given for the encourage¬
ment of certain favourite branches of agriculture, or
manufactures. These regulations form what is called
the mercantile system, which we shall have occasion
hereafter to consider at large, and to show its entire fal¬
lacy. The exclusive privileges of corporations operate
to raise the profits of stock, as well as the wages of la-
P hour.
II4 POLITICAL
HoW hour. They exclude all sitcli as have not certain qua-
Wealth is locations from employing their stock within t ie corp -
produced, ration. Those, therefore, who possess these qua 1 <
tions enjoy some degree of monopoly against the rest ot
^ the society. From all these causes the profits derived
from manufactures and commerce have been on th
whole greater than those of agriculture. The instan¬
ces of o-reat fortunes raised out of nothing in the foi-
mer lines are frequent; in the latter they are rare.
We may observe, however, that smce the genera diffu¬
sion of the writings of Smith anti of the economists, this
svstem has, in a great degree, ceased to influence the
legislatures of Europe ; and what remains of it arises
rather from the force of habit than from design. 1 er-
haps there is now a tendency to the opposite error , to
undervalue trade too much, and to grant to agriculture
those exclusive privileges which were formerly lavished
on manufactures and commerce.
The profits of stock are equally, with the wages of
labour, liable to be affected by the introduction of new
trades and by alterations in the demand. 1 hese varia¬
tions, ’however, like the causes winch produced them,
will be only of a temporary nature.
Sect. IV. The Interest of Money.
It may often happen, that persons are possessed of
stock who want inclination or talents for engaging m
trade. On the other hand, some may possess this incli¬
nation and capacity, who have no stock. In this case
a natural arrangement takes place. 1 he person pos¬
sessed of the stock, which he does not employ, lends it
to the other who is in want of it, and who, in consi¬
deration of the profit he derives from its use is willing
to give an annual premium to the lender. 1 his is call¬
ed the interest of money; for money, being the com¬
mon exchangeable medium is the form in winch stock
generally appears, when it is collected by its possessor
for the purposes either of hoarding or lending.
In order to prevent the ignorant or necessitous from
being imposed upon, governments have generally fix¬
ed a certain rate, which the interest of money shou d
not be allowed to exceed. This rate ought always to
be regulated by the market rate. An attempt to keep
down the interest below that rate, tends only to raise it
hio-her. The consideration given for the use of money
must still be regulated, like every such transaction, by
the supply and the demand: and the borrower must give
a compensation to the lender, not only for the use of
his money, but also for the risk which he incurs by the
violation of the law. The regulated rate, however,
ought to be somewhat above the market rate ; though,
were it too much so, its operation would become nuga¬
tory.
Chap. III. Of the manner in which Wealth is
produced and distributed.
Among the three sources of wealth above enumerat¬
ed, labour is pre-eminent, not only as the most abun¬
dant but as necessary in order to give efficacy to the
rest; neither land nor stock, unless in some rare in¬
stances, being of any value, unless labour be added.
The result, however, of rude and unassisted labour is
ECONOMY. chaP-m-
exceedingly small, ,vl,en compaved wilh wbat « b jme, ^.
by means ot certain artificial aids, wine s ? produced,
fceives in an opulent andfimproved society. Ibese aids &c
are chiefly the division of labour, and machinery.
Sect. I. The division of Labour.
The division of labour, by which one employment,
or one branch of that employment, forms the sole occu¬
pation of one man, produces the most wondeiful effect
in augmenting the productive powers of labour, ihe
oftenfr that a man performs any operation, the grea ei
power he acquires of performing it ski fully and rapi ly.
Ld when his whole life is spent in the performance ot
any single process, this power becomes a most incre¬
dible. Thus, too, he saves the time which is spent in
passing from one work to another. He saves more in¬
deed than the mere time, for at first beginning t e
new one, he commonly saunters and trifles a little, and
does not at first go on heartily and vigorously.
A striking instance of the effects of division of labour
is afforded in the manufacture oipm-making. 1 he im¬
portant occupation of making a pin affords employment
to eighteen persons ; one man draws out the wire, an¬
other straights it, a third cuts it, a ourth points it, a
fifth grinds it at the top to receive the head, which two
or three are employed in making. Io put it on, to
whiten the pin, to put it into the paper, form all dis¬
tinct occupations. Smith saw a manufactory where on¬
ly ten were employed, and where some consequently
performed two or three operations yet they made foi-
ty-eight thousand pins a day, or four thousand eight
hundred each ; whereas a single man, performing the
whole process by himself, would not probably make
twenty. These effects would be equally perceptible in
manufactures of greater consequence, were all their pro¬
cesses ca pable of being brought as close to each other
as in this small one. • a c „
The division of labour is capable of being carried far¬
ther in manufactures than in agriculture. In the lat¬
ter, a change of employment is dictated by the change
of seasons; the same man must successively sow, reap,
and thrash out the grain. Although, therefore, an im¬
proved society excels a rude one in agriculture, it does
not, in general, excel so much as in manufactures,
where man, making all the arrangements himself, can
carry the division of labour as far as the extent ot Ins
undertaking will admit ol.
Sect. II. Machinery.
As improvement advances, and the invention of man
exerts itself in every direction, the labour of man is
more and more seconded by the aid of machinery, inis
source of improvement is classed by Smith under the
head of the division of labour, to which he conceives
it to he indebted for its origin. We rather incline,
however, to agree with Lord Lauderdale, m judging it
worthy of ranking as a separate and independent prin¬
ciple. Some rude machinery for domestic and agricul¬
tural purposes must have been invented prior to any
considerable division of labour ; while those wonderful
machines which have excited the admiration of the pie-
sent age, the cotton mill, the steam engine, &c. are
the
hap. III. POLITICAL ECONOMY.
How the invention of ingenious men, not the casual discovery
Veaith is 0f workmen j though they may have received some im-
l>r^cca’ provement from tlie latter source.
Machinery is, in many instances, not less powerful
than the division of labour, in multiplying the produc¬
tions of human industry. It has besides this advantage,
that there are many operations to which it is essential,
and which, without it, cannot, in any degree, be per¬
formed. Without the plough or spade, the saw, the
flour-mill, or some instruments corresponding to these,
the unassisted efforts of man would be of no avail to ef¬
fect the purposes for which they are intended.
When any machine is first introduced, the immediate
consequence is, that a number of labourers are thrown
out of employment $ hence, according to the idea of
the vulgar, which has been hastily adopted bv some phi¬
losophers, such innovations are pernicious, tending to
distress the poor, and to check population. There
seems no good reason for this complaint. The popula¬
tion of a country must always depend upon the abun¬
dance of the means of subsistence j while, therefore, im¬
proved machinery has no tendency to diminish these, it
cannot be injurious to population. The manufacturer,
being enabled to produce the same quantity of goods,
with only part of the stock before employed, will em¬
ploy the other part in extending his concerns, either in
the same or in other branches of industry ; and even the
part of his stock which is spent in the purchase of ma¬
chinery, will give employment to workmen in framing
that machinery. The only effect, therefore, will be
that of adding, in proportion to the power of this ma¬
chinery, to the comforts and conveniences of the socie¬
ty. A certain degree of inconvenience may no doubt
be experienced by those workmen who have been ac¬
customed to this species of employment, and are less
qualified for any other. But this is merely a temporary
disadvantage, such as may be expected to accompany all
changes, however beneficial.
Machinery, like the division of labour, can be intro¬
duced to a much greater extent in manufactures than in
agriculture. Nothing on a great scale, seems hitherto
to have been introduced into the latter, except the
threshing machine.
Sect. III. Of the different Employments of Labour and
Stock.
All these seem to be included under four heads : agri¬
culture, including mines and fisheries ; manufactures j
trade by wholesale *, and trade by retail. Each of these
will present some objects for our consideration.
Sect. IV. Agrictdture.
Of all modes of employing labour and stock, this is
the most productive. It is not here, as in other em¬
ployments where every thing is to be done by man.
Nature labours along with him. His object is to direct
rather than to augment those powers of vegetation
which the earth already possesses and exercises. No
other employment yields that surplus produce obtained
without labour or effoi’t, which is called rent. Where-
ever, therefore, things are allowed to take their natural
course, agriculture is the first object to which the la¬
bour ol the society is directed. Till it has made con¬
siderable advances, manufactures are either rudely exe- How
cuted as a by-work, or, where opportunity oilers, are Wealth is
imported from abroad, in exchange for the rude pro- Pro<luced,
duce of land. This last, where practicable, appears ,
evidently to be the most advantageous system. The
adoption of it has been one great cause of the rapid pro¬
gress of the North American colonies.
Agriculture gives employment to a greater number
of men than any other species of industry. These men
also, are likely to be the most sound, healthy, uncor¬
rupted part of the population ; and from its local na¬
ture, they must all reside within the society, and form a
constituent part of it.
Sect. V. Manufactures.
Manufactures do not actually produce any new com¬
modity j but they modify in such a manner the produce
of land or mines, as to increase its exchangeable value.
Few things, especially in a highly cultivated state of so¬
ciety, are fit for use as they come out of the hands of
nature, till they have been operated upon by human art.
Even corn, the staple produce of land, must pass through
the hands of the miller and the baker, before it can be
used as food. Some manufactures add comparatively
little to the value of the original article j while, in others,
the latter becomes little or nothing when compared with
the additional value stamped on it by the manufacture.
Thus half a crown’s worth of flax, when wrought into
the finest cambric, will be raised perhaps to the value of
twenty pounds.
Manufactures employ fewer men than agriculture,
but more than any other species of industry. These
men, too, must evidently reside in the country where
the manufacture is carried on j though that may be dif¬
ferent from the country where the rude material is pro¬
duced, as well as from that where the finished manu¬
facture is consumed. The cotton of America and the
West Indies is imported into Britain, and after being
there wrought into cloth, is re-exported to those coun¬
tries. i
Manufactures, as already observed, give scope beyond
any other employment to the productive powers arising
from machinery and the division of labour. They can
be collected into the smallest space, and the instruments
are completely under the controul of man. A poor na¬
tion may rival, or even surpass a rich one, in the cheap¬
ness and abundance of its corn j but in manufactures it
is always inferior.
It is a general rule, that the manufactures in which
a country excels, are those which are suited to the wants
of her inhabitants. These she comes to produce, not
only better, but cheaper, than other countries, to w hom
therefore those articles become, for her, the most advan¬
tageous subject of export. In France, before the revo¬
lution, the consumers were chiefly persons of very large
fortune, to whom the finest manufactures and articles
of ornament were alone suited. In England, on the
other hand, the greater proportion of the consumers are
persons of moderate fortune, and in the middling rank.
Substantial articles, of moderate price, are, therefore,
chiefly demanded in this country. The effect of these
different habits appeared clearly in the discussions re¬
specting the commercial treaty concluded by Mr Pitt.
It appeared, that millinery, jewellery, fine manufac-
P 2 tures
116
How
Wealth is
produced,
&-e.
POLITICAL ECONOMY.
Chap. Ill,
ture of all kinds, were made both better and cheaper
in France j but in hardware, cloth, common articles ot
every sort, she was completely undersold by England.
Although woollens be the staple of England, yet in the
finest woollen cloth she was surpassed by 1 ranee; ami
though silks be the staple of France, yet common silks
were sold cheaper by England. Several other curious
instances are given by Lord Lauderdale, in the con¬
cluding chapter ol his work on public wealth.
Sect. VI. Commerce.
■* Smith,
book ii.
chap. r.
Commerce is the grand source of all improvement in
the productive powers of industry. It is founded on the
principle of barter. The butcher has a quantity ol beet,
and the baker of bread, more than either can consume
himself; but each is in want of the other’s commodity.
And exchange therefore being made, both the beet and
the bread acquire a value which they did not possess be¬
fore. Thus it is that commerce, consisting in the ex¬
change of two articles, raises the value of both.
It is only by means of extensive commerce, that both
the division of labour and machinery can be carried to
any great extent. A manufactory, established lor the
supply of a small neighbourhood, can never be conduct¬
ed on that great scale which is requisite for these im¬
provements. The division of labour must depend on
the numbers employed; and an extensive sale is neces¬
sary to repay the expence of complicated and powerful
machinery. Land carriage would probably be the first
employed ; but as soon as navigation was invented, the
cheapness and facility of water carriage would give it a
decided preference. In the infancy of the art, the in¬
land navigation of rivers would experience a preference;
and it is still possessed of peculiar advantages. All the
earliest improved countries have been those which pos¬
sessed an extensive inland navigation ; Egypt, by the
Nile, Indostan, by the Ganges, and China, by several
great rivers which perforate it. Africa, an unbroken
mass of continent, is still barbarous ; the only pait
which affords any exception to this remark, is that situ¬
ated along the Senegal and Niger. Hence the great
advantage which a country derives from good roads,
and still more from navigable canals, which facilitate
the communication between its different parts, and ex¬
tend the market of the farmer and manufacturer.
Commerce is of three kinds; the home trade, the
foreign trade, and the carrying trade *.
The home trade is of all others the most advantage¬
ous. Li the exchange which takes place here, both the
commodities, whose value is raised, belong to the same
country, and consequently a double benefit accrues to
the society. The returns, also, of such a commerce are
much more quick. With the same capital, therefore, a
much greater number of transactions will take place in
a given time. Smith calculates that the foreign trade
of Great Britain does not exceed a fortieth of its home
trade. The grand branch of internal trade is that be¬
tween the country and the town, in which the farmer
supplies provisions and raw materials, and receives in
return manufactured produce.
When all the channels of domestic trade are filled, a
nation naturally turns to a foreign market. Here,
however, it does not trade with equal advantage. Ot
the two commodities whose value is raised, one only be- How
longs to it; and consequently it reaps only halt the bene- K
fit which it reaped from the home trade. iNor is this *
all. The market being more distant, the returns are , 
slower. With the same capital, twelve operations may
frequently be performed in the one, in the same time
that a single one was performing in the other. In this
case, the former will be twenty-four times more advan¬
tageous to the country. It does not follow, however,
that foreign trade is not really and greatly advanta¬
geous, when the capital is sufficient to carry it on, in
addition to the home trade.
The foreign trade is sometimes modified as follows.
A country exports to another some commodity, and
then, with the commodity which it receives in return,
purchases some article of a third country. Thus, Eng¬
land sends to Virginia woollens, and having received in
return tobacco, exports it to the Baltic to exchange for
naval stores. This roundabout trade differs from a com¬
mon foreign trade in no respect, except that its returns
are likely to be slower, and consequently its effects still
less beneficial to the community.
When all other branches are filled, the only resource
of overflowing capital is in the carrying trade. Here
the merchant merely exports the produce of one foreign
country to another foreign country. The country to
which he belongs gains nothing but the mere profits of
the trade. It receives no encouragement to its agri¬
culture or its manufactures. Neither of the goods
whose value is raised belong to it. The carrying trade
is the least advantageous of all modes of employing the
national capital. It is the symptom, however, of a great
and almost overgrown commercial prosperity ; for it is
not till capital is extremely abundant, that it turns into
this direction. Seeing the carrying trade, therefore, the
accompaniment of great national prosperity, legislators
have mistaken it as a cause, and have held out peculiar
encouragements with the view of forcing part of the na¬
tional capital prematurely into this direction ; which,
from the view now given, must be evidently hurt¬
ful.
Commerce employs fewer men than either manufac¬
tures or agriculture ; it employs merely the merchant,
who transacts the business, and the sailors and carriers
who transport the goods. These, too, may belong in¬
differently either to one country or the other, or even
to a different one from either; and this, from the small¬
ness of their number, is a matter of little consequence.
Sect. VII. The Retail Trade.
The last species of industry is the retail trade. The
convenience, and indeed necessity of this, is obvious.
It would be extremely troublesome if a man were obli¬
ged to purchase a w hole ox or sheep at a time ; if he
wTere obliged to lay in at once six or eight months pro¬
vision of every different article. Fart of his stock
would thus constantly lie dead, and the commodities
besides would often perish in his hands. Hence the use
of shop-keepers, from whom we may purchase any ar¬
ticle in as small a quantity as suits us. Some pei’sons
have apprehended bad consequences from the multipli¬
cation of retailers, hut with no good reason ; for the
greater the competition, on the better terms will the
public
Chap. III. POLITICAL ECONOMY.
jjow public be served, each being anxious to undersell his
Wealth is rivals. Their multiplication might ruin themselves,
produced, -which, in general, we may be sure of their guarding
against; but it must be for the benefit of their cus¬
tomers.
Sect. VIII. On the Coincidence between Public and
Private Interest.
As the wealth of a society consists merely of the ag¬
gregate wealth of its members, every thing which tends
to increase the property of an individual, without injur¬
ing that of others, that is, every species of lawful in¬
dustry, tends to augment also the riches of the society.
Those branches also which are most productive to the
society, will be equally so to the individual who con¬
ducts them. Such branches have, besides, peculiar re¬
commendations, which will lead men, upon equal pro¬
fits, to prefer them to others of a nature less generally
beneficial.
The improvement and cultivation of land is the mode
in which the greatest produce may be raised with the
least capital: it has, besides, other recommendations.
It is the way in which a man’s property is most com¬
pletely under his own eye, and most secure from acci¬
dent. 'i he pleasures of a country life, the independ¬
ence by which it is generally accompanied, the health¬
ful and. animating nature of its occupations, secure it a
certain preference over most other employments.
Man ufactures, again, possess many advantages above
commerce, at least in that early state of improvement
where capitals are moderate. The capital employed in
it is more secure, and more under the inspection of its
owner, than that which is sent to a distance, and com¬
mitted to the winds and the waves. Some trade indeed
must always exist for the exchange of the surplus pro¬
duce, which even the rudest society possesses. But, in
the earher period of society, it is more advantageous
to allow foreigners to carry on this trade, and even to
supply all the finer manufactures. The opportunities
of this kind possessed by the North American colonies,
have been one great cause of their rapid prosperity.
It is evident, that, in commerce, both domestic and
foreign, the merchant, with equal profits, will prefer
the shorter voyage, which places the business more un¬
der his own superintendance, yields him quicker re¬
turns, and subjects him to less risk. Above all, the
carrying trade, the whole of which must be transacted
abroad, will have little attraction for him, unless strong
temptation be presented.
Thus wTe see, that in all instances, the private inter¬
est cf the individual leads him to adopt that species of
employment which is most conducive to the interest of
the public. In leaving him, therefore, to find out and
choose the most advantageous employment for his own
industry and stock, we are certainly doing that w'hicli
is also best for the general good. This principle ought
to be the polar star to guide the steps of the legislator
in political economy. His object should be, to secure
to every individual the fruit of his industry, and then
to leave him at liberty to exert it in any manner he
may judge advantageous. All regulations of an oppo-
posite nature, are as contrary to the interests of tke
society, as they are injurious to the individual.
Mei’cantile
Chap. IV. Of the Mercantile and Economical System.
Systems. v
Sect. I. General View of the Mercantile System.
The fundamental principle of the mercantile system,
and that which its supporters are accustomed to treat as
a self-evident axiom, is, that wealth consists in money,
or in gold and silver. rIhe facility of exchanging these
metals for any other commodity, the habit thence de¬
rived, of calculating, according to their standard, the
wealth belonging to each individual, has made this a
natural and general error. Having laid down this prin¬
ciple, the next question comes to be, how the money
of any nation was to he increased ? Where it was pos¬
sessed of gold and silver mines, the obvious policy was,
to lock up the whole produce of these within itself, and
to prohibit its exportation under the severest penalties.
Where the nation possessed no mines of its own, gold
and silver could he obtained only by giving other com¬
modities in exchange. Suppose a nation to export to
the value of a million, while it imported only to the
value of half a million, the other half, it was conceived,
must be paid in money, and must go to increase the
wealth of the nation. lo export much, and to import
little, were therefore conceived to be the great means
of enriching the nation. The difference between the ex¬
ports and imports was called the balance of trade, and
considered as the grand criterion of commercial prospe¬
rity. If the exports exceeded the imports, it was called
a favourable balance 5 if the contrary, an unfavourable
balance. It so happened, to the great consolation of
our mercantile politicians, that the former of these cases
always took place. A certain annual supply of gold
and silver was actually imported for the maintenance of
the current coin, and for some ornamental manufac¬
tures j and, besides, as duties are rarely levied on arti¬
cles exported, the vanity or convenience of merchants
led them often to enter more than they actually shipped.
But though this was the case in general, it was other¬
wise with regard to some particular countries. If, in
the case of Spain, America and the West Indies, the
result was as favourable as could be desired, many a rue¬
ful look was cast upon the statements of the German,
Baltic, and East India commerce ; in all which the ba¬
lance, as it is called, was decidedly against this country.
To check this great evil, every expedient was employ¬
ed which might diminish importation and encourage ex¬
portation in general, and particularly in regard to those
countries with whom our balance was unfavourable.
What the nature and effects of these measures really
are, we shall presently have occasion to consider. We
shall now make some remarks on the general principle
on which they are founded.
i. Restrictions upon the intercourse with a particular
country, which is supposed to have a balance against us,
are unreasonable, even supposing the general principle
to be sound. For if we get commodities cheaper from
that nation, and sell ours to it with greater advantage,
the balance will, on the whole, be more in our favour,
than if we carried on the same transactions with any
other nation. If w’e can get wine cheaper from France
than from Portugal, the annual value of our imports for
wine
_u8 POLITICAL
Mercantile wine will be diminished, by dealing with the former
System, country. Besides, what is imported may often be so,
1 v ' only for the purpose of re-exportation to some other
country. „ , . .,
2. The whole idea of the balance of trade is quite
fanciful and chimerical. By every exchange which
takes place with a foreign country, the nation gams as
well as the individual j nor does it make any difference
whether goods or money be received in return. If in¬
deed the legislature could succeed in forcing a greater
importation of gold and silver than would naturally take
place, it would do the country a serious injury. These
metals, when converted into money, form, as above
observed, a part of the fixed capital of the society, a.
most useful and necessary part, but still one which is
merely instrumental, and does not make any direct ad¬
dition to the wealth of the society. If we could have
the same functions performed without it, the society
would gain the whole of what it has been accustomed
to pay for it. On the contrary, when a government
forces upon the nation more than is requisite for the
purposes of circulation, it makes it incur an expence
which would otherwise have been saved. It does not
appear, in the case of nations which have no mines, that
any of the boasted regulations respecting import and ex¬
port, will have the least effect in enlarging the importa¬
tion of gold and silver. But where a people have mines
within themselves, a strict prohibition, such as is usually
imposed, against the export of these metals, though it
will he far from absolutely preventing that export, will
yet keep within the country a somewhat greater quan¬
tity than would otherwise have remained. I his appears
to be (or at least to have been) actually the case with
Spain and Portugal, occasioning a considerable loss to
both these countries.
As the principle of the mercantile system naturally
leads to the supposition, that whatever is gained by one
nation, is lost to another, it generally leads to violent
commercial jealousies between neighbouring countries.
The nearer they are to each other, the more are restric¬
tions and prohibitions multiplied. This is altogether
unreasonable. TLhe nearer a country, the moie advan¬
tageous is its trade. It approaches the more nearly to
the home trade, in the quickness of its returns, and can
be carried on with a smaller capital. The plan, there¬
fore, of making our neighbours as poor as possible, is
completely unwise. The richer they are, they will he
the better customers for our commodities, and the
greater will be the benefit which we derive from their
trade.
Having thus proved, that the regulations of the mer¬
cantile system are altogether unfitted for attaining their
end, and that the end, were it attainable, is useless,
and even pernicious, we shall now consider what is the
real effect of these regulations. With this view they
may be classed under two heads, restraints upon impor¬
tation, and encouragements to exportation.
Sect. II. Restraints upon Importation.
These are either high duties or prohibitions.
It has been an universal principle of modern taxation,
that duties are to be levied only on articles imported,
and not on those which are exported. This principle is
sound. The taxes imposed by any community ought to
4
ECONOMY. Chap. IV
fall upon its own members, not upon those of othci Mercanilii
communities. To attempt_ acting otherwise, would be | System.,
not only unjust, but impolitic. Ihese articles of pro- |
duce and manufacture, on which the export duty was
imposed, would not, in the general market of the world,
keep their ground against the same commodities from
other nations, which imposed no such duty. Hie mer¬
cantile system, however, goes much farther, ^vith the
view of encouraging internal industry, and preventing
importation, it lays higher duties upon certain articles
imported, than upon the same when manufactured with¬
in the country j thus securing to the latter, a certain ad¬
vantage in the home market, independent of any supe¬
riority of skill. It thus turns to certain branches of in¬
dustry a greater proportion of the national industry and
capital than would naturally have gone to them.
Now, we have proved, that in all cases, the direction
which individual interest spontaneously gives to the na¬
tional industry, is the best and most useful direction.
Every thing, therefore, which tends to disturb it, to turn
industry into channels into which it would not natural¬
ly have gone, is injurious to the public, and tends to
render that industry less productive. Such is precisely
the operation of the duties in question, which, therefore,
though they may augment the productive industry of
the nation in some particular branches, tend to diminish
Its whole amount. Thus, in an agricultural nation, if
duties are imposed upon the importation of manufactured
goods, a part of the national capital which was employ¬
ed in the more profitable employment of agriculture,
will he forced into the less advantageous one of manu¬
factures. The misfortune is, that in the mercantile sy¬
stem, from a very natural prejudice of those with whom
it originates, the less advantageous branch is always
rated higher than the more advantageous ; manufactures
than agricultural, commerce than manufactures, and fo¬
reign trade than domestic. Its operations are pernicious,
not only in their general principle, hut still more in
their particular application.
In regard to prohibitions their effect is the same as
high duties, only greater in degree. They are seldom
completely effectual, unless in the case of very bulky
goods ; but their operation must always be equal to the
highest duty, and must therefore be equally injurious,
without bringing any advantage to the revenue.
Sect. III. Encouragements to Exportation.
The expedients which the mercantile system employs
to encourage exportation are drawbacks and bounties.
As to drawbacks, they are extremely reasonable. No
government we observed, can properly, or without im¬
prudence, attempt to tax the consumption of other na¬
tions. When, therefore, it has imposed a duty on any
article produced within itself, it is quite expedient that
this should be repaid on exportation •, otherwise the ar¬
ticles, when carried to a foreign market, could not meet
the competition of others, which had paid no such duty.
In the same manner, when an article has paid a duty at
importation, it is perfectly fair that the duty should tie
repaid, in the case of the article being re-exported $
otherwise a severe check would he put both upon the
carrying trade, and the foreign trade of consumption.
Still, indeed, the merchant has the disadvantage of hav¬
ing advanced the tax, and consequently been deprived,
for
hhap. IV. POLITICAL
Mercantile f°r a certain time, of the use of that portion of his ca-
System. pita!. In some instances, a plan has been adopted, which
■—“-v 1 obviates this inconvenience. The goods are placed in
a warehouse, under the joint lock and key of the mer¬
chant and the officer of government. No duty is then
paid upon them, unless they are taken out for the pur¬
pose of home consumption.
Bounties are expedients of a different nature. They
are given upon the production and exportation of certain
articles, which, it is conceived, would not otherwise pay
the expence. Their tendency is, therefore, to force ca¬
pital and industry into the channels which, it is admitted,
are disadvantageous to the individual, and which accord¬
ing to the principles above explained, must he equally
so to the society. Their effect, therefore, is nearly the
same as that produced by restraints upon importation.
Premiums are not liable to the same objections : Being
only given to one or two specimens of peculiar merit,
they merely stimulate to excellence in any branch of
industry, without having much tendency to turn towards
it a disproportionate share of the national capital.
The bounty on corn is the most important of those
granted in Great Britain ; and as the whole system of
corn laws is not only of the utmost importance, but
closely connected with the views of the mercantile sy¬
stem, it may not be unseasonable to introduce our sketch
of them in this place.
Sect. IV. Of the Corn Laws.
To render the necessaries of life cheap, is a grand ob¬
ject of the mercantile system, since it thus expects to
lower the wages of labour, and thereby lessen the ex-
penee of manufacturing. The expedients it adopts, how¬
ever, are by no means judicious. The object of the le¬
gislator, on this subject, has been to prevent as much as
possible all trade in corn ; to urge the farmer to bring it
to market as soon as possible, and to discourage to the
utmost its passing through any intermediate hands be¬
tween him and the consumer. All such intermediate
persons are stigmatized by the opprobrious names of re¬
graters and Jbrestaliers, and the severest penalties are
enacted against them. Let us consider on what grounds
these proceedings can be justified.
The great evil in the price of grain is the variations
to which it is liable, which at one time produce super¬
fluous plenty, and at another threaten the community
with absolute want. The production of it being only
once a year, there is a constant danger, that before next
harvest, the supply may run out. Crops too vary, and
sometimes fail to a distressing degree. Itismostdesirable,
therefore, that the superabundance of one period should,
if possible, be made to supply the deficiency of another.
The grand interest of the public, in regard to grain, is
to distribute, as equally as possible, over different years,
and over different parts of the same year, the supply of
grain, so that the plenty of one period may relieve the
want of another, and the general price be kept as equal
as possible. This is precisely what the merchant does.
He buys when it is cheap, and sells again when it is
dear. If he buys it even when it bears a high price, it
is only from the expectation of its rising still higher, that
is, of the scarcity becoming still greater 5 and unless
this expectation be well grounded, he loses instead of
gaining by the transaction. He may miscalculate in-
ECONOMY. 119
deed; but in this case, he suffers severely for his mistake; Mercantile
and he has the constant stimulus of private interest to System,
guard him against it. -y—J
It follows, therefore, that the freer we leave <the trade
in corn, the better will the public be guarded against
the evils of famine, and that the vulgar outcry upon
this subject has no real foundation.
With regard to the bounty, it has been defended as
being an artificial mode of obviating that irregularity of
price, to which grain is liable. The increased quantity
which the bounty tends to produce, may, it is alleged,
be employed in a year of scarcity, to alleviate the evils
of dearth*. See this subject treated at length in the * Anderson
article Corn Laws, Supplement- onNationaL
Industry.
Sect. V. Of Exclusive Companies.
At the first introduction of commercial enterprise in
Europe, it was frequently the practice of governments to
vest particular trades, supposed to be of a peculiarly ar¬
duous nature, in the hands of an exclusive company.
Such a measure is almost always hurtful to the public.
The interest of all traders is to buy cheap and sell dear,
and is thereby hostile to the interest, both of the pro¬
ducers and consumers. But an exclusive company, ha¬
ving no competition to dread, can carry this system into
effect to a much greater extent titan the private trader.
It is even found that the selling a small quantity at a
high price, is more profitable than the selling a large
quantity at a moderate price. The Hutch East India
Company are said to have destroyed a number of their
plantations in the Spice islands, with the view of dimi¬
nishing the supply, and thereby raising the price.
It is supposed that some vex-y extensive branches of
trade could not be carried on by individuals with safety ;
but in this case, either the capital of the country is not
yet sufficient for such undertakings, or a company will
be formed to carry them on, without the necessity of any
exclusive privilege. It may be observed, that such com¬
panies, from the waste and negligence attending a large
concern, managed often by persons who have no deep
interest in it,, and not stimulated by the dread of com¬
petitors, prove generally as ruinous to those concerned
in it, as to the public. Almost all the exclusive com¬
panies, established in this and the neighbouring coun¬
tries, have ended in bankruptcy.
Sect. VI. Of Colonial Policy.
As countries increase in populousness, and as cultiva--
tion is carried to a greater extent, the means of subsist--
ence become continually more and more difficult. The
evil most felt is a scarcity of land, of that grand source
from which all revenue must originally flow. But while
there are other countries comparatively unimproved, an
obvious remedy presents itself. A certain portion of the
inhabitants of the cultivated country removes into that
which is still uncultivated, where they find land cheap,
and the means of subsistence easy. Of all societies, these
generally make the most rapid strides towards improve¬
ment. To the abundance and cheapness of land, which
is peculiar to uncultivated countries, they join the arts
and industrious habits of cultivated society. They are
thus enabled to make a much more rapid progress than
either. All the Grecian colonies, in Asia Minor, Italy,
and.
12o POLITICAL
Mercantile and Sicily, enjoyed an unexampled degree of prosperity.
System. The North American colonies doubled their numbers
' ’ v l—‘ every twenty years ; and in South America, notwit i-
standing the injudicious restraints with which its com¬
merce was fettered, the increase has not been much less
considerable.
In spite of the temptation thus held out to colonize,
men are in general not easily induced to leave their na¬
tive country, till they are driven by some compulsoiy
motive. In the ancient republics, colonies were formed
by men who had been driven from their homes by civil
war and faction. The North American states were peo¬
pled by refugees, criminals, and other refuse of the mo¬
ther country. The case was somewhat different in the
southern part of the continent, where a false but glit¬
tering lure was thrown out by the immense mines of
gold and silver which it contained. t
In pursuance of the monopolizing and trafficking
spirit of modern Europe, each country has reserved to
itself the exclusive trade of its colonies. Ibis restriction
evidently tends to cramp the improvement of the latter,
and to divert the trade of the former into a less natural
and advantageous channel, lo Britain, and to the British
colonies, however, the restriction has been little injuri¬
ous. The former was in a state to cany on, and to
need, the whole of this commerce *, while the latter,
from their infant state, could confine themselves with
much more advantage to agriculture. The 1 reach co¬
lonies have probably suffered something from the restric¬
tion } but to tbe Spanish and Portuguese it has been
very ruinous, as their mother countries were wholly un¬
fit for carrying on so extensive a commerce See
Colony, Supplement.
economy.
Chap. V.
* Smith,
book iv.
ch. viii.
Brougham
on Colonial
Policy.
Sect. VIII. Of the Economical System.
We have already noticed, in our historical introduc¬
tion, the circumstances in which, and the persons from
whom, this system originated. According to it, agri¬
culture is the only real source of wealth, and the per¬
sons employed in it are alone to be honoured with the
appellation of productive labourers. Ihe capital spent
by the landlord in improvements, and that employed
by the farmer in cultivation, are in like manner repre¬
sented as the only capitals which are productive of
wealth. In support of this position they argue, that ma¬
nufactures merely repay what has been spent upon them •,
the expence of materials, and the subsistence of the la¬
bourers. The only part which is gain to the nation is
the profit of the manufacturer, and the portion ot their
wages (probably a very small portion), which the la¬
bourers save, and convert into capital. It does not fol¬
low^ however, that traders and manufacturers, though
under this system they receive the name of unproductive
labourers, are useless to the society. Tihey are valuable
servants to the proprietors and cultivatorsol lands. I hey
save them the trouble of performing a variety of opera-
Coraiorcefs tions, which would distract their attention, and which
Life of they could not do equally well. By giving a greater
Turgot; qUantlty of manufactured commodities in exchange for
Britain in- the produce of land, they raise the value of that pro-
dependent duce. Still, however, they act altogether a subordinate
of Com- pavt to the agricultural portion of the community, by
mfrc\f;,, whom they are fed and supported f.
^Answer* $ A veiT little consideration will shew us the fallacy of
' , • 3
this system. The wealth of a nation, as we observed Economica
above, consists in the total amount of external conveni- System,
ences and comforts which are produced and enjoyed in v
it. Now every commodity, with every increase in its
value, which is produced by manufactures and com¬
merce, is so much added to national convenience and
comfort, that is, to national wealth. It is of no conse¬
quence, that, while the labourer is producing it, he is al¬
so consuming a certain portion of corn and other neces¬
saries of life0. These were produced for the purpose of
being consumed, and if they have perished, they have
not done so without having performed their office, with¬
out having ministered to the benefit of the society', and
enlarged the amount of its comforts. The whole, there¬
fore, of what the manufacturer produces in any given
time, is clear gam to the public. lo be convinced of
this, we have only to suppose, that in this time, he had
consumed the same quantity of goods, without working
at all.
We admit indeed, and have already observed, that
agriculture is more productive than any other species of
industry, and alone, besides paying the labour and capital
employed in it, affords a surplus as rent to the landlord.
It does not follow, however, because the. one employ¬
ment is more productive, that the other is not produc¬
tive at all. Besides manufactures, over and above the
labour and circulating capital employed in them, pay
often a very large fixed capital. Now land, we con¬
ceive, is merely to be considered as a great fixed capital
provided by nature, and rent as a consideration given
for the use of that fixed capital.
The Economists conceive the rent of land to be the
fund on which all taxes must ultimately fall. . They
therefore recommend a land tax to be substituted instead
of all others. The propriety of this system will come to
be considered in the course of the following chapter.
Sec Economists, Sutplement.
| Smith,
book hi.
clr. 9
Chap. V. Of Public Revenue.
As the whole society derives from government their
protection against evils internal and external, the regu¬
lar administration of justice, and a variety, of other be¬
nefits, without which they could not subsist, it is per¬
fectly equitable that each, in proportion to his means,
should contribute to the extent which is necessary for
fulfilling these different objects. Regular government
is even indispensable to the production of public wealth,
as it alone affords that security of property which is the
life of industry. In this view, the officers of govern¬
ment cannot, even upon Smith’s principle, be consider¬
ed as unproductive labourers. They might more pro¬
perly be considered as a part of the fixed capital of the
society.
Sect. I. Of Taxes in general.
In the composition of taxes there are four circum¬
stances, which ought, as far as possible, to be constantly
kept in view, and the observance of which forms the
criterion of the propriety or impropriety of each parti¬
cular tax.
i. They ought to fall as equally as possible on every
member of the society, in proportion to his means of con¬
tribution. As all derive equal benefits from the esta¬
blishment
Of Public
Revenue.
'!«?■ V. POLITICAL
blislment of regular government, all ought to contribute
^ equally for its support. The rich, however, ought to
contribute not only more, but in a greater proportion,
than the poor. As by far the greater part of their ex¬
penditure is on luxuries, they cart retrench a part of it
much better than those who, to pay the tax, must de¬
prive themselves of the necessaries or first comforts of
life.
2. The sum paid by each person ought to be fixed,
and not left to the arbitrary appointment of the collect-
.ing officers. In this last case, the security of property
is in a great measure done away, and room is left for the
most grievous oppression. This is a still greater evil
than inequality.
3. A tax ought to be payable at the time when a
man can best afford it.
4. In proportion to what it brings into the treasury,
it ought to take as little as possible from the people 5
that is, the expence of collection ought to be as mode¬
rate as possible. There ought also to be care taken to
avoid trouble and inconvenience to the people, in the
way of domiciliary visits, fines, &c.
Some persons have fancied, that taxes were beneficial.
They allege, that the merchant derives a profit, not
only for his advance upon the article, but also for bis
advance upon the tax. In this way, doubtless, Ac is no
loser : but neither is he a gainer ; for, in consequence
of the increased price, the public must retrench in their
use of the article, and consequently the extent of his
.dealings in it be diminished. Even should they not re¬
trench in this, they must in some other article, which
will fall heavy on some other class of merchants. But
it is the interest, not of the merchant, but of the con¬
sumer, which ought to be the grand object in political
economy ; and this interest infallibly suffers. The con¬
sumers of the article taxed must inevitably have their
comforts, that is, their wealth, abridged.
We admit, indeed, that taxes, where they are not so
heavy as to intrench on the capital of the country, do
; not essentially encroach on its wealth. I bey merely
transfer income out of the pockets of one class of men
into those of another. The money which a man of for¬
tune would spend in maintaining menial servants and
other instruments of luxury, when placed in the hands
of government, is employed in maintaining soldiers and
sailors. L he amount of national income is notdiminish-
.ed. They have the disadvantage, however, that the
.money is taken out of the hands of those by whom it
was earned, and put into the hands ot those who contri¬
buted nothing to its production. If taxes come to fall
upon capital, or to diminish its accumulation, they are
then ruinous.
Sect. IT. Taxes upon Bent.
The rent of land has always been considered as a pro¬
per object of taxation. In most of the eastern empires,
the whole land belongs to the sovereign, who draws the
3fltonpnrent of every farm throughout his dominions*. In
MfiticMo- most of the European kingdoms, a certain portion of
' Istid belongs to the sovereign, under the name of crown
lands. These, however, are seldom managed in-* that
economical manner, which would bp necessary to render
them productive. rf he only lands which a government
Vol. XVII. Part I. f
ECONOMY. I2I
ought to possess, are lands for the purpose of pleasure Of Public
and magnificence. Revenue.
I he rent of land is a very proper subject of taxation. “v™—^
It comes to the possessors without care or trouble, and '
it depends, more than any other source of income, on
the protection of government. The chief difficulty a-
rises from its being so variable. Thus the English land-
tax was imposed in the reign of King William. Since
that time, the value of all the lands in England has
risen, but that of some much more than others;, so that
the tax, even had it been equal at first, must now have
become very unequal. The only remedies are by mak¬
ing a survey at certain intervals, or by keeping a regis¬
ter of leases. To this it is objected, that it would dis-
couiage the landlord from laying out money on improve¬
ments ; but the objection might be obviated by making
liberal deductions on that account.
I he rent of houses is ot a very different nature from
the rent of land. It is a commodity produced by art;
and as the builder must have his profit, the rent will be
raised in consequence of the tax. The rise, however,
does not take place immediately. Houses are so durable
an ai ticie, that for some time there will lie no diminu¬
tion of the supply; the rent will continue the same;
and the loss will fall on the proprietor. As a certain
number of houses, however, fall to ruin, undertakers
will not build new ones without adequate profits ; and
the rents will rise to their proper level. It is singular
that this should have been overlooked by Smith f. f Book v.
Taxes are sometimes imposed, not on the rent, butonch. ii.
the produce of land. Such is that levied for the sup¬
port of the church, both in England and Ireland. Such
taxes are pernicious. They discourage industry. The
farmer feels tnat the more he raises, the more will he
taken from him. It would be of great advantage, there¬
fore, to the country, if tithes were commuted for a fix¬
ed annual sum. It would then completely be the inte¬
rest of the cultivator to raise as much produce as pos¬
sible. The difficulty, no doubt, lies in making such an
arrangement as would enable the clergy to benefit by
the improveYnent of agriculture ; but expedients might
doubtless be found out, similar to those which were pro¬
posed above,'in the case of land tax.
rI he economists, as above observed, contend that all
taxes fall finally on the rent of land ; and therefore re¬
commend that they should be laid directly upon that
subject. The only argument which they allege in sup¬
port of this opinion is, that taxes cannot fall either upon
the profit of stock, or the wages of labour. Now we
shall, in treating of these subjects, endeavour to prove,
that taxes may most readily fall upon both.
Sect. III. Of Taxes on the Profit of Stock.
What are usually called the profits of stock, may be
divided into three parts. The first is equal to the mar¬
ket rate ot interest, and constitutes what any one is
willing to give for the mere use of the stock ; the se¬
cond is a compensation for the risk incurred ; the third
is a compensation for the trouble of carrying on the bu¬
siness. Of these, the ,last appears to u« to belong more
properly to the wages of labour, and will be considered
under that head. The second evidently is not taxable
because a man would rather not employ his stock at all*
Q * than
1 2-2
POLITICAL
Of Public thas not receive a full compensation for the risk he i un
Revenue, in so doing. But the first (which perhaps ought alone to
' v ' be considered, strictly speaking, as the profits ot stock),
is, to almost its whole extent, completely taxable. Al¬
though, out of percent, government should take
four, it would still remain the interest of the capitalist,
to lend, or to employ his stock, rather than lose the re¬
maining one. The profits of stock, however, are a ess
proper subject of taxation, than the rent of land. 1 hey
are not so easily ascertained-, the capital from which
they are derived has been accumulated by industry and
frugality : and it is the interest of the public to encou¬
rage this accumulation. There would be a danger of
driving the capitalists into other countries where they
would be liable to no such imposition, to the great de¬
triment of the country which they left.
A tax is sometimes imposed upon the profit ot parti¬
cular employments. Such a tax can never ta finally
upon these profits. The persons engaged m tins em¬
ployment must have the usual profits for their stock,
otherwise they will carry it into some other. Where
these taxes, however, are unequal, they may favour cer¬
tain classes of traders. Thus all licences, being the
same whether the trader deals to a greater or less ex¬
tent, fall heavier on the small than on the great
dealer. j -
Taxes on the tranference of property, stamp duties,
duties of registration, &c. have been carried to a con¬
siderable extent in modern financial systems. 1 he faci¬
lity of raising a revenue by this method, has encouraged
its adoption. Such taxes are unequal for the frequency
of transference has no connection with the value of pro¬
perty. We may conceive an estate coming so often to
market, that these duties may absorb the whole of it-,
while another of the same value, from remaining long m
the same hand, may pay nothing whatever. Lhese
taxes, too, fall chiefly upon the national capital, the
fund by which its industry is supported. In many cases,
they may prove a bar to the frequency and facility of
mercantile exchange. Upon the whole, therefore, it is
to be regretted, that they should prevail to so great an
extent.
ECONOMY. Cbap. V
population and raise wages, they produce all tile liad Ot Pnblij
etlects which Smith imputes to them, in raising the price Revenue,
of every manufactured commodity.
Sect. V. Of Capitation Taxes.
The taxes already noticed, are destined to fall on
some particular source of revenue J this, and the rest
of which we are now to treat, fall indifferently on all.
Capitation taxes are obviously unequal. Ihe same
sum is paid by the richest and the poorest. Ihey must
fall chiefly, too, on the labouring classes 5 and what
may be most oppressive to them will be scarcely felt by
the more opulent. They are not arbitrary, however -,
they are easily levied-, and in absolute governments,
where the comfort of the people is little considered,
they are pretty frequent. A capitation on slaves must
he paid by the masters, and forms a tax on his farming
or manufacturing stock.
Sect. VI. Of Income Tax.
Sect. IV. Taxes on the Wages of Labour.
Dr Smith is of opinion, that no tax can fall upon the
wages of labour -, that wages, in consequence of such
taxes, must immediately rise ; and that the only effect
ivill be a rise in the price of every species of produce.
But how this effect can follow, we confess we do not
see. A tax on the wages of labour has no tendency to
increase the funds for the maintenance of labour y so far
as it has any effect, it tends to diminish them. Ihe
supply and the demand will still remain the. same. J he
only way in which such taxes can raise the price ot la¬
bour, is by diminishing the supply of it, that is, the po¬
pulation -, which, in process of time, they are very likely
to do. The same funds being then distributed among a
smaller number, the wages of labourers will be higher y
after paying the tax, they will still subsist as well as
formerly y but still a portion will remain to go into the
pockets of government. It is to be fully admitted,
however, that such taxes are oppressive, and by all
Keans to be avoided. When they diminish, too, the
A well regulated income tax is, in many respects, the
most equal which can be imposed. It falls upon every
one according to his ability, and it affords no one an
opportunity of exempting himself from bearing a share
in the public burdens. The expence of collection is
small, and it takes as little as possible out of the pockets
of the people, in proportion to what it places m those
of the government. At the same time, it is liable to
serious objections. It demands a disclosure of private
circumstances, which must often be a hardship. It
affords considerable room for evasion. The payment
of a large sum at once is felt much more grievously than
the same would be, if paid gradually and insensibly, by
taxes on commodities. These causes have hitherto pre¬
vented its adoption, unless in a few rare instances, where
reliance, it was supposed, could be placed on the good
faith of the contributors. This seems to have happened
only in some small republics, where the connection be¬
tween public and private interest was very evident. By
this means, however, under the present exigency, a very
laro-e sum is now raised in this country, more easily
perhaps than it could be raised by any other method.
To render it an equal tax, however, some further mo¬
dification would still be necessary. One broad distinc¬
tion is that of income which perishes with its owner,
and income arising from land or capital. The fast is
evidently of considerably greater value, yet, under the
present system, it is taxed equally. Land, indeed, pays
the land-tax. We observed above, that the larger a
man’s income, the greater proportion of it can he afford
to pay, since he spends the more on superfluities. _ In
regard to the lower ranks, this is sufficiently provided
for by the present income tax j but by levying 10 per
cent, on all who have 150I. a-year and upwards, it falls
heavy on the middling ranks.
Sect. VII. Of Taxes on Consumable Commodities*,
Of all taxes these are the least felt. Being directly
paid by the merchant, they are felt by the consumers
only
3iap. V. • POLITICAL
'’ublic only in the increased price of the goods. They are thus
Revemi** paid gradually and piecemeal, and every one has the
power of paying or not as he chooses. These advan¬
tages, especially in countries where the comfort of the
subject is much attended to, lead to the very extensive
adoption of such taxes. They are attended, however,
with very serious drawbacks. No taxes take so much
out of the pocket of individuals, in proportion to what
they put into that of government. The tax being ad¬
vanced by the merchant, he expects not only to have it
repaid to him in the price of his goods, but to have it re¬
paid with a profit. The commodity will therefore be rais¬
ed, not merely by the amount of the tax, but by some¬
what more than that amount. These taxes also require
an host of collecting officers, whose salaries considerably
diminish their amount. The visits which these officers
must be allowed to make into the warehouse, workshop,
and even private house of the merchant and manufac¬
turer, form also a very serious grievance.
Such taxes may be either on necessaries or luxuries.
The former are avoided as much as possible, by all wise
legislators, as oppressive, falling chiefly on the poor, and
having at least an ultimate tendency to raise the wages
of labour. In Great Britain, the only taxes on neces¬
saries are those on salt, soap, leather, and candles.
It is of the utmost importance that these duties should
he levied in such a manner as not to impede the free
transference of commodities from one place to another.
In France, before the Revolution, and in other Euro¬
pean countries, duties were to be paid almost constantly
in passing from one province to another. The alcavala
of Spain, the most ruinous of all taxes, levied ten,
though afterwards only six per cent, every time a com¬
modity was sold $ which amounted almost to an abso¬
lute prohibition of all trade.
Sect. Vill. Of Public Debts.
Governments are seldom economical j and besides the
large expence which is regularly incurred in supporting
their establishment, they are liable to great occasional
demands, which their ordinary revenue is quite unable,
to answer. 01 these demands the most frequent and
pressing is war, whether offensive or defensive $ nor is
there any cause which so frequently deranges the finan¬
ces of a nation.
In rude times, when no great capitals are accumulat-
ECONOMY. 123
ed, and when, from the unsettled state of things, those (If Public
who have, would be unwilling to lend them, the only Revenue.
resource is in amassing a treasure. This was the policy ' v ^
of the sovereigns and great barons in the middle ages;
and it still is that of most of the Asiatic princes. In a
commercial state of society, bowever, sovereigns find
ample means and temptation to spend the whole of
their ordinary revenue in the luxuries which abound ;
while, at the same time, the great accumulation of capital
enables the merchants easily to advance very large sums
to government. In this transaction, they of course re¬
ceive advantageous terms, and by selling their share of
the public debt (thus converting it into a species of
commodity, called stock), they are enabled to replace
their capitals, and carry on their business as before.
Loans made by the government have this disadvan-
tage, that whereas taxes are drawn from the income of
the nation, these are drawn from its capital; from the
fund by which its industry is supported. They have
also the disadvantage, that from the facility with which
money may be borrowed, they are apt to increase to an
enormous and ruinous amount. To the credit of a pri¬
vate person, there are limits in the extent of his for¬
tune ; but these limits do not exist in the case of a go-
vernmeut, which possesses an unlimited, or at least inde¬
finite, power of augmenting its means. The interest of
the present funded debt of Great Britain would be
nearly sufficient for carrying on the most expensive war.
In such a case the only remedy is by a sinking fund. A
certain annual sum is appropriated to the purpose of pay¬
ing off the national debt; and the interest which conse¬
quently falls in, is added to the original sum, which
thus accumulating at compound interest, will increase,
after a certain period, with immense rapidity. Before
the time of Mr Pitt, there was always, during peace,
something in the shape of a sinking fund in Great Bri¬
tain. It was frequently devoted, however, to other pur¬
poses, and never paid ff any considerable portion of the
debt of the preceding war. He was the first who steadily
set aside, in peace and war, a million for this purpose,
and allowed it to accumulate at compound interest.
W henever a new loan was raised, he laid on one per
cent, as a sinking fund. In consequence of a steady
perseverance in this system, there is now a fair prospect
of the country being gradually relieved from the burden
which pressed upon it. See the Articles Commerce,
Corn Laws, Political Economy, Supplement.
POL
’olhics, _ POLITICS, the first part of economy or ethics, con-
Polity. sisting in the well governing and regulating the affairs
state for the maintenance of the public safety, order,
tranquillity, and morals.
Lord Bacon divides politics into three parts, viz. the
preservation oi the state, its happiness and flourishing, and
its enlargement. 01 the fir-t two he informs us, various
authors have treated, but the last has never been hand¬
led ; and he has given a specimen of an essay to supply
the want.
POLITY, or Policy, denotes the peculiar form and
POL
constitution of the government of any state or nation. Polity,
or the laws, orders, and regulations, relating thereto*.
——Polity differs only from politics, as the theory frcm*See Go~
the practice of any art. vemmtnt
Of the nature of our social duties, both private and
political, we have already spoken at some length (see
Moral Philosophy, Part II. chap. iii. and particularly
sect vii.) ; and we shall have occasion to take a view of
the origin and nature of the several political establish¬
ments of Europe, &c hereafter. (See Civil Society).
W« shall only further remark in this place upon the ne~
Q 3 „ eeasity
POL
[ 124]
POL
Polity eessity of always joining politics and morality together.
|t This view of the subject is indeed antiquated and neglect-
Poien. et{ ^ but the connection has always been externally re-
gpected, even by those who have separated them the most
widely. Politics and morality,far from standing in oppo¬
sition to each other, have the most intimate connection,
aml exhibit the relation which the pari bears to the
whole ; that is to say, that politics are only a part or a
branch of morality. No truth can be more evident than
this •, for as morality is the guide of human life, the
principle of order, and the universal source of real im¬
provement and genuine happiness to all mankind, every
thing relative to the direction of individuals, or the go¬
vernment of nations, must he comprehended within its
sphere, and mu-t be subservient to its laws. All the
schemes and projects of pretended political wisdom, that
deviate from or violate the rules @f this master-science,
turn out in the issue often to the detriment of their con¬
trivers, always to that ol the nation •, and it is a palp¬
able and absurd error to think of advancing the happi¬
ness'of one country at the expence of the general good
of mankind. The experience of ages, and the history
of the world, confirm these assertions \ from which, and
from daily observation, we obtain a convincing proof of
the wisdom of the good old maxim, both in its applica¬
tion to individuals and to nations, that “ honesty is the
best policy.” See Baron Dahlberg’s Considerations on
the Connection between Morality and 1 oh tics, read by
himself to the Academy of Sciences at Erfurt.
POLL, a word used in ancient writings for the head :
lienee to poll, is either to vote, or to enter down the
names of those persons who give their votes at an elec-
tion.
Poll-Evil, a troublesome ulcer on the back ot the
horse’s neck, usually the consequence of external injury.
See Farriery, N° 395.
Poll Money, or Capitation, a tax imposed by autho-
ritv of parliament on the person or head • either on all
indifferently, or according to some known mark or di¬
stinction, as quality, calling, &c.
Thus, by the statute 18 Car. II. every subject in the
kingdom was assessed by the head, or poll, according to
his degree J every duke look marquis Sol. baronet 3ol.
knight 20I. esquire xol. &c. and every single private
person 12d.
This was no new tax, as appears by former acts of
parliament.
POLLACHIUS, or Pollack. See Gadus, Ich¬
thyology Index.
POLLARD, or Crocard, the name of a sort of
base money current in Ireland in the time of Edward I.
See Simon's History of Irish Coins, p. 15-
POLLARDS, a kind of coarse flour. When wheat
is ground to meal, and divided into three kinds, accord¬
ing to the degree of fineness, the third or coarsest kind
comes under the denomination of pollards.
POLLEN, the fecundating or fertilizing dust con¬
tained within the antherae or tops of the stamina, and
dispersed upon the female organ when ripe for the pur¬
poses of impregnation. See Botany.
This dust, corresponding to the seminal fluid in ani¬
mals, is commonly of a yellow colour j and is very con¬
spicuous in the summits of some flowers, as the tulip and
lily. Its particles are very minute, and of extreme hard-
t'oliio.
ness. Examined by the microscope, they are generally Polleu
found to assume some determinate form, which often pie-
dominates, not only through all the species ot a particu- ^ 
lar genus, but also through the genera of a natural fami¬
ly oV order. The powder in question being triturated,
and otherwise prepared in the stomach of bees, oy whom
great quantities are collected in the hairy brushes with
Which their legs are covered, is supposed by some authors
to produce the substance known by the name of uax ;
a species of vegetable oil, rendered concrete by the pre¬
sence of an acid, which must be removed before the
substance can he rendered fluid. _ .
POLLENTIA, a town or colony of Roman citizens
in the Balearis Major. It is now said to be Alcudia,
situated on the north-east side of the island Majorca.
There was another Pollentia of the Picenum, likewise a
colony. It is thought to he either the same with oi
near to the Urbs Salvia, but is now extinct. 1 here was
a third of Liguria, situated at the confluence of the Stura
and Tanarus. Suetonius calls it a municipium, and the
people Polentina Plebs. It was famous for its abundance
of black fleeces 5 but was afterwards, under Arcadius,
stained with a defeat rather of the Romans undei Stih-
co than of the Goths under Alaricus, though palliated
by Claudian the poet; after which Home was taken and
set on fire. It is now called Solewza, a small town of
Piedmont, not far from Asti.
POL LEX, in Anatomy, denotes either the thumb or
great toe, according as munus or pedis is added to it.
POLLXCHIA, a genus of plants belonging to the
monandria class, and in the natural method ranking with
those that are doubtful. See Lot any Index.
PQLLICIS press 10, and Pollicis versio, were
used at the combats of gladiators as signals of life or
death to the vanquished combatant} or to the victor to
spare or take the life of his antagonist. \.\\e pollicis
pressio, by which the people granted liie to the piostrate
gladiator, was no more than a clenching of the fingers
of both hands together, and so holding the two thumbs
upright close together. rihe polhcis versio, which au¬
thorised the victor to kill the other as a coward, was the
bending hack of the thumbs. Such is Dacier’s opinion j
but others say the polhcis pressio was when the people
held up one hand with the thumb bent, and the polhcis
versio when they showed the hand with the thumb rais¬
ed. Authors, however, are not perfectly agreed, though
the phrases polliceni premere, and polhcem vertere, fre¬
quently occur in the Latin classics as indications of the
people’s will that a gladiator should live or die.
POLLIO, Caius Asinius, a celebrated Latin poet
and orator, was of consular dignity, and composed some
tragedies which wrere esteemed, but are now lost. He
was the first who opened at Rome a library for the use
of the public. He was the friend of Mark Antony
which prevented his complying with the solicitations of
Augustus, who pressed him to embrace his party. At
length Augustus having wrote some verses against Pol-
lio, he was urged to answer them: on which he said,
“ I shall take care of writing against a man who has the
power of proscribing us. He is praised by \ irgi! and
Horace, whose patron he was,
There was another Pollio, a friend of Augustus, who
used to feed his fishes with human flesh. This cruelty
was discovered when one of his servants broke a glass in
the
POL' [ i
Toilio the presence of Augustus, who had been invited to a
(| feast. The master ordered the servant to be seized, but
Potlux, jie threw himself at the feet of the emperor, and begged
“’"’v him to interfere, and not to suffer him to be devoured
by fishes. Upon this the causes of his apprehension
were examined j and Augustus, astonished at the barba¬
rity of his favourite, caused the servant to be dismissed,
all the fish ponds to be filled up, and the crystal glasses
of Pollio to be broken to pieces.
POLLUTION, in general signifies defilement, or
the rendering a person or place unclean or unholy. For
the Jewish pollutions, see the article Impurity.
The Romanists hold a church to be polluted by the
effusion of blood or of seed therein: and that it must be
consecrated anew. And the Indians are so superstitious
on this head, that they break alt the vessels which those
of another religion have drank out of, or even only
touched j and drain all the water out of a pond in which
a stranger has bathed.
Pollution, in Medicine, a disease which consists in
an involuntary emission of the seed in time of sleep.
This, in different persons, is very different in degree ;
some being affected with it only once in a week, a fort¬
night, three weeks, or a month, and others being subject
to it almost every night. The persons most subject to
it, are young men of a sanguineous temperament, who
feed high and lead a sedentary life. When this hap¬
pens to a person but once in a fortnight or a month, it
is of no great consequence ; but when it happens almost
every night, it greatly injures the health ; the patient
looks pale and sickly •, in some the eyes become weak
and inflamed, are sometimes affected with violent de-
fluxions, and are usually at last encircled with a livid
appearance of the skin. This distemper is to be cured
rather by a change of life than by medicines. When
it has taken its rise from a high diet and a sedentary
life, a coarser food and the use of exercise will generally
cure it. Persons subject to this disease should never
take any stimulating purges, and must avoid as much
as possible ail violent passions of the mind ; and though
exercise is recommended in moderation, yet if this be
too violent, it will rather increase the disorder than con¬
tribute to its cure.
Self-Pollution. See Onanism.
POLLUX, Julius, a Greek writer of antiquity,
flourished in the reign of the emperor Commodus, and
was born at Naucrates, a town in Fgypt. He was edu¬
cated under the sophists, and made great progress in
grammatical and critical learning. He taught rhetoric
at Athens, and became so famous that he was made pre¬
ceptor of the emperor Commodus. He drew up for
his use, and inscribed to him, while his father Marcus
Antoninus was living, an Onomaslicon or Greek voca¬
bulary, divided into ten books. It is extant, and con¬
tains a vast variety of synonymous words and phrases,
agreeable to the copiousness of the Greek tongue,
ranged under the general classes of things. It was in¬
tended to facilitate the knowledge of the Greek lan¬
guage to the young prince ; and it is still very useful to
all who have a mind to be perfect in it. The first edi¬
tion of it was printed at Venice by Aldus in 1502, and a
Latin version was afterwards made and published with
it: but there was no correct and handsome edition of it
till that of Amsterdam, 1706, in folio, by Lederiinus
s
25 ] POL
and Hemsterhusius. Lederiinus went through the first Pollux
seven books, corrected the text and version, and sub- 11
joining his own, with the notes of Salmasius, Is. Vos- Pol)'tElu,s'
sius, Valesius, and of Kuhnius, whose scholar he had ~v
been, and whom he succeeded in the professorship of
the oriental languages in the university of Strasburg.
Hemsterbusius continued the same method through the
three last books: this learned man has since distinguish¬
ed himself by an excellent edition of Lucian, and other
monuments of solid and profound literature.
Pollux wrote many other things, none of which re¬
main. He lived to the age of 58. Philostratus and
Lucian have treated him with much contempt and ridi¬
cule. Pkilostrat. de vit. Sophist, lib. ii. and Lucian in
Phetorum prcccepiore.
Pollux. See Castor and Pollux.
Pollux, in Astronomy, a fixed star of the second
magnitude, in the constellation Gemini, or the Twins.
See Castor.
, Pollux and Castor, a fiery meteor. See Castor
and Pollux.
POLOCSKI, a palatinate in the duchy of Lithuania,
partly in Poland, and partly in Russia, and under the
government of Russia since 1773 J bounded on the north
by the palatinate of Weytepski, on the south by the
I) wina, on the north by Muscovy, and on the west by
Livonia. It is a desert country, full of wood, and had
formerly its own dukes.
Polocski, a town of Lithuania, and capital of a pa¬
latinate ol the same name, with two castles to defend it.
It was taken by the Muscovites in 1363, and retaken
the same year. It is seated on the river Dwina, 30
miles south-west of Weytepski, and 80 east of Breslaw.
E. Long. 29. o. N. Lat. 36. 4.
POLTROON, or Poltron, a coward or dastard,
wanting courage to perform any thing great or noble.
The word is borrowed from the French, who according
to Salmasius, derived it a pollice truncato ; because an¬
ciently those who would avoid going to the wars cut oft’
their thumb. But Menage, with more probability, de¬
rives it from the Italian poltrone and that from poltro
a “ bed j” because timorous, pusillanimous people take
pleasure in lying a-bed. Others derive the word from
the Italian poltro, a “ colt because of that creature’s
readiness to run away.
POLVER1NE, the calcined ashes of a plant $ of a
similar nature with our pot-ashes or pearl-ashes. It is
brought from the Levant and Syria; and in the glass-
trade it is always to be preferred to any other ashes.
The barilla, or pot-ashes of Spain, yield more pure salt
than the polverine of the Levant, but the glass made
with it has always some blue tinge: that made with the
polverine is perfectly white, which ought always to be
used for the finest crystal.
POL YADELP Hi A (from TroXvg, many, and odhih-
tpix, brotherhood'), many brotherhoods ; the name of the
18th class of Linnaeus’s sexual system, consisting of
plants with hermaphrodite flowers, in which several
stamina or male organs are united by their filaments
into three or more distinct bundles. See Classifica¬
tion under Botany.
POLYiENUS, the name of many famous men re¬
corded in ancient writers. Among them was Julius
Polyaenus, of whom we have some Greek epigrams ex¬
tant
POL
folytenus tant In the first book of the Antholngia. lb
jl nus whom it most concerns us to know about, is the
Poly .his autllor 0f the eight books of the Stratagems of Illustrious
■* Commanders in War. He was probably a Macedo¬
nian, and perhaps a soldier in the early part of bis life j
but of this there is no certainty. He Was undoubtedly
a rhetorician and a pleader of causes ; and appears,
from the dedication of his work to the emptrors Anto¬
ninus and Verus, to have lived towards the latter part of
the second century. The Stratugemata were published
in Greek by Isaac Casaubon, with notes, in 1589,
!2mo 5 but no good edition of them appeared till that^ol
Leyden, 1690, in 8vo. The title page runs thus : Po-
lyceni Strata [remain m hbn octo,Justo Vulteio interpreter
Pancratius Maasvicius recensuit, Isaaci Casauboni nec
non suas notas adjecit.
We have in this work the various stratagems of above
goo captains and generals of armies, chiefly Greeks and
barbarians j for the Romans seldom used such finesses ;
and Polysenus has shown further, that he was not well
versed in Roman affairs. A great number of these stra¬
tagems appear to us to be ridiculous or impracticable j
and neither the generals, or even common soldiers of
our days, would be found simple enough to be caught
by them. Few of this order are capable of reading
Poh/eenus's Stratagems ; and if they were, they would
reap little benefit from it. The book is useful to such
as study the Greek language and antiquity •, for many
things will be found in it, illustrating the customs and
opinions of ancient times. The sixth and seventh books
are imperfect.
Polysenus composed other works besides the Stratage-
mata. Stoboeus has produced some passages out of a
book De Republica Maeedonum; and Suidas mentions a
piece concerning the Thebans, and three books of Ta¬
citus. If death had not prevented, he would have writ¬
ten Memorabilia of the Emperors Antoninus and Verus :
for he makes a promise of this in the preface to his
sixth book of Stratagems. Casaubon, in the dedication
of Polysenus to Mornaeus, calls him an elegant, acute,
and learned winter.
POLYANDRIA (from ■KO.v^many,^^. a man,
or many husbands. The name of the 13th
xdass in Linnaeus’s sexual method, consisting of plants
with hermaphrodite flowers, which are furnished with
several stamina, that are inserted into the common recep¬
tacle of the flower. See Classification under Botany.^
POLYANTHEA, a collection of common-places in
alphabetical order, for the use of orators, preachers, &c.
The word is formed from the Greek ntXve, much, and
flower: and has much the same meaning with an¬
thology or florilege. The first author of the polyantbea
was Dom'inic Nanni de Mirabellio, whose labour has
been improved on by Barth. Amantius, and Franc.
sius ; and since these, by Jos. Langius, under the title of
Poly ant hea nova, 1613.
POLYANTHUS. See Primula, Botany Index;
4ind for the cultivation of this early ornament of the
flower garden, see GaRDKNING.
POLYBIUS, a famous Greek historian, was born
at IVIegalooolis, a city of Arcadia, 205 years before
Christ, and was the son of Lycortas, chief of the re¬
public of the Achteans. He was trained to arms under
the celebrated Philoposmen,and is described by Plutarch
■carryin‘f the urn of that great but unfortunate general
[ ii<5 ] POL
Polyse- «« bis funeral procession. He arose to considerable ho¬
nours in his own country, but was compelled to visit ^
Rome with other principal Aclueans, who were detain- '-
ed there as pledges for the submission of their state.
From hence he became intimate with the second Scipio
Africanus, and was present with him at the demolition
of Carthage. He saw Corinth also plundered by Mum-
mius, and thence passing through the cities of Achaia,
reconciled them to Rome. He extended his travels in¬
to Egypt, France, and Spain, that he might avoid such
geographical errors as he has censured in others.
It was in Rome that he composed his excellent hi¬
story, for the sake of which his travels were undertaken.
This history was divided into 40 books-, but there only
remain the five first, with extracts of some parts of the
others. It has had several editions in Greek and La¬
tin ; and there is an English translation by Mr Hamp¬
ton. He died at the age of 82.
POLYCARP, one of the most ancient fathers of the
Christian chuich, was born towards the end of the reign
of Nero, probably at Smyrna where he was educated at
the expence of Calista, a noble matron distinguished by
her piety and charity. He was unquestionably a disciple
of St John the Evangelist, and conversed familiarly with
other of the apostles. When of a proper age, Bucolus or¬
dained him a deacon and catechist of his church; and upon
his death he succeeded him in the bishopric, to which he
is said to have been consecrated by St John, who also di¬
rected his Apocalypse, among others, to him, under the
title otthe angel of the church of Smyrna. At length the
controversy about the observation ot Easter beginning to
grow high between the eastern and western churches,
be went to Rome to discourse with those who were of the
opposite party. The see was then possessed by Anicetus,
with whom he had many conferences, that were carried
on in the most peaceable and amicable manner ; and
though neither of them could bring the other to em¬
brace his opinion, they both letained their own senti¬
ments without violating that charity which is the great
law of their religion.
Whilst at Rome he particularly opposed the heresies
of Marcian and Valentinus. His conduct on this oc¬
casion is related by Irenaeus ; who informs us, that when
Polycarp passed Marcian in the street without speak¬
ing,Marcian said, “ Polycarp, own us!” To which h»
replied with indignation, “ I own thee to be the first¬
born of Satan.” Irenseus adds, that when any heretical
doctrines were spoken in his presence, he would stop
his ears and say, ** Good God ! to what times hast thou
reserved me, that I should hear such things !” and im¬
mediately left the place. He was wont to tell, that
St John, going into a bath at Ephesus, and finding Ce-
rinthus the heretic in it, immediately started back with¬
out bathing, crying out, “ Let us run away, lest the
bath should fall upon us while Cerinthus the enemy of
truth is in it.” Polycarp governed the church of Smyr¬
na with apostolic purity, till he suffered martyrdom in
the 7th year of Marcus Aurelius ; the manner of which
is thus related.
The persecution waxing hot at Smyrna, and many
having sealed their faith with their blood, the general
cry was, “ Awa\ with rhe impious ; let Polycarp be
sought for.” Upon whiyh be privately withdrew into a
neighbouring village, where he continued for some time
praying night and day for the peace of the church. I e
PoliU*
roiycarp,4
ns;
POL [ i
Poiycarp. was thus employed, when one night he fell into a
y—" trance, and dreamed that his pillow took fire, and was
burnt to ashes ; which, when he awoke, he told his
friends was a presage that he should be burnt alive for
the cause of Christ. Three days afterwards, in order
to escape the incessant search for him, he retired into
another village : his enemies, however, were at hand,
who seized upon two youths (one of whom they forced
by stripes to a confession), by whom they were conduct¬
ed to his lodging. He might have saved himself by
getting into another bouse ; but he submitted, saying,
“ The will of the Lord be done.” He therefore came
down from his bed-chamber, and saluting his persecutors
with a serene and cheerful countenance, he ordered a
table to be set with provisions, invited them to partake
of them, and only requested for himself, one hour for
prayer; after which he was set upon an ass, and con¬
ducted towards Smyrna. On the road he met Herod
an irenarch or justice of the province, and his father,
who were the principal instigators of the persecution.
Herod took him up into his chariot, and strenuously
endeavoured to undermine his constancy *, but having
failed in the attempt, he thrust him out of the chariot
with so much violence and indignation that he bruised
his thigh with the fall. When at the place of execu¬
tion, there came, as is said, a voice from heaven, saying,
“ Polycarp, be strong, and quit thyself like a man.”
Before the tribunal he was urged to swear by the genius
of Caesar. “ Repent (says the proconsul), and say with
us, take away the impious.” Whereupon the martyr
looking round at the crowd with a severe and angry
countenance, beckoned with his hand, and looking up
to heaven, said with a sigh, in a very different tone
from what they meant, “ Take away the impious.”
At last, confessing himself to be a Christian, the crier
thrice proclaimed his confession, and the people shouted,
“ This is the great doctor of Asia, and the father of the
Christians ; this is the destroyer of our gods, that
teaches men not to do sacrifice, or worship the deities.”
When the fire was prepared, Polycarp requested not to
be nailed, as usual, but only tied to the stake j and after
a short prayer, which he pronounced with a clear and
audible voice, the executioner blew up the fire, which
increasing to a mighty flame, “ Behold a wonder seen
(says my author) by us who were purposely reserved,
that we might declare it to others •, the flames dispo¬
sing themselves into the resemblance of an arch, like
the sails of a ship swelled with the wind, gently en¬
circled the bodv of the martyr, who stood all the while
in the midst, not like roasted flesh, but like the gold or
silver purified in the furnace, his body sending forth a
delightful fragrancy, which like frankincense or some
other costly spices, presented itself to our senses. The
infidels, exasperated by the miracle, commanded a
spearman to run him through with a sword: which he
had no sooner done, but such a vast quantity of blood
flowed from the wound as extinguished the fire j when
27 ] POL
a dove was seen to fly from the wound, which some sup- Poiycarp
pose to have been his soul, clothed in a visible shape at ii
the time of its departure (a).” The Christians endea- Polycrates,
voured to carry off his body entire, but were not allow- ^ “
ed by the irenarch, who commanded it to be burnt to
ashes. The bones, however, were gathered up, and de¬
cently interred by the Christians.
Thus died St Polycarp, the 7th of the kalends of
May, A. C. 167. The amphitheatre on which he suf¬
fered was mostly remaining not many years ago j and
his tomb, which is in a little chapel in the side of a
mountain, on the south-east of the city, was solemnly
visited by the Greeks on the festival day and for the
maintenance and repairing of it, travellers were wont to
throw a few aspers into an earthen pot that stands there
for the purpose. He wrote some homilies and epistles,
which are now lost, except that to the Philippians,
which is a truly pious and Christian piece, containing
short and useful precepts and rules of life, which St Je¬
rome informs us was even in his time read in the public
assemblies of the Asiatic churches. It is singularly
useful in proving the authenticity of the books of the
New Testament; for he has several passages and ex¬
pressions from Matthew, Luke, the Acts, St Paul’s
Epistles to the Philippians, Ephesians, Galatians, Co¬
rinthians, Romans, Thessalonians, Colossians, 1st Ti¬
mothy, 1st Epistle of St John, and xst of Peter; and
makes particular mention of St Paul’s Epistle to the
Ephesians. Indeed his whole Epistle consists of phrases
and sentiments taken from the New Testament (b).
POLYCARPON, a genus of plants, belonging to
the triandria class; and in the natural method ranking
under the 22d order, Caryophyllei. See Botany I ri¬
de x*
POLYCHREST, in Pharmacy, signifies a medi¬
cine that serves many uses, or that cures many diseases.
Sal Polychrest, a compound salt made of equal
parts of saltpetre and sulphur, deflagrated in a red-hot
crucible. See Materia Medica.
POLYCNEMUM, a genus of plants, belonging to
the triandria class; and in the natural method ranking
under the 1 2th order, Iloloraccce. See Botany Index.
POL YC HATES, was a tyrant of Samos, famous
for the good foitune which always attended him. He.
became very powerful ; and got possession not only of
the neighbouring islands, but also of some cities on the
coast of Asia. He had a fleet of 100 ships of war, and
was so universally esteemed, that Amasis the king of
Egypt made a treaty of alliance with him. The Egyp¬
tian king was, however, afraid of his continued prospe¬
rity, and advised him to chequer his enjoyments, by re¬
linquishing some of his most favourite objects. Poly¬
crates, in compliance, threw into the sea a beautiful
seal, the most valuable of his jewels. The loss of so pre¬
cious a seal afflicted him for some time ; but soon after
he received as a present a large fish, in whose belly it
was found. Amasis no sooner heard this, than he gave up
all ,
(a) The miraculous part of this account is ridiculed by Dr Middleton in his Free Enquiry and Defence of
it; but something is oftered in its favour by Mr Jortin, who observes, “ the circumstances are sufficient only to .
create a pause and a doubt.” Remarks on Eccl. Hi t. vol. i.
(b) Jortin, vol. i. 68. who to the particulars made out by Cotelerius, has added one from Galat. iv. 26. and !
another from Hebr. iv, 12, 13.
r
Polygala.
POL
Polycrates all alliance with the tyrant of
sooner or later his good loitune t
time after Polycrates visited Magnesia on the MteafliP
where he had been invited by Orentes the goveinor
Here he was shamefully put to death, merely because
the governor wished to terminate his prosper! y
daughter of Polycrates had dissuaded her fath Ir^m
going to the house of Orontes on account ot the bad
dreams which she had, but in vain.
POLYCROTA, in the naval architecture ot the an
cients, is a word used to express such of their galleys as
had three, four, five, or more tiers ot rowers, seated at
different heights •, they were distinguished by th _
from the momenta, or those which had only single rows
of oars. The number of rows of rowers in the poly-
crote galleys has given occasion to some to suppose those
vessels of sLh a height from the water as - -arce cre¬
dible. Commentators are not at all agreed upon t
construction of these vessels. . • *.
POLYDAM AS, was a famous athlete, who imita¬
ted Hercules in whatever he did. He killed a lion wit i
his fist *, and it is reported he could stop a chariot with
his hand in its most rapid course. He was one day
with some of his friends in a cave, when on a sudden a
large piece of rock came tumbling down, and while a
fled away, he attempted to receive the tailing liagment
in his arms. His prodigious strength, however, was in¬
sufficient, and he was instantly crushed to pieces unde
^POLYDECTES, a son of Magnes, was king of the
' island of Seriphos. He received with great kindness
Danae and her son Perseus, who had been exposed on
the sea by Acrisius. He took great care of the edu¬
cation of Perseus •, but becoming enamoured ot Danae,
he removed her from his kingdom, apprehensive ot his
resentment. He afterwards paid his adresses to Da¬
nae • and being rejected, he prepared to ofler her \io-
knee. Danaegfied to the altar of Minerva tor protec¬
tion i and Dictys, the brother of Polydectes, who had
himself saved him from the sea-waters, opposed her ra-
vislier, and armed himself in her defence. At this cri¬
tical moment Perseus arrived *, and with Medusa s head
he turned into stones Polydectes, with the associates ot
his guilt. The crown of Seriphos was given to Dictys,
bad shown himself so active in the cause oi inno-
P O L
See Polygala
cence.
POLYDORE virgil. See Virgil.
POLYDORUS, a son of Priam by Hecuba, or, ac¬
cording to others, by Laothe, the daughter ot Altes,
king of Pedasus.. Being young and inexperienced when
Troy was besieged by the Greeks, his father removed
him to the court of Polymnestor, king ot 1 brace, to
whose care he entrusted the greatest part of his treasures,
till his country should be freed from foreign invasion.
Onthe death of Priam, Polymnestor made himselt master
of the riches which were in his possession } and to en¬
sure them the better, he murdered the young prince
and threw his body into the sea, where it was tounci
by Hecuba. According- to Virgil, bis body was bu¬
ried near the shore by his assassin •, and there grew on
his grave a myrtle, whose boughs dropped blood, when
/Eneas going to Italy, attempted to tear them from the
t epOEYGALA, Milkwort-, a genus of plants.be¬
longing to the diadelphia class j and in the natural me-
128 ]
thod ranking under the 33d order, Lomenlacea
Botany Inchx. . Poi "
POLYGAMIA (Wt!j, »/c«y,and marriage), / ^
is a term expressing an intercommunication of sexes, and
is applied by Linnteus both to plants and flowers. A
polygamous plant is that which bears both hermaphro¬
dite flowers, and male or female, or both.
POLYGAMY, a plurality of wives or husbands, in
the possession of one man or woman at the same time.
Polygamy is so universally esteemed unlawiul, and
even unnatural, through Europe, and in all Christian
countries, that we have generally reasoned upon this
conviction. Both religion and reason appear at first
sight at least to condemn it 5 and with this view cd the
subject mankind in general rest satisfied: but some Doluer
geniuses have taken the opposite side ol the question ;
have cast off the prejudices of education, and attempted
to show that polygamy is not unlawful, but that it is
just and necessary, and would be a public benefit. Such
writers, to use the words ol an intelligent critic ', “ re-* Monti,
cur to the common subterfuge, ot which every setter
7/p of strange gods, and .every CONSCIENTIOUS troubler ^ ^
of the public peace, have artlully availed themselves
to silence the clamour of expostulation. ‘ I RUTH .
Truth !’ is their genera! cry : and with this hopeful
pretence, prudence and humility, and every amiable and
useful virtue, are left behind j while conscience (co/i-
science !) blindly rushes forward to oppose order, insult
authority, and overturn the customs ot ages.’’
But notwithstanding these fair pretences, it will, we
doubt not, be easy to show that truth is not upon their
side ; prudence and delicacy are certainly at open war
with them : for Dr Percival, Phil. Trans, vol. Ixvi.
part i. p. 163. has very justly observed, that the practice
is brutal, destructive to friendship and moral sentiment,
inconsistent with one great end of marriage, the educa¬
tion of children, and subversive of the natural rights of
more than half of the species. Besides, it is injurious
to papulation, and therefore can never be countenanced
or allowed in a well-regulated state 5 tor though the
number of females in, the world may considerably exceed
the number of males, yet there are more men capable
of propagating their species than women capable ot bear¬
ing children \ and it is a well known tact, that Armenia,
in which a plurality of wives is not allowed, abounds
more with inhabitants than any other province of the
Turkish empire. _ . .
Indeed it appears, that in some countries where it is
allowed, the inhabitants do not take advantage of it.
“ The Europeans (saysM. Niebuhrf) are mistaken inf Hem
thinking the state of marriage so different among the Tramk |
Mussulmans from what it is with Christian nations. I°/_ .
could not discern any such difference in Arabia.
The^f’
..—  — >—_■ vets.
women of that country seem to be as tree and as happy
as those of Europe possibly can be. Polygamy is per¬
mitted, indeed, among Mahometans, and the delicacy
of our ladies is shocked at this idea •, but the Arabians
rarely avail t themselves of the privilege of marrying} See J
four lawful wives, and entertaining at the same time any does, N
number of female slaves. None but rich voluptuaries
marry so many wives, and their conduct is blamed by
all sober men. Men of sense, indeed, think this privi¬
lege rather troublesome than convenient. A husband
. is by law obliged to treat his wives suitably to their con¬
dition, and to dispense his favours among them with
perfect
POL [
Polygamy, perfect equality : but these are duties not a little dis-
-v“—agreeable to most Mussulmans; and such modes of luxury
are too expensive to the Arabians, who are seldom in
easy circumstances. I must, however, except one case ;
for it sometimes happens that a man marries a number
of wives in the way of commercial speculation. J know
a Mullah, in a town near the Euphrates, who had mar¬
ried four wives, and was supported by the profits of
their labour.”
See a curious kind of polygamy under the article
Nayres. The ancient Britons, too, had a kind of
polygamy among them, 12 women being common to
12 men.
Selden has proved, in his Uxor Hebraica, that plura¬
lity of wives was allowed of, not only among the He¬
brews, but also among all other nations, and in all ages.
It is true, the ancient Romans wTere more severe in their
morals, and never practised it, though it was not forbid
among them : and Mark Antony is mentioned as the
first who took the liberty of having two wives.
Irom that time it became pretty frequent in the em¬
pire till the reigns of i heodosius, Honorius, and Arca-
dius, who first prohibited it by express law in 393.
After this the emperor Valentinian, by an edict, per¬
mitted all the subjects of the empire, if they pleased, to
marry several wives : nor does it appear, from the ec¬
clesiastical history of those times, that the bishops made
any opposition to the introduction of polygamy. In
effect, there are some even among the Christian casuists
who do not look on polygamy as in itself criminal. Ju-
rieu observes, that the prohibition of polygamy is a po¬
sitive law, but from which a man may be exempted by
sovereign necessity. Baillet adds, that the example of
the patriarchs is a powerful argument in favour of poly¬
gamy : of these arguments we shall speak hereafter.
It has been much disputed among the doctors of the
civil law whether polygamy be adultery. In the Ro¬
man law it is called stuprum, and punished as such, that
is, in some cases capitally. But a smaller punishment
is more consistent with the Jewish law, wherein the pro¬
hibition of adultery is perpetual, but that of polygamy
temporary only.
In Germany, Holland, and Spain, this offence is dif¬
ferently punished. By a constitution of Charles V. it
was a capital crime. By the laws of ancient and modern
Sweden it is punished with death. In Scotland it is
punished as perjury.
In England it is enacted by statute I Jac. I. cap. 11.
that if any person, being married, do afterwards marry
again, the former husband or wife being alive, it is fe-
lony, but within the benefit of clergy. The first wife,
in this case, shall not be admitted as an evidence against
her husband, because she is the true wife ; but the se¬
cond may, for she is indeed no wife at all; and so vice
versa of a second husband. This act makes an exception
to fives cases, in which such second marriage, though in
the three first it is void, is however no felony. 1. Where
either party hath been continually abroad for seven years,
whether the party in England had notice of the other’s
being living or not. 2. Where either of the parties
hath been absent from the other seven years within this
kingdom, and the remaining party hath had no notice of
the other’s being alive within that time. 3. Where
there is a divorce or separation £ mensa et thoro by sen-
Vol. XVII. Part I. +
29 ] POL
tence in the ecclesiastical court. 4. Where the first Polygamy.
marriage is declared absolutely void by any such sentence,  ’
and the parties loosed a vinculo. Or, 5. Where either
of the parties was under the age of consent at the time
of the first marriage ; for in such case the first marriage
was voidable by the disagreement of either party, which
this second marriage very clearly amounts to. But if
at the age of consent the parties had agreed to the mar¬
riage, which completes the contract, and is indeed the
real marriage, and afterwards one of them should marry
again, Judge Blackstone apprehends that such second
marriage would be within the reason and penalties of
the act.
Bernardus Ochinus, general of the order of Capu¬
chins, and afterwards a Protestant, published, about the
middle of the 16th century, Oialogues in favour of Po-
lygamy, which were answered by Theodore Beza. And
about the conclusion of the last century we had at Lon¬
don an artful treatise published in behalf of a plurality
of wives, under the title of Polygamia Triumphatrix ;
the author whereof assumes the name of Theophilus
Aletheus; but his true name was Lyserus. He was a
native of Saxony. It has been answered by several.
A new argument in favour of polygamy has been
adduced by Mr Bruce, on this principle, that in some
parts of the world the proportion of female children is
much greater than that of the males. “ From a dili¬
gent inquiry (says he) into the south and scripture part
of Mesopotamia, Armenia, and Syria, from Mousnl or
Nineveh to Aleppo and Antioch, I find the proportion
to be fully two women to one man. There is indeed a
fraction over, but it is not a considerable one. From
Latikea, Laodicea ad mare, down the coast of Syria
to Sidon, the number is nearly three, or two and three-
fourths, to one man. Through the Holy Land, the
country called Horan, in the isthmus of Suez, and the
parts of the Delta unfrequented by strangers, it is some¬
thing less than three. But from Suez to the straits of
Babelmandel, which contains the three Arabias, the
proportion is fully four women to one man ; which I
have reason to believe holds as far as the line, and 30°
beyond it. The Imam of Sama was not an old man
when I was in Arabia Felix in 1769 ; but he had 88
children then alive, of whom 14 only were sons. The
priest of the Nile had 70 and odd children: of whom,
as I remember, above fifty were daughters.
“ It may be objected, that Dr Arbuthnot, in quo¬
ting the bills of mortality for 20 years, gave the most
unexceptionable grounds for his opinion ; and that my
single exception of what happens in a foreign country,
without further foundation, cannot be admitted as
equivalent testimony : and I am ready to admit this ob¬
jection, as there are no bills of mortality in any of these
countries. I shall therefore say in what manner I at¬
tained the knowledge which I have just mentioned.
Whenever I went into a town, village* or inhabited
place, dwelt long in a mountain, or travelled journeys
with any set of people, I always made it my business to
inquire how many children they had, or their fathers,
their next neighbours or acquaintance. I then asked
my landlord at Sidon, suppose him a weaver, how many
children he has had ? He tells me how many sons and
how many daughters. The next I ask is a tailor, a
smith, &c. in short every man who is not a stranger,
R from
POL
from whom I can get the proper information. .
therefore, that a medium of both sexes, arising irom
three or four hundred families, indiscriminately taken,
shall be the proportion in which one differs from the
other : and this, I am confident, will give the result to
be three women in 50° of the 90° under every meridian
of the globe.”
Our author corroborates this argument by supposing
that Mahomet perceived this disproportion, and that
upon it he founded his institution allowing one man to
have four wives. “ With this view he enacted, or ra
ther revived, the law which gave liberty to every indi
vidual to marry four wives, each of whom was to be
equal in rank and honour, without any preference but
what the predilection of the husband gave her.
Having thus established, as he supposes, the necessity
of polygamy in the East, Mr Bruce proceeds to consider
whether there is not some other reasons why it should
uot be practised in Britain farther than the mere equa¬
lity in numbers of the sexes to one another. This rea¬
son he finds in the difference between the constitutions
of the Europeans and eastern nations. “ Women in
England (says he) are capable of child-bearing at 14 j
let the other term be 48, when they bear no more j
34 years therefore an English woman bears children.
At the age of 14 or 15 they are objects of our love ;
they are endeared by bearing us children after that
time) and none, I hope, rvill pretend, that at 48 and
qo an Englishwoman is not an agreeable companion.
The Arab, on the other hand, if she begins to bear
children at 11, seldom or never has a child after 20.
The time, then, of her child-bearing is nine years j and
four wTomen, taken altogether, have then the term of
36. So that the English woman that bears children
for 34 years has only two years less than the term en¬
joyed by the four wives whom Mahomet has allowed j
and if it be granted that an English wife may bear at
50, the terms are equal. But there are other grievous
differences. An Arabian girl at 11 years old, by her
youth and beauty, is the object of man’s desire : being
an infant, however, in understanding, she is not a ra¬
tional companion for him. A man marries there, say
at 20 j and before he is 30, his wife, improved as a
companion, ceases to be the object of his desires and a
mother of children : so that all the best and most vigo¬
rous of his days are spent with a woman he cannot
love j and with her he would be destined to live 40 or
45 years, without comfort to himselt by increase of
family, or utility to the public. The reasons, then, a-
irainst polygamy, which subsist in England, do not by
any means subsist in Arabia j and that being the case,
it would be unworthy of the wisdom of God, and an
unevenness in his ways, which we shall never see, to
subject two nations under such different circumstances
absolutely to the same observances.”
To all this argumentation, however, it may be re¬
plied, that whatever we may now suppose to be the
constitution of nature in the warmer parts of the globe,
it certainly was different at the beginning. We cannot
indeed, ascertain the exact position of the Garden of
Eden ; but it is with reason supposed not to have been
far from the ancient seat of Babylon. In that country,
therefore, where Mr Bruce contends that four women
are necessary to the comfort of one man, it pleased
God to grant only one to the first man j and that, too,
3
[ 13° ] POL
I say when there was more occasion for population than ever Polygamy.
- there has been since, because the whole earth was to be '
peopled from a single pair. Matters were not altered
at the flood; for Noah had but one wife. And this
is the very argument used by our Saviour himself when
speakipg of divorce without any sufficient cause, and
then marrying another woman, which is a species of
polygamy.—Again, with respect to the alleged multi¬
plicity of females in the eastern part of the world, it is
by no means probable that the calculations of Mr Biuce
or any other person can be admitted in this case. His¬
tory mentions no such thing in any nation ; and consi-
dering the vast destruction among the male part of the
human species more than that of the females by war and
other accidents, we may safely say, that iifour women
children were born for every single male, there would
in such countries be five or six grown up women for
every man* a proportion which we may venture to
affirm does not, nor ever did, exist anywhere in the
world. That it was not so in former times, we can
only judge from the particular examples recorded in
history, and these are but few. We read in the Greek
history, indeed, of the fifty daughters of Hanaus 3 but
these were matched by as many sons of another man.
Job had only one wife, yet had seven sons and but three
daughters. Jacob had two wives, who bore twelve
sons, and only one daughter. Abraham had only one
child by his first wife, and that was a son. By his se¬
cond wife Keturah he had six sons * and considering
his advanced age at the time he married her, it is by
no means probable that he could have 24 daughters *
nay, if, as Mr Bruce tells us, the women in the eastern
countries bear children only for nine years, it was im¬
possible she could have so many. Gideon, who had
many wives, had no fewer than seventy sons by these
wives, and even his concubine had a son * so that if all
these women had produced according to Mr Bruce’s
proportion, of nearly three females to one male, he
must have had almost 284 children ; a better family
than any of Mr Bruce’s eastern acquaintance can pro¬
bably boast of.
With regard to the subject, however, it must be ob¬
served, that the procreation of male or female children
depends in some degree on the health and vigour of the
parents. It is by no means improbable, therefore that
the eastern voluptuaries, whose constitutions are debili¬
tated by their excesses, may have many more female than
male children born to them. The women themselves,
by premature enjoyment, will also be inclined to pro¬
duce females instead of males * but neither of these cir¬
cumstances can prove this to be an original law of na¬
ture. Something like this may be gathered from sacred
history. Gideon above mentioned, who was a hardy
and active warrior, had many sons. The same was the
case with David, who led an active and laborious life *
while Solomon, who was a voluptuary, had only one son,
notwithstanding his multitude of wives.
The most barefaced defence of polygamy that has ap¬
peared in modern times is by the Kev. Mr Madan, who
published a treatise, artfully vindicating, and strongly
recommending it, under the title of Thelyphthora * or
A Treatise 011 Female Ruin, in its Causes, Effects, Conse¬
quences, Prevention, and Remedy, &c. Marriage, ac¬
cording to this writer, simply and wholly consists in the
act of personal union, or actus coitus. Adultery, he
says.
POL
Polygamy. says> is never used in the sacred writings but to denote
'—■'v •* the defilement ot a betrothed or married woman, and to
this sense he restricts the use of the term ; so that a mar¬
ried man, in his opinion, is no adulterer, if his commerce
with the sex he confined to single women, who are un¬
der no obligations by espousals or marriage to other
men: but, on the other hand, the woman who should
dare to have even but once an intrigue with any other
man besides her husband, (let him have as many wives
as Solomon), would, ipso Jacto, be an adulteress, and
ought, together with her gallant, to be punished with
immediate death. This, he boldly says, is the law of
God : and on this foundation he limits the privilege of
polygamy to the man 5 in support of which he refers to
the polygamous connections of the patriarchs and saints
of the Old Testament, and infers the lawfulness of their
practice from the blessings which attended it, and the
Jaws which were instituted to regulate and superintend
it. He contends for the lawfulness of Christians having,
like the ancient Jews, more wives than one j and labours
much to reconcile the genius of the evangelical dispen¬
sation to an arrangement of this sort. With this view
he asserts, that there is not one text in the New Testa¬
ment that even hints at the criminality of a polygamous
connection j and he would infer from St Paul’s direc¬
tion, that bishops and deacons should have but one wife,
that it was lawlul for laymen to have more. Christ, he
says, was not the giver of a new law ; but the business
of marriage, polygamy, &c. had been settled before his
appearance in the world, by an authority which could
not be revoked. Besides, this writer not only thinks
polygamy lawful in a religious, but advantageous in a
civil light, and highly politic in a domestic view.
In defence of his notion of marriage, which, he says,
consists in the union of man and woman as one body, the
effects of which in the sight of God no outward forms
or ceremonies of man’s invention can add to or detract
from, he grounds his principal argument on the Hebrew
words made use of in Gen. ii. 24. to express the primi¬
tive institution of marriage, viz. tnuuo pm, rendered by
the LXX. t>jv yvnaixx ccvjis, which
translation is adopted by the evangelist (Mat. xix. c.)
with the omission only of the superfluous preposition
(w-ge?) after the verb. Our translation, “ shall cleave to
his wife,” doth not, he says, convey the idea of the He-
biew, which is literally, as Montanus renders the words,
W shall be joined or.cemented in his woman, and they
shall become (i. e. by this union) one flesh.” But on
this criticism it is well remarked, that both the Hebrew
and Greek terms mean simply and literally attachment
or adherence; and are evidently made use of in the sa¬
cred writings to express the whole scope of conjugal fi¬
delity and duty, though he would restrain them to the
grosser part of it.
With respect to the Mosaic lawr, for which Mr Ma-
dan is a warm advocate, it was certainly a local and
temporary institution, adapted to the ends for which
it was appointed, and admirably calculated, in its rela¬
tion to marriage, to maintain and perpetuate the sepa¬
ration of the Jewish people from the Gentiles. In at¬
tempting to depreciate the outward forms of marriage,
this writer would make his readers believe, that became
none are explicitly described, therefore none existed 5
and consequently that they are the superfluous ordinances
ol human policy. But it is evident, from comparing
[ 131 ]
POL
Ruth iv. 10, 13. with Tobit vii; 13, 14. and from the Polygamy.
case of Dinah, related Gen. xxxiv. that some forms were »-■■■ v ‘
deemed essential to an honourable alliance by the patri¬
archs and saints under the Old Testament, exclusive of
the carnal knowledge of each other’s persons. It is al¬
so evident in the case of the woman of Samaria, whose
connection with a man not her husband is mentioned in
John iv. that something besides cohabitation is neces¬
sary to constitute marriage in the sight of God.
Having stated his notion of marriage, he urges, in de¬
fence of polygamy, that, notwithstanding the seventh
commandment, it was allowed by God himself, who
made laws for the regulation of it, wrought miracles in
support of it by making the barren woman fruitful, and
declared the issue legitimate to all intents and purposes.
God’s allowance of polygamy is argued from Exod. xxi.
10. and particularly from Deut. xxi. 15. which, he says,
amounts to a demonstration, f his passage, however, at
the utmost, only presupposes that the practice might have
existence among so hard-hearted and fickle a people as
the Jews $ and therefore wisely provides against some of
its more unjust and pernicious consequences,such as tend¬
ed to affect the rights and privileges of heirship. Laws
enacted to regulate it cannot be fairly urged in proof of
its lawfulness on the author’s own hypothesis j because
laws were also made to regulate divorce, which Mr Ma-
dan condemns as absolutely unlawful, except in cases of
adultery. Besides, it is more probable that the “ ha¬
ted wife” had been dismissed by a bill of divorcement,
than that she was retained by her husband s and, more-
ov®r> it is not certain but that the two wives, so far from
living with the same husband at the same time, might
he dead ; for the words may be rendered thus, “ if there
should have been to a man twro wives, &c.” The words
expressing the original institution of marriage, Gen.ii.
24. compared with Matt. xix. 4, 5, 8. affords insuperable
objections against Mr Madan’s doctrine of polygamy.
If we appeal, on this subject, from the authority of
Scripture to the writings of the earliest fathers in the
Christian church, there is not to be found the faintest
trace of any thing resembling a testimony to the lawful¬
ness ol polygamy ; on the contrary, many passages oc¬
cur, in which the practice of it is strongly and explicit¬
ly condemned.
We shall close this article with the words of an excel- Monthly
lent anonymous writer already quoted, and to whose cri- Review,
tique on Mr Madan’s work we are indebted for theY0'* 'x“*'
above remarks : “ In a word, when we reflect that the See aLo
primitive institution of marriage limited it to one man voL Ixix.
and one woman ; that this institution was adhered to by
Noah and his sons, amidst the degeneracy in which they
lived, and in spite of the examples of polygamy which
the accursed race of Cain had introduced ; when we
consider how very few (comparatively speaking) the
examples of this practice were among the faithful; how
much it brought its own punishment with it; and how
dubious and equivocal those passages are in which it ap¬
pears to have the sanction of divine approbation ; when
to these reflections we add another, respecting the limit¬
ed view's and temporary nature of the more ancient dis¬
pensations and institutions of religion—how often the
imperfections and even vices of the patriarchs and peo¬
ple of God, in old time, are recorded, without any ex¬
press notification of their criminality—how much is said
to be commanded, which our reverence for the holiness
K 2 of
POL
[
PoWamv of God and his law will only suffer us to suppose, were,
Polygars- for wise ends, permitted—how frequently the messengers
‘ v 1 of God adapted themselves to the genius ot the people
to whom they were sent, and the circumstances ot the
times in which they lived above all, when we consi¬
der the purity, equity, and benevolence of the Christian
law *, the explicit declarations of our Lord, and his a-
postle St Paul, respecting the institution of marriage, its
design and limitation 5—when we reflect, too, on the
testimony of the most ancient fathers, who could not
possibly be ignorant of the general and common prac¬
tice of the apostolic church •, and, finally, when to these
considerations we add those which are founded on jus¬
tice to the female sex, and all the regulations of domestic
economy and national policy—we must wholly condemn
the revival of polygamy ; and thus bear our honest tes¬
timony against the leading design of this dangerous
and ill-advised publication.”
We would advise our readers to peruse the whole cri¬
ticisms on Madan’s book in the Monthly Review, toge¬
ther with their account of the several answers to it.
The reverend author of the Thelyphthora has there met
with a most able antagonist, who traces him through all
his deceitful windings, and exposes the futility and
falsehood of his arguments with singular ability, bee
Monthly Review, vol. Ixiii. p. 273, &c. j see also
Pa/ey’i- Moral Philosophy, zjto. p. 262.
POLYGARS, are natives of Hindostan. Ihey in¬
habit almost impenetrable woods, and are under the ab¬
solute direction of their own chieftains. In time of
peace they are professionally robbers, but in times ot
war are the guardians of the country. ^ he general
name of these people is Polygar. Their original insti¬
tution, for they live in distinct clans, is not veiy we 1
understood. It probably took its rise from the munici¬
pal regulations relative to the destruction of tygers and
' other ferocious beasts. Certain tracts of woodland
were indisputably allotted as rewards to those who
should slay a certain number ot those animals j and
those lands approximating, probably laid the founda¬
tion of the several confederacies of Polygars. .
“ The Pollams, or woods, from which is derived the
word Polygar, lying in profusion through all the south¬
ern parts of Hindostan, the ravages committed m the
open countries by these adventurous clans, are both fre¬
quent and destructive. Cattle and grain are the con¬
stant booty of the Polygars. They not unfrequently
even despoil travellers of their property, and sometimes
murder, if they meet with opposition ; yet these very
Polygars are the hands into which the aged and infirm,
the wives, children, and treasure, of both Hindoos and
others are entrusted, when the circumjacent country un¬
fortunately happens to be the seat of war. The protec¬
tion they afford is paid for j but the price is inconsi¬
derable, when the helpless situation of those who fly to
them for shelter is considered, and especially when their
own very peculiar character is properly attended to.
The native governments of Hindostan are under the ne¬
cessity of tolerating this honourable banditti. Many of
them are so formidable as to be able to bring 15,000
and 20,000 men into the field.
“ The Hindoo code of laws, in speaking of robbe¬
ries, hath this remarkable clause, ‘ The mode of shares
amongst robbers shall be this If any thief or thieves,
by the command of the magistrate, and with his assist-
132 ] POL
ance, have committed depredations upon, and brought Polygars
away any booty from, another province, the magistrate I!
shalf receive a share of one-sixth part of the whole. If FoIZ_Snot^'
they received no command or assistance from the ma¬
gistrate, they shall give the magistrate in that case one-
tenth part for his share, and of the remainder their chief
shall receive four shares ; and whosoever among them is
perfect master of his occupation, shall receive three
shares: also, whichever of them is remarkably strong
and stout, shall receive two shares, and the rest shall
receive each one share.’ Here, then, we see not only
a sanction, but even an inducement, to fraudulent prac¬
tices, Another singular inconsistency among a people
who,' in many periods of their history, have been pro¬
verbial for innocency of manners, and for uncommon ho¬
nesty in their conduct towards travellers and strangers.
“ At the first sight, it would appear that the tolera¬
tion of the Polygars is owing to their great numbers,
and to the security of their fortresses, which are in
general impenetrable but to Polygars : that the govern¬
ment licence, in this manner given to them, to live on
the spoils of the industrious, might have originally oc¬
casioned the formal division, and encouragement to
perseverance, which we have just quoted: but the
cause I should rather suppose to lie in the nature of
certain governments, than to have arisen from any ac¬
cidental circumstance afterwards : and I am the more
inclined to this opinion, from the situation of the north¬
ern parts of Hindostan, which are, and always have
been, uninfested by these freebooters.
“ The dominion of the East was, in former days, most
probably divided and subdivided into all the various
branches of the feodal system. The vestiges of it re¬
main to this hour : rajahs and zemindars are nothing
more than chieftains of a certain degree of consequence
in the empire. If, then, experience has shown, in other
parts of the world, that clans have always been observed
to commit the most pernicious acts of depredation and
hostility on each other, and that the paramount lord
has seldom been able effectually to crush so general and
so complicated a scene of mischief —may we not reason¬
ably venture to suppose, that the Hindoo legislature
passed this ordinance for the suppression of such pro¬
vincial warfare, and for the Avholesome purpose of draw¬
ing the people, by unalarming degrees, more immediate¬
ly under the controul of the one sovereign authority ?
The conclusion, I own, appears to me satisfactory.
Moreover, Polygars cannot but be of modern growth £
for the law relative to thefts is antecedent to the men¬
tion of Polygars in history.” Sullivan’s Philosophical
Rhapsodies.
POLYGLOTT, among divines and critics, chiefly
denotes a Bible printed in several languages. See
Bible and Printing.
POLYGLOTTUS, a species of bird, belonging to
the genus turdus. See Turdus, Ornithology In-
dax,
POLYGNOTUS, a famous painter of Thasos, flou¬
rished about 422 years before the Christian era, and was
the son and scholar of Aglaophon. He adorned one ot
the public porticoes of Athens with his paintings, in
which he had represented the most striking events of the
Trojan war. The Athenians were so pleased with him,
that they offered to reward his labours with whatever
he pleased to accept j but he declined the offer 5 and the
Amphictyonic
POL
[
olygnotus Ampliictyonic council which was composed of the re-
|| presentatives of the principal cities of Greece, ordered
olymnes- tliat Polygnotus should be maintained at the public ex-
tor‘ , pence wherever he went.
Of the talents of Polygnotus much honourable men¬
tion is made by many of the best authors of antiquity,
as Aristotle and Plutarch, Dionysius Halicarnassensis,
&c. Pausanis speaks of his pictures of the events of
the Trojan war, and, in his Tenth Book, introduces a
very long description of other pictures by the same ar¬
tist, painted also from Homer in the temple at Delphos.
The passage, however, gives but a confused and imper¬
fect idea of the painter’s performance. How much the
art is indebted to this ancient master, what grace and
softness he gave to the human countenance, what em¬
bellishments he added to the female figure and dress, are
much more happily described by Pliny. “ Primus mu-
lieres lucida veste pinxit, capita earum mitris versicolo-
ribus operuit, plurimumque picturae primus contulit:
siquidem instituitos adaperire, dentes ostendere, vultum
ab antique rigore variare.”—The same author likewise
bears honourable testimony to the liberal spirit of this
great artist, who refused any reward for his ingenious la¬
bours in the portico.—“Porticum gratuito, cum partem
ejus Mycon mercede pingeret.” Plin. lib. xxxv. cap. 8.
POLYGON, in Geometry, a figure with many sides,
or whose perimeter consists of more than four sides at
least •, such are the pentagon, hexagon, heptagon, &c.
POLYGONUM, Knot-grass ; a genus of plants
belonging to the octandria class ; and in the natural
method ranking under the 12th order, Holoracece. See
Botany Index.
POLYGRAPHY, Polygraphia, or TolygrapMce,
the art of writing in various unusual manners or cyphers 5
as also of decyphering the same. The word is formed
from the Greek, multum, and scriptura,
“ writing.”
Hie ancients seem to have been very little acquaint¬
ed with this art, nor is there any mark of their having
gone beyond the Lacedaemonian scytala. Trithemius,
Porta, Vigenere, and Father Niceron, have written on
the subject of polygraphy or ciphers. See Cipher.
POLA HA MNIA, in the pagan mythology, one of
the nine muses, thus named from the Greek words weAvs,
“ much,” and ptiix, “ memory.” She presided over hi¬
story, or rather rhetoric j and is represented with a crown
ot pearls and a white robe j her right hand in action as
if haranguing, and holding in her left a caduceus or
sceptre to show her power.
POLYHEDRON, in Geometry, denotes a body or
solid comprehended under many sides or planes.
Polyhedron, in Optics, is a multiplying glass or
lens, consisting of several plane surfaces disposed into
a convex form. See Optics.
POLYMATHY, denotes the knowledge of many
arts and sciences. The word is derived from the Greek,
wo\v, midtum, and pav&ctw, disco.
1 OLYMNES TOR, was a king of the Thracian
Chersonesus. He married Ilione, Priam’s eldest daugh¬
ter j and for the sake of the treasure with which he was
entiusted by Priam during the siege of Troy, he mur¬
dered Polydorus, (see Polydorus). The fleet in which
the victorious Greeks returned, together with their Tro¬
jan captives, among whom was Hecuba, stopped on the
coast of Thrace, where one of the female captives dis-
33 ] p o' L
covered on the shore the body of Polydorus, whom Po- Polymne*-
lymnestor had thrown into the sea. The dreadful in- tor
telligence was immediately communicated to Hecuba li
his mother, who recollecting the frightful dreams she PolyPhe'
had the preceding night, did not doubt but Polymne- m>1S‘ ■
stor was the cruel assassin. Resolved to revenge her
son’s death, she immediately called out Polymaestor, as
if to impart to him something of importance. He was
drawn into the snare; and no sooner wTas he introduced
into the apartment of the Trojan princess, than the fe¬
male captives rushing upon him, put out his eyes with
their pins, while Hecuba murdered his two children,
who had accompanied him. Euripides informs us, that
the Greeks condemned Polymnestor to be banished into
a distant island for his perfidy. Hyginus, however,
relates the whole differently, and tells us, that when
Polydorus was sent to Thrace, Ilione his sister took
him instead of her son Deiphilus, who was of the same
age, being fearful of her husband’s cruelty. The mo¬
narch, unacquainted with the imposition, looked upon
Polydorus as his own son, and treated Deiphilus as
her brother. After the destruction of Troy, the con¬
querors wished the house and family of Priam to be ex¬
tirpated, and therefore offered Electra the daughter of
Agamemnon to Polymnestor, if he would destroy Ilione
and Polydorus. He accepted the offer, and immedi¬
ately dispatched his own son Deiphilus, whom he took
for Polydorus. Polydorus, who passed as the son of
Polymnestor, consulted the oracle after the murder of
Deiphilus, and being informed that his father was dead,
his mother a captive in the hands of the Greeks, and
his country in ruins, he communicated the answer to
Ilione, whom he had always regarded as his mother.
She told him the measures she had pursued to save his
life, upon which he avenged the perfidy of Polymnestor
by putting out his eyes.
POLYMNIA, a genus of plants belonging to the
syngenesia class, and in the natural method ranking un¬
der the 49th order, Ccmpositce. See Botany Index.
POLYNICES, the son of Oedipus by his mother
Jocasta. See Jocasta, Oedipus, andETEOCLEs.
POLYPE. See Polypus.
POLYPETALOUS, among botanists, an epithet
applied to such flowers as consist of several petals or
flower-leaves.
POLYPHEMUS (fab. hist.), a celebrated Cyclops,
and king of all the Cyclops in Sicily, was the son of
Neptune and Thoosa the daughter of Phorcys. He is
said to have been a monster of great strength, very tall,
and with one eye in the middle of the forehead. He
ate human flesh, and kept his flocks on the coasts of
Sicily, when Ulysses, at his return from the Trojan war,
was driven there. Ulysses, together with 12 of his com¬
panions, visited the coast, and with them was seized by
the Cyclops, who confined them in his cave, and daily
devoured two of them. Ulysses would have shared the
fate of the rest, had he not intoxicated the Cyclops, and
put out his eye with a firebrand when he was asleep.
Polyphemus was awakened by the sudden pain, and
stopped the entrance of his cave; but Ulysses escaped,
by creeping between the legs of the rams of the Cyclops,
as they were led out to feed on the mountains. Poly¬
phemus became enamoured of Galatsea; but his addresses
were disregarded, and the nymph shunned his presence.
The Cyclops was still more earnest; and when he saw
Galateea
Polyphe¬
mus
II
Polypus.
POL [ 1
GalatEea surrender lierself to tlie pleasures of Acts, lie
crushed his rival with a piece of a broken rock. .
POLYPODIUM, a genus of plants belonging to
the cryptogamia class. See Botany Index.
POLYPHEMUM, a genus of plants belonging to
the tetrandria class, and in the natural method ranking
under the 22d order, Caryophittei. See Botany Index.
POLYPUS, a species of fresh-water insects, be¬
longing to the genus of hydra, of the order of zoo¬
phytes, and class of vermes. See Helminthology.
The name of hydra was given them by Linnseus, on
account of the property they have of reproducing them¬
selves when cut in pieces, every part soon becoming a
perfect animal. Dr Hill called them biota, on account
of the strong principle of life with which every pait of
them is endowed.
These animals were first discovered by Leeuwenhoeck,
who gave some account ot them in the 1 hilosophica
Transactions for 1703 j but their wonderful properties
were not thoroughly known till the year ^4°’ w'ien
Mr Trembley began to investigate them. Previous to
his discoveries, indeed, Leibnitz and Boerhaave,. by
reasonings a priori, had concluded that animals might
be found which would propagate by slips like plants.
Their conjectures have been verified.
Marine Polypus, is different in form from the fresh¬
water polype already described} but is nourished, in¬
creases, and may be propagated, after the same manner :
Mr Ellis having often found, in his inquiries, that small
pieces cut off from the living parent, in order to view
the several parts more accurately, soon gave indications
that they contained not only the principles of life, but
likewise the faculty of increasing and multiplying into a
numerous issue. It has been lately discovered and suf¬
ficiently proved by Peyssonel, Ellis, Jussieu, Reaumur,
Donati, &c. that many of those substances which had
formerly been considered by naturalists as marine vege-
34 3 P 0 L
tables or sea-plants, are in reality animal productions; Polype
and that they are formed by polypes of different shapes 11
and sizes, for their habitation, defence, and propagation. ^
To this class may be referred the corals, corallines, ke- i
ratophyta, eschara, sponges, and alcyonium: nor is it
improbable, that the more compact bodies, known by
the common appellations of star-stones, brain-stones, pe¬
trified fungi, and the like, brought from various parts of
the East and West Indies, are of the same origin. To
this purpose Mr Ellis observes, that the ocean, in all the
warmer latitudes, near the shore, and wherever it is pos¬
sible to observe, abounds so much with animal life, that
no inanimate body can long remain unoccupied by some
species. In those regions, ships bottoms are soon co¬
vered with the habitations of thousands of animals:
rocks, stones, and every thing lifeless, are covered with
them instantly ; and even the branches of living vege¬
tables that hang into the water are immediately loaded
with the spawn of different animals, shell-fish of various
kinds : and shell-fish themselves, when they become im¬
potent and old, are the basis of new colonies of animals,
from whose attacks they can no longer defend them¬
selves. See Corallina, Helminthology Index.
Polypus of the Heart. See Medicine, N° 97, 98,
274, and 290.
POLYSARCIA, or Corpulency. See Medicine,
N° 335.
POLYSPERMOUS (from ncXv and seed),
in Botany, is applied to such plants as have more than
four seeds succeeding each flower, without any certain
order or number.
POLYSYLLABLE, in Grammar, a word consist¬
ing of more than three syllables : for when a word con¬
sists of one, two, or three syllables, it is called a mono*
syllable, a dissyllable, and trisyllable.
POLYSYNDETON. See Oratory, N° 97.
POLYTHEISM,
1
Definition.
# Sketches
of the Hist,
of Man.
a
Source of
religious
principle*
traced.
THE doctrine of a plurality of gods or invisible
powers superior to man.
“ That there exist beings, one or many, powerful
above the human race, is a proposition (says Lora
Karnes*) universally admitted as true in all ages and
among all nations. I boldly call it universal, notwith¬
standing what is reported of some gross savages ; for
reports that contradict what is acknowledged to be ge¬
neral among men, require more able vouchers than a
few illiterate voyagers. Among many savage tnoes,
there are no words but for objects of external sense, is
it surprising that such people are incapable of express¬
ing their religious perceptions, or any perception of in¬
ternal sense ? The conviction that men have of superior
powers, in every country where there are words to ex¬
press it, is so well vouched, that in fair reasoning it
ought to be taken for granted among the few tribes
where language is deficient.”
These are judicious observations, of which every man
will admit the force who has not some favourite system
to build upon the unstable foundation which his Lord-
ship overturns. Taking it for granted, then, that our
conviction of superior powers has long been universal,
the important question is, From what cause it proceeds ?
The same ingenious author shows, with great strength
of reasoning, that the operations ot nature and the go¬
vernment of this world, which to us loudly proclaim the
existence of a Deity, are not sufficient to account for
the universal belief of superior beings among savage
tribes. He is therefore of opinion, that this universali¬
ty of conviction can spring only from the image of Dei¬
ty stamped upon the mind of every human being, the
ignorant equally with the learned. “ Nothing less (he
says) is sufficient: and the original impression which we
have of Deity, must proceed (he thinks) from an inter¬
nal sense, which may be termed the sense of Deity f .
We have elsewhere expressed our opinion of that phi¬
losophy which accounts for every phenomenon in human
nature,, bv attributing it to a particular instinct (see In¬
stinct) ; but to this instinct or sense of Deity, con¬
sidered as complete evidence, many objections, more
than usually powerful, force themselves upon us. All
nations, except the Jeivs, ivere once polytheists and ido¬
laters. If therefore his Lordship’s hypothesis be ad¬
mitted,
P O L Y T
| 'heisoi. mitted, either the doctrine of polytheism must be true
I •—v""—^ theology, or this instinct or sense is of such a nature as
to have at different periods of the world misled all man¬
kind. All savage tribes are at present polytheists and
idolaters 5 but among savages every instinct appears in
greater purity and vigour than among people polished
by arts and sciences ; and instinct never mistakes its ob¬
ject. The instinct or primary impression of nature,
which gives rise to self-love, affection between the sexes,
love of progeny, &c. has in all nations, and in every pe¬
riod of time, a precise and determinate object which it
inflexibly pursues. How then comes it to pass, that this
particular instinct, which if real is surely of as much im¬
portance as any other, should have uniformly led those
who had no other guide to pursue improper objects,
to fall into the grossest errors and the most pernicious
practices? To no purpose are we told, that the sense of
Deity, like the moral sense, makes no capital figure
among savages. There is reason to believe that the
feeling or perception, which is called the moral sense, is
not wholly instinctive 5 but whether it be or not, a single
instance cannot be produced in which it multiplies its
objects, or makes even a savage express gratitude to a
thousand persons for benefits which his prince alone had
power to confer.
For these, and other reasons which might easily be
assigned, we cannot help thinking, that the first religi¬
ous principles must have been derived from a source dif¬
ferent as well from internal sense as from the deductions
of reason j from a source which the majority of man¬
kind had early forgotten : and which, when it was ba¬
nished from their minds, left nothing behind it to pre¬
vent the very first principle of religion from being per¬
verted by various accidents or causes, or, in some extra¬
ordinary concurrence of circumstances, from being per¬
haps entirely obliterated. This source of religion every
consistent theist must believe to be revelation. Reason,
it is acknowledged, and we shall afterwards show (see
Religion), could not have introduced savages to the
knowledge of God 5 and we have just seen, that a sense
of Deity is an hypothesis clogged with insuperable dif¬
ficulties. Yet it is undeniable, that all mankind have
believed in superior invisible powers : and if reason and
instinct he set aside, there remains no other origin of
this universal belief than primeval revelation, corrupted,
indeed, as it passed by oral tradition from father to son,
in the course of many generations. It is no slight sup-
-ifs o/P°rt to t^s ^octrine» that if there really be a Deity*,
ofti highly presumable that he would reveal himself to
M1 the first men—creatures whom he had formed with fa¬
culties to adore and to worship him. To other ani¬
mals, the knowledge of a Deity is of no importance ;
to man, it is of the first importance. Were we totally
ignorant of a Deity, this world would appear to us a
mere chaos. Under the government of a wise and be¬
nevolent Deity, chance is excluded j and every event
appears to be the result of established laws. Good men
submit to whatever happens without repining, knowing
that every event is ordered by Divine Providence : they
submit with entire resignation j and such resignation is
a sovereign balsam for every misfortune or evil in life.
Admitting, then, that the knowledge of Deity was
^]] Pul'e originally derived from revelation, and that the first
men professed pure theism, it shall be our business in the
j 3
t< tvcla-
tiu
di
H E I S M. 133
present article to trace the rise and progress of polytheism^ Theism,
and idolatry ; and to ascertain, if we can, the real opi-
nions of the Pagan world concerning that multitude of
gods with which they filled heaven, earth, and hell.
In this inquiry, though we shall have occasion to appeal
to the writings of Moses, we shall attribute to them no
other authority than what is due to records of the ear¬
liest ages, more ancient and authentic than any others
which are now extant.
Whether we believe, with the author of the book of
Genesis, that all men have descended from the same
progenitors; or adopt the hypothesis of modern theo¬
rists, that there have been successive creations of men,
and that the European derives his origin from one pair,
the Asiatic from another, the woolly-headed African
from a third, and the copper-coloured American from a
fourth—polytheism and idolatry will be seen to have
arisen from the same causes, and to have advanced near¬
ly in the same order from one degree of impiety to an¬
other. On either supposition, it must be taken for grant¬
ed, that the original progenitors were instructed by their
Creator in the truths of genuine theism : and there is
no room to doubt, but that those truths, simple and
sublime as they are, would be conveyed pure from fa¬
ther to son as long as the race lived in one family, and
were not spread over a large extent of country. If any
credit be due to the records of antiquity, the primeval
inhabitants of this globe lived to so great an age, that
they must have increased to a very large number long
before the death of the common parent, who would of
course be the bond of union to the whole society, and
whose dictates, especially in what related to the origin
of his being and the existence of his Creator, would be
listened to with the utmost respect by every individual
of his numerous progeny.
Many causes, however, would conspire to dissolve this
family, after the death of its ancestor, into separate and
independent tribes, of which some would be driven by
violence, or would voluntarily wander, to a distance from
the rest. From this dispersion great changes would
take place in the opinions of some of the tribes respect¬
ing the object of their religious •worship. A single fa¬
mily, or a small tribe banished into a desert wilderness
(such as the whole earth must then have been), would
find employment for all their time in providing the
means of subsistence, and in defending themselves from
beasts of prey. In such circumstances they would have Circiim-
little/mw/v? for meditation, and being constantly con-stances
versant with objects of sense, they would gradually losewl“c!1 le<J
the power of meditating upon the spiritual nature of^^^'
that Being by whom their ancestors had taught them
that all things were created, 'ihe first wanderers would
no doubt retain in tolerable purity their original notions
of Deity 5 and they would certainly endeavour to im¬
press those notions upon their children : but in circum- '
stances infinitely more favourable to speculation than
theirs could have been, the human mind dwells not long
upon notions purely intellectual. We are so accustom¬
ed to sensible objects, and to the ideas of space, exten¬
sion, and figure, which they are perpetually impressing
upon the imagination, that we find it extremely diflicut*
to conceive any being without assigning to him a form consider™
and a place. Hence a learned writer * has supposed, tions
that the earliest generations of men (even those to whom Theory of
]ie Religion.
P O L Y T
Origin of he contends that Frequent revelations were vouchsafed)
Polytheism, may have been no better than anthroponwrphites
—-v ' their conceptions ot the Divine Being. . ,
Be this as it may, it is not conceivable but that u e
members of those first colonies would quickly lose many
of the arts and much of the science which perhaps pre¬
vailed in the parent state ; and that, fatigued with the
contemplation of intellectual objects, they would relieve
6 their overstrained faculties, by attributing to tie ei y
First steps a place ot abode, if not a human foim. 0 mer|. .°
in the pro- taHy illiterate, the place fittest tor the habitation o ie
gress. jjgity would undoubtedly appear to be the sun, the
most beautiful and glorious object of which they cou d
form any idea 5 an object, too, from which they could
not but be sensible that they received the benefits oi
light and heat, and which experience must soon have
taught them to be in a great measure the source ot ve¬
getation. The great spirit therefore inhabiting the
sun, which they would consider as the power ot light
and heat, was in all probability the first object ot idola-
„ trous adoration.   c . .
Tlie .pirit From looking upon the sun ns the habitation of thetr
of light the god, they would soon proceed to consider it as his
first god of body. Of pure mind entirely separated trom matter,
paganism. men; in their circumstances could not long retain the
faintest notion 5 but conscious each of power m him¬
self, and experiencing the effects of power in the sun,
they would naturally conceive that luminary to ^ ani¬
mated as their bodies were animated. They would leel
his influence when above the horizon j they would see
him moving from east to west; they would consider
him when set as gone to take his repose : and those ex¬
ertions and intermissions of power being analogous to
what they experienced in themselves, they would look
upon the sun as a real animal. Thus would the Divi¬
nity appear to their untutored minds to be a compound
being like man, partly corporeal and partly spiritual ;
and as soon as they imbibed such notions, though per¬
haps not before, they may be pronounced to have been
absolute idolaters. ... i
When men had once got into this train, their gods
would multiply upon them with wonderful rapidity.
Darkness and cold they could not but perceive to be
contrary to light and heat; and not having philosophy
enough to distinguish between mere privations and posi-
8 tive effects, they would consider darkness and cold as
The spirit entities equally real with light and heat; and attnbute
or power of t|]ese different and contrary effects to different and con-
daxhiiess powers. Hence the spirit or power of darkness
tie second. ^ ^ proijability the second god in the Pagan ca¬
lendar *, and as they considered the power of light as a
benevolent principle, the source of all that is good, they
must have looked upon the contrary power of darkness
as a malevolent spirit, the source of all that is evil. 1 his
we know from authentic history to have been the beliet
of the Persian magi, a very ancient sect, who called their
good god Yaxdun, and also Ormu%d, and the evil god
Polytheism ^Ahraman. Considering light as the symbol, or perhaps
of the Per- as t|ie body, of Ormu%d, they always worshipped him
sian magi. be{.ore the firej tbe source of light, and especially before
the sun, the source of the most perfect light : and for
the same reason fires were kept continually burning on
his altars. That they sometimes addressed prayers to
the evil principle, we are informed by Plutarch in his
life of Themistocles > hut with what particular rites he
H E I S M.
was worshipped, or where he was supposed to reside, iSMagiani,,
not so evident. Certain it is, that the worshippers heldv v—
him in destestation; and when they had occasion to
write his name, they always inverted it {uviuvJi[y), to
denote the malignity of his nature. .
The principles of the Magi, though widely distant
from pure theism, were much less absurd than those ot
other idolaters. It does not appear that they ever
worshipped their gods by the medium of graven ima¬
ges or bad any other emblems ol them than light and
darkness. Indeed we are told by Diogenes Laertius
and Clemens Alexamlrinus, that they condemned all
statues and images, allowing fire and water to be the
only proper emblems or representatives of their gods.
And we learn from Cicero*, that at their instigation* De
Xerxes was said to have burnt all the temples of Greece, bm,hl
because the builders of those edifices impiously presuA
med to inclose within walls the gods, to whom all things
ought to be open and free, and whose proper temple is
the whole world. To these authorities we may add
that of all the historians, who agree, that when magi-
anism was the religion of the court, the Persian ,110-
narchs made war upon images, and upon eveiy emblem
of idolatrv different from their own.
The Magi, however, were but one sect, and not the
largest sect of ancient idolaters. The worship of the
sun, as the source of light and heat, soon introduced
into the calendar of divinitifes the other heavenly bodies
the moon, the planets, and the fixed stars. Men could J
not but experience great benefit from those luminaries SaH
in the absence of their chief god ; and when they hadl ) I
proceeded so far as to admit two divine principles a
good and an evil, it was natural for minds clouded with
such prejudices to consider the moon and the stars as
benevolent intelligences, sent to oppose the power ol
darkness whilst their first and greatest divinity was ab¬
sent or asleep. It was thus, as they imagined that he
maintained (for all held that he did maintain) a con¬
stant superiority over the evil principle. 1 hough 0
astronomers the moon is known to be an opaque body
of very small dimensions when compared with a planet
or a fixed star, to the vulgar eye she appears much
more magnificent than either. By those early idola¬
ters she was considered as the divinity second m rank
and in power ; and whilst the sun was worshipped as
the king, she was adored as the queen, of heaven.
The earth, considered as the common mother of all
things ; the ocean, whose waters are never at rest; the
air the region of storms and tempests, and indeed a
the elements-were gradually added to the number of
divinities ; not that mankind in this early age had so
far degenerated from the principles of their ancestors
as to worship brute matter. If such worship was ever
practised, which to us is hardly conceivable, it was at
a later period, when it was confined to the very lowest
of the vulgar, in nations otherwise highly civilized.
The polytheists, of whom we now treat, conceived
every thing in motion to be animated, and animated
by an intelligence powerful in proportion to the mag¬
nitude of the body moved. t
This sect of idolaters, which remains in some parts ot
the east to this day, was known by the name oi Sabi-
ans, which they pretended to have derived from babius
a son of Seth ; and among the books in which their sa¬
cred doctrines are contained, they have one which t ey
call
Sabiisu:
tf Dent-
9'
ii
ilrose in
'haldea.
P O L Y T
call the book of Sct/i. We need hardly observe that
— these are senseless and extravagant fables. The name
Sc/bian is undoubtedly derived from the Hebrew word
Tsuba, which signifies “ an host or armyand this class
of polytheists was so called, because they worshipped
the host of heaven the 1'saba hesennm, against
iv* which Moses so pathetically cautions the people of Is¬
rael *.
The species of idolatry is thought to have first pre¬
vailed in Chaldea, and to have been that from which
Abraham separated himself, when, at the command of
the true God, he “ departed from his country, and
from his kindred, and from his father’s house.” But
as it nowhere appears that the Chaldeans had fallen into
the savage state before they became polytheists and ido^
laters, and as it is certain that they were not savages at
the call of Abraham, their early Sabiism may be thought
inconsistent "with the account which we have given of
the origin of that species of idolatry. If a great and
civilized nation was led to worship the host of heaven,
why should that worship be supposed to have arisen
among savages ? Theories, however plausible, cannot be
admitted in opposition to facts.
Irue : but we beg leave to reply, that our account
of the origin of polytheism is opposed bv no fact 5 be¬
cause we have not supposed that the worship of the host
of heaven arose among savages only. That savages, be¬
tween whom it is impossible to imagine any intercourse
to have had place, have universally worshipped, as their
first and supreme divinities, the sun, moon, and stars, is
a fact evinced by every historian and bv every travel¬
ler j and we have shown how their rude and uncultivat¬
ed state naturally leads them to that species of idolatry.
But there may have been circumstances peculiar to the
Chaldeans, which led them likewise to the worship of
the heavenly host, even in a state of high civilization.—
We judge of the philosophy of the ancients by that of
ourselves, and imagine that the same refined system of
metaphysics was cultivated by them as by the follow¬
ers of Descartes and Locke. But this is a great mistake ;
for so gross were the notions of early antiquity, that it
may be doubted whether there was a single man, unin¬
spired, who had any notion of mind as a being distinct
and entirely separated from matter (see Metaphysics,
Part III chap. iv.). From several passages in the books
of Moses, we learn, that when in the first ages of the
world the Supreme Being, condescended to manifest his
presence to men, he generally exhibited some sensible
emblem of his power and glory, and declared his will
from the midst of a preternatural Jire. It was thus that
he appeared to the Jewish lawgiver himself, when he
spoke to him from the midst of a bush ; it was by a pil¬
lar of cloud and Jire that he led the Israelites from
Egypt to the Land of Promise 5 and it was in the midst
of smoke, wnAJire, and thunderings, that the law was
delivered from Mount Sinai.—That such manifestations
of the Divine Presence would be occasionally made to
the descendants of Noah who settled in Chaldea soon af¬
ter the deluge, must appear extremely probable to every
one who admits the authority of the Hebrew Scriptures j
and he who questions that authority, has no right to
make the objection to which we now reply ; because it
is only from the book of Genesis that we know the
Chaldeans to have been a civilized people when they fell
into idolatry. All histories agree in representing the in-
Vol. XVII. Part I. f
H E I S M.
habitants of Chaldea as at a very early period corrupted
by luxury and sunk in vice. When this happened, we
must suppose that the moral Governor of the universe
would withdraw from them those occasional manifesta¬
tions of himself, and leave them to their own inventions.
In such circumstances, it was not unnatural fora people
addicted to the study of astronomy, who had been
taught to believe that the Deity frequently appeared to
their ancestors in a flame of fire, to consider the sun as
the place of his permanent residence, if not as his body.
But when either opinion was firmly established, polv-
• theism would be its inevitable consequence, and the pro-
giess of Sabiism would, in the most polished nation, be
such as we have traced it among savage tribes.
Irom Chaldea the idolatrous worship of the host of
heaven spread itself over all the east, passed into Egypt,
and thence into Greece ; for Plato affirms f, that “ thl\lnCratvh
first inhabitants of Greece seemed to him to have wor- 12
shipped no other gods but the sun, moon, earth, stars, (>assed into
and heavens, as most barbarous nations (continues he)
still do. ’ I hat Sabiism, or the worship of the host of
heaven, was the first species of idolatry, besides the pro¬
bability of the thing, and the many allusions to it in sa¬
cred Scripture, we have the positive evidence of the
most ancient pagan historians of whose writings any
part has been transmitted to us. Herodotus *, speaking * Lib. i.
of the religion of the Persians, says, that “ they worship caP- 1V‘
the sun, moon, and earth, Jire, water, and the winds;
and this adoration they have all along paid from the
beginning.” He testifies the same thing of the savage
Africans, of whom he affirms f, that they all worship-1 Lib- ir-
ped the sun and moon, and no other divinity. Diodo-cai>‘ lSS'
rus Siculus, writing of the Egyptians J, tells us, thatfLib.i.
“ the first men looking up to the world above them, and
terrified and struck with admiration at the nature of the
universe, supposed the sun and moon to be the principal
and eternal gods.” And Sanchoniathon the Phoenician,
a more ancient writer than any of these, informs us’
in the fragment of his history preserved by Eusebius’
that “ the two first mortals were i£on and Protogonus;
and their children were Genus and Genea, who inha¬
bited 1 hoenicia ; and when they were scorched with
the heat, they lifted up their bands to the sun, whom
they believed to be the Lord of Heaven, and called
him Baal-samen, the same whom the Greeks call
Ztvi”
Hitherto those divinities were worshipped in person,
or, as Dr Prideaux expresses it, in their sacclla, or sa-
cied tabernacles; for the votaries of each directed their
devotions towards the planet which they supposed to
be animated by the particular intelligence whom they
meant to adore. But these orbs, by their rising and
setting, being as much below the horizon as above it,
and their grossly ignorant worshippers not supposing it
possible that any intelligence, however divine, could j,
exert its influence but in union with some body, statues and pnafit-
or pillars were soon thought of as proper emblems of thecet* statue
absent gods. Sanchoni^thon, in the fragment already vrors^1l>‘
quoted, informs us, that “ Hyspouranios and his brother
Ousous, Phoenician patriarchs, erected two pillars, the
one to Jire and the other to air or wind, and worshipped
those pillars, pouring out to them libations of the blood
of tbe wild beasts hunted down in the chace.” As
these early monuments of idolatry were called /3xI\vXm,
a word evidently derived from the Hebrew Bethel, the
$ probability
8 p O L Y T
f B-oliaUlity is, that they were altars of loose stones, such
w X- ai that which was built by Jacob *, and iron! hint re-
ceived the same name. As his was consecrated to the
* GJtvsis, true Ood, theirs were consecrated to the host ol nea-
ch. xxxv. ven . and tl)e fornl of consecration seems to have been
nothing more than the anointing of the stone or pillar
with oil (a), in the name of the divinity whom it wa
intended to represent. When this ceremony was per¬
formed, the ignorant idolaters, who fancied that their
gods could not hear them but when they were visible,
supposed that the intelligences by which the sun and
planets were animated, took possession, in some inexpli¬
cable manner, of the consecrated pillars, and were as
well pleased with the prayers and praises offered up be¬
fore those pillars, as with the devotions which were ad¬
dressed towards the luminaries themselves.—lieneeban-
choniathon calls them animated or living stones hdovs
ilChWovs, from the portion of the Divine .pint which
was believed to reside in them 5 and as they were dedi¬
cated to the host of heaven, they were generally erected
on the tops of mountains ; or in countries which, i^e
Egypt, were low and level, they were elevated to a
14 great height by the labour ot men. > „ . .
with the It has been supposed, that this practice 01 raising ic
idolatry of on /„>/, places proceeded from a desire to make
high places. H ob. c(.g of ^31^ conspicuous and magnificent: but
we are strongly inclined to believe, that the erectors o
/Ba/W had something farther in view, and that they
thought of nothing less than to bring the sacred stone or
pillar as near as possible to the god whom it represented.
Whatever be in this, we know that the practice itself
prevailed universally through the east; and that there
was nothing which the Jewish legislator more strictly
enioined his people to destroy, than the altars, statues,
and pillars, erected for idolatrous worship upon moun-
tains and high places. “ Ye shall utterly destroy (says
lie) all the places wherein the nations which ye shall
possess served their gods, yyyontixz high mountains,
upon the hills, and under every green tree. And ye
shall overthrow their altars, and break-down their pil-
+ Deut.\u.lars, and burn their groves with fire r.
23
The mention of groves by the Hebrew lawgiver,
brings to our recollection another species ot idolatry,
which was perhaps the second in order, as men devia¬
ting from the principles of pure theism were more and
more entangled in the labyrinths of error. I he Chal¬
deans, Egyptians, and all the eastern nations who be¬
lieved in a superintending providence, imagined that
the government of this world, the care of particular na¬
tions, and even the superintendence of groves, rivers,
and mountains, in each nation, was committed by the
gods to a class of spirits superior to the soul of man, but
inferior to those heavenly intelligences which animated
the sun, the moon, and the planets. These spirits were
by the Greeks called elxipovn, deemons, and by the lio-
mans genii. Tim sens the Locrian, who flourished before
i De Anima Plato, speaking of the punishment of wicked men, saysj,
Mundi, in- ^ these things hath Nemesis decreed to. be executed
ter script, the seconJ period, by the ministry of vindictive ter-
Simsle restrial demons, who are overseers of human affairs j to
H E I S M,
which daemons the Supreme God, the ruler over all, Banrcm
hath committed the government and administration of *
this world, which is made up of gods, men, and am-
^Concerning the origin of these intermediate beings, Origin of
scholars ami philosophers have framed various hypothe-
ses. The belief of their existence may have been de¬
rived from five different sources.
1 It seems to have been impossible for the limited
capacities of those men, who could not form a notion ot
a God divested of a body and a place, to conceive how
the influence and agency of such a being could every
instant extend to every point of the universe. Hence,
as we have seen, they placed the heavenly regions un¬
der the government of a multitude of heavenly gods the
mj7, the moon, and the stars. But as the nearest of those
divinities was at an immense distance from the eait 1,
and as the intelligence animating the earth itself had
sufficient employment in regulating the general affairs
of the whole globe, a notion insinuated itself into, the
untutored mind, that these superior governors 0 univer¬
sal nature found it necessary, or at least expedient, to
employ subordinate intelligences or deemons as ministers
to execute their behests in the various parts of their
widely extended dominions.
2. Such an universal and uninterrupted course of ac¬
tion, as was deemed necessary to administer the affairs
of the universe, would be judged altogether inconsistent
with that state of indolence, which, especially.in the east,
was held an indispensable ingredient in periect felicity.
It was this notion, absurd as it is, which made Epicu¬
rus deny the providence, whilst he admitted the existence,
of gods. And if it had such an effect upon a philoso¬
pher who in the most enlightened ages had many fol¬
lowers, we need not surely wonder if it made untaught
idolaters imagine that the governor or governors of the
universe had devolved a great part of their trouble on
deputies and ministers. ,
3. When men came to reflect on the infinite distance
between themselves and the gods, they would naturally
form a wish, that there might somewhere exist a class
of intermediate intelligences, whom they might employ
as mediators and intercessors with their far distant divi¬
nities. But what men earnestly wish, they very readily
believe. Hence the supposed distance of their gods,
would, among untutored barbarians, prove a fruitful
source of intermediate intelligences, more pure and more
elevated than human souls.
4. These three opinions may he denominated popu¬
lar } but that which we are now to state, wherever it
may have prevailed, was the offspring of philosophy.—
On this earth we perceive a scale of beings rising gradu¬
ally above each other in perfection, from mere brute
matter through the various species of fossils, vegetables,
insects, fishes, birds, and beasts, up to man. But the
distance between man and God is infinite, and capable
of admitting numberless orders of intelligences, all supe¬
rior to the human soul, and each rising gradually above
the other till they reach that point, wherever it may
be, at which creation stops. Part ot this immense
(A)
stone ;
Hence the proverb of a superstitious man,
which Arnobius calls lubricatam lapidem,
notvlct XiSov XiTTce^av Tr^etrxvnt, he kisses or adores every anointed
ct ex olivi unguine sordidatum.—Stillingfleet’s Ongines Sacree,
P O L Y T
tenons
Timaus,
t mio-
m
chasm the philosophers perceived to be actually filled by
J the heavenly bodies ; for in philosophical polytheism
there was one invisible God supreme over all these: but
still there was left an immense vacuity between the hu¬
man species and the moon, which was known to be the
lowest ol the heavenly host: and this they imagined
must certainly be occupied by invisible inhabitants of
different orders and dispositions, which they called good
and evil dcemons.
5. There is yet another source from which the uni¬
versal belief of good and evil daemons may be derived,
with perhaps greater probability than from any or all
of these. If the Mosaic account of the creation of the
world, the peopling of the earth, and the dispersion of
mankind, be admitted as true (and a more consistent ac¬
count has not as yet been given or devised), some know¬
ledge of good and evil angels must necessarily have been
transmitted from father to son by the channel of oral
tradition. This tradition would be corrupted at the
same time, and in the same manner, with others of
greater importance. When the true God was so far
mistaken as to be considered, not as the sole governor
of the universe, but only as the self-extant power of
light and good, the Devil would be elevated from the
rank of a rebellious created spirit to that of the inde¬
pendent power of darkness and evil ; the angels of
light would be transformed into good daemons, and
those of darkness into daemons that are evil. This ac¬
count ol the origin of daemonology receives no small
support from Tlato, who derives one branch of it whol¬
ly from tradition. “ W ith respect to those daemons
(says he *) who inhabit the space between the earth and
the moon, to understand and declare their generation is
a task too arduous for my slender abilities. In this case
we must credit the report of men of other times, who,
according to their own account, were the descendants
oi the gods, and had, by some means or other, gained
exact intelligence of that mystery from their ancestors.
We must not question the veracity of the children of
the gods, even though they should transgress the bounds
of probability, and produce no evidence to support their
assertions. We must, I say, notwithstanding, give them
credit, because they profess to give a detail of facts with
which they are intimately acquainted, and the laws of
our country oblige us to believe them.”
Though these daemons were generally invisible, they
were not supposed to be pure disembodied spirits. 
Proclus, in his Commentary upon Plato’s Timseus, tells
us, that “ every daemon superior to human souls con¬
sisted of an intellectual mind and an ethereal vehicle.”
Indeed it is very little probable, that those who gave a
body and a place to the Supreme God, should have
thought that the inferior orders of his ministers were
spirits entirely separated from matter. Plato himself di¬
vides the class of daemons into three orders-f-; and whilst
he hoids their souls to be particles or emanations from
the divine essence, he affirms that the bodies of each or¬
der of daemons are composed of that particular element
in which they for the most part reside. “ Those of the
first and highest order are composed of pure ether; those
of the second order consist of grosser air ; and daemons
of the third or lowest rank have vehicles extracted from
the element of water. Daemons of the first and second
orders are invisible to mankind. The aquatic daemons,
being invested with vehicles of grosser materials, are
H E I S M.
sometimes visible and sometimes invisible. When they
do appear, though faintly observable by the human eye,
they strike the beholder with terror and astonishment.1*
Daemons of this last order were supposed to have pas¬
sions and affections similar to those of men ; and though
all nature was full of them, they were believed to have
local attachments to mountains, vivcvs^ and groves^
where their appearances Avere most frequent. The rea¬
son 01 these attachments seems to be obvious. Poly¬
theism took its rise in countries scorched by a burn¬
ing^ sun ; and daemons by their composition being neces-jn proves
sanly subject in some degree to the influence of heatandonthe
and cold, it Avas natural to suppose that they, like men banks of
wouhl delight in the shady grove and in the purling,ivers'
stream. Hence the earliest altars of paganism Avere ge¬
nerally built in the midst oi groves, or on the banks of
rivers ; because it was believed that in such places were
assembled multitudes of those intelligences, Avhose office
it Avas to regulate the affairs of men, and to carry the
prayers and oblations of the devout to the far distant re¬
sidence of the celestial gods. Plence too are to be de¬
rived the mountain and river gods, Avith the dryads and
hamadryads, the satyrs, nymphs, and fauns, which held
a place m the creed of ancient paganism, and make so
conspicuous a figure in the Greek and Roman poets.
These different orders of intelligences, which, though
worshipped as gods or demigods, Avere yet believed "to
partake of human passions and appetites, led the Avay
to the deification of departed heroes and other eminent
benefactors of tl,e human race. By the philosophers Dein/ation
. 30ul^ were believed to be emanations from the divi-of departed
mty ; but “ gratitude f and admiration, the warmest ^eroes)
and most active affections of our nature, concurred to ^ JVarblP’-
enlarge the object of religious worship, and to make man^” * Dw'
regard the inventors of arts and the founders of society ^
as having in them more than a common ray of the di¬
vinity. So that god-like benefits, bespeaking as it were
a god-like mind, the deceased parent of a people Avas ea¬
sily advanced into the rank of adtemon. When the re¬
ligious bias was in so good a train, natural affection
Avould have its share in promoting this new mode of ado¬
ration. Piety to parents Avould naturally take the
lead, as it was supported by gratitude and admiration,
the pritnum mobile of the whole system : and in those
early ages, the natural father of the tribe often hap¬
pened to be the political father of the people, and the
founder of the state. F ondness for the offspring Avould
next have its turn ; and a disconsolate father, at the
head of a people, would contrive to soothe his grief for
the untimely death of a favourite child, and to gratify
iiis pride under the Avant of succession, by paying divine
honours to its memory.” “ For a father J afflicted with + Wisdomof
untimeJy mourning, when he had made an image of his Sol/mion,
child soon taken aivay, hoav honoured him as a god, x*v* I5-
who Avas then a dead man, and delivered to those that
were under him ceremonies and sacrifices.” That this
was the origin and progress of the worship of departed
souls, avc have the authority of the famous fragment of
Sanchoniathon already quoted, where the various mo¬
tives for this species of idolatry are recounted in express
words. “ After many generations (says he) came Chry.
sor; and he invented many things useful to civil life
fer Avliich, after his decease, he was Avorshipped as a
god. Then flourished Ourunos and his sister Ge, who
deified and offered sacrifices to their father Hypsistos,
S 2 when
14©
Hero-
Worship.
iS
a political
i ivention,
which in¬
troduced
P O L Y T
when lie had been torn in pieces by wild beasts. Af¬
terwards Cronos consecrated Muth bis son, and was him¬
self consecrated by his subjects.”
In the reign of Cronos flourished a personage ot great
reputation for wisdom, who by the Egyptians was call¬
ed Tholh, by the Phoenicians Taautos, and by the
Greeks Hermes. According to Plutarch, he was a
profound politician, and chief counsellor to Osiris,
then the king, and afterwards the principal divinity, ot
Egypt: and we are told by Philo Byblius, the transla¬
tor of Sanchoniathon, “ that it was this Thoth or Her¬
mes who first took the matters of religious worship out
of the hands of unskilful men, and brought them into
due method and order.” His object was to make reli¬
gion serviceable to the interests of the state. With this
view he appointed Osiris and other departed princes to
be joined with the stars and worshipped as gods; and
heino- by Cronos made king of Egypt, he was, after his
death, worshipped himself as a god by the Egyptians.
To this honour, if what is recorded of him he true, he
had indeed a better title than most princes *, for he is
said to have been the inventor of letters, arithmetic,
•■•eometry, astronomy, and hieroglyphics, and was there¬
fore one of the greatest benefactors of the human race
which any age or country has ever produced. _
That the gods of Greece and Rome were derived from
Egypt and Phoenicia, is so universally known, that it is
needless to multiply quotations in order to prove that
the progress of polytheism among the Greeks and Ro¬
mans was the same with that which we have traced m
more ancient nations. The following translation, how¬
ever, of the account given by Hesiod of the deification
of departed heroes, with which we have been favoured
by a learned and ingenious friend, is so just, and in our
opinion so beautiful, that we cannot deny ourselves the
pleasure of giving it to our readers.
“ The gods who dwell on high Olympus’ hill,
First fram’d a golden race of men, who liv’d
Under old Saturn’s calm auspicious sway.
Like gods they liv’d, their hearts devoid of care,
Beyond the reach of pain and piercing woes ;
Th’ infirmities of age nor felt, nor fear’d.
Their nerves with youthful vigour strung, their days
In jocund mirth they past, remote from ills.
Now when this godlike race was lodg’d in earth,
By Jove’s high will to demi-gods they rose,
And airy daemons, who benign on earth
Converse—the guides and guardians of mankind.
In darkness veil’d, they range earth’s utmost bound,
Dispensing wealth to mortals. This reward ^
1 xu, From bounteous Jove awaits illustrious deeds J.”
libi. vers.
   The deification of departed heroes and statesmen was
10®, &lc. tjiat in all probability introduced the universal
■191 belief of national and tutelar gods, as well as the practice
and tutelar of worshipping those gods through the medium ol statues
gods. cut into a human figure. W hen the founder of a state
or any other public benefactor was elevated to the rank
of a god, as he was believed still to retain human pas-
sions and affections, it was extremely natural to suppose
that he would regard with a favourable eye that nation
for which he had done so much upon earth 5 that he
would oppose its enemies, and protect the laws and in¬
stitutions which he himself had given it. By indul-
H E I S M.
cing the same train of sentiment, each city, and even Hero-
every family of consequence, found Lares and Penates
among their departed ancestors, to whom they paid the
warmest adoration, and under whose protection they
believed their private afthirs to be placed. A.s those
national and household gods were believed to he in their
deified state clothed with airy bodies, so those bodies
were supposed to retain the form which their grosser
bodies had upon earth. The image of a departed Iriend
might perhaps be formed by the hand of sorrowful af¬
fection, before the statue or the shrine of a deity was
thought of > but when that friend or benefactor became
the object of religious adorations, it was natural for his
votaries to enliven their devotion by a view ot his si-
niuitude. Maximus Tyrius tells us ||, that “ there is no W^rt.
,ace of men, whether barbarian or Grecian, living on
the sea-coast or on the continent, wandering in deserts
or living in cities, which hath not consecrated some
kind of symbol or other in honour of the gods.” This
is certainly true; but there is no good evidence that
the first symbols of the gods were statues of men and
women. Whilst the sun and other heavenly bodies con¬
tinued to be the sole objects of religious worship, the
symbols consecrated to them were pillars ol a conical or
pyramidal figure *, and if such pillars are ever called
graven images by Moses and other ancient writers, it
was probably on' account of the allegoric figures and
characters, or hieroglyphic writing, with which they
were inscribed. , p j j
Hitherto we have considered the souls ot departed
heroes as holding the rank only of dgemons or demigods *, 20
but they generally rose in the scale of divinities, till ^ ® rn_
they dethroned the heavenly bodies, and became them- gra^€(j 0[
selves the diimajorumgentium. This revolution was ef- tjlc plane
fected by the combined operation of the prince and the tary,
priest; and the first step taken towards it seems to have
been the complimenting of their heroes and public be¬
nefactors with the name of that being which was most
esteemed and worshipped. “ Thus a king for his be¬
neficence was called the sun, and a queen lor her beau¬
ty the moon. Diodorus relates, that Sol first reigned
in Egypt, called so from the luminary of that name 111
the heavens. This will help us to understand an odd
passage in the fragment of Sanchoniathon, where it is
said that Cronus had seven sons by Rhea, the youngest of
whom was a god as soon as born. The meaning pro¬
bably is, that this youngest son was called after some
luminary in the heavens to which they paid divine ho¬
nours •, and these honours came in process of time to be
transferred to the terrestrial namesake. 'I he same his¬
torian had before told us, that the sons of Genos, mortals
like their father, were called by the names of the ele¬
ments—a\u\ fiame, of which they had disco¬
vered the use.”
“ As this adulation advanced into an established wor¬
ship, they turned the compliment the other wray, and
called the planet or luminary after the hero, the better
to accustom the people, even in the act of Planet-wor- ;r
ship, to this new adoration. Diodorus, in the passage tjme it s
already quoted, having told us, that by the first inha-planted
bitants of Egypt the sun and moon were supposed to
be the principal and eternal gods, adds, that the former
was called Osiris, and the latter Isis. This was in¬
deed the general practice 5 for we learn from Macro-
bins, that the Ammonites called the sun Moloch; the
Syrians
P O L Y T
Hero Syrians Adad; tlie Arabs Dionysus; the Assyrians Be-
Worsbij). lus; the Phoenicians Saturn; the Carthaginians Her-
rules; ami the Palmyrians .E/ega&o/ws. Again, by the
Phrygians the moon was called Cybele, or the mother
of the gods ; by the Athenians Minerva; by the Cy¬
prians Venus; by the Cretans Diana; by the Sicilians
Proserpine; by others Hecate, Bellona, Vesta, Urania,
Lucina, &c. Philo Byblius explains this practice: “ It
is remarkable (says he) that the ancient idolaters im¬
posed on the elements, and on those parts of nature which
they esteemed gods, the names of their kings ; for the
natural gods which they acknowledged were only the
sun, moon, planets, elements, and the like ; they being
now in the humour of having gods of both classes, the
mortal and the immortal.'''1
“ As a farther proof that Aero-worship was thus su¬
perinduced upon the planetary, it is worthy of observa¬
tion, that the first statues consecrated to the greater
hero-gods—those who were supposed to be supreme—
were not of a human form, but conical ox pyramidal,
like those which in the earliest ages of idolatry were
dedicated to the sun and planets. Thus the scholiast
on the Vespoe of Aristophanes tells us, that the statues
of Apollo and Bacchus w'ere co7iic pillars or obelisks ;
and Pausanias, that the statue of Jupiter Meilichius re¬
presented & pyramid; that of the Argive Juno did the
same, as appears from a verse of Phoronis quoted by
Strom.Li. Clemens Alexandrinus* j and indeed the practice was
universalas well amongst theearly barbarians as amongst
the Greeks. But it is well known that the ancients
represented the rays of light by pillars of a conical or
pyramidal form ; and therefore it follows, that when
they erected such pillars as representatives of their hero-
gods, these latter had succeeded to the titles, rights, and
Warhur- honours of the natural and celestial divinities
ns Div. But though it seems to be certain that Aero-worship
was t*,us engrafted on the planetary, and that some of
those heroes in process of time supplanted the planets
themselves, this was such a revolution in theology as
22 could not have been suddenly effected by the united in-
brevohf ^UenCe ^ Pr‘nce ant^ ^ie Priest' We doubt not
jniatheo-^16 ^iat S0L was f)e^eved t° have reigned in Egypt,
)ry. and was afterwards worshipped under the name Osiris;
but it was surely impossible to persuade any nation,
however stupid or prone to idolatry, that a man, whom
they remembered discharging the duties of their sovereign
and legislator, was the identical sun whom they beheld
in the heavens. Osiris, if there was in Egypt a king
of that name, may have been deified immediately after
his death, and honoured with that worship which was
paid to good daemons ; but he must have been dead for
ages before any attempt was made to persuade the na¬
tion that he w7as the supreme God. Even then great
address would be requisite to make such an attempt suc¬
cessful. The prince or priest who entered upon it
would probably begin with declaring from the oracle,
that the divine intelligence which animates and governs
the sun had descended to earth and animated the person
of their renowned legislator j and that, after their laws
were framed, and the other purposes served for which
the descent was made, the same intelligence had re¬
turned to its original residence and employment among
the celestials. The possibility of this double transmi¬
gration from heaven to earth and from earth to heaven,
would without difficulty be admitted in an age when
H E I S M.
the pre-existence of souls was the universal belief. Ha¬
ving proceeded thus far in the apotheosis of dead men,
the next step taken in order to render it in some degree
probable that the early founders of states, and inventors
of arts, were divine intelligences clothed with human
bodies, was to attribute to one such benefactor of man¬
kind the actions of many of the same name. Vossius,
who empl 7yed vast erudition and much time on the sub¬
ject, has proved, that before the mra of the Trojan
wars most kings who were very powerful, or highly re¬
nowned for their skill in legislation, &c. were called
Jove; and when the actions of all these were attributed
to one Jove of Crete, it would be easy for the crafty
priest, supported by all the power and influence of the
state, to persuade an ignorant and barbarous people, that
he whose wisdom and heroic exploits so far surpassed
those of ordinary men must have been the supreme God
in human form.
141
Hero-
Worship.
This short sketch of the progress of polytheism and Vices ofthe
idolatry will enable the reader to account for many cir-PaSang°d^
cumstances recorded of the pagan gods of antiquity,
which at first view seem very surprising, and which at
last brought the whole system into contempt among the
philosophers of Athens and Rome. The circumstances
to which we allude are the immoral characters of those
divinities, and the abominable rites with which they
were worshipped. Jupiter, Apollo, Mars, and the
whole rabble of them, are described by the poets as ra-
vishers of women and notorious adulterers. Hermes or
Mercury wTas a thief, and the god of thieves. Venus
was a prostitute, and Bacchus a drunkard. The malice
and revenge of Juno were implacable; and so little re
gard was any of them supposed to pay to the laws of
honour and rectitude, that it was a common practice of
the Romans, when besieging a town, to evocate the
tutelar deity, and to tempt him by a reward to betray
bis friends and votaries $. In a word, they were, in it t
the language of the poet, ' lib.‘v.c.2r.
“ Cods partial, changeful, passionate, unjust, Sat^r.^05'
“ Whose attributes were rage, revenge, and lust.” lib. iii. c. 9. .
This was the natural consequence of their origin. Ha-Accounted
ving once animated human bodies, and beingYipposed fw.
still to retain human passions and appetites, they were
believed, in their state of deification, to feel the same
sensual desires which they had felt upon earth, and to
pursue the same means for their gratification. As
the men could not well attempt to surpass the gods
in purity and virtue, they were easily persuaded by art¬
ful and profligate priests, that the most acceptable wor¬
ship which could be rendered to any particular deity
was to imitate the example of that deity, and to indulge
in the practices over which he presided. Hence the
worship of Bacchus was performed during the night by
men and women mixing in the dark after intemperate
eating and drinking. Hence too it was the practice
in Cyprus and some other countries to sacrifice to Ve¬
nus. the virginity of young women some days before
their marriage, in order, as it was pretended, to secure
their chastity ever afterwards; and, if Herodotus may be
credited, every woman among the Babylonians was’ob¬
liged once in her life to prostitute herself in the temple
of the goddess Mylitte (Venus), that she might thence
forward be proof against all temptation.
The progress of polytheism, as far as we have traced
it, -
142
POLYTHEISM.
Hero-
Worship.
Progress of
idolatry re¬
gular and
universal.
f Asiatic
Researches
26
Indian ido
latry.
it, has been regular-, and after tlie enormous error of
forsaking the Worship of the true God was ajnntte ^
every subsequent step appears to be naturah It would
be no difficult task to prove that t has hkew.se been
universal. Sir William Jones, the learned president ot
the Asiatic Society, has discovered such a striking re¬
semblance between the gods ot Ancient Greece am
these of the pagans of Hindostanf, as puts it beyom
doubt that those divinities had the same origin. 1 ie
Ganesa of the Hindoos he has clearly proved to be the
Janus of the Greeks and Romans. As the latter was
represented with two and sometimes with four faces, as
emblems of prudence and circumspection, the former is
painted with an elephant’s head, the well-known sym¬
bol among the Indians of sagacious discernment. 1 he
Saturn of Greece and Rome appears to have been the
same personage with the Menu or Satyavrata of
Hindostan, whose patronymic name is V aivaswata,
or child of the snn ; which sufficiently marks Ins origin.
Among the Romans there were many Jupiter?, of whom
one appears from Ennius to have been nothing more
than the firmament personified
Aspice hoc sublime candens, quern invocant omnes
JOVEM.
* Plate
ccccxxxv.
'27
Scandina¬
vian and
Saxon ido¬
latry.
f Plate
ccccxxxv
But this Jupiter had the same attributes with the Indian
god of the visible heavens called Indra or the king,
and Divespetir or the lord of the sky, whose consort
is Sachi, and whose weapon is vajra or the thunderbolt.
Indra is the regent of winds and showers j and though
the east is peculiarly under his care, yet his Olympus
is the north-pole, allegorically represented as a mountain
of gold and gems. With all Ins power he is considered
as a subordinate deity, and far inferior to the Indian
triad Brahma, Vishnou, and Mahadeva or Siva ,
who are three forms of one and the same godhead.
The president having traced the resemblance between
the idolatry of Rome and India through many other
gods, observes, that “ we must not be surprised at hnd-
ino- on a close examination, that the characters of all the
pagan deities melt into each other, and at last into one
or two *, for it seems a well-founded opinion, that the
whole crowd of gods and goddesses m ancient Rome,
and likewise in Hindostan, mean only the powers of na¬
ture, and principally those of the sun expressed m a va¬
riety of ways, and by a multitude of fanciful names.
Nor is it only in Greece, Rome, Egypt, and India,
that the progress of idolatry has been from planetary to
hero-worship. From every account which modern tra¬
vellers have given us of the religion of savage nations, it
appears that those nations adore, as their first and great¬
est gods, the sun, moon, and stars-, and that such of them
as have any other divinities have proceeded in the same
road with the celebrated nations of antiquity, from the
worship of the heavenly bodies to that of celestial dae¬
mons, and from celestial daemons to the deification of
dead men. It appears likewise that they universally
believe their hero gods and demigods to retain the
passions, appetites, and propensities of men.
That the Scandinavians and our Saxon ancestors had
the same notions of the gods with the other pagans
whose opinions we have stated, is evident from their
calling the days of the week by the names of their divi¬
nities, and from the forms of the statues by which those
divinities were represented f. 1. The idol of the sun,
from which Sunday is derived, among the Latins (lies Hero.
Solis, was placed in a temple, and adored and sacrificed | Yt or?hip,
to • for they believed that the sun did co-operate with v
this idol. He was represented like a man half naked,
with his face like the sun, holding a burning wheel
with both hands on his breast, signifying his course
round the world ; and by its fiery gleams the light and
heat with which he warms and nourisheth all things.
2. The idol of the moon, from which cometh our mon-
day, dies Luna, anciently Moonday, appears strangely
singular, being habited in a short coat like a man. Hei
holding a moon expresses what she is; but the reason of
her short coat and long-eared cap is lost m oblivion.—
2. Tuisco, the most ancient and peculiar god of the
Germans, represented in his garment of a skm according
to their ancient manner of clothing, was next to the
sun and moon, the idol of highest rank in the calendar
of northern paganism. To him the third day in the
week was dedicated-, and hence is derived the name
Tuesday, anciently Tuisday, called in Latin dies Martis,
though it must be confessed that Mars does not so much
resemble this divinity as he does Odin or Woden.
4. Woden was a valiant prince among the Saxons.
His image was prayed to for victory over their ene¬
mies ; which, if they obtained, they usually saenheed
the prisoners taken in battle to him. Our Wednesday
is derived from him, anciently Wodensday. The north¬
ern histories make him the father of Thor, and Inga
to be his wife. , .
Thor was placed in a large hall, sitting on a bed
c. xrwr was m * 7 o
canopied over, with a crown of gold on his head, and
12 stars over it, holding a sceptre in his right hand.
To him was attributed the power over both heaven and
earth -, and that as he was pleased or displeased he could
send thunder, tempests, plagues, &c. or fair, seasonable
weather, and cause fertility. From him our Thursday dz-
rives its name, anciently Thors day; among the Romans
dies Jovis, as this idol may be substituted for Jupiter.
6. Friga represented both sexes, holding a drawn
sword in the right hand and a bow in the left} denoting
that women as well as men should fight in time of need.
She was generally taken for a goddess", and was repu-
ted the giver of peace and plenty, and causer of lo^
and amity. Her day of worship was called by the
Saxons Frigedeag, now Friday, dies Veneris; but the
habit and weapons of this figure have a resemblance of
Diana rather than Venus. . .
7. Seater, or Crodo, stood on the prickly back of a
perch. He was thin-visaged and long-haired, with a
long beard, bare-headed and bare-footed, carrying a pail
of water in his right hand wherein are fruit and flowers,
and holding up a wheel in his left, and his coat tied
with a long girdle. His standing on the sharp fins of
this fish signified to the Saxons, that by worshipping
him they should pass through all dangers unhurt: by
his o-irdie flying both ways was shown the Saxons free¬
dom0} and by the pail with fruit and flowers, was de¬
noted that he would nourish the earth. From him, or
from the Roman deity Saturn, comes Saturday.
Such were the principal gods of the northern nations:
but these people had at the same time inferior deities,
who were supposed to have been translated into heaven
for their heroic deeds, and whose greatest happiness
consisted in drinking' ale out of the skulls of their ene-
mies in the hall of Woden. But the limits prescribed
POLYTHEISM.
Brute- to the present article do not permit us to pursue this
Worship, subject 5 nor is it necessary that we should pursue it.
 *  The attentive reader of the article Mythology, of
the histories given in this work of the various divinities
of paganism, and of the different nations by whom those
divinities were worshipped, will perceive that the pro¬
gress of polytheism and idolatry has been uniform over
the whole earth.
There is, however, one species of idolatry more won-
derful than any thing that has yet been mentioned, of
i Brute wor- which our readers will certainly expect some account. It
^ is the worship of brutes, reptiles and vegetables, among
ians the Egyptians. To the Greeks and liomans, as well
as to us, that superstition appeared so monstrous, that
to enumerate every hypothesis, ancient and modern, by
which philosophers have endeavoured to account for it,
would swell this article beyond all proportion. Brute-
worship prevailed at so early a period in Egypt, that
the philosophers of antiquity, whose writings have de¬
scended to us, had little or no advantage over the mo¬
derns in pursuing their researches into its origin ; and
among the modern hypotheses those of Mosheim and
JFirburton appear to us by much the most probable of
any that we have seen (b). The former of these learned
writers attributes it wholly to the policy of the prince
and the craft of the priest. The latter contends, with
much earnestness and ingenuity, that it resulted from
the use of hieroglyphic writing. We are strongly in¬
clined to believe that both these causes contributed to
the production of so portentous an effect; and that the
use of hieroglyphics as sacred symbols, after they were
laid aside in civil life, completed that wonderful super¬
stition which the craft of the priest and the policy of the
prince had undoubtedly begun.
Lib. ii. We learn from Herodotus *, that in his time the
! number of useful animals in Egypt was so small as
troduced harc% to ^e sufficient for tillage and the other pur-
tth a poli-Poses °f civil life j whilst serpents and other noxious
:alview; animals, such as the crocodile, wolf, bear, and hippo¬
potamus, abounded in that country. From this fact
^0Si‘eim very naturally concludes +, that the founders
L capiv society anti government in Egypt would by every
Jl1 158, art endeavour to increase the number of useful animals
as the number of inhabitants increased; and that with
this view they would make it criminal to kill or even to
hurt sheep, cows, oxen, or goats, &c. whilst they would
wage perpetual war upon the noxious animals and beasts
of prey. Such animals as were assisting to them in the
carrying on of this warfare would be justly considered
as in a high degree useful to society. Hence the most
grievous punishments were decreed against the killing,
or so much as the wounding, of the ichneumon and ibisi
because the former was looked upon as the instinctive
enemy of the crocodile, and the latter of every species of
serpents. The learned writer, however, observes, that in
Egypt as in other countries, people would be tempted to
sacrifice thegood of the publicto the gratification of their
own appetites, and sometimes even to the indulgence of
a momentary caprice. He thinks it was found necessary
to strengthen the authority of the laws enacted for the
preservation of useful animals by the sanctions of reli¬
gion : and he says, that with this view the priests decla¬
red that certain animals were under the immediate pro¬
tection of certain gods ; that some of those animals had
a divine virtue residing in them ; and that they could
not be killed without the most sacrilegious wickedness
incurring the highest indignation of the gods. When once
the idolatrous Egyptians were persuaded that certain ani¬
mals were sacred to the immortal gods, and had a di¬
vine virtue residing in them, they could not avoid view¬
ing those animals with some degree of veneration ; and
the priests, taking advantage of the superstition of the
people, appointed for each species of sacred animals ap¬
propriated rites and ceremonies, which were quickly
followed with building shrines and temples to them, anil
approaching them with oblations and sacrifices, and
other rites of divine adoration.
To corroborate this hypothesis, he observes, that,
besides the animals sacred over all Egypt, each pro¬
vince and each city had its particular animal to which
the inhabitants paid their devotions. This arose from
the universal practice among idolaters of consecrating
to themselves Laves and Penates y and as the animals
which were worshipped over the whole kingdom were
considered as sacred to the Dii majorum gentium, so the
animals whose worship was confined to particular cities
or provinces, were sacred to the Lares of those cities
and provinces. Hence there was in Upper Egypt a
city
143
Brute-
Worship.
(b) There is, however, another hypothesis worthy of some attention, if it were only for the learning and ingenuity
of its author. The celebrated Cudworth infers, from the writings of Philo and other Platonists of the Alexandrian
school, that the ancient Egyptians held the Platonic doctrine of ideas existing from eternity, and constituting, in
one of the persons of the godhead, the intelligible and archetypal world. (See Platonism). Philo, he observes,
did not himself consider those ideas as so many distinct substances and animals, much less as gods; but he mentions
others who deified the whole of this intelligible system as well as its several parts. Hence, when they paid their
devotions to the sensible sun, they pretended only to worship the divine idea or archetype of that luminary : and
hence, thinks our learned author, the ancient Egyptians, by falling down to bulls, and cows, and crocodiles,
meant at first to worship only the divine and eternal ideas of those animals. He allows, indeed, that as few could
entertain any thoughts at all of those eternal ideas, there were scarcely any who could persuade themselves that
the intelligible system had so much reality in it as the sensible things of nature; and hence he thinks the devotion
which was originally paid to the divine ideas had afterwards no higher object than the brutes and vegetables of
which those ideas were the eternal patterns.
This hypothesis is ingenious, but not satisfactory. There is no evidence that the mysterious doctrine of Plato
concerning ideas had anywhere been thought of for ages after brute-worship was established in Egypt. Of the
state of Egyptian theology at that early period, Philo, and the other philosophers of the Alexandrian school, had
no better means of forming a judgment than we have ; and they laboured under many Grecian prejudices, whicli
must have prevented them from judging with our impartiality.
144
* Did. Leg
book iv
sect. 4-
P O L Y t
city called lympttlis, because its inhabitants worshipped
the wolf, wltile the inhabitants of Thebes, or Heliopolis,
paid their devotions to the eagle, which was probably
looked upon as sacred to the sun. Our author, how¬
ever, holds it as a fact which will admit of no dispute,
that there was not one noxious animal or beast of prey
worshipped by the Egyptians till after the conquest
of their country by the Persians. That the earliest
gods of Egvpt were all benevolent beings, he appeals
to the testimony of Diodorus Siculus ; but he quotes
Herodotus and Plutarch as agreeing that the latter
Egyptians worshipped an evil principle under the name
dTnphon. This Typhon was the inveterate enemy of
Osiris, just as Ahraman was of Onnu%d; and therefore
he thinks it in the highest degree probable that the
Egyptians derived their belief of two self-existent prin¬
ciples, a good and an evil, from their Persian conquer¬
ors, among whom that opinion prevailed from the ear-
Erom whatever source their belief was derived, Ty¬
phon was certainly worshipped in Egypt, not with a
view of obtaining from him any good, for there was
nothing good in his nature, but in hopes of keeping
him quiet, and averting much evil. As certain animals
had long been sacred to all the benevolent deities, it
was natural for a people so besotted with superstition as
the Egyptians to consecrate emblems of the same kind
to their god Typhon. Hence arose the worship of ser¬
pents, crocodiles, bears, and other noxious animals and
beasts of prey. It may indeed seem at first sight very
inconsistent to deify such animals, alter they had been
in the practice for 'ages of worshipping others for being
their destroyers ; but it is to be remembered that long
before the deification of crocodiles, &c. the real origin
of brute worship was totally forgotten by the people,
if they were ever acquainted with it. rI he crafty priest
who wishes to introduce a gainful superstition, must at
iirst employ some plausible reason to delude the multi¬
tude •, but after the superstition has been long and firm¬
ly established, it is obviously his business to keep its
origin out of sight. _ ,
Such is Mosheim’s account of the origin and pro¬
gress of that species of idolatry which was peculiar to
Egypt *, and with respect to the rise of worship,
it appears perfectly satisfactory. But the Egyptians
worshipped several species of vegetables; and it surely
could be no part of the policy of wise legislators to pre¬
serve them from destruction, as vegetables are useful
only as they contribute to animal subsistence. We are
therefore obliged to call in the aid of Warburton’s hy¬
pothesis to account for this branch of Egyptian super¬
stition. .
That learned and ingenious author having proved ,
with great clearness and strength of argument, that hie¬
roglyphic writing was prior to the invention of alpha¬
betic characters ; and having traced that kind of wri-
H E 1 S M.
ting from such rude pictures, as those which were in use finite-
among the Mexicans, through all the different species Worship,
of what he calls euriologic, tropical, and symbolic hiero- Jq
glyphics ('see Hieroglyphics)—shows, by many quo-continued
tations from ancient authors, that the Egyptian priests by the
wrapt up their theology in the symbolic hieroglyphics, means of
after alphabetic characters had banished from the trans-
actions of civil life a mode of communicating informa-ting) auJ
tion necessarily so obscure. These symbols were the fi¬
gures of animals and vegetables, denoting, from some
imaginary analogy, certain attributes of their divinities ;
and when the vulgar, forgetting this analogy, ceased to
understand them as a species of writing, and were yet
taught to consider them as sacred, they could not well
view them in any other light than as emblems of the
divinities whom they adored. But if rude sculptures
upon stone could be emblematical of the divinities, it
was surely not unnatural to infer, that the living ani¬
mals and vegetables which those sculptures represented
must be emblems of the same divinities more striking
and more sacred. Hence the learned author thinks
arose that wonderful superstition peculiar to the Egyp¬
tians, which made them worship not only animals and
vegetables, but also a thousand chimeras of their own
creation ; such as figures with human bodies and the
heads or feet of brutes, or with brutal bodies and the
heads and feet of men.
These two hypotheses combined together appear to us
to account sufficiently for the idolatry of Egypt, mon¬
strous as it was. We are persuaded that with respect to
the origin of brute-worship Mosheim is in the right (c);
and it was a very easy step tor people in so good train¬
ing to proceed upon the crutches of hieroglyphics to
the worship of plants and those chimeras, which, as they
never had a real existence in nature, could not have
been thought of as emblems of the divinity, had they
not been used in that symbolic writing which Warbur-
ton so ably and ingeniously explains.
To this account of the origin of brute-worship, we
are fully aware that objections will occur. From a
learned friend, who perused the article in manuscript,
we have been favoured with one which, as it is exceed-
ingly plausible, we shall endeavour to obviate. “ Brute-
worship was not peculiar to Egypt. The Hindoos, it
is well known, have a religious veneration for the cow
and the alligator ; but there is no evidence that in In¬
dia the number of useful animals was ever so small as
to make the interference of the prince and the priest
necessary for their preservation ; neither does it appear
that the Hindoos adopted from any other people the
worship of a self-existent principle of evil.” Such is
the objection. To which we reply, 3*
That there is every reason to believe that brute-
worship was introduced into India by a colony of ^J"gjptintr
gyptians at a very remote period. That between these jn4iai
two nations there was an early intercourse, is universal¬
ly
(c) To prove that it was merely to preserve and increase the breed of useful animals in Egypt, that the prince
and the priest first taught the people to consider such animals as sacred, he argues thus : “ H sec it a esse, non ex
eo tantum liquet, quod paulo ante obsei vavi, nullas bestias universo iEgyptiorum populo sacras tuisse praeter eas,
quse manifestam region’, utilitatem comparent; sed hide quoque apparet, quod longe major ratio habita tint ta-
•mellarum inter animalia, quam marium. Boves diis immolare hcebat, vaccas nullo mode. Canes toemime con-
timiulabantur, non item mates,” Lege Herodot. Histor. lib. ii. cap. 41. & cap. 67.
5
POLYTHEISM. PLATE CCCCJTJCJCV.
INDIA?? GODS
THE PRINCIPAL. IDOLS OF THE SAXONS WORSHIPPED IN HIUTAIN
llllll
POLYTHEISM.
Theoyony. Iy allowed i and though the learned president of the A-
-—'siatic Society has laboured to prove, that the Egyptians
derived all that wisdom for which they were famed, as
well as the rudiments of their religious system, from the
natives of Hindostan, he does not appear to us to have
laboured with success. rIo examine his arguments at
length would swell this article beyond its due propor¬
tion ; and we have noticed some of them elsewhere (see
Philology, N° 33 and 39). At present we shall on¬
ly observe, that Sesostris undoubtedly made an inroad
into India, and conquered part of the country, whilst we
h nowhere read of the Hindoos having at any time con¬
quered the kingdom of Egypt. Now, though the vic-
Itors have sometimes adopted the religion of the van¬
quished, the contrary has happened so much more fre¬
quently, and is in itself a process so much more natu¬
ral, that this single circumstance affords a strong pre¬
sumption that the Egyptian monarch would rather im¬
pose his gods upon the Hindoos than adopt theirs and
carry them with him to Egypt. Brute-worship might
likewise be introduced into Hindostan by those vast co¬
lonies of Egyptians who took refuge in that country
from the tyranny and oppression of the shepherd kings.
That such colonies did settle on some occasion or other
in India, seems undeniable from monuments still remain¬
ing in that country, of forms which could hardly have
occurred to a native of Asia, though they are very na¬
tural as the workmanship of Africans. But we need
not reason in this manner. We have seen a manuscript
letter from Mr Burt, a learned surgeon in Bengal, and
a member of the Asiatic Society, which puts it beyond
a doubt that great numbers of Egyptians had at a very
early period not only settled in Hindostan, but also
brought with them writings relating to the history of
their country. As the shepherd-kings were enemies to
the arts and to literature, it is probable that this settle¬
ment took place on their conquest of Egypt. Mr
Burt’s words are : “ Mr Wilford, lieutenant of engi¬
neers, has extracted most wonderful discoveries from the
Shanscrit records: such as the origin and history of the
Egyptian pyramids, and even the account of the ex¬
pence in their building.” Upon our hypothesis there
is nothing incredible in this account j upon the hypo¬
thesis of Sir William Jones, it is not easy to be con¬
ceived- how the history of Egyptian pyramids could have
found a place in the Shanscrit records.
We may admit that the Hindoos have never adopted
from the Persians or Egyptians the worship of an inde¬
pendent principle of evil, and yet dispose of the other-
part of the objection with very little difficulty. It will
be seen by and bye, that the bramins believe a kind of
triad of hypostases in the divine nature, of whiih one is
viewed as the destroyer, and known by several names,
such as Siva and Iswara. When brute-worship was in¬
troduced into Hindostan, it was not unnatural to con¬
sider the alligator as emblematical oi Iswara; and hence
in all probability it is that the Hindoos believe that a
man cannot depart more happily from this world than
by falling into the Ganges, and being devoured by one
of those sacred animals. Upon the whole, the brute-
worship of the Hindoos, instead of militating against
our account of that monstrous superstition as it prevail¬
ed in Egypt, seems to lend no smalFsupport to that ac¬
count, as there was unquestionably an early intercourse
between the two nations, and as colonies of Egyptians
VOL. XVII. Part I. +
^ . H5
settled in India. To him who'is not satisfied with our Theogony.
reasoning on this subject, we beg leave to recommend —v~—^
an attentive perusal of Maurice’s Indian Antiquities,
where he will find many facts brought together, which
tend to prove that Egypt has a just claim to a higher
antiquity than India. ^
Having thus traced the rise and progress of poly- Polytheists
theism and idolatry as they prevailed in the most cele-acknow"
brated nations of antiquity, we now proceed to inquire su^rem^110
into the real opinions of those nations concerning the God,
nature of the gods whom they adored. And here it is
evident from the writings of Homer, Plesiod, and the
other poets, who were the principal theologians among
the Greeks and Homans, that though heaven, earth,
hell, and all the elements, were filled with divinities,
there was yet one who, whether called/ow, Osiris, Or-
tnwzd, or by any other title, was considered as supreme
over all the rest. “ W hence each of the gods was ge¬
nerated (says Herodotus *), or whether they have all * I-*13 “*
existed from eternity, and what are their forms, is ac' 5U
thing that was not known till very lately ‘, for Hesiod
and Homer were, as I suppose, not above four hundred
years my seniors 5 and these were they who introduced
the theogony among the Greeks, and gave the gods
their several names.” Now Hesiod-f, towards the be-f Vere.
ginning of his theogony, expressly invokes his muse to I04—II2'
celebrate in suitable numbers the generation of the im¬
mortal gods who had sprung from the earth, the dark
night, the starry heavens, and the salt sea. He calls up- from33
on her likewise to say, “ in what manner the gods, the whom the
earth, the rivers, ocean, stars, and firmament, were ge-°d>yr divi¬
nerated, and what divine intelligences had sprung from nitaes 'vere
them of benevolent dispositions towards mankind.”Seaerated:
Irom this invocation, it is evident that the poet did
not consider the gods of Greece as self-existent beings :
neither could he look upon them as creatures; for of
creation the ancient Greeks had no conception (see
Metaphysics, N° 264.) ; but he considered them afe
emanations coeval with the earth and heavens, from
some superior principles ; and by the divine intelligen¬
ces sprung from them, there cannot be a doubt but that
he understood benevolent daemons. The first principles
of all things, according to the same Hesiod, were Chaos,
and 1 artarus and Love ; of which only the last being
active, must undoubtedly have been conceived by this
father of Grecian polytheism to be the greatest and on¬
ly self-existing god. This we say must undoubtedly
have been Hesiod’s belief, unless by Tartarus we here ’
understand a sell-existent principle of evil j and in that
case his creed will be the same with that of the ancient
Persians, who, as we have seen, believed in the self-ex¬
istence as wrell of Ahraman as of Qrmu%d.
Hesiod is supposed to have taken his theology from
Orpheus 5 and it is evident that his doctrine concerning
the generation of the gods is the same with that taught
in certain verses * usually attributed to Orpheus, in * Ar%°-
which Love and Chaos are thus brought together.1* l7’
“ We will first sing (says the poet) a pleasant and de-edlt’Steplu
lightful song concerning the ancient Chaos, how the
heavens, earth, ahd seas, were formed out of it 5 as also
concerning that all-wise Love, the oldest and self-per¬
fect principle, which actively produced all these things,
separating- one from another.” In the original passage’
Love is said not only to be ttoXv^th;, of much wisdom or
sagacity, and therefore a real intelligent substance ; but
T also
i+6 ' POLYT
Theoo-ony. also to be ^<rCvr*r«« and uvroriMs, the oldest- and selj-
iperfect, and therefore a being of superior order to tne
other divinities who were generated together with the
elements over which they were conceived to preside.
With the theology of Homer our readers of all de¬
scriptions are so well acquainted, that we need not
swell the article with quotations, to prove that the lather
of epic poetry held Jove to be the father of gods and
men. But the doctrine of the poets was the creed o
the vulgar Greeks and Romans 5 and therefore we may
conclude, that those nations, though they worshipped
gods and lords innumerable, admitted but one, or at the
most two (d), self-existent principles •, the one good
and the other evil. It does not indeed appear, that in
34 the system of vulgar paganism the subordinate gods were
though accountable to their chief for any part o| their conduct,
each was except when they transgressed the limits ot the pro-
Sr consi Vinces assigned them. Venus might conduct the amours
acred as of heaven and earth in whatever manner she pleased •,
unaccount- Minerva might communicate or with hold wisdom from
able in his any ;ntiividual with or without reason ; and we find, that
in Homer’s battles the gods were permitted to separate
into parties, and to support the Greeks or Trojans ac¬
cording as they favoured the one or the other nation.
Jove indeed sometimes called them to order } hut his
interference was thought partial, and an instance ot ty¬
rannical force rather than of just authority. The vul¬
gar Greeks, therefore, although they admitted but one,
or at most two, self-existent principles, did not consider
the inferior divinities as mediators between them and
the supreme, but as gods to whom their worship was on
certain occasions to be ultimately directed.
The creed of the philosophers seems to have been
the pliiloso-Such of them as were theists, and believed
phers and in the administration of Providence, admitted of but one
God, to whom worship was ultimately due •, and they
adored the subordinate divinities as his children and mi¬
nisters, by whom the course of Providence was carried
on. With respect to the origin of those divinities,
$= Timceus. jg very explicit j where he tells us *, that when
own pro¬
vince.
35 ,
Creed of
H E I S M.
all the gods, both those who move visibly round the Theogony;
heavens, and those who appear to us as often as they * 1
please, were generated, that God who made the whole
universe, spoke to them after this manner: Ye gods ot
gods, of whom I myself am father, attend.” Cicero
teaches the very same doctrine with Plato concerning ^
the gods-t •, and Maximus Tyrius, who seems to have Q^ t jib
understood the genius of polytheism as thoroughly as u c 2()
any man, gives us the following clear account of that de Nat.
system as received by the philosophers.
“ I will now more plainly declare my sense J by
similitude : Imagine a great and powerful kingdom or
principality, in which all agree freely and with one
consent to direct their actions according to the will and
command of one supreme king, the oldest and the best •,
and then suppose the bounds and limits ot this empire
not to be the river Halys, nor the Hellespont, nor the
Meotian lake, nor the shores of the ocean $ but heaven
above, and the earth beneath. Here then let that great
king sit immoveable, prescribing to all his subjects laws,
in the observance of which consist their safety and hap¬
piness: the partakers of bis empire being many, both
visible and invisible gods j some of which that are near¬
est, and immediately attending on him, are in the high¬
est regal dignity, feasting as it were at the same table ;
others again are their ministers and attendants ; and a
third sort are inferior to them both: and thus you see
how the order and chain of this government descends
down by steps and degrees from the supreme god to
the earth and men.” In this passage we have a plain
acknowledgement of one supreme God, the sovereign of
the universe, and of three inferior orders of gods, who
were his ministers in the government of the world : and
it is worthy of observation, that the same writer calls
these intelligences kovs, kov Tra^cts r-ett Qttovs, gods, the
sons and friends of gods. He likewise affirms, that all
ranks of men, anil all nations on earth, whether baiba¬
rons or civilized, held the same opinions respecting one
supreme Numen and the generation ot the other gods.
“ If there were a meeting (says he*) called of all * Ml
Plutarch is commonly supposed, and we think justly supposed, to have been a believer in two self-existent
tirLciS a good andaTevft. His o^vn opinion, whatever it was, he declares {de Isrdeet have been
most ancient and universal, and derived from theologers and lawgivers, by poets and philosophers. Though t e
TstaXofU be unknown, yet (says he) it hath been so firmly believed everywhere, that traces of it are to be
found in the sacrifices and mysteries both of the barbarians and the Greeks. There is a confused mix ure
„ood and evil in every thing, and nothing is produced by nature pure. Wherefore it is not one oniy dispenser 0
filings, who, as it were, out of several vessels distributeth these several liquors of good and evil, ^;ngV«g thei«
aether and dashing them as he pleases j hut there are two distinct and contrary powers or principles in the world,
one of’them alwavf leading, as it were, to the right hand, but the other tugging the contrary way. I or if not ung
can be made without a cause, and that which is good cannot^ the cause of evil, there must needs be a distinct
principle in nature for the production of evil as well as good.” , f ,
That this is palpable manicheism (see Manicheism), appears to us so very evident as to admit of no debate.
It appeared in the same light to the learned Cudworth J but that author labours to provethat Pin arch mistook
the sePnse of Pythagoras, Empedocles, Heraclitus, Anaxagoras, and Plato, when he attributed to them the same
opinions which were held by himself. Mosheim, on the other hand, has put it beyond a doubt, that whatever was
Plutarch’s belief respecting the origin of evil, and the existence of two independent principles, it was taken im¬
plicitly from the writings of Plato. But the pious chancellor of Gottingen, actuated by the same motives wj >
Cudworth, wishes to persuade his readers, that by Plato and Plutarch nothing active was understood by them
evil principle, but only that tendency to confusion which was then deemed inseparable Irom matter. £ut that
something more was meant seems undeniable: for immediately after the words which we have quoted, Plutarc
proceeds to affirm that the wisest men declare 0s*t>s that there are two gods as it were,
of contrary trades or crafts, of which one is the author of all good and the other of all evil. See Mosheim. e .
‘Cudworth. System. Intellect, lib. i. cap. 4. § 13.
3^
iaian Bra-
ims.
Plate
P O L Y T
i0he0g»tiy. ^iese several professions, a painter, a statuary, a poet,
—V—^ and a philosopher, and all of them were required to de¬
clare their sense concerning the God; do you think that
the painter would say one thing, the statuary another,
tire poet a third, and the philosopher a fourth ? No;
nor the Scythian neither ; nor the Greek, nor the Hy¬
perborean. In other things we find men speaking very
discordantly, all men as it were differing from all. But
amidst this war, contention, and discord, you may find
everywhere, throughout the whole world, one uniform
law and opinion, that there is one God, the king
and father OF ALL, and many gods, the sons OF
God, who reign with God. These things both the
Greek and Barbarian affirm, both the inhabitants of the
continent and of the sea-coast, both the wise and the
unwise.”
This account of philosophical polytheism receives no
small support from the Asiatic Researches of Sir Wil¬
liam Jones. “ It must always be remembered (says
that accomplished scholar), that the learned Indians, as
they are instructed by their own books, acknowledge
only one supreme Being, whom they call Brahme, or
cccxxxv. the GREAT ONE, in the neuter gender. They believe
his essence to be infinitely removed from the compre¬
hension of any mind but his own ; and they suppose
him to manifest his potver by the operation of his di¬
vine spirit, whom they name Vishnou thepervader, and
Ne'ra'yaN or moving on the waters, both in the mas¬
culine gender 5 whence he is often denominated \\w first
male. When they consider the divine power as exerted in
creating or giving existence to that which existed not be¬
fore, they call the deity Brahma'j when they view
him in the light of destroyer, or rather changer of forms,
they give him a thousand names, of which Siva, Is-
Wara, and Mahadeva, are the most common j and
when they consider him as the preserver of created
things, they give him the name of Vishnou. As the
soul of the world, or the pervading mind, so finely de¬
scribed by Virgil, we see Jove represented by several
Roman poets ; and with great sublimity by Lucan in
the well-known speech of Cato concerning the Ammo-
man oracle, 44 Jupiter is wherever we look, wherever we
move.’ This is precisely the Indian idea of Vishnou:
for since the power of preserving created things by a
Superintending providence belongs eminently to the god¬
head, they hold that power to exist transcendently in
the preserving member of the triad, whom they sup¬
pose to be everywhere always, not in substance,
hut in spirit and energy.” This supreme god Brah
ME, in his tuple form, is the only self-existent divinity
acknowledged by the philosophical Hindoos. The
other divinities Genesa, Indra, Cuvera, &c. are
all looked upon either as his creatures or his children ;
and of course are worshipped only with inferior adora¬
tion.
It was upon this principle of the generation of the
gods, and of their acting as ministers to the supreme
H E I S M. r47
Numen, that all the philosophers of Greece, who were Theogony,
not atheists, worshipped many divinities, though they ' 
either openly condemned or secretly despised the tradi¬
tions of the poets respecting the amours and villanies
of Jupiter, Venus, Mercury, and the rest of the tribe.
It was the same principle sincerely admitted, and not an
ill-timed jest, as has been absurdly supposed, that made
Socrates, after he had swallowed the poison, request his
friend to offer a votive cock for him to Esculapius.
But a theogony was not peculiar to the Greeks, Ro¬
mans, and the Hindoos j it made part of every system
of polytheism. Even the Egyptians themselves, the
grossest of all idolaters, believed in one self-existing God,
from whom all their oth« r divinities descended by gene¬
ration. This appears probable from the writings ofHo-
rus Apollo, Jamblicus, Porphyry, and many other an¬
cient authors ; but if the inscription on the gates of the
temple of Neith in Sais, as we have it from Plutarch
and Prod us, be genuine, it will admit of no doubt.
This famous inscription, according to the last of these
writers, was to this purpose : “ I am whatever is, what¬
ever shall be, and whatever hath been. My veil no man
hath removed. The offspring which I brought forth
was the sun (e).”
The Persian magi, as we have seen, believed in two
self existent principles, a good and an evil: but if Dio¬
genes Laertius deserves to be credited, they held that
fire, earth, and water, which they called gods, were ge¬
nerated of these two. It was observed in the beginning
of this article, that the first object of idolatrous worship
was probably the sun, and that this species of idolatry
took its rise in Chaldea or Persia. But when it became
the practice of eastern monarchs to conceal themselves
wholly from their people, the custom, as implying dig¬
nity, was supposed to prevail as well in heaven as on
earth *, and Zoroaster, the reformer of the Persian theo¬
logy, taught*, that “Ormuzd was as far removed from * pilltarc7.
the sun as the sun is removed from the earth.” Accord de hide et?
ing to this modification of magianism, the sun was one Osiride.
of the generated gods, and held the office of prime mi¬
nister or vicegerent to the invisible fountain of light and
good. Still, how'ever, a self-existent principle of evil
was admitted j but though he could not be destroyed or
annihilated by any power, it was believed that he would
at last be completely vanquished by Ormuzd and his
ministers, and rendered thenceforwrard incapable of
producing any mischief.
From this short view of polytheism, as w'e find it de¬
lineated by the best writers of antiquity, we think our¬
selves warranted to conclude, that the whole pagan
world believed in but one, or at most two, self-exist¬
ent GODS, from whom they conceived all the other di¬
vinities to have descended in a manner analogous to hu¬
man generation. It appears, however, that the vulgar
pagans considered each divinity as supreme and unac¬
countable within his own province, and therefore intit-
led to worship, which rested ultimately in himself. The
f 2 philosophers.
(e) Tac ovlcc, xxi Ta itrouwx xxi rx yiyoroTX, lyu up.i. Tov tgov -girwvx xmxx'Kv\tv. 'Ov lyu xxpituv, tjAioc mi/elo.
I he ■'i': •- i i ■ ^ i ......... • • •« • - -
antiquity of this inscription is admitted by Cudworth, denied by Ylosheim, and doubted by Jablonkski. The
reader who wishes to know their arguments may consult Mosheim’s edition of the Intellectual System, and Jablon-
Eki’s Pantheon JEgyptiorum.
148
Theogony.
"Is”
Vulgar po¬
lytheists
less cul¬
pable than
the philoso¬
phers.
* Varro
apud D.
August, de
Civ. Dei.
P O L Y T
philosophers, on the other Imn.t, seem to have viewed
the inferior gods as accountable for every part ot tlitir
conduct to him who was their sire and sovereign and to
have paid to them only that inferior kind ot devotion
which the church of Rome pays to departed saints. 1 he
vulgar pagans were sunk in the grossest ignorance, irom
which statesmen, priest?, and poets, exerted their utmost
influence to keep them from emerging j lor it was a
maxim which, however absurd, was universally received,
that “ there were many things true in religion , which
it was not convenient for the vulgar to know j and some
H E I S M.
things which, though false, it was yet expedient that Theogony.
they should believe. The polytheism and idolatry ot v  
the vulo-ar, therefore, was their misfortune rather than
their fault. Rut the philosophers were wholly “ with¬
out excuse * ; because that when they knew God, they * Rom. i.
glorified him not as God, neither were tlianktul, but 20, 21, n.
became vain in their imaginations, and theirfoohsh heart 5-
was darkened. Professing themselves wise, they became
fools, and worshipped and served the creature more than
the Creator, who is God blessed tor ever.
POL
POM
Polylri-
chum
Polyxo.
POLYTRIGHUM, a genus of plants belonging to
the cryptogamia class. See Botany Index. The an-
thera is operculated, and placed upon a very small apo-
, physis or articulation *, the calyptra villous •, the star of
the female is on a distinct individual. There are 16
species $ the most remarkable ot which, natives ot Bri¬
tain, is the commune, or great golden maiden-hair, tie-
quently to be met with in bogs and wet places. It grows
in patches ; the stalks erect, generally single and un¬
branched, from three inches to a foot or even a yard
hi oh. The leaves are numerous, stiff, lanceolate, acute,
growing round the stalk without order, and, if viewed
with a microscope, appear to have their edges finely ser¬
rated. There are two varieties of this moss : the first
has much shorter stalks than the preceding, and often
branched j the leaves stiffer, erect, and more crowded 5
in other respects the same. The other has a stalk scarce¬
ly more than half an inch high, terminated with a clus¬
ter of linear, erect, rigid leaves, for the most part entire
on the edges, and tipped each with a white hair. I he
filament is about an inch high, and the capsule quad¬
rangular. The female flower, or gem, is of a bright
red colour. . r ,,
The first kind, when it grows long enough tor the
purpose, is sometimes used in Bngland and Holland to
make brooms or brushes. Ot the female sort the Lap¬
landers, when obliged to sleep in desert places, frequent¬
ly make a speedy and convenient bed, in the following
manner : Where the moss grows thick together, they
mark out, with a knife, a piece of ground, about two
yards square, or of the size of a common blanket j then
beginning at one coiner, they gently sever the turf from
the ground, and as the roots of the moss are closely in-,
terwoven and matted together, they by degrees strip off
the whole circumscribed turf in one entire piece j after¬
wards they mark and draw up another piece, exactly
corresponding with the first', then, shaking them both
with their hands, they lay one upon the ground, with
the moss uppermost, instead of a matress, and the other
over it, with the moss downwards, instead ot a rug;
and between the two pieces they enjoy a comfortable
sleep. ^ „
POLYX ff.NUS, or PoLYiENus. See Polyalnus.
PO LYXO, a priestess of Apollo’s temple in Lemnos.
She was likewise nurse to Queen Hypsipyle. It was by
her advice that the Lemnian women murdered all their
husbands There was another Polyxo, a native of Ar-
o-os, who married Tlepolemus son of Hercules. She fol-
fowed him to Rhodes after the murder of his uncle Li- __
cymnius j and when he departed tor the Irojan war with
the rest of the Greek princes, she became the sole mistress
of the kingdom. After the Trojan war, Helen fled from
Peloponnesus to Rhodes, where Polyxo reigned. Polyxo
detained her; and to punish her as being the cause of a
war in which Tlepolemus had perished, she ordered her
to be hanged on a tree by her female servants, disguised
in the habit of Furies.
PQMACEiE, (pomum, “ an apple,”) the name of
the 36th order in Linnmus’s Fragments of a Natural
Method, the genera of which have a pulpy esculent fruit,
of the apple, berry, and a cherry kind. See Botany,
Natural Orders.
POMATUM, an unguent generally used in dressing
the hair. It is also employed as a medicine.
POMEGRANATE. See Punica, Botany Index.
POMERANIA, a province in Germany, in the
circle of Upper Saxony, having formerly the title ot a
duchy. It is bounded on the north by the Baltic sea,
on the east by Prussia and Poland, on the south by the
marquisate of Brandenburg, and on the west by the
duchy of Mecklenburg; and is about 250 miles in
length, and in some places 75 miles and in others 50 in
breadth. It is watered by several rivers, the most con-
"siderable of which are the Oder, the Pene, the Rega,
the Persant, the Wipper, the Stolp, the Lupo, and the
Lobo. The air is cold; but the soil abounds in pas¬
tures, and produces corn, of which a great deal is ex¬
ported. It is a flat country, containing many lakes,
woods, and forests, and has several good harbours. It is
divided into the Hither and Farther Pomerania. 'I he
small part of this province held by Sweden, was given
to Denmark in exchange for Norway, and by Denmark
was ceded to Prussia, in 1814.
POMFRET, John, an English poet, son of the rec¬
tor of Luton in Bedfordshire, was born in 1667, and
educated at Cambridge ; after which he took orders,
and was presented to the living of Malden in Bedford¬
shire. About 1703 he went to London for institution
to a larger and very considerable living ; but was stop¬
ped some time by Compton, then bishop of London, on
account of these four lines of his poem, entitled the
Choice : . .
Polyxo
Pom fret
POM
[ H9 ]
POM
omfret
“ Artd as I near approach’d the verge of life,
n. Some kind relation (for I’d have no wife),
J Should take upon him all my worldly care,
While I did tor a better state prepare.”
The parentheses in these lines were so maliciously re¬
presented, that the good bishop was made to believe that
Pom fret preferred a mistress to a wife. But he was soon
convinced that this representation was the mere effect
of malice, as Pomfret at that time was actually married.
The opposition, however, which his slanderers had-made
to him had its effect ", for, being by this obliged to stay
in London longer than he intended, he catched the small¬
pox, and died of it, aged 35.
He published a volume of his poems in 1699, with a
very modest and sensible preface. Two pieces of bis
were published after his death by his friend Philalethes ;
one intitled Reason, and written in 1700, when the dis¬
putes about the Trinity ran high ; the other
sima, or the “ Last Epiphany,” a Pindaric ode. His
versification is not unmusical 5 but there is not the force
in his writings which is necessary to constitute a poet.
A dissenting teacher of his name, and who published
some rhimes upon spiritual subjects, occasioned fanati¬
cism to be imputed to him ; but his friend Philalethes
has justly cleared him from the imputation. Pomfret
had a very strong mixture of devotion in him, hut no fa¬
naticism.
“ The Choice (says Dr Johnson) exhibits a system of
life adapted to common notions, and equal to common
expectations j such a state as affords plenty and tran¬
quillity, without exclusion of intellectual pleasures. Per¬
haps no composition in our language has been oftener
perused than Pomfret’s Choice. In his other poems
there is an easy volubility ; the pleasure of smooth metre
is afforded to the ear, and the mind is not oppressed with
ponderous, or intangled with intricate, sentiment. He
pleases many ; and he who pleases many must have me¬
rit.”
POMME, or PoMMETTE, in Heraldry, is a cross
with one or more balls or knobs at each of the ends.
POMMEL, or Pummel, in the Manege, a piece of
brass or other matter at the top and in the middle of the
saddle-bow.
POMMERULLIA, a genus of plants belonging
to the triandria class, and in the natural method rank¬
ing under the 4th order, Gramina. See Botany In¬
dex.
POMOERIUM, in Roman antiquity, was, according
to Livy, that space of ground, both within and without
the walls, which the augurs, at the first building of ci¬
ties, solemnly consecrated, and on which no edifices were
alloivcd to be raised. Plutarch gives this account of the
ceremony of drawing the pomcerium : “ They dug a
trench, and threw into it the first-fruits of all things, ei¬
ther good by custom, or necessary by nature j and every
man taking a small turf of earth of the country from
whence he came, they cast them in promiscuously. Then
making this trench their centre, they described the city
in a circle round it. After this, the founder yoking a
bull and a cow together, ploughed a deep furrow, with
a brazen ploughshare, round the hounds. The attend¬
ants took care that all the clods fell inwards, i. e. toward
the city. This furrow they called Pomazrium, and built
the wall upon it.”—Plutarch, in this account, is to be Pomcenum
understood as speaking of Rome. |j
PoMERiun Prof erre, signifies to extend or enlarge I’omP€11-
a city, which could not be done by any, but those who '"““''v"'"' 1
had taken away Some part of an enemy’s country in war.
But this qualification was sometimes dispensed with. Po-
moerium is quasi pone moznia, “ behind the Avails.”
POMONA, in fabulous history, the tutelar deity of
orchards and fruit-trees. See Vertumnus.
POMPEII (anc. geog.) a town of Campania near
Herculaneum, and destroyed along with it by the great
eruption of Vesuvius in the time of Titus. See Her¬
culaneum. It is about 15 miles from Naples, and six
or seven from Portici—So much has been said and writ¬
ten on the discovery of this place, as makes it unneces¬
sary for us to say much : we shall therefore only give a
short extract on the subject from an anonymous work
lately published, apparently of considerable merit. “ On
entering the city (says our author*), the first object is a * Compa-
pretty square, with arcades, after the present manner of native
Italy. This was, as it is imagined, the quarter of th*3 ^n^land
soldiers ; numbers of military weapons being found here, and Italy
“ A narrow, but long street, with several shops on with Dis-
each side, is now perfectly cleared of its rubbish, and in quisitiom
good preservation. Each house has a court. In some 071
of them are paintings al fresco, principally in chiaro-
scuro ; and their colours not the least injured by time. °
The few colours which the ancients knew were extract¬
ed only from minerals j and this may be a sufficient rea¬
son for their freshness. The street is paved with irregu¬
lar stones of a foot and a half or two feet long, like the
Appian way.
“ In discovering this city, it was at first doubted whe¬
ther it were actually Pompeii : but the name inscribed
over the gateway put it beyond all doubt. The skele¬
tons found were innumerable. It is said that many had
spades in their hands, endeavouring, probably at first, to
clear away the torrent of ashes with which they were de¬
luged. Indeed the satisfaction which is felt at the view
of ancient habitations, is much allayed by inevitable re¬
flections on this frightful scene of desolation, though at
the distance of so many centuries.
“ An ancient villa is also seen entire at a little dis¬
tance from Pompeii. The house is really elegant and
spacious, but only two stories high. The pavement of
the chambers is composed of tesselated marble, and,
when polished, displays the design perfectly well.—
There is some at the museum of Portici brought from
this place, which the eye would really mistake for paint¬
ing. Under the house is a fine triangular cellar, of
which each part is 100 feet long, well filled with am¬
phorae. The skeletons of 29 persons were found here,
supposed to have fled to it for safety. Each house is
filled with ashes : they have almost penetrated through
every crevice j and it is incredible how such a volume
of them could have been thrown out by Vesuvius with
sufficient force to have reached so far.” It has been
observed by some travellers that spoons were found
among the ruins of Pompeii, but no forks, from which
it is concluded, that table utensils of the latter descrip¬
tion were not known to the Romans at that period.
Forks, it is supposed, were invented at Constantinople,
and were not in use in Italy till about the year 1000 of
the Christian era.
In .
'Pompeii.
POM
In concluding our account of Herculaneum
stated that the means attempted lor unrolling the ma¬
nuscripts found among the ruins, had been unsuccess¬
ful, and that the plan had been dropped. It will not,
we presume, be a little gratifying to the admirers ot an¬
cient literature, to be informed that this difficult labour
has been resumed under the auspices of his Royal HmJ
ness the Prince of Wales *, and that six volumes of 1 a-
pyri presented to his Royal Highness by the king o
•Naples have reached London.
In the year iS.'O the Rev. Mr Hayter, an excellent
scholar, with a liberal provision from the prince, and
with permission of the king of Naples, went to Italy tor
the purpose of unrolling and transcribing the Papyri.
The following narrative extracted from a letter address¬
ed to his royal patron by Mr Hayter, will, we doubt
not, be interesting to our readers:
ii The numerous settlements fsays the authoi) of the
Greeks in Italy received the name of Magna Graecia,
because their mother country was of a size considerably
less than that in which they were planted : among these
were nearly all the cities in the province ot Campania,
including Naples, the capital of his Sicilian majesty, and
also Herculaneum, and Pompeii, which are supposed to
boast a foundation coeval with Hercules himself, three
thousand and fifty years ago, or twelve hundred and fifty
years before the Christian era. This province, more than
any other part of Magna Graecia, was always celebrated
for the studious and successful cultivation ol the aits and
sciences. The two cities of Herculaneum and Pompeii
ranked next to that of Naples in every respect, as places
of considerable note j they had their public theatres,
with every other attendant of great population, splen¬
dour, opulence, and general prosperity. These, in com¬
mon with all the rest of Campania, became the elegant
and favourite resort of the Romans, for the dillerent
purposes of health, luxury, repose, and erudition.
“ In the ninth year of Nero’s reign, these two cities
experienced a most formidable shock from an earthquake,
which overthrew a great part of them. Nor had they
recovered altogether from the effects of this calamity by
their own exertions, and the aid of imperial munificence,
when a second calamity, of a diffex-ent nature, but equal
ly unexpected, consigned them both at once to the most
complete oblivion. This calamity was the great erup¬
tion of Vesuvius, which happened on the 24th day of
August, two full months from the accession ol the em¬
peror Titus Vespasian. Herculaneum was buried under
a mass of lava, and volcanic matter, to the depth of 24
feet. Pompeii, being more distant from the mountain,
was overwhelmed principally with a shower of ashes, nor
in any place more than half the depth of the other city.
But the fate of both was sudden and inevitable j and yet
it appears that almost all of the inhabitants, and, what
is an equally surprising circumstance, more of the Her-
culaneans than the Pompeians, escaped. By the few
skeletons which have been found in either place, the re¬
lation of Dio Cassius, who states the destruction ot the
people while assembled at the theatre, is proved to be
totally erroneous. It may he proper to remark, that
before this eruption the whole of Vesuvius was in a state
of cultivation and fertility, from the top to the bottom }
and though the form and soil of the mountain in one
particular spot seemed to denote the traces of some for-
[ 150 ] P O M
it was mer explosion, yet no extant memorial of any kind had Pompeii.
recorded it. , ’
“ Neither of these two cities was discovered again
till a long period of sixteen hundred and thirty-four
years had^elapsed. It was in the year 1713, that some
labourers, in sinking a well, struck their tools against
a statue, which was on a bench in the theatie of Her¬
culaneum. Forty years afterwards Pompeii was exca¬
vated with much less difficulty, as the incumbent stra¬
tum was neither so hard nor so deep as that of the for¬
mer city.
“ The number of the manuscripts saved from both
those cities is said to he about 500 j hut, if I am light¬
ly informed by those whose official situation must gi\e
them a competent knowledge ot the subject, your royal
highness, by facilitating the deveiopement of these vo¬
lumes, will probably be the means of further excava¬
tion, and of rescuing from their interment an infinite
quantity of others. About thirty years ago, his Sicilian
majesty ordered the developement, the transcription, and
the printing of the volumes which had then been saved,
to be undertaken. This operation was accordingly be¬
gun, anil has never been discontinued till the late inva¬
sion’of the French. But its mode, however excellent,
was extremely slow 5 it has been performed by a single^
person, with a single frame only, under the direction ot
the marquis del Vasto, chamberlain to the king, and
president of the royal academy.
“The frame consists of several taper and oblong pieces
of wood, with parallel threads of silk that run on each
side, the length of each piece: when the frame is laid
on any volume, each piece of wood must be fixed pre¬
cisely over each line of the page, while the respective
threads being worked beneath each line, and assisted
by the corresponding piece of wood aoove, raise the
line upwards, and disclose the characters to view.
“ The operation seems ingenious, and well adapted to
the purpose : it was, 1 believe, invented by a capuchia
at Naples. The fruits of it are said to he two publica¬
tions only, one on music, by the celebrated Phiiodemus,
who was a cotemporary ol Cicero : and the other on
cookery. The first is in his majesty’s library, at tne
queen’s palace. Through the obliging politeness ot Mr
Barnard, the king’s librarian. I have had the advantage
of perusing it. indeed 1 hope your royal highness will
not disapprove my acknowledging in this place the very
warm and respectful interest which both this gentleman
and the right honourable the president ot the Royal So¬
ciety have expressed for the furtherance of your royal
highness’s great and good design. Meanwhile, b)' this
specimen of Philodemus, I am convinced that, if the
frames should be multiplied to the proposed extent, seve¬
ral pages of thirty different manuscripts might he dis¬
closed and transcribed within the space of one week.
“ But the very period at which the manuscripts were,
buried, serves to point out to your royal highness that
you may expect the recovery of either the whole, or at
least parts, of the best writers of antiquity, hitherto
deemed irrecoverable. All of these, in truth, had writ¬
ten before that period, if we except Tacitus, whose in¬
estimable works were unfortunately not composed till
twenty years afterwards, during the reign ol Trajan.
“ Nor can it be imagined for a moment, that among
five or six hundred manuscripts, already excavated, and
especially
POM [ i
especially from the numberless ones which further exca¬
vations may supply, lost at such a period in two of the
most capital cities, in the richest, most frequented, and
most learned province in Italy, each of them an establish¬
ed seat of the arts and sciences, each of them the resort
of the most distinguished Romans, not any part of those
illustrious authors should be discovered.
“ But the manuscript of Philodemus itself makes the
reverse of such an idea appear much more probable. To
the moderns, who have
“ Untwisted all the chains that tie
The hiddeo soul of harmony,”
his Treatise on Music cannot, indeed, be supposed to
communicate much information j yet the subject is scien¬
tific, and scientifically treated. The author himself, too,
was one of the most eminent men in his time for wit,
learning, and philosophy. But in the rest of the arts
and sciences, in history, in poetry, the discovery of any
lost writer, either in whole or part, would be deemed a
most valuable acquisition and treasure, and form a new
era in literature.
“ It is extremely fortunate that the characters of these
manuscripts, whether they should be Greek or Latin,
must be very obvious and legible. Before the year of
our Lord 79, and some time after it, the Majusculmor
Unciales Litteroe, capital letters, were solely used. A
page, therefore, in one of these manuscripts, w'ould pre¬
sent to your royal highness an exact image of some mu¬
tilated inscription in those languages on an ancient co¬
lumn, statue, or sepulchre.
“ There cannot remain a doubt, even omitting the as¬
surances from men of official situation to that effect, that
your royal highness’s superintendant will receive every
possible assistance from the marquis del Vasto ; and in
that case it seems improbable that the object of this mis¬
sion can be altogether fruitless.
“ W ith such a termination of it, however, your royal
highness, by having proposed to concur with his Sicilian
majesty in the quicker and more effectual developement,
transcription, and publication of these manuscripts, will
reap the satisfaction of having made a most princely at¬
tempt in behalf of knowledge and literature, on an oc¬
casion where their interests might be affected most ma¬
terially, and in a manner of which no annals have afford¬
ed, or can hereafter afford, an example. Your very in¬
terposition will be your glory : your want of success will
only make the learned world feel with gratitude what
you would have done.”
The interposition of his royal highness has had the
happiest effect. 1 he splendid encouragement which he
gave to the work revived the drooping spirits of the Ita¬
lian literati; and the consequence has been, that the bu¬
siness of unrolling and transcribing the manuscripts now
proceeds with an alacrity which promises the most bril¬
liant success. In forty-six years not more than eighteen
rolls were de veloped before the interference of our prince.
Under his encouragement, ninety have been recovered
in two years ! W hat new facilities may not now be ex¬
pected when all the vigour of British intelligence is ex¬
erted on the subject!—See Swinburne’s Travels in the
Two Sidles, vol. ii. p. 98, &c.; Lady Miller’s Letters,
or T)e la Lande; Captain Sutherland’s Tour up the
Straits, from Gibraltar to Constantinople, p. 7 ?, &c.; Dr
Smith’s Sketch of a Tour on the Continent, in 1786 and
51 ] POM
1787, vol. ii. p. tx8, See.; and Watkin’s Tour through
Swisserland, Italy, Sec. See also Lemaistre’s Travels
through Trance, Italy, Sec.
POMPEY the Great, Cneius Pompeius Mag¬
nus, the renowned rival of Julius Ctesar. Bein«- defeat¬
ed by him at the battle of Pharsalia, owing t(f the de¬
fection of his cavalry, he fled to Egypt by sea, where
Im was basely assassinated by order of Theodotus, prime
minister to Ptolemy the Younger, then a minor, 48
B. C. See Rome. ^
POMPEYS, Cnetus and- Sextus, his sons, com¬
manded a powerful army when they lost their illustrious
father. Julius Ctcsar pursued them into Spain, and de¬
feated them at the battle of Munda, in which Cneius
vvas slain, 45 B C. Sextus made himself master of Si¬
cily 5 hut being defeated in the celebrated naval en¬
gagement at Actium by Augustus and Lepidus, he fled
to Asia with only seven ships, the remains of his fleet,
which consisted of more than 350 ; and from thence^
unable to continue the war, he was obliged to retire to
Lesbos, where renewing the war by raising an army,
and seizing on some considerable cities, Marcus Titius’
in the interest of Mark Antony, gave him battle, de¬
feated him, took him prisoner, and basely put him to
death, 35 B. C. See Rome.
Pompey's Pillar, a celebrated column near Alex¬
andria in Egypt, 114 feet high, and of which the shaft,
composed of a single piece of granite, is 90 feet. For
an account of different opinions concerning the origin
and design of this pillar, see Alexandria, p. eng*3
POMPONATIUS, Peter, an eminent Italian phi¬
losopher, xvas born at Mantua in 1462. He was of so
small a stature, that he was little better than a dwarf;
yet he possessed an exalted genius, and was considered as
one of the greatest philosophers of the age in which he
lived. He taught philosophy, first at Padua, and after¬
wards at Bologna, with the highest reputation. He
had frequent disputations with the celebrated Achillini,
whose puzzling objections would have confounded him^
had it not been for his skill in parrying them by some
joke. His book De Immortalitate Animce, published in
1516, made a great noise. He maintained, that the
immortality of the soul could not be proved by philoso¬
phical reasons ; but solemnly declared his belief of it as
an article of faith. This precaution did not, however,
save him ; many adversaries rose up against him, who
did not scruple to treat him as an atheist; and the
monks procured his book, although he wrote several
apologies for it, to be burnt at Venice. His book upon
Incantations was also thought very dangerous. He
shows in it, that he believed nothing of magic and sor¬
cery ; and he lays a prodigious stress on occult virtues
in certain men, by which they produced miraculous ef¬
fects. He gives a great many examples of this ; but
his adversaries do not admit them to be true, or free
from magic.—Paul Jovius says, that he died in 1525,
in his grand climacteric. He was three times married ;
and had but one daughter, to whom he left a large sum
of money. He used to apply himself to the solution of
difficulties so very intensely, that he frequently forgot
to eat, drink, sleep, and perform the ordinary functions
of nature : nay, it made him almost distracted, and a
laushing-stock to every one, as he himself tells us.
POMPONIUS MELA. See Mela.
POMUM, an Apple ; a species of seed-vessel, com¬
posed
H
i'onumi.
PON
[
„„„„„„ „„sea of a succulent fleshy pulp; In the miiWle of evhlch
pr”ra f  ,i„ f. 1 .. mpnihranous cansulc. with a num-
posea or a sucuuiem. ^ M — • t
is senerally found a membranous capsule, vwtn
ber of cells, or cavities, for containing the seeds, beed-
vessels of this kind have no external opening or valve.
At the end opposite to the footstalk is frequently a smal
cavity, called by the gardeners the eye cj thejrvit, ant
by botanists umbilicus, the “ navel,” from its fancied
resemblance to the navel in animals. Gourd, cucum¬
ber, melon, pomegranate, pear, and apple, furnish in¬
stances of the fruit seed-vessel in question.
POND, or Fish-Pond. Sec Fisii-Pond.
Pond, is a small pool or lake of water from whence
no stream issues. In the Transactions of the Society in¬
stituted at London for the Encouragement of Arts, M a¬
nufactures, and Commerce, vol. via. and printed in the
year 1700, there is a short account of a machine tor
draining ponds without disturbing the mud. It was
communicated to the society, together with a drawing
and model of the machine, by Lieutenant-colonel Uan-
sey. The model was made from the description of a
machine used by a gentleman near Taunton for many
vears before, for supplying a cascade in his pleasure-
qrounds.—The colonel’s regiment was then lying at
Windsor 5 and thinking that the invention might be
useful to supply the grand cascade at Virginia water, he
made the model, and presented it to the king, who was
graciously pleased to approve of it. In consequence ot
tvhich, by his majesty’s desire, a penstock on that prm-
cipie-was constructed from the model at one of the ponds
in the neighbourhood.—The colonel thinks the machine
may be useful in the hands of men of science, and ap¬
plicable to silk, cotton, and other mills, where a steady
and uniform velocity of water is wanted *, which might
be regulated at pleasure, occasioning no current to di¬
sturb the mud or fish, as the stream constantly runs from
the surface. He says he has often made the experiment
by the model in a tub of water.
Of this machine the following is a description.
In fig. 1. A is the pipe, loaded with a rim of lead, of
Plate in ng. 1. a is uic -- - >
occexxxvii. such weight as serves to sink it below the surface ot tne
r- water. B is the discharging pipe, laid through the
bank HI. C is .the joint on which the pipe A turns
rig. a.
its form, which is shown fig. 2. D is the ball or float,
which, swimming on the surface of the pond, prevents
the pipe A from descending deeper than the length of
the chain by which they are connected. E is a chain
winding on the windlass F, and serving to raise the tube
A above the surface ot the water, when the machinery
is not in use. G is a stage. HI is the bank, repre¬
sented as if cut throught at I, to show the tube B lying
within it. K is a post to receive the tube A when
lowered, and to prevent its sinking in the mud. In
fi<r. 2. A is a cast cylinder, with a plate or cheek, B,
which is fastened to the timber of the tube on one side,
but not on the other, as the part of the cylinder C turns
in the hollow of the wooden tube when it is immerged.
A piece of strong sole leather is put inside the brass-
plate B, to prevent leaking.
Po nd - Weed. See Potamogeton, Botan y Index.
PONDICHERRY, is a large town of Asia, in the
peninsula on this side the Ganges, and on the coast of
Coromandel. Its situation is low, and the ships anchor
about a mile and a half from it •, nor can the boats or
canoes come nearer it than a musket-shot, on account of
the breakers, so that the blacks come in flat bottomed
2
-2 ] PON
0 |,oats to mm' tlie men and merchandises to the fleet.
The fort is 200 paces from the sea, and very irregular ,
built with bricks, and covered with fine plaster, resem-
blino- white marble. The huts of the blacks he here
amUbere, and the walls are of bamboos mixed with the
branches of trees. The French are greatly addicted to
women, from whom they catch diseases that render diem
pale, livid, and meagre, with a frightful aspect. How¬
ever, several of the French are married to a sort of 1 or-
tuauese women, who are of a mixed breed, being a kind
of Mulattoes. The country about it is barren and con¬
sequently most of their provisions are brought from other
places. Their trade consists of cotton-cloth, silks, pep¬
per, saltpetre, and other merchandises that are brought
from Bengal. With regard to the religion of the na¬
tives, the most numerous are the Gentoos ; out there are
Mahometans or Moors who hold a great ^ny ndicrr-
lous opinions. The Gentoos are of different sects and
that of the Brahmins are priests. The custom of wo¬
men burning themselves with the bodies of their dead
husbands was very common, but of kte much discoun:
tenanced. This place was taken, and the fort.fications
demolished, by Colonel Coote in 1761 •, it ^as restored
to the French by the peace ol 1763 i was ictaken by
the English in 1793, and finally restored to fiance m
1814. It is 100 miles south of Madras. E. Lon0.
PONDICO, an island of the Archipelago, lying on
the gulf of Ziton, near the coast of Negropont. It is
small and uninhabited, as well as two others that he
^PQNG-HOU Isles, in the province of Fo-kien m Chi¬
na, form an archipelago between the port ol Emouy
and the island of Formosa. A Chinese garrison is kept
here, with one of those mandarins who are called/ete-
rati, whose principal employment is to watch the trad¬
ing vessels which pass from China to Formosa, or from
Formosa to China. 1 4.1 ■„
As these Elands are only sand-banks or rocks, the in¬
habitants are obliged to import every necessary o hie j
neither shrubs nor bushes are seen upon them , all t, t
ornament consists of one solitary tree. I he harbour 1
good, and sheltered from every wind; it has from 20
to 25 feet depth of water. Although it is an unculti¬
vated and uninhabited island, it is absolutely necessary
for the preservation of Formosa, which has no port ca¬
pable of receiving vessels that draw above eight feet ot
^^ONIARD, a little pointed dagger, very sharp
edged; borne in the hand, or at the girdle, or hid m
the pocket. The word is formed Rom the Fremch
poignard, and that from poignee, “ handful. —-Ihe po¬
niard was anciently in very great use ; but it is now in
a good measure set aside, except among assassins.
Sword and poniard were the ancient arms of duellists ;
and are said to continue still so among the Spaniards.
The practice of sword and poniard still make a part ot
the exercise taught by the masters of defence.
PONS, a town of France, in the department ot Uia-
relite Inferior, very famous in the time of the Hugue¬
nots. It is seated on a hill, near the river Seigne, 10
miles from Salutes. W. Long. O. 30. N. Lat. 45. 3&.
PONT-du-GARD, is a bridge of France, m Lower
Languedoc, built over the river Garden, which served
for an aqueduct. It is a very remarkable and a most
magnihcent
PON [ t
magnificent work, and was raised by the ancient Ro¬
mans. It consists of three bridges, one above another 5
the uppermost of which was the aqueduct, to convey
water to the city of Nismes, which is eight miles to the
south. They are altogether 192 feet high, and the up¬
permost 580 feet long. They are constructed between
two rocks. £. Long. 4. 26. N. Lat. 43. 58.
PONTEDERIA, a genus of plants belonging to the
hexandria class $ and in the natural method ranking un¬
der the sixth order, Ensatce. See Botany Index.
PONTEFRACT, or Pomfret, a town of the west
riding of Yorkshire in England, situated on the river
.Are, which contained 3605 inhabitants in 1811. It is
said to take its name from a broken bridge, which is sup¬
posed to have been laid anciently over that marshy spot
called the Wash. Here are the ruins of a noble old castle,
where Richard II. was barbarously murdered, and two
ot Edward V.’s uncles. The collegiate chapel of St
Clement, which had a dean, three prebendaries, &c.
is still distinguishable in it. This town has a good mar¬
ket, and fairs for horses, sheep, and other cattle. It is a
corporation, governed by a mayor, recorder, aldermen,
and burgesses. In the reign of Queen Elizabeth, 200I.
was left by George Talbot, earl of Shrewsbury, to be
lent for ever at 5I. a time, on proper security, for three
years, to the poor artificers, of the town ; and Thomas
Wentworth, Esq. ancestor to the marquis of Rocking¬
ham, left 200I. to the charity-shool. A branch of the
great Roman military way called Ermin street, which
passed from Lincoln to A ork, may be traced betwixt
this town and Doncaster. The adjacent country yields
plenty of limestone, together with liquorice and skirrets.
W. Long. T. 18. N. Lat. 53. 42.
PONTIFEX, Pontiff, or High-priest, a person
who has the superintendence and direction of divine
worship, as the offering of sacrifices and other religious
solemnities. The Romans had a college of pontiffs;
and over these a sovereign pontiff, or pontifex maximus,
instituted by Numa, whose function it was to prescribe
the ceremonies each god was to be worshipped withal,
compose the rituals, direct the vestals, and for a good
while to perform the business of augury, till, on some
superstitious occasion, he was prohibited intermeddling
therewith. The office of the college of pontiffs was to
a&ist the high-priest in giving judgment in all causes
relating to religion, inquiring into the lives and man¬
ners of the inferior priests, and punishing them if they
saw occasion, &c. rIhe Jews, too, had their pontiffs ;
and among the Romanists, the pope is still styled the
sovereign pontiff.
PONTIFICATE, is used for the state or dignity
of a pontiff or high-priest; but more particularly in mo¬
dern writers for the reign of a pope.
PONTIUS Pilate. See Pilate.
PONTON, or Pontoon, in War, a kind of flat-
bottomed boat, whose carcase of wood is lined within
and without with tin : they serve to lay bridges over
rivers for the artillery and army to march over. The
French pontoons, and those of most other powers, are
made of copper on the outside : though these cost more
at first, yet they last much longer than those of tin ;
and when worn out, the copper sells nearly for as
53 1
PON
much as it cost at first; but when ours are rendered
useless, they sell for nothing. Our pontoons are 21
feet long, five feet broad, and depth within two feet i.c
inches.
PoNTOON-Carriage, is made with two wheels only,
and two long side-pieces, whose fore-ends are supported
by a limber ; and serves to carry the pontoon, boards,
cross-timbers, anchors, and every other thing necessary
for making a bridge. 0 J
1 ONTOON-Bndge, is made of pontoons slipped into
the water, and placed about five or six feet asunder ;
each fastened with an anchor, when the river has a
strong current; or to a strong rope that goes across the
river, running through the rings of the pontoons. Each
boat has an anchor, cable baulks, and chests. The
baulks are about five or six inches square, and 21 feet
long. The chests are boards joined together by wooden
bars, about three feet broad and 12 feet long. The
baulks are laid across the pontoons at some distance from
one another, and the chests upon them joined close ;
which makes a bridge in a very short time, capable of
supporting any weight.
I ON I St Esprit, is a town of France, in the de¬
partment of Card. It is seated on the river Rhone
over which is one of the finest bridges in France. It
is 840 yards long, and consists of 26 arches. Each
pier is pierced with an aperture, in order to facilitate
the passage of the water when the river is high. The
town is large, but the streets are narrow and ill built.
It formerly contained several churches and convents.
It is 17 miles south of Viviers, and 55 north-east of
Montpelier. E. Long. 4. 46. N. Lat. 44. 13.
I ONI US, the name of an ancient kingdom of Asia,
originally a part of Cappadocia ; bounded on the east
by Colchis, on the west by the river Halys, on the
north by the Euxine sea, and on the south by Armenia 1
Minor. Some derive the name of Pontus from the Etymology
neighbouring sea, commonly called by the Latins Pontus of the
Euxinus ; others from an ancient king named Fontus,
who imparted his name both to the country and the sea’
but Bochart deduces it from the Phoenician word botno,
signifying a filberd, as if that nut abounded remarkably
in this place. But this derivation seems to be very far
fetched ; and the common opinion that the country de¬
rived its name from the sea, seems by far the most pro¬
bable. T he kingdomi'was divided into three parts; the
first named Pontus Galaticus, extending from the river
Ilalys to the l Iiermodon ; the second, named Pontus
Polemonaicus, extended from the Thermodon to the
borders of Pontus Cappadocieus ; and this last extended
from Pontus Polemonaicus to Colchis, having Armenia
Minor and the upper stream of the Euphrates for its
southern boundary.
^ It is commonly believed, that the first inhabitants of
Pontus were descended from Tubal ; but in process of
time mixed with Cappadocians, Paphlagonians, and
other foreign nations, besides many Greek colonies
which settled in those parts, and maintained their liberty
tdl the time of MJthridates the Great and Pharnaces.
The first king of this country whom we find mentioned 2
in history is Artabazes, who had the crown bestowed on ^ltafiba*es
him by Darius (a) Hystaspes. The next was Rhodo-
bates,
(a) Tlris country, together with the adjacent provinces, was in different periods under the dominion of the A&-
Voe. XVII. Part I.
U
Syrians,
Politic.
3.
Mithri-
dates I.
4
Mitliri'
dates II-
shakes oft
the Mace¬
donian
yoke.
PON [ 1
tales, who reigned in the time of Darius Nothus. Af-
ter him came Mithvidates, who, refusing P y
u^naltribute to the Persians, „as defeated by Artaxerxes
Mnemon *, but a peace was soon after concludet y
mediation of Tissaphernes. Besidesthis, we hear nothing
of him farther than that he was treacherously taken pri
soner by Clearchus afterwards tyrant of Heraclea, and
obliged to nay a large sum for his ransom.
Mithridates I. was succeeded by Anobarzanes, w m
being appointed by Artaxerxes governor of Lydia, Io¬
nia and Phrygia, employed the forces that were unde
his’eare in the extending of his own dominions, and sub-
doing those of his natural prince. The king of Persia
sent one Autophrodates against him ; but Anobaizanes,
having with great promises prevailed on Agesilaus am
Timothseus the Athenian to come to his assistance, oh-
liged Autophrodates to retire. He then rewarded A
silaus with a great sum of money, and bestowed on Ii-
mothseus the cities of Sestos and Abydos, which be had
lately taken from the Persians. He used his utmost en¬
deavours to reconcile the Lacedaemonians and Thebans
but not being able to bring the latter to any reasonable
terms, he assisted the Lacedaemonians with vast sums of
money. The Athenians showed so much respect for
this prince, that they not only made him free of their
rity'but graute.) both him and his children whatever
thev asked of them. He was murdered in the 28th
year of his reign by one Mithridates, whom authors
suppose to haye been his son. This happened at the
time that Alexander the Great invaded Asia, so that
Pontus for a time fell under the power of the Macedo-
"^In'the reign of Antigonus, Mithridates the_son of
Ariobarzanes shook off the Macedonian yoke ; the par-
ticulars of which event are related as follow. Antigo¬
nus having dreamed that he had a field m which gold
grew after the manner of corn, and that Mithridates
cut it down and carried it into Pontus, began to be very
jealous of him, and ordered him to he put to death pii-
vatelv But Mithridates, having got notice of the
king’s intention, withdrew into Paphlagoma, attended
only by six horsemen. Here, being joined by many
others^he possessed himself of Cimatum, a stronghold
situated near Mount Olgasys *, from whence, as his army
continually increased, he made an irruption into Cappa¬
docia 5 and having driven the commanders of Antigonus
from that part which borders upon Pontus he entered
Ms paternal kingdom, which, in spite of the utmost ef¬
forts of Antigonus, he held for the space of 26 yeais,
and transmitted to his posterity. TT
Under the reigns of Mithridates III. Ariobarzanes II.
and Mithridates IV. the immediate successors of Mithri¬
dates II. nothing remarkable happened. But Mitlm-
dates V. made war on the inhabitants of Sinope, a city
on the coast of Paphlagonia. He made himself master
of all the adjacent places ; but finding the whole penin¬
sula, on which Sinope itself stood, well fortified and gar¬
risoned, not only by the inhabitants, but by their allies
the Rhodians, he abandoned the enterprise. He atter-
Ponttvs
54 ] PON
wards proved a great friend to the Rhodians, and assisted
them with money to repair the losses they had sustained
bv an earthquake. He entered also into a strict al¬
liance with Antiochus the Great, who married one of
his daughters named Laodice. r , 5
After the death of Mithridates V. his son Pharnaces Lpfoarna,
attacking the city of Sinope, unexpectedly took it by ces L drt-
storm. On this the Rhodians sent ambassadors to Rome,
i* . 1 1 t  ! *  Irmrr n 1 r 1
storm, '-mi mis    - r x> ..
complaining of the behaviour of the kmg of Pontus
but Pharnaces was so far from being intimidated by
their threats, that he invaded the territories of Lumenea
their great ally. The latter sent ambassadors to Rome,
and entered into an alliance with Anarathes king oi
Cappadocia •, Pharnaces, in his turn, sent ambassadors
to Rome, complaining of Eumenes and Anarathes 5 up¬
on which some Romans were sent into Asia to inquire
into the state of matters. These found Eumenes and
his associates willing to accommodate the difference, but
Pharnaces in a quite opposite disposition, which they
accordingly reported at Rome.
In the mean time a war was commenced between
Eumenes and Pharnaces j but the latter being disap¬
pointed of assistance from Seleucus king of Syria, whom
the Romans would not allow to join him, was at last
forced to sue for peace •, which was granted hira UP°“
the following conditions 5 1 hat he si [10old a most dk
withdraw his forces from Galatia, and disannul all t'11' advantage
gagements and alliances with the inhabitants of that ous peace,
country; that he should in like manner evacuate Pa¬
phlagonia, and send back such as he had from thence
carried into slavery, that he should restore to Ariarathes
all the places which he had taken during the war, the
hostages of both kings, all their prisoners without ran¬
som, and moreover should deliver up to them such of
their subjects as from the first breaking out of the war
had fled to him •, that he should return to Morzias, a
petty king in these parts, and to Ariarathes, 900 ta¬
lents which he had seized in the war, and pay down 300
more to Eumenes as a fine for invading his dominions
without provocation. Mithridates, king of Armenia,
having in this war joined Pharnaces, was, by the articles
of the treaty, obliged to pay 300 talents to Ariarathes
for having assisted his enemy contrary to an alliance at
thatltime subsisting between them. Soon after Phar¬
naces died, and left the kingdom to his son Mithn-
dates VI. more weakened by this peace than by the most
destructive war. . . . „ Tr- 7
The new king entered into an alliance with the It0-His son
mans, and proved such a faithful friend that he was re'
warded, by the senate with Phrygia Major, and honour-^ the
ed with the title of the friend and ally of the people otRomans.
Rome. After a long and prosperous reign, he was mur¬
dered by some of his intimate acquaintance, and was
succeeded by his son Mithridates VII. surnamed the
Great. . , 8.
The new prince, though not exceeding 13 years
age, began his reign with most inhuman acts of cruelty
to his mother and nearest relations. His father, by hiscniei
last will, had appointed him and his mother joint heirspVjnce.
to
•.n, Medes and Persians ; the last of whom divided Cappadocia into satrapies or governments, and bestowed
Ed^S-^wards called on one of the ancestors of Mitln dates This regulation was
effected in the reign of Darius the son of Hystaspes, and has been regarded as the date of the kn gc .
k
PON
[
Pofltus.
9
His extra-
a-dinary
;nalitie«.
to
| onqners
i tveral
| jnntries.
ii
mses the
|ig of
ppado-
i to be
irdered.
to the kingdom j but he, claiming the whole, threw
J her into prison, where she soon died through the bard
usage she met with. Those to whom the care of his
education was committed, observing him to be of a
cruel and unruly temper, made various attempts on his
life, but could never effect their design, as the king
was always on his guard, and armed, in that tender
age, against all kind of treachery, without showing the
least diffidence.
In his youth Mithridates took care to inure himself
to hardships, passing whole months in the open air, em¬
ployed in the exercise of hunting, and often taking his
. rest amidst the frozen snow. When he came of age, he
married his sister named Laodice, by whom he had a son
named Pharnaces. After this he took a journey through
many different kingdoms of Asia, having nothing less
in view than the whole continent. He learned their
different languages, of which he is said to have spoken
22 took an estimate of their strength ; and above all
viewed narrowly their strong holds and fortified towns.
In this journey he spent three years j daring which
time, a report being spread abroad that he was dead,
his wife Ijaodice had a criminal conversation with one
of the lords of her court, and had a sou by him. When
her husband returned, she presented him with a poison¬
ed bowl; but Mithridates had accustomed himself to
take poison from his infancy, so that it had now no
other effect than to hasten the destruction of his wife,
which very soon took place, together with all those
who had been any way accessory to her disloyalty and
incontinence.
The king now began to put in execution his schemes
of conquest. However, he certainly took the wrong
method, by attacking first those nations which were
immediately under the protection of Rome, and thus at
once provoking that powerful people to fall upon him.
He began with Paphlagouia, which the Romans had
declared a free state. This country he easily reduced,
and divided between himself and Nicomedes king of
Bitbynia, at that time his ally. The Romans remon¬
strated j but Mithridates, instead of paying any regard
to their remonstrances, invaded Galatia, which was im¬
mediately under their protection. This he also reduced,
and then turned his eves on Cappadocia. But as the
kingdom of Cappadocia was at that time held by Aria-
rathes, who was a great favourite of the Romans, and
married to the sister of Mithridates, the latter hired an
assassin to dispatch Ariarathes, after which he thought
he might succeed better in his designs. After the death
of Ariarathes, Cappadocia was invaded by Nicomedes
king of Bithynia, who drove out the son, and married
the Avidow of Ariarathes. This gave Mithridates a
plausible pretence for invading Cappadocia; which he
instantly did, and drove Nicomedes quite out of the
country. Thus Mithridates gained considerable repu¬
tation, not only as a warrior, but as a just and good-
natured prince ; for as it vvas not knoivn that he had any
hand in the murder of Ariarathes, every one imagined
that he had undertaken the Avar against Nicomedes,
merely to revenge the quarrel of his nephew, and to re¬
store him to his right. To keep up the farce a little
longer, Mithridates actually Avithdrew his troops out of
the country, and left the young prince master of the
kingdom. In a short time, hoAvever, he began to press
the young king of Cappadocia to recal the assassin Gor-
55 1 PON
dius, Avho had murdered his father: hut this the king Pontas.
of Cappadocia refused Avith indignation ; and Mithri- —v~—
dates, being determined on a quarrel at all events took
the field with an army of 80,000 foot, 10,000 horse,
and 6oo chariots armed with scythes. With this force
he imagined he should carry all before him : but find¬
ing the king of Cappadocia ready to oppose him Avith
a force no way inferior to his oavii, he had recourse to I2
treachery, and inviting his nepheAV to a conference, Assassin-
Stabbed him, in the sight of both armies, with a daggerates liis
Avbich he had concealed in the plaits of his garment. °jvn no~
This barbarous and unexpected piece of treachery had^ ie'V‘
such an effect on the Cappadocians that they threAV
down their arms, and suffered Mithridates, without op¬
position, to seize upon all their strongholds. He re¬
signed the kingdom, hoAvever, to his son, a child of
eight years of age. The care of the young prince, and
of the Avhole kingdom, he committed to Gordius; but
the Cappadocians, disdaining to be ruled by such a
scandalous assassin, placed on the throne the brother
of Ariarathes, who had kept himself concealed in some
part ot Asia. His reign, hoAvever, Avas of short dura¬
tion ; he being soon after driven out by Mithridates,
and the Cappadocians again reduced. The unhappy
prince died of grief; and in him ended the family of
Pharnaces, who had ruled Cappadocia from the time
of Cyrus the Great. ^
Nicomedes, king of Bithynia, being now greatly a-Nicomedes
fraid of Mithridates, and supposing that his OAvn domi-king of Bi¬
llions would next fall a prey to the ambitious conqueror, thynia at-
suborned a youth of a comely and majestic aspect to^ccdvVthe
pretend that he was a third son of Ariarathes, to go to Romans.
Rome, and demand the kingdom of Cappadocia as his
just right. He Avas received by the senate with the
greatest kindness, and Laodice the wife of Nicomedes I4
even confirmed the deceit by her oath. But in the The deceit
mean time Mithridates having got intelligence of the exI)0Se(i by
plot, sent notice of it by Gordius to the Romans, so^^1*'
that the imposture Avas soon known at Rome also. The
consequence of this Avas, that the senate commanded
Mithridates to relinquish Cappadocia, and Nicomedes
that part of Paphlagonia which he possessed ; decla¬
ring both these countries free. The Cappadocians pro¬
tested that they could not live without a king; upon.
Avhich they Avere alloived to choose one of their own
nation. Mithridates used all his interest in favour of
Gordius ; but he being excluded by the Romans, one
Ariobarzanes was chosen by the majority of votes.
To enforce this election, Sylla Avas sent into Cappa-Ariobar-
docia. He had the character of an ambassador, but thezanes set-
real intent of his coming was to disappoint the ambitious tje^ on t}ie
designs of Mithridates. With a handful of forces he (jappadocia
defeated a numerous army of Cappadocians and Arme-by the Ro¬
mans commanded by Gordius, and settled Arioharzanes mans, but
on the throne. But no sooner was Sylla gone than ^“ven out
Mithridates stirred up Tigranes king of Armenia against
Ariobarzanes, Avho, Avithout making any resistance, fled ’
to Rome, and Tigranes restored the kingdom to Aria¬
rathes the son of Mithridates. At the same time died
the king of Bithynia ; upon which Mithridates imme¬
diately invaded that country, and drove out Nicome¬
des the natural son of the late king. But the expel¬
led prince, having fled to Rome, and being assisted by
thaP"pOAverful republie, the king of Pontus Avas soon
obliged to abandon Bithynia and Cappadocia.
U 2 Th o
P O N
[ 156 ]
PON
Poiitus.
The Romans now being exceedingly jealous of the
power and ambition of Mithridates, resolved to humble
him at all events. For this purpose they sent ambas¬
sadors to the kings of Bithyuia and Cappadocia, de¬
siring them to make frequent inroads into the neigh¬
bouring territories of Mithridates, and behave there as
they pleased ; assuring them of powerful assistance in
case they should have occasion. Ariobarzanes could not
by any means be induced to provoke so powerful a
neighbour $ but Nicomedes being induced, partly by
promises and partly by menaces, to comply, entered
Fontus, where he laid waste whole provinces with hie
and sword. Mithridates complained to the, Roman le¬
gates : but they replied, that be himselt had been the
first aggressor j that Nicomedes bad only paid him in
his own coin, and that they would not adovv him to
Defeats A- hurt their friend and ally. Upon this Mithrioaies, en-
riobarzanes tering Cappadocia with a numerous army, put to flight
aad Alti- j.|ie united forces of Ariobaritanes and Altinius the Ro-
1UUS’ man legate ; thus making himself once more master of
this kingdom. In the mean time he sent ambassadors
to Rome, complaining of the proceedings ot iN icomedes.
but his ambassadors met with a very indifferent recep¬
tion } being enjoined to tell their master, that he must
either restore the kingdom of Cappadocia to Ariobai-
zanes, and make peace with Nicomedes, or be account¬
ed an enemy of the Roman people. With this answer
they were commanded to depart the city that very day,
and told that no more ambassadors could he admitted
till such time as their commands were obeyed.
In the mean time botli parties prepared for war.
The Roman legates in Asia drew together all the forces
they could muster in Rifhynia, Cappadocia, Rapnlago-
nia, and Galatia •, and, being joined by Cassius governor
of Asia, took the field against Mithridates in the year
89 B. C. They divided their army into several small
bodies : Cassius encamped on the confines ol Bithynia
and Galatia j Manias Aquilius with his body possessed
himself of the avenues leading from Pontus into Bithy¬
nia ; Quintus Oppius secured the entrance into Cappa¬
docia ; and the admirals Minucius Rufus and C. Popi-
lius lay with a fleet of 3®1-5 sa^ By7-antium, to pre¬
vent the enemy from entering the Euxine sea. Each of
the generals had under his command an army of 40,000
men j besides a body of $0,000 foot and 6000 horse
brought to their assistance by Nicomedes.
On the other hand, Mithridates having invited several
of the neighbouring nations to join him, collected an
lS army of 250,000 foot, 50,000 horse, 130 chariots armed
and Nico- with scythes ; besides 300 ships and 100 galleys. Part
medcs and of this force he detached against Nicomedes ; and ut-
Manius A- ter]y defeated him, though much superior in number,
as he was taking possession of an advantageous post by
order of Cassius. Another pai't he detached against
Manias Aquilius, whom he also defeated with the loss
of 10,000 killed on the spot, and 3000 taken prisoners;
on which the other Roman generals abandoned their
posts, the fleet also dispersed, and most of the ships were
either taken or sunk by the admirals of Mithridates.
The king of Pontus now resolving to improve the
opportunity, and drive the Romans entirely out of A-
sia, overran all Phrygia, Mysia, Asia Proper, Caria,
Lycia, Pamphylia, Paphlagonia, and Bithynia, with all
the rest of the countries which had either belonged to
ox sided with the Romans, as far as Ionia. He was re-
Pontiidi
quilius.
Overruns
Asia Mi¬
nor.
ceived everywhere with the greatest demonstration;) 01
joy •, the inhabitants flocking to him in white garments,
and calling him their father, deliverer, their god, and
the great and sole lord of all Asia. V* hat gained him
the affections of the people was his kind usage to toe
prisoners he had taken in the two engagements above
mentioned ; for he not only sent them all home with¬
out ransom, but furnished them with plenty of provi¬
sions, and money sufficient to defray their expences by
the way. Ambassadors flocked to him from all parts ;
and among others, from Laodicea on the Rycus, to
whom the king promised his protection, provided they
delivered up to him Q. Oppius governor ot I amphylia,
who had fled thither for protection. This request was
readily complied with; Oppius was sent to him in
chains, with lictors walking before him in derision ot
the Roman pride and ostentation. Mithridates was
overjoyed to see a Roman general and proconsul in his
power; and his joy was soon after increased by the ar¬
rival of Manias Aquilius, whom the Lesbians, revolting
from the Romans, sent to him in fetters, together with
many other Romans of distinction who had taken shel¬
ter among them. As he had been the chief author of
the war, Mithridates leu him about with him wherever
he went, either hound on an ass, or on loot coupled
with one Bastarnes a public malefactor, compelling him
to proclaim to the crowds who came to see him, that he
was Manius Aquilius the Roman legate. Vr hen he pBts Aquh
came to Pergamus, lie caused him first to he publicly bus to
whipped, then to be put 'on the rack, and lastly melteddeaUu
gold to be poured down his throat.
Mithridates being now looked upon as invincible, all
the free cities of Asia received him as their sovereign,
contributing large sums towards the defraying the ex¬
pences of the war j by which means he became possessed
of such treasures as enabled him to keep several nume¬
rous armies in the field for five years without levying
any taxes on his subjects. As many Roman citizens
were dispersed in the provinces which Mithridates had
subdued, he considered these as so many spies, who would
not fail to send an account of his proceedings to Rome : ^
for which reason he resolved to cut them all oft at once Cruelly
by a general massacre j which barbarous policy, it is massacres
said, had never been heard of till his time, but has been all thejt
since practised by other nations. He dispatched private
letters to all the governors and magistrates of the cities
where the Romans resided, enjoining them on pain of
death, and the entire destruction of their country, to
cause all the Italian race, women anil children not ex¬
cepted, to be murdered on the 3^th day from the date
of his letters, and to let their bodies lie unburied in the
open fields. One moiety of their goods was to be for¬
feited to the king, and the other bestowed as a reward
on the assassins. Whatever slave murdered his master
was to receive his liberty, and one half ol the debt was
to be remitted to the debtor that should kill his credi¬
tor. Whoever concealed an Italian, under any pretence
whatever, was to be punished with immediate death.
On the fatal day, all the gates of the cities being shut,
and the avenues kept with soldiers, the king’s orders
were proclaimed, which caused an universal horror, not
only among the unhappy victims themselves, but among
those who had any feelings of humanity, at seeing them¬
selves obliged either to betray and murder their inno¬
cent guests^ friends, and relations, or to become liable
4 t0:
:?ontu*.
Hluces
t [island
Wlails in
«F
Riles.
PON [ j
to a cruel death. However, as most of the Asiatics
*' bore a mortal hatred to the Romans, and vvei’e more¬
over animated by the promise of an ample reward, the
orders were without delay put in execution. The in¬
habitants of Ephesus, where Mithridates then resided,
dragged such as had taken sanctuary in the temple of
Diana from the very statue of the goddess, and put
them to the sword. The Pergamenians discharged
showers of darts upon them as they embraced the statues
in the temple 01 Escuiapius. At Adramyttium in
Mysia many were murdered in the water, while they
were attempting, with their children on their backs to
swim over to the island of Lesbos. The Caunians, who
not long before had been delivered from the yoke of
the Rhodians, and restored to their ancient privileges,
excelled all the rest in cruelty: for, as if they had apo¬
statised from human nature, they took pleasure in tor¬
menting and butchering the innocent children before
their mothers eyes 5 some of them running distracted,
and others dying with grief at a sight which nature
could not bear. The Trallians were the only people on
the continent who would not have the cruelty to imbrue
their hands in the blood of the innocent Italians.
However, as the king’s orders were peremptory, they
hired one Iheophilus a Paphlagonian to dispatch the
few Romans that lived among them. He, having shut
them all up together in the temple of Concord, first cut
olF their hands as they embraced the statues of the gods,
and then hacked them in pieces. Alany Romans were
saved on the floating islands ot Lydia called Calamince^
where they concealed themselves till such time as they
found an opportunity of escaping out of Asia. Never¬
theless, according to Plutarch and Dion, 150,000 Ro¬
man citizens were massacred on that day; but, accordr
ing to others, only 80,000.
Alithridates having now got rid of those whom he was
in dread of on the continent, embarked great part of his
forces in order to reduce the islands of the Archipelago.
At Cos he was gladly received, and had delivered up to
him the young Alexander, son of Alexander king of
•^Syptj who being driven out of that country, was kil¬
led by Chareas a sea-captain as he was retiring in a
small vessel to Cyprus. With the young prince, they
put into the king’s hands vast sums of money, with all
the golden vessels and jewels, to an immense value,
which his grandmother Cleopatra had been amassing for
many years. To the young prince Alithridates gave an
education suitable for a king’s son, but kept the treasures
to himself. Here likewise he found 800 talents in ready
money, which, at the first breaking out of the war, had
been deposited by the Jews of Asia, and were designed
for the temple of Jerusalem.
Irom Cos Alithridates steered his course for Rhodes,
where at that time all the Romans who had escaped
the massacre above mentioned found a sanctuary, and,
amongst others, L. Cassius the proconsul. The Rho¬
dians, however, being very expert in maritime affairs,
Arithridates did not think proper to venture an engage¬
ment. As the enemy’s fleet advanced, therefore, he
retired ; but six or the Rhodian ships coming up with
25 of his, a sharp action ensued, in which the Rhodians
&unk two of the king’s ships, and put the rest to flight.
In this encounter, though Mithridates had never seen a
sea-fight before, he behaved with great intrepidity; but
one of the ships of his own squadron falling foul of that
57 1 PON
which carried him, he was very near being taken pri- Pontus.
soner. From this time forth he abhorred the sea, and 1 v—1
took an aversion to all the Chians, because the pilot of
that ship was a Chian. However, he again appeared
before the island ; but was forced anew to leave it
with disgrace, and to give over all thoughts of reducing
Mithridates now retired into Asia, with a design toHis Sne-
settle the civil government of the countries which he rals reduce
had conquered, committing the care of the war to hisad Greece,
geneials. . Archelaus, his generalissimo, was sent into
Greece with an army of 120,000 men ; where, by
treachery, he made himself master of Athens, and either
put to the sword or sent to Alithridates all those who
favoured or were suspected to favour the Romans. From
Aiiiens he dispatched parties to reduce the neighbour¬
ing castles and the island of Delos, which they did ac¬
cordingly ; but Orobius, a Roman general hearing
that the enemy kept no guards, but passed their time
in carousing and debauchery, fell upon them unexpect¬
edly, and cut off the whole party, except Apellicon the
commander..
In the mean time Metrophanes, another of the king’s
generals, entering Euboea, laid waste the wdiole country,
exerting his rage chiefly against the cities of Demetrias
and Alagnesia, which refused to open their gates to him.
But as he was sailing off with a great booty, Bryttius,
the praetor or governor of Macedonia, coming up with
him, sunk some of his ships, and took others, putting all
the prisoners to the sword. Alithridates, upon the news
of this loss, sent his son Ariarath.es with a powerful ar¬
my to invade Macedonia ; which he soon reduced, to¬
gether with the kingdom of Thrace, driving the Ro¬
mans everywhere before him. The generals whom he
sent into other quarters were no less successful; so that
Mithridates had, according to Aldus Gellius, 25 diffe¬
rent nations wrho paid him homage. ’I he same author
adds, that he was skilled in every one of their various
languages, so that he could converse with the natives
without an interpreter. Among these nations we find
the Rhoxani, now the Russians or Muscovites, whom
Deiphontus, one of the king’s generals, brought under
subjection, after having slain in an engagement co,ooo
of the barbarians.
All this time the Romans had been too much taken
up with their own domestic quarrels to take such effec¬
tual measures as they otherwise would have done for
checking the progress of Alithridates. But at last, ha-Sylla sent
ying received certain advice that the king designed to against
invade Italy, and that he had even been solicited to dohim>
so by some of the revolted Italians, they sent against
him- Lucius Sylla, who had already given sufficient
proofs of his courage, conduct, and experience in war.
He had with him only five legions and a few cohorts.
Avith this inconsiderable force he landed in Attica, and
in a short time made himself master of the capital; Ar¬
chelaus not daring, or, according to others, through
treachery, nor caring, to engage him. As Sylla had
but a few frigates, he sent Lucullus to the island of
Rhodes, with orders to the Rhodians to join him with
their fleet. Jhe undertaking was very dangerous, as
the king’s fleet in a manner covered the sea. However,
Lucullus, despising all danger, ventured out, and sailed’
without meeting with any perverse accident, to Syria,
Egypt, Libya, and Cyprus; from whence he returned
with .
PON
[ iS8 ]
PON
Pontus.
*6
who total¬
ly defeats
but his rival Flaccus also, whom the senate, out of op-
position to him, had appointed governor of that pro- ' ^
vince. But before he arrived, some differences having
arisen between Flaccus and Fimbria, the latter was by ^
the consul deprived of his command. Upon this
bria, having gained over the soldiery to his su.e, madepUls
war’on the consul, took him prisoner, put him to death, cus to
and assumed the command of all the lloman forces mdeath.
Asia. In this station, he behaved with the greatest
cruelty, insomuch that his name became more odious
than even that of Mithridates himself. This hatred the
kino- of Pontus endeavoured to improve to his own ad¬
vantage *, and therefore commanded his son, by name
also Mithridates, to join Taxiles, Diophantes, and Me¬
nander, three of his most experienced commanders, to
return at the head of a numerous army into Asia ; not
doubtino- but the inhabitants, thus harassed by I*im-
p r , Minima a sena- bria, would shake off the Roman yoke when they saw
a man of no experience in war, U. i imtm , ’ erful army in the field ready to protect them,
tor of great repute among the soldiery, was app ^ Fimbria distrusting the Asiatics, marched out to
to attend him with the character of ^gate and Ueute- them battle before they 3o
nant-general. Sylla was at that time in < , - 7 entere,i the province. As the king’s army was greatly Defeats
hearing what had happened at Rome, he ma • t tl Romans in number, the latter suffer- forces of
all expedition into Thessaly, with a design to meet s"Peri;rt'0. bllt 1 eld out till night ftbri-
Flaccus, who, he expected, was to land in that province. ed grea y m ^to the opposite side**"’
But no sooner had he left Boeotia, than the country [listance from the field
was overrun by an army of Asiatics, un er J t ’ H } designed to entrench themselves:
mand of Dorylaus the king’s chief favourite. On this o^battle^ Jtler ^ ^ ^
with such supplies of ships and experienced manners as
enabled Sylla, after their conjunction with the Uhoi -
ans, to act offensively by sea also. Archelaus now dis¬
patched messengers to Taxiles, who commanded in
Thrace and Macedon, desiring him to join him with alt
bis forces j which the other readily did, and between
both mustered an army of 120,000 men. by! a met
iy ucivcils them near Cheronsea with only 15,000 foot and 1500
bis generals j10rge . but „ave them a most dreadful overthrow, no
ia Greece. fewer tl] an 110,000 of the Asiatics being slaughtere ,
while the Romans lost only 12 men. .
This success having raised envy and jealousy against
Sylla in Rome, the senate sent Lucius A alenus ilaccus,
the consul of that vear, with two legions into Asia, m
appearance to attack Mithridates on that side, but with
»7 private instructions to fall upon Sylla himself, if they
Flaceus f0Und him disaffected to the senate. As Flaccus was
and Fim- a man 0f no experience in war, C. F imbna, a sena-
bria sent ■' lj:  —"
into Asia.
maim 01 j^urylaus the king    . ,
advice Sylla returned into Bceotia, where he gained two
s signal victories, which put an end to the war in Greece.
Syllag.™ In the first of theoe Dovylaus lost 150,000 of 1m men
two other according to some, or 200,000 according ?
victories in alu| ;n the next all the rest. In this last engagement
Greece* 20,000 were driven into a river, where they all perish¬
ed ; an equal number were pursued into a marsh, and
entirely cut off*, the rest were killed in the heat of the
battle, the Romans giving no quarter to men who had
treated their fellow-citizens after such a barbarous man¬
ner in Asia. Plutarch tells us, that the marshes were
dyed with blood ; that the course of the river was stop¬
ped by the dead bodies j and that even in Ins time, that
is, near 200 years after, a great number of bows, hel¬
mets, coats of mail, and swords, were found buried m
the mud. Archelaus, who had joined Dorylaus with
a body of 10,000 men a few days before the battle, lay
three days stripped among the slain till he found a small
vessel which carried him to Euboea, where be gathered
what forces he could, but was never again able to ap¬
pear in the field. Indeed Livy tells us, that Archelaus
betrayed the king’s cause ; and Aurelius v ictor, that
the king’s fleet was intercepted by Sylla through the
treachery of Archelaus : adding, that there was a good
understanding between the two commanders, as was
plain from Sylla’s bestowing upon Archelaus 10,000
acres of land near the city of Chalcis in Euboea. Stia-
bo also informs us, that Archelaus was afterwards
greatly esteemed and caressed by Sylla and tlie ^e'
nate -/hut Sylla himself in his commentaries, and Dio,
endeavour to clear Archelaus from all suspicion of trea¬
chery. .
In the mean time, Sylla having given up boeotia to
be plundered by Ins soldiers, marched into Ihessaj,
where he took up his winter-quarters, caused his old
fillips to be refitted and several new ones built, in ol der
to pass over into Asia in the beginning of the spiing,
that he might drive from thence not only Mithridates,
laid hold of that opportunity to repass the river and
surprise the enemy : of whom he made such havock a9
they lay in their tents, that only the commanders and 3I
some few troops of horse escaped. Among these was an(jbe-
the kind’s son 5 who, attended by a few horse, got safe sieges
to Pergamus, where his father resided. But Fimbria,
pursuing him night and day without intermission, en¬
tered Pergamus sword in hand ; and hearing that both
Mithridates and his son had fled from thence a few
hours before, he continued his pursuit, and would have
taken the king himself, had he not entered Pitane with
a considerable body of horse. The place was closely
invested by Fimbria; but as he had no ships to block
it up by sea also, he sent a messenger to Lucullus, who
commanded the Roman navy in Asia, intreating him,
as he tendered the welfare of the republic, to make
what haste he could to Pitane, and assist him in taking 32
the most inveterate enemy the Romans had. But Lu-^^
cull us, preferring the gratification of a private pique toLuculll
the good of his country, refused to come : and thus al-^e^a
lowed the fleet of Mithridates to carry him in safety to
Mitylene. .
Soon after the king’s departure, Fimbria took Pitane
by storm, and reduced most of the cities of Asia, parti¬
cularly Troy, which he also took by storm in eleven days,
and put most of the inhabitants to the sword, because
they had sent an embassy to Sylla, ofiering to sub¬
mit to him rather than to Fimbria.— lo add to the
misfortunes of Mithridates, his fleet was entirely de¬
feated in two engagements by Lucullus •, so that he be¬
gan to be weary of the war, and therefore desired Ar-
chelaus to conclude a peace upon as honourable teims ^
as he could. The king himself had afterwards also apgace
conference with Sylla, and a peace was concluded included
85 B. C. on the following terms, viz. I bat Mithri¬
dates should relinquish all his conquests, and content
himself with his paternal dominions, which were confin¬
ed
! ’offtus.
I 34
? hri-
flfcs re-
4!iss tlie
n(:ons
ch had
Hted
li him.
33
ito-
s iu-
hig
lories
'out
ica-
PON [ j
ed within the limits of Pontus : that he should immedi-
J ately resign Bithynia to Nieomedes, and Cappadocia to
Ariobarzanes, and release without ransom all the priso¬
ners he had taken during the war: that he should pay
to the Romans 2000, or as others will have it 3000,
talents, and deliver up to Sylla 80 ships with all their
arms and ammunition, and 500 archers ; and lastly, that
he should not molest such cities or persons as l/ad du¬
ring the war revolted from him and sided with the Ro¬
mans.
Sylla, having thus concluded the war with great glo¬
ry to himself and advantage to the republic, turned his
army against Fimbria 5 but the latter, finding himself
in no condition to oppose his rival by force, had recourse
to treachery, and attempted to get Sylla murdered.
The plot miscarried, and Fimbria put an end to his own
life ; upon which Sylla, having now an uncontrouled
power in Asia, declared the Chians, Rhodians, Lyci-
ans, Magnesians, and Trojans, free, and friends of the
people of Rome, by way of reward for their having sided
with the Romans : but on the other cities he laid heavy
fines 5 condemning them in one year to pay 20,000 ta¬
lents, and quartering his soldiers in the houses of those
who had shown disaffection to the Romans. Each pri¬
vate man was to receive from his landlord 16 drachms
a-day, and each officer 50 5 and besides, both were to
be supplied with provisions, not only for themselves, but
for such of their friends as they thought proper to in¬
vite. By these impositions most of the people of Asia
were reduced to beggary j especially the inhabitants of
Ephesus, who had above all others shown their hatred
to the Romans. Sylla then, having collected immense
treasure, set sail for Italy j leaving behind him Lucullus
with the character of qucestoi-, and Muraena with that
of pi'cetor.
The two legions which Fimbria had commanded were
given to Muraena, because Sylla suspected them of an
inclination to the faction of Marius, whose party he was
going to crush at Rome.
Mithridates in the mean time no sooner returned into
Pontus, than he set about the reduction of those nations
which had revolted from him during the'war. He be¬
gan with the Colchi; who immediately submitted, up¬
on condition that Mithridates would give his sou for a
king over them. This was complied with 5 but the old
king had thenceforward a jealousy of his son, and there¬
fore first imprisoned and then put him to death. Soon
alter this, the king having made great preparations un¬
der pretence of reducing the Bosphori, a warlike nation
who had revolted from , him, the Romans began to be
jealous. Their jealousy rvas further increased by Arche-
laus, who fled to them, and assured them that the prepa¬
rations of Mithridates were not at all designed against
the Bosphori. On hearing this, Muraena invaded Pon¬
tus without any farther provocation. The king put
him in mind of the articles of peace concluded with
Sylla : but Muraena replied that he knew of no such
articles ; for Sylla had set nothing down in writing, but
contented himself with the execution of what Lad been
agreed upon. Having given this answer, the Roman
general began to lay waste and plunder the country,
without sparing even the treasures or temples consecra¬
ted to the gods. Having put all to fire and sword on
the frontiers of Pontus towards Cappadocia, he passed
the river Halys, and on that side possessed himself of
3
Poutua.
S9 1 PON
400 villages without opposition 5 for Mithridates was
unwilling to commit any hostilities before the return of
an ambassador whom he had sent to Rome to complain
of the conduct of Muraena. At last the ambassador re¬
turned, and with him one Callidius ; who, in public as¬
sembly, commanded Muraena to forbear molesting a
friend and ally of the Roman people 5 but afterwards,
calling him aside, he had a private conference with him,
in which it is supposed, as he brought no decree of the
senate, that he encouraged him to pursue the war.
Whatever might be in this, it is certain that Murcena
still continued to practise the same hostilities, and even
made an attempt on Sinope, where the king resided and
the loyal treasures were kept. But as the town was
well fortified, he was forced to retire with some loss.
In the mean time Mithridates himself taking the field, but are tie-
appeared at the head of a powerful army, drove thefeated-
Romans out of their camp, and forced them with great
slaughter to save themselves over the mountains into
Phyrgia ; which sudden victory again induced many
cities to join Mithridates, and gave him an oppor¬
tunity once more of driving the Romans out of Cappa¬
docia.
In the mean time, Sylla, being created dictator at
Rome, sent a messenger to Muraena, charging him in
his name not to molest Mithridates, whom he had ho¬
noured with the title of a friend and ally of Rome.
Muraena did not think proper to disregard this message ;
and therefore immediately abandoned all the places he
had seized, and Mithridates again renounced Cappado-
cia, giving his own son as an hostage of lus fidelity.
Being then at leisure to pursue his other plans, Mithri¬
dates fell upon the Bosphori; and, having soon subdued
them, appointed Macbares one of his sons king of the
country. But leading his army from thence against the
Achaeans, a people bordering on the Colchi, and origi¬
nally descended from the Greeks, who returning from
Troy had mistaken their way into Greece, and settled
there, he wras defeated with the loss of three-fourths of
his men. On his return to Pontus, however, he recruit- Engages
ed his army, and made vast preparations to invade them in a new
anew j but, in the mean time-, hearing of Sylla’s death,vvar with
he came to the imprudent resolution of entering into athe B'0'
second war with the Romans. Having therefore indu¬
ced his son-in-law Tigranes, king of Armenia, to invade
Cappadocia, he himself entered Paphlagonia at the head
of 120,000 foot disciplined after the Roman manner,
16,000 horse, and 100 chariots armed with scythes.
This country readily submitted j after which the king
marched into Bithynia, which also submitted without
opposition ; the province of Asia followed the example
of the rest 5 for these countries being oppressed with ex¬
orbitant taxes, locked upon him as their deliverer, in
entering the cities of Asia, he caused M. Marius or Va¬
ries, whom Sertorius had sent him out of Spain to dis¬
cipline his troops, walk before him with the ensigns of
consular dignity as if he was the chief magistrate ; the
king following as one of bis attendants. He made se¬
veral cities free ; but at the same time acquainted the
inhabitants, that they ivere indebted to Sertorius for
their liberty ; and thus, by the connivance of that ge¬
neral, many cities revolted from the Romans without
knowing that they had done so. But in the mean time
Julius Caesar, being at that time at Rhodes, whether he
had gone to study oratory, and hearing what havoek
the
PON t
the kins’3 officers made in the adjacent countries, he
collected what troops he could, and tailing unexpectei -
ly upon them, drove them quite out of tne province
A The Roman senate, now finding a war unavoidable,
and Cotta appointed Lncullus tl manage it. The other consul
sent against Cotta having solicited an employment m th13 war, v
llim- sent with a fleet to guard the Propontis and defend l>i-
' ‘ Lucullus having raised one legion m Ita y,
PoiHusi
Pontus.
3S
laucullus
39
thynia. juucunuo -- a . . , p
passed over with it into Asia, where he was joined by
four others, two of which, as they had served under
Fimbria, proved at first very mutinous aud retractoiy,
nor were the other two much better, haying been im¬
mersed in the Asiatic luxuries. The disciplining of
these troops took up a considerable time, which was pre¬
judicial to the Roman affairs ; for almost all the Asiatics
were ready to revolt, and Mithridates was making the
greatest preparations. One of his armies was ordered
to march into Cappadocia, under the command of JJio-
nhantus Matharus, in order to oppose Lucullus it he
should attempt to enter Pontus on that side } another
commanded by Mithridates in person, consisted oc
i co,ooo foot, 12,000 horse, and too chariots armed
with scythes j a third army, commanded by Marius and
Eumachus, two generals of great experience m war,
was encamped in the neighbourhood of Heraclea in
The beginning of the war proved favourable to Mi-
faS thridates. Cotta being desired by Lucullus to keep Ins
Successful; fleet within the harbour, as being interior to that of
Mithridates, resolved to take the first opportunity ot
fighting the king by land, not doubting of an easy vic¬
tory. Having for this purpose collected all the forces
he could, Cotta dispatched his legate, P. Rutiluis with
a considerable body to observe the motions of the ene¬
my This commander being met by Marins and Fu-
machus, an engagement ensued, in which the Romans
were defeated, and the greatest part of them, together
with their commander, cut in pieces. The same mis¬
fortune befel several other officers of distinction sent
out to'oppose Mithridates-, who, being elated with
success, ordered his admiral to sail into the very har¬
bour, and fire the Roman fleet. This was according¬
ly performed without the least opposition from Coda ,
and 6o ships were taken, sunk, or burnt, on that occa-
1 These victories having increased the rebellious dispo¬
sition of the Asiatics, made Lucullus hasten his march
in order to stop the progress of the enemy. Rut finding
the king’s army much more numerous than he expected,
he thought proper to decline an engagement. How¬
ever, several skirmishes happened, in which the Romans
had always so much the advantage, that they became
impatient for a general engagement. But Lucullus did
not at this time choose to run so great a risk and there¬
fore Mithridates, seeing he could not force the Romans
to a battle, decamped in the night-time, and by day¬
break reached Cyzicum, a most important city, and
oreatly attached to the Romans. Lucullus pursued
him; and, falling on fils rear, killed io,ooo, and took
12,000 prisoners. After this, the Roman general, by a
duceato manoeuvre, gained an important pass, which enabled
great straits to cut 0lY all communication between the army ot
by Lucul- jyi^hridates and the neighbouring country. The king,
seeing himself thus in danger of famine, redoubled his
4i
40
but is re¬
duced to
ius,
160 ] PON
efforts to gain the city *, but finding that he could
not batter down the walls, he resolved to undermine
them. In this also he was unsuccessful ; the besieged
sunk countermines, and had very near taken the king
himself in one of his own mines. In the mean time,
winter coming on, the army of Mithridates was so di¬
stressed for want of provisions, that many died of hun¬
ger while the survivors were forced to feed on the flesh
of their dead companions. The famine was io.lowed
by a plague ; which destroyed such numbers, that Mith¬
ridates was obliged to think of aretieat; and even this
was become very dangerous. However, he laid liolu ct
the opportunity when Lucullus went away to besiege a
neighbouring castle, and sent off the greatest part ot
his cavalry in the night j ordering them not to halt till _
the, were out of the teach of the enemy. But Lucul- who ct,
lus having got intelligence of them march, suddenly re-jfjg
turned, and pursued them so close, that he came up !lis men
with them as they were passing a river, took 600 horse,
all their beasts of burden, 15,000 men, and put the rest
to the sword. On his return he fell m with Aristom-
cus the king’s admiral, whom he took, just as he was
ready to sail with a large sum of money designed to
bribe the Roman army. In the mean time, Mithri¬
dates, finding himself reduced to the last extremity,
embarked in the night time with the greatest part ot
the forces, while Marius and Eumachus, with 30,000 ,
men, made the best'of their way to Lampsacus. Rut
being closely pursued by the Romans, they were over¬
taken at the river JEsopus, which at that time was
not fordable, by reason of its having been swelled by
heavy rains. Twenty thousand were killed on the spot}
nor could a single man have escaped, had not the
Asiatics scattered great quantities of gold and silver in
the way, that the march of the Romans might be retar¬
ded by their stopping to gather it up. Lucullus on his
return entered Cyzicum amidst the acclamations 01 tne
citizens j who afterwards instituted public sports in ho¬
nour of him, which they called Lucullea. The city was
declared free, and all the privileges, exemptions, and
immunities, bestowed upon the citizens which were en¬
joyed by the inhabitants of Rome itself. 4:
From Cyzicum, Lucullus marched along the coast of Lucnliu
the Hellespont till he came to 'lioas ; where he equip- great ^
ped his fleet, and put to sea in quest of Marius, Alex-
ander, and Dionysius, three of the king’s generals, who
had a fleet of 50 ships, with 10,000 land forces on
board. Lucullus came up with them near the island of
Lemnos, took 32 of their ships, and put a great num¬
ber of their land forces to the sword. The day alter
the engagement the three generals were discovered in a
cave where they had concealed themselves, and dragged
from thence to Lucullus j who, after having severely
upbraided Marius for fighting against his country, cau¬
sed him to be put to death. Alexander and Dionysius
were reserved for the triumph ; but the latter poisoned
himself to avoid that disgrace. Lucullus then steered
his course for Bithynia, 011 receiving intelligence that
Mithridates had appeared with his fleet on those coasts:
but the king having notice of his approach, made what
haste he could to gain Pontus, and arrived at Heraclea
on hoard a pirate named Selemus; with whom ha
was obliged to trust himself, his fleet being dispersed
by a violent storm, and the ship that carried him cast
away.
In
Pontus.
PON f i
, 1° mean time Mithridates was no less unfortu-
43 tIlan sea< Triarius, one of the officers
•other °t Lucullus, reduced the cities of Apamea, Prusa, Pru-
uccesses ofsias, and Nicaea. From thence he marched with all ex-
'iwihus. pedition to Nicomedia, where the king himself was, and
near which place Cotta lay encamped. But before the
two armies could be joined, Mithridates escaped, first
to Heraclea, which was betrayed to him, and from
thence to Sinope. Nor was Lucullus himself all this
time inactive. Having reduced all Paphlagonia and
Bithyma, he marched into Cappadocia, and joined
Cotta and Triarius at Nicomedia, with a design to in¬
vade Pontus; but hearing that Heraclea was in the
hands of Mithridates, he despatched Cotta to reduce
that city. Triarius was ordered with the fleet to the
Hellespont and Propontis, to intercept the king’s fleet,
which was daily expected from Spain with supplies from
Sertorius. Lucullus himself, with the main strength of
the army, pursued his march into Pontus. His army
was greatly harassed, especially in the narrow passes be¬
tween Cappadocia and Pontus, by flying parties of the
enemy. But the greatest inconvenience was the want
ef provisions, as the king’s troops had laid waste all the
country around ; insomuch that Luculius having lost al¬
most all his beasts of burden, was obliged to take along
with the army 30,000 Galatians, each of them carrying
a sack of corn on his back. At last, however, he gain¬
ed the plains ot Pontus ; where provisions were so plen¬
tiful, than an ox was sold for a drachma, and every thing
®lse in proportion.
The Roman general having now carried the war into
tne enemy’s country, divided his forces, and at the same
time invested a very strong town named Amisus; ano¬
ther called Evpatona, built by Mithridates, and made
the place of his residence; and another, named Themis-
cyrai.situated on the banks of the Thermodoon. Eu-
patoria was soon taken, but Themiscyra made a vigo¬
rous resistance. The townsmen galled the Romans to
such a degree, that, not daring to approach the w'alls
openly, they contented themselves with undermining
them : but in this too they met with no small difficulty ;
tor the enemy countermined, and often engaged them
under ground, letting into the mines bears and other
wild beasts, with swarms of bees, which obliged them
to abandon their works. However, the town was at last
obliged to surrender for want of provisions. As for
Amisus, Lucullus himself sat down before it: but find-
mg it strongly fortified and garrisoned with the flower
of the king’s troops, the Roman general thought proper
to reduce it by famine; and on this occasion his coun¬
trymen first complained of him as protracting the war
ior his own advantage.
In the mean time Mithridates having recruited his
Shattered army, advanced to Cabirre, a city not far di¬
stant from Amisus. Lucullus, leaving part of the army
to continue the siege, marched at the head of the rest
to oppose Mithridates. But the king having drawn his
cavalry into a general engagement, defeated them with
considerable loss, and drove them back to the moun¬
tains, through the passes of which Lucullus had lately
marched to at tack him. This check obi ged the Ro-
man general to retire to a rising ground near the city
of Labirse, where the enemy could'not force him to an
-mgagement. Here provisions beginning to grow scarce,
Xucullus sent out strong parties from his army into Cap-
VOL. XVII. Part I. J ^
61 ]
PON
Pen Uis,
padocia, the only place from whence he could have sup-
pfies. One of these parties entirely defeated Taxiles v—^
and Diophantes, two of the king’s generals, who had
been stationed there to prevent Lucullus from having
any communication with the country. The king no¬
on the news of this defeat, resolved to break up his
camp and retire, not questioning but that Luculius
would attack him as soon as his forces returned. This™ 44
resolution he no sooner imparted to his nobles, thanof Mitlm-
they began privately to send away their most valuable dates mutf-
goods ; which being found out by the soldiers theynics'which
took it in such bad part that no intelligence had been f-bliges lJ,e
0*1 v*»r» tlic.™  1 king tony
. . * MiLciiiotnce nact beeni* *
CkS;.',! tl ^ |)lu"dered !lleir l-WW, >«<! put into Anne
those who bad the care of it to the sword. After this
they betook themselves to flight, crowding out of the
gates m the utmost confusion. The king hastened to
stop their fligut; but nobody showing him the least re¬
spect, be was carried away by the crowd, and in great
danger of being trampled to death. Having with diffi¬
culty made his escape, he retired with a small retinue
first to Labirae, and then to his son-in-law Tigranes
king of Armenia. Lucullus dispatched the best part
of his cavalry to pursue the fugitives ; while he himself
with the rest, invested the camp of Mithridates, where
those remained who could not fly with the rest. The
camp was easily taken; but most of the soldiers made
their escape, while the Remans, contrary to their gene¬
ral s orders, were busied in plundering. Lucullus then
pursued hard after the king; who, being overtaken by
a company of Galatians, caused a mule loaded with
part of his treasures to he driven in among them by
which means he made his escape while they quarrelled
about the booty Mithridates, remembering in his
ght, that he had left Ins sisters, wives, and concubines
at Bliarnacia, dispatched an eunuch, named Bacchus ov
Bacchides with orders to put them all to death, lest
they should fall into the hands of the enemy; which was
accordingly done.
After the flight of Mithridates, the Romans no long¬
er met with any opposition ; the king’s governors
flocking from all parts to put themselves under the nro-
t/C,t,°n 0/othe coru]ueror. Among these were the grand-
father of btrabo the geographer, whom the king had
disobliged by putting to death his cousin-german Ti-
bias and his son Theophilus. He was a man of such
credit, that it was no sooner heard that he had aban¬
doned the king’s party, than 15 other commanders de-
livered up to Lucullus the places with which they had
been intrusted ; and about the same time Triarius fall¬
ing m with the king’s fleet near the island of Tenedos,
obtained a complete victory, having either taken or
sunk 03 ot the enemy’s vessels.
All this time Cotta bad been employed without suc¬
cess in besieging Heraclea, which he could never have
reduced without the assistance of Triarius. That com¬
mander, having defeated the fleet, soon reduced the
town to such distress, that a third part of the garrison
died of hunger; upon which the governor, Conaco-
nx, privately agreed with Triarius to deliver one of
the gates to him. _ This was accordingly done ; and
the Romans, entering, made a terrible slaughter of the
he pless inhabitants. But in the mean time Cotta pro¬
voked at seeing himself deprived both of all share of the
booty and the honour of reducing a place before which
he had sat so long, fell upon his countrymen as they
X were
i'oiUus'.
PON 1
were busied in plundering*, which would have
' ed a great deal of bloodshed, had not 1 nai u 1
to due the booty equally. Conaeor.x m oAr »
conceal his treachery, alter march,ng out ol Houck ,
oeraed on two forts belonging to the Romans, and J
arias being sent to recover them. Cotta, m Ins absence
;;Leredgthe city anew, rifled the temples wlnchj
other had spared, put all the citizens he could meet wi
to the sword, and having carried off every thing valuable,
at last set fire to the city m several places, hj win
means it was soon reduced to ashes. Cotta ther, having
no farther occasion for Ins troops, <>»m‘8sed t^
aries resigned his legions to Lucullus, and put to sea
SHu order ,o return to Rome But he a scar e y
cot out of the harbour, when part of his ships, bei
overloaded with the spoils of the city,
others driven by a violent north wind, were dasheu
• A „ shore which occasioned the loss ol a giet
S of the toA; On his return to Rome however
he was highly applauded by the senate, and honoured
"itcullu?i>avTng,-» reduced Pontus marched
aoainst the Chaldeans, Tibarcmans, and inaahilants o
Armenia Minor; 'S s'tJgholds’.
FrornArnrenia'1 he’Artorned before
ofhis own contriving, that they had gtven over their
assaults, and contented themselves W'th block,ng >t P
by land, though the garrison was at the same tune
plentifully supplied with provisions by sea. Luc" ’
n his an-ival, summoned the city to surrender offer¬
ing the inhabitants very honourable terms *, but, being
refused be made a general assault at the time when
knew that Callimachus used to draw off ^ P^o
bis troops to give them some respite. The home.
armlTinsf their scaling ladders, got over the be¬
fore Callimachus could come to the assistance of d ose
, i i orl Irvft in o-uard it; however, by setting
;t°cUy on fire, he fn'nd means in that confusion to
make his escape. X.ocdlos commanded h,s men to use
their utmost endeavours to save the city , but being
intent only upon plundering, they regarded nothing
but the furniture. At last the fire was extinguished
hA violent shower; and Lncnllus, having w.th d.ffi-
caltv restrained his soldiers from committing any farther
AccsS repaired the city in some measure before he
left it, and suffered the inhabitants to enjoy then pos-
“To f,in‘; waAow wanting hut the captivity of Mi-
■hridates himself to pot a final per.od to the war; and
therefore Wins demanded is sonun- aw
62 1
uculius aeimtimcu ..a...   -
Tio-vanes. But though that prince could not be pre-
vailed on to see Mi.hrida.es on account .fhj»
vailed on to see munriuaico . .
,luet he could as little be induced to deliver him up
to his enemies. After this refusal, however, he for
the first time condescended to see his father-in-law, af-
lei he had resided a year and eight months ,s do
minions In a private conference held by the two
k Z° it was agreed, that Tigranes should march
S t the Romans, and Mithrida.es w,th 10,000 horse
X™ into Pontns, where he sbonld make what levies
be could, and rejoin Tigranes, before Lucullus, who
was then employed in the siege of Smope, could enter Jtums
Armenia, lint, in the mean time, Sinope having sor v-
rendered, Lucullus with ail possible expedition marched
against Tigranes, and, having drawn him into a ge»era defeaud
engagement, gave him an entire defeat, as is related LucuUuS|
under the article Armenia. i i
Mithridates was marching to his assistance, uhen l
met his son-in-law flying with a small retinue to shel¬
ter himself in some remote corner of the kingdom. 46
He encouraged him to raise fees, no o^ngbuiresob,
but that another campaign would icpaii all tor^1 ther taBf
losses provided he would commit to Ins management .
evefy tiling relating to the war. To . us 1 .panes1'
agreeing, as he thought him more lit to deal with the
Romans than himself, orders were issued out for raising
a new army, and all the Armenians able to bear aims
summoned to meet at the place of the general rendez-
' vous Out of these Mithridates chose 70,000 loot
and 35,000 horse, and having trained them up during
the winter, after the Roman discipline, in the begin¬
ning of the spring he left part ot them ^uth ligranes
amf matched himself with the rest into Bontus where
he recovered many important places, and overcame in a
pitched battle M.Fabius, whom Lueullus had appom-
ed governor of that province. Being flushed wi.h his
success, as soon as the wounds he received in the en¬
gagement suffered him to rno-te, he pursuec fcabius, and
besieged him in the city of Cabiree, whither he had
retired, hut in the mean time 1 nanus, who was march¬
ing out of Asia to join Lucullus, hearing what distress
the Romans were in, hastened to their ,relf ’ a"d f ‘
pearing unexpectedly on the neighbouring hill, struck
fuch terror into the enemy, that they raised the siege,
and made the best of their way into Cappadocia. In
arius pursued them, and got so near them as to be
p irted^only by a river. Here be baited, with a design
Tpass the Jiver after he had allowed his men some
rest, for they were tired out w.th long marches. But
Mithridates was before-hand with him, and crossing 4j
river on a bridge, where he had placed a strong guard’Mithnu
attacked the Romans with great ^solution before theydefeate
had time to refresh themselves. The battle was bloody,
and the event doubtful, till the bridge breaking do n
with the weight of the multitude that passed, the
king’s troops, who had engaged relying chiefly on
their numbers, began to lose courage, seeing they could
receive no farther assistance, and the Romans charging
them with fresh vigour, they betook themselves to a
precipitate flight. After this engagement, as winter
came on, both armies were glad to retire to their win tr
qn Durbin the winter, Mithridates raised new forces:
and having received considerable supplies from T.granes,
took the field early in the spring, in hopes ot driving
the Romans quite out of Pontus, before Lucullus, who
had work enough on his hands in Armenia, could come
to their assistance. With this view he marched straight
against Triarius and Sornatius, to whom Lucullus had
committed the care and defence of that province 5 and
finding them encamped near the city of Gaziursa, prol-
fered them battle; which they declining, lie set a
strong detachment to besiege a castle where the Ho¬
mans had left all their baggage, hoping they would
rather venture an engagement to relieve the place, than
PontuS.
43
(efeats
ci^rius.
49
the Ro¬
ns in the
vice of
thri-
tes mas¬
ked.
P O M [
lose all they had got with so much toll and labour du-
' ring the war ; neither was he disappointed in his hopes •,
for though Triarius was keeping close in his camp till
the arrival of Lucullus, whom he daily expected, ha¬
ving acquainted him with the danger, the soldiers hear¬
ing that the castle was besieged, declared in a tumultu¬
ous manner, that if he did not lead them they would
march to the relief of the place without his leave.
Triarius being thus forced by his own men to light,
drew out his forces against the king, whose army was
three times his number; but while they were upon the
point ol engaging, both armies were by a violent storm
forced to retire to their respective camps ; but Triarius
receiving that very day intelligence of the approach of
Lucullus, and fearing he would snatch the victory out
of his hands, resolved to make a bold push, and next
morning by break of day attack the king in his camp.
If he conquered, the glory he thought would be entire¬
ly bis own ; if he were overcome, the enemy could reap
no great advantage from his victory, Lucullus being
at hand with a powerful army. The king, in that sur¬
prise, putting himself at the head of a few troops of his
guards, sustained the brunt of the Romans, till the rest
of bis army drawing up came to his relief, and attacked
the enemy with such fury, that the Roman foot were
forced to give way, and were driven into a morass,
where they were surrounded and great numbers of them
cut in pieces.
Their horse were likewise put to flight, and pursued
with great slaughter, till a Roman centurion in the
king’s service, pitying his countrymen, attempted to kill
him. The king’s life was saved by his breastplate;
but as lie received a deep wound in the thigh, be was ob¬
liged to give over the pursuit himself, and those that
were about him caused the retreat to be sounded, which,
as it was unexpected, occasioned a great confusion in
the whole armv. The centurion was immediately cut
in pieces ; hut the Roman horse in the mean time get¬
ting1 the start of the enemy, found means to make their
escape. Above 7000 of the Romans were killed in
that battle : and among them 190 centurions, and 24
tribunes, the greatest number of officers that had been
lost in any engagement to that dav. Mithridates being
cured of bis wound, that be might not for the future be
exposed to such dangers, caused all the Romans that
served in his army to be formed into one body, as it
they were to be sent out on a party, and then ordered
them to retire to their tents, where they were all to a
man cut in pieces.
1 he king, however elated with success, yet would not
engage Lucullns ; but with long marches hastened in¬
to Armenia Minor, and encamped on a hill near the
town of Talura, expecting Tigranes, who was advan¬
cing with a strong army to join him. Lucullus, in pur¬
suit of Mithridates, marched over the field of battle,
leaving those unburied who had fallen in the engage¬
ment, which alienated the minds of the soldiery from
him, and they began to be very mutinous ; being stir¬
red up by Appius Claudius, whom Lucullus had turned
out of his command for his vile behaviour, notwith¬
standing he Avas nearly related to him, Lucullns having
married his sister. The discontent that prevailed in
the army came to such a height, that Lucullus rvas ob¬
liged to lie still ip his camp all that summer; the sol-
1 <5.3 J
PON
diers declaring in a mutinous manner, that they would p011;us,
not follow him any longer, nor serve under a general1 v '
who refused to share the booty Avith them. 50
These complaints, and the general discontent that Cucullus
reigned in the army, obliged the senate to recal Lu~rec.alle<J’
cull us, and appoint Manias Acilius Glabrio, consul of^j^1/^.
that year, in his room. Glabrio arriving in Bithynia, afftirs 0t
gave notice by public criers to all the cities, that the Mithri-
senate had discharged Lucullus and his army, and con-11"16*'
fiscated his goods for protracting the war and refusing
to comply with their injunctions. Hereupon Lucullus
Avas abandoned by the greater part of his army, and
forced to retire into Galatia, not being in a condition
to make head against the joint forces of the tAvo kings ;
who, laying holdol that opportunity, recovered the best
part ot Pontus, Bithynia, Cappadocia, and Armenia
Minor: for though Glabrio bad hastened into Pontus,
as if be had intended to engage the enemy and rob Lu¬
cullus of the victory, yet, upon the first news of the ap¬
proach of the tAvo kings, he thought fit to retire and
leave the country open on all sides to the enemy. 5r
W hen this Avas heard at Rome, a laAv Avas enacted Pompey
there by C. Manilius, a tribune of the people, where-sentaSainst
by the management of the war against Mithridates and!ntn'
Tigranes Avas committed to Pompey, and likewise the
provinces of Cilicia, then under Quintus Marcius, and
of Bithynia under Glabrio. By the same law he Avas
continued in that unlimited power by sea, with Avbich
be Avas invested Avhen be first set out against the pi¬
rates of Cilicia. In virtue of this Ihav, Pompey, who
had just then ended the war Avith the Cilician pirates,
took upon him the command of the army, and directed
all the allies of the Roman people to join him Avitli
all possible expedition : but before be took the field,
he renewed the alliance Avhich Sylla and Lucullus had
concluded Avith Fhrahates king of Parthia, and then
sent friendly proposals to Mithridates : who at first seem¬
ed inclined to give ear to them, and accordingly dis¬
patched an ambassador to the Roman army to treat of
a peace. Pompey required of him to lay doAvn bis arms
if he Avas in earnest, and deliver up to him all those who
had revolted from the Romans during the Avar. This de¬
mand was no sooner reported abroad in the king’s camp,
but the deserters, who were very numerous in the king’s
army, betaking themselves to their arms, threatened to
put Mithridates himself to death ; and Avould have cc
casioned a great disturbance, had not the king appeased
the growing tumult, by assuring them, that he had sent
ambassadors, not to treat of a peace, but only to take,
under pretence of suing for peace, a vierv of the ene¬
my’s strength. He moreover obliged himself, by a so¬
lemn oath in presence of the Avhole army, never to ( li¬
ter into any treaty of friendship Avith the Romans, nor to
deliver up to them such as had ever served under him.
Pompey, finding his proposals rejected, advanced Mithri-
against the king with an army of 30,000 foot and?at^s^’.e-
20,0 ;o horse, as Plutarch writes, or 30,000, as we^*^ ^
read in Appian, all chosen troops; for he discharged pi. ate.
most of those avIio had served under Glabrio and Lucul¬
lus. As he entered Galatia, he Avas met by Lucullus,
who endeavoured to persuade him to march back, the
Avar being near finished, and even deputies sent by the
republic to settle the province of Pontus; but not be¬
ing able to prevail with him, after mutual complaints
• X 2 against
Pontus.
PON [
against each other, they parted 5 and Pompey remo¬
ving his camp, commanded the troops that wcie wit i
Lucullus to join him, except 1600 whom he leit to at¬
tend Lucullus in his triumph. From thence LucuUus
set out for Home, where he was received by the senate
with great marks of esteem, most men thinking him
hio-hly injured by the authors of the Manilian law.
Pompey pursued bis march into Pontus j but finding
that he could not by any means draw the king to a
battle, he marched back into Armenia Minor, with a
design either to reduce that province, or oblige Mi-
thridates to venture a battle in order to relieve it. ft 1-
thridates followed him at some distance j and entering
Armenia, encamped on a hill over against the Romans,
and, by intercepting their convoys, reduced them to
such distress, that they were obliged to remove to a
more convenient, place, the king cutting oil many m
their rear, and harassing them with frequent attacks,
till he fell into an ambuscade laid by Pompey, whose
personal courage and prudent conduct on that occasion
confirmed the king in his resolution not to hazard a
general engagement. The two armies encamped over-
against each other Pompey on one hill, and the king
on another, near the city of Dastira, in the province ot
Acisilene, at a small distance from the Euphrates, wine 1
divides Cisilene from Armenia Minor.
Is besieged Here Pompey, seeing he could neither draw the king
by Fompey, to a battle, nor force his camp, which was pitched on
a steep and craggy mountain, began to block lum up
with a ditch which he carried round the bottom ot the
hill where the king was encamped j and meeting with
no opposition, finished his work, and quite cut on the
enemy’s communication with the country. 1 ompey
was amazed to see the king thus tamely softer himseli
to be shut up •, and could not help saying, That he was
either a great fool or a great coward •, a fool, it he did
not apprehend the danger he was in •, a coward, it, be¬
ing apprised of it, he did not to the utmost of his power
prevent it. By this ditch, which was 150 furlongs m
circuit, and defended by many forts raised at small di¬
stances from each other, the king was so closely besieg¬
ed, that he could neither send out parties to forage, nor
receive the supplies that came to him from Pontus. He
was thus besieged for the space of 45 or 50 days •, and
his army reduced to such straits, that, having consumed
all their provisions, they were at last forced to live on
their dead horses. Hereupon Mithridates resolved at
all events to break through the Roman loitifications .
and accordingly, having put to the sword all those that
were sick or disabled, that they might not tall into the
enemy’s hands, he attacked in the dead of the night the
Roman guards; and having overpowered them with his
numbers, got safe into the open fields, and continued his
march till night towards Armenia ftlajor, where lie was
expected by Tigranes.
Pompey next morning by break of day pursued the
enemy with his whole army ; and having with much ado
overtaken them, found the king encamped on a hill, to
which there was but one ascent, and that guarded by a
strong body of foot. The Romans encamped over-
against them •, but Pompey, fearing the king should
make his escape in the night-time, privately decamped,
and taking the same route the enemy were to hold m
order to gain Armenia, possessed himself ot all the cmi-
Pontm,
54
■but breaks
throuirb
It oman
lines.
164 } PON
nences and defiles through which the king was to pass.
Mithridates thinking that Pompey was returned to his v—-*j
former camp, pursued his march, and about the dusk ot ^
the evening entered a narrow valley, which was sur- reac.}ie(j
rounded on all sides by steep hills. On these hills the pompey
Romans lay concealed, expecting the signal to tall upon and totall;
the enemy and attack them on all sides at once, while Skated,
they were tired by their march, and seemingly, as they
had sent out no scouts, in great security. Pompey was at
first for putting off the attack till the next morning, think¬
ing it not safe to engage in the night-time among such |
steep and craggy mountains : but was at last prevailed
upon, by the earnest prayers and intieaties ot all the
chief officers of the army, to fall upon the enemy rhat
very night. It was therefore agreed, that in the dead
of the night all the trumpets should at once sound the
charge, that this signal should be followed by an univer¬
sal shout of the whole army, and that the soldiers should
make what noise they could, by striking their spears
against the brass vessels that were used 111 the camp.
The king’s army at this sudden and unexpected noise*
which was echoed again by the mountains, imagined at
first that the gods themselves were come down from
heaven to destroy them j and the Romans charging them
on all sides with showers of stones and arrows from the
tops of the hills, they took themselves to a precipitate
flight; but finding alf the passes beset with strong bodies
of horse and foot, were forced to fly back into the val¬
ley, where for many hours together, they were exposed
to the enemy’s shot, without being able, in that confu¬
sion, either to attack them or defend themselves. They
attempted indeed to make someresistance when the moon
rose *, but tlieliomans running down upon them from the
hills, did not give them time to draw up, and the place
was so narrow that they had not room even to make use
of their swords. The king lost on that occasion 10,COO
men according to Appian, but ^.0,000 according to
Eutropius and others. On Pompey’s side there fell be¬
tween 20 and 30 private men, and two centurions.
ftlithridates, at the head of 800 horse, broke through Distr5e J
the Roman army, and being after this effort abandon- Mjdm-
ed by all the rest, because they were closely pursued by dates,
the enemy, he travelled all night attended by three per¬
sons only, viz. his wife, or, as Plutarch calls her, hisccw-
cubiney by name Hypsicrutuiy his daughter Dripetine, and
an officer. At day-break he fell in with a body of mer¬
cenary horse, and 3000 foot, who were marching to join
him. By these he was escorted to the castle of Sinoria,
situated on the borders of the two Armenias. As great
part of his treasures was lodged here, he rewarded very
liberally those who accompanied him in his flight j and
taking 6000 talents withdrew into Armenia. As soon
as he entered the borders, he dispatched ambassadors to
Tigranes, acquainting him with his arrival $ but that
prince, who was then on the point of concluding a sepa¬
rate peace with the Romans clapped his ambassadors in
irons, pretending that his son Tigranes had, at the in¬
stigation of ftlithridates, revolted first to the Parthians,
and then to the Romans. Mithridates finding himself
thus abandoned, even by Ins son-in-law, left Armenia \
and directing his course towards Colchis, which was sub¬
ject to him, and not as yet invaded by the Romans, pas¬
sed the Euphrates the fourth day, and got safe into his-
own territories.
Pompey
PON
:?ontos. Pompey sent out several parties in pursuit of the king*
but remained himself with the main body of the army in
the field of battle, where he built a city, calling it from
that remarkable victory Nicopolis. This city^ with the
adjobing territory, he bestowed upon such of his soldiers
as were old or disabled; and many Hocking to it from the
neighbouring countries, it became in a short time a very
considerable place. This batt le was certainly attended
with very fatal consequences for Mithridates ; who was
57 . forced, his armybeing entirelyeithercut off or dispersed,
tliia”1101(> abandon his own dominions, and fly for shelter to the
[d from most remote parts of Scythia. Pompey having conclud-
ence into led a peace with Tigranes, as we have related in the hi-
hcr conn-story of Armenia, and settled the affairs of that king-
‘es‘ gom, began his march in pursuit of Mithridates through
those countries that lie about Mount Caucasus. The bar¬
barous nations through which he passed, chiefly the Alba¬
nians and Iberians, attempted to stop his march, but were
soon put to flight. However, he was obliged, by the ex¬
cessive cold and deep roads, to pass the winter near the
river Cyrus. Early in the spring he pursued his march;
but meeting with great opposition from the Iberians, a
warlike nation, and entirely devoted to Mithridates, he
was employed most part of the summer in reducing
them. In the mean time, Mithridates, who had wintered
at Dioscurias, on the isthmus between the Euxine and
Caspian seas, and had been joined there by such of his
troops as had made their escape from the late unfortu¬
nate battle, continued his flight through the countries
of the Achseans, Zygians, Heniochians, Cercetans,
Moschi, and Colchians. Of these nations some recei¬
ved him kindly, and even entered into alliance with
him ; through others he was forced to fight his way
with the sword.
Pompey took the same route, directing his course by
the stars, especially in the northern parts of Scythia,
and carrying with him even a supply of water for
the army in the vast deserts through which he marched.
He spent two years in warring with these nations, and
~iv  • j  r i_ * i i_• i• /* * i •
r i6s j
PON
PontiB.
5«
fhpey'
f tier con
its.
was often in danger of losing both his life and his army :
but at last he overcame them all; and believing Mithri¬
dates, of whom he could have no account, to be dead,
he marched back into Armenia Minor, where he allow¬
ed some rest to his soldiers, who were quite worn out
with the hardships they had endured in that expedition.
Having refreshed his army, he marched into Pontus, to
reduce some strongholds which were still garrisoned by
the king’s troops. While he was at Aspis in Pontus,
many of the king’s concubines were brought to him ;
hut he sent them all home to their parents, without of¬
fering them the least injury, and thereby gained the
affection of the chief lords of Pontus, whose daughters
they were. The strong castle of Symphori was delivered
up to him by Stratonix, one of the king’s concubines,
upon no other terms than that he would spare her son
Xiphares, who was with the king, in case he should fall
into his hands. She likewise discovered to him great
treasures hid under ground, which he, with great gene¬
rosity, bestowed upon her, reserving for himself only
some vessels to set off his triumph. Having taken an¬
other fort, called the New Castle, and to that time look¬
ed upon as impregnable, he found in it great store of
gold, silver, and other valuable things, which he after¬
wards consecrated to Jupiter Capitolinus. Here, in look¬
ing over the king’s manuscripts, he came to discover
where the rest of his treasures were concealed, what ^—v 1
troops he could raise and maintain, what sums were
yearly paid him by his subjects and tributaries, &c.
whereby he could make a true estimate of his whole
power and wealth. Amongst other manuscripts he found
some books of physic, wrote by Mithridates himself,
which he commanded Lenaeas, a learned grammarian,
to translate into Latin.
Pompey, having this reduced all Pontus, marched
into Syria, with a design to recover that kingdom, and
passing through Arabia to penetrate as farasthelled sea. rf)
Put while he was employed in this expedition, news was Mitlnidates
brought him that Mithridates, whom he believed deati, aPl,tais a-
had appeared unexpectedly in Pontus at the head of a;iai1’ Ht.the
considerable army, andsurprisedPanticapaeum, a famous
empory at the mouth of the Euxine sea. He had tamable aruip
all this time concealed in the territories of a Scythian
prince, adjoining to the Pains Moeotis ; but hearing
tiiat 1 ompey had lelt Pontus, and was engaged in other
wars, he ventured out of his hiding-place, resolved either
to recover his paternal kingdom, or die in the attempt.
He returned privately into Pontus, and managed mat¬
ters there so dexterously, that the Roman garrisons knew
nothing of his arrival till he appeared with a considerable
army in the field. Pie advanced first to the castle of
Symphori ; and understanding that Stratonix had deli¬
vered it up to Pompey, on condition he would save the
life of her son in case he should take him prisoner, the
king immediately caused the youth, who was in his
army, to be put to death, and his body to be left un¬
buried, Stratonix beholding from the walls the cruel
and unnatural murder, for he was her son by Mithri¬
dates, and had served him with great fidelity. At tlie
same time he sent ambassadors to Pompey to treat of a
peace, offering to pay a yearly tribute to' the republic,
on condition he restored to him his kingdom. Pompey
replied, that he would hearken to no proposals whatso¬
ever, without the king came to treat with him in person,
as Tigranes had done. This Mithridates looked upon
as nowise consistent with his dignity, and therefore lay¬
ing aside all thoughts of an accommodation, began to
make what preparations he could for renewing the war.
He summoned all his subjects that were able to bear Recovers
arms to meet at an appointed place; and having chosenseveral
out of the whole multitude 6o cohorts, each consisting
of ioo men, he incorporated them with the regular
troops that were already on foot. Being now in a con¬
dition to act offensively, for Pompey had left but a small
number of troops in Pontus, he possessed himself of Pha-
nagorium, Chersonesus, Theodosia, Nymphteum, and se¬
veral other important places. But, in the mean time,
Castor, whom Mithridates had appointed governor of
Phanagorium, falling out with Tripho, one of the king’s
favourite eunuchs, killed him, and dreading the king’s re¬
sentment, stirred up the inhabitants to a revolt: by which
means Phanagorium was again lost; but the castle, which
was defended by fourof the king’ssons, Artaphernes, Da¬
rius, Xerxes, and Oxathres, held out for some time. The
king hastened to their relief; but the castle being set on
fire by the rebels, they were forced to surrender them¬
selves to Castor before his arrival. These four sons, with
one of the king’s daughters, by nameC/cojo«^ a,Castorsent
to the Romans; and fortifying himself in the town, per¬
suaded
Fcntus.
61
His sub
ject s dis-
sign
Tadmj
Italy.
P O N [
suaOcil must of tlie neigbboai'mg cities, winch were op-
pressed with heavy taxes, and strangely harassed by the
king’s collectors, to join in the rebellion.
Mithndates finding that he could neither rely upon
jeers uis- the soldiery, most of them being forced into the service,
contented. nor on bis other subjects, who were dissatisfied by reason
of the exorbitant taxes, sent ambassadors to invite the
princes of Scythia to his relief, and with them Ins daugh¬
ters to be bestowed in marriage on such as showed
themselves most inclined to assist him. Bnt as the am¬
bassadors he employed on this occasion were eunuchs, a
race of men no less abhorred by the army than favoured
by the kino-, over whom they had a great ascendant,
especially in his old age, the soldiers who were sent to
attend them on their journey, put them all to the sword
as soon as they were out of the king’s reach, and de¬
livered his daughters up to the Romans. Mithndates,
finding himself thus deprived of his children, betrayed
by his army, and iorsaken even by those on whom he
chiefly relied, could not yet be induced to submit to the
Romans, though Pompey promised him honourable con¬
ditions, provided he came to treat with him in person.
In this desperate condition, he left no stone unturned to
stir up the princesof Asia against the Romans,especially
62 the Paithians ; but finding them awed by the great opi-
SnTrvde- nion they all had of Pompey, he had recourse at last to
s,,,n 0rin- the European Gauls, whom he understood to be at w.u
with the Romans ; and having sent before some ot his
trusty friends to engage them in his favour, taking leave
pf his own kingdom, he began his long march design¬
ing to pass through Bosphorus Cimmerius, Scythia, Pa-
nonia, &.e. and joining the Gauls, pass the Alps, and
invade Italy. . , .
This design was no sooner known in the army, but
the soldiers openly began to complain and mutiny •, ex¬
aggerating the boldness of the attempt, the length
of the march, and the unsurmountable difficulties that
must necessarily attend such a desperate enterprise.
The chief commanders did all that lay in their power
to divert him from it", representing to him, that if he
was not able to cope with the Romans in his own king¬
dom, much less would he he a match for them in Ita¬
ly or Gaul, where they could daily receive new sup¬
plies ; whereas he would lose the greatest part ot his
army in so long and difficult a march, and the rest, per-
- haps in the first engagement, without any possibility of
repairing the loss. But all was to no purpose •, for they
found him so unalterably fixed in his resolution, that he
caused those to b* put to death who with most warmth
remonstrated against it, not sparing even his own son
Exipodras, for dropping some unguaided expressions on
that occasion. Thus they were forced to let him pur¬
sue his own measures, till they found a more proper op¬
portunity to oppose them, which soon after offered, a.s
thev were encamped at Bosphorus (Jimmeiius, on their
march into Scythia.
J11S suu Here Pharnaces, the king’s favourite son, whom he
Pharnaces had appointed to succeed him, observing the general
re volts. discontent that reigned in the army, began to entertain
thoughts of placing the crown on his own head ; and
not doubting but the soldiery would stand by him, if
he declared against the; intended expedition into Ita-
]y, openly protested among the Roman deserters, who
were a considerable part of the army, that it they
^vould follow him he would return into Pontus. 1 he
5
Pontic
63
His son
166] t* O ’ N
Romans, who were well apprised of the danger that
attended such an undertaking, and had most ot ail ex- u”
claimed against it, promised to support him to the ut¬
most of their power, and even encouraged him, upon
some expressions which he purposely dropped, to as¬
sume the title of fo'ng, a title which his father seemed
determined to hold till he had destroyed, by his rash
and desperate attempts, himself, his friends, and his
army. Pharnaces, finding he could depend on the Ro¬
mans, engaged the same night most of the chief com¬
manders in his party, and by their means the greater
part of the soldiery. It was agreed, that next morn¬
ing by break of day all those who had declared in his
favour should appear in arms, and with a loud shout
proclaim Pharnaces king j which was done according¬
ly, and the shout returned even by those whom Phar¬
naces had not thought fit to let into the secret. Ihe
king, who had taken up his quarters in the city, being
awakened by the noise, sent out some of his domestics
to know what had happened in the army. Neither
did the officers or soldiers dissemble the matter, but
boldly answered, that they had chosen a young king
instead of an old dotard governed by eunuchs.
Hereupon Mithridates mounting on horseback, and
attended by his guards, went out to appease the tu¬
mult: but his guards forsaking him, and his horse be¬
ing killed under him, he was obliged to fly back into
the city ■, from whence he sent several of his atten¬
dants one after another to desiie of his son a sale con¬
duct for himself and his friends. But as none of the.
messengers returned, some being slain, and others siding
with the new king, Mithridates endeavoured to move
his son to compassion by signifying to him from the
walls the distressed condition he was reduced to by a
son whom he had favoured above the rest of his chil¬
dren *, but finding him nowise affected by his speech,
turning to the gods, he beseeched them with ,niany
tears to make his son know one day by experience the
grief and agony which a father must feel in seeing Ins
love and tenderness requited with such ungrateful and
monstrous returns. Having thus spoken, he thank¬
ed in a very obliging manner those who had stood by
him to the last, and exorted them to make their sub¬
mission to the new king on the best terms they could
procure, adding, that as for himself, he was determi
ned not to outlive the rebellion of a son whom lie had
always distinguished with particular marks of paternal
affection. _ _ c 1 - ^
After this, he withdrew into the apartment of his yfithr
wives and concubines, where he first took poison him-dates
self, and then presented it to them, and to his favou ^nlPtJ
rite daughters Mithridatis and Nissa, who not long^imst!
before had been betrothed to the kings oi Egypt and
Cyprus. To the women it proved immediate death ;
bui on the king, who from his infancy had inured Ins
constitution to poisonous potions, it had so slow an
operation, that he was forced, through fear of falling
into the rebels hands, to recur to his sword. Neither
did the wound, as he was greatly weakened by the
poison, prove mortal : so that the rebels, having in
the mean time stormed the town, and broke into the
house, found the king wallowing in his blood, but
still alive, and in his senses •, which Pharnaces hearing,
sent sotne of those that were about him to dress his
wounds, with a design to deliver him up to the Ro¬
mans,
PON
r 167 ] pon
"eatus. mans, anil thereby ingratiate himself with Pompey.—
—\r—“; But, in the mean time, a Gaul, who served in the ar-
my, by name Bitcetus, or Bit hocus, entering the king’s
Ih an endroom *n(lueSt booty, and being touched with com-
| is life passion in seeing him forsaken by all his friends, and
of com struggling on the bare ground with the pangs of death,
I i011, drawing his sword, put an end to his present agonies,
and prevented the insults which he chiefly apprehend¬
ed if he should fall alive into his son’s hands. The
barbarian is said, when he first saw the king, to have
been so awed with the majesty of his countenance, that,
forgetful of his booty, he fled out of the room ; but
being called back, and earnestly intreated by the dy¬
ing prince to put an end to his misery, he summoned
all his courage to perform, as he did, with a trembling
hand, that office *, and immediately retired without
touching any thing that belonged to the king, though
the hope of a rich booty was the only motive that had
led him thither.
Pompey, who was at that time engaged in a war with
the Jews, received the first notice of the death of Mith-
ridates as he was on his march to Jerusalem. The mes¬
senger who brought the joyful tidings was sent by Phar-
naces, and appeared unexpectedly before Pompey with
^ the branch of a laurel, as was customary on the like oc-
jjesgive casions, twisted round the head of his javelin. When he
jjoftiie heard what had happened at Panticapseum, he was so
pians at impatient to impart it to the soldiery, that be could not
jWtenth. even wajt j.j]| jiac] ra[sed him a mount of turf from
whence to speak to the army, according to the custom
of the camp ; but ordered those who were by him to
form a kind of mount with their saddles, and from thence
acquainted the soldiery that Milhridates had laid violent
hands on himself, and his son Pharnaces was ready to
acknowledge the kingdom as a gift of the people of
Pome, or resign it if they were unwilling he should reign.
This news was received with joyful shouts of the whole
army, and the day solemnized with feasts and sacrifices
throughout the camp, as if in Mithridates alone all the
enemies of the republic had died. Poinpey dispatched
■without delay a messenger with letters to the senate, ac¬
quainting them with the death of Mithridates, and the
submission of his son Pharnaces. When his letters were
read, the senators were so overjoyed, that they appoint¬
ed at the proposal of Cicero, then consul, 12 days for
returning due thanks to the gods, who had delivered
them from such an insulting and powerful enemy; and
the tribunes of the people enacted a law, whereby Pom¬
pey, in consideration of his eminent service in the Mi-
thridatic war, was to wear a crown of laurel, with the
triumphal gown at the Circensian sports, and a purple
gown at the scenical plays.
Pharnaces, when he heard of his father’s death, caus¬
ed his body to be preserved in brine, proposing to pre¬
sent it to Pompey, who bad promised to return into Pon-
tus after the reduction of Judsea, and there settle matters
to his satisfaction. And accordingly having taken the
city and temple of Jerusalem, he set out with two le¬
gions for Pontus ; and being arrived at Sinope, he was
lissive there met by ambassadors from Pharnaces, acquainting
PI him, that their master had forebore assuming the title of
impey. king till his will and pleasure were known ; that be put
both himself and the kingdom entirely into his hands;
and that he was willing to attend him at what time or
place he thought fit to appoint. The same ambassadors
Su»ii
delivered up (0 Pompey those who had taken Mama's Poutus.
Aquilius the iioman legate, whom Mithridates had putl— 
toacruel death, all the prisoners, hostages,and deserters,
whether Homans, Greeks, or Barbarians, and (he body
of Mithridates, with his rich apparel and arms, which
were greatly admired by Pompey and the other Homans.
Both soldiers and officers flocked to see the king’s body ;
but Pompey declined that sight j and, saying that all
enmity between that great prince and the "people of
Home was ended with his life, he returned the body to
the ambassadors, and caused it to be interred with the
utmost pomp and magnificence among his ancestors in
the burying-place of the kings of Pontus, Pompey de¬
fraying all the charges o( that ceremony, which was the
most costly and pompous that ever had been seen in
those parts. With the body Pompey restored his wear-
ing apparel and armour ; but the scabbard of bis sword,
which cost 400 talents, was stolen by Hublius a Homan,
and sold to Ariarathes king of Cappadocia ; and bis cap
or turban, which was a very curious piece of workman¬
ship, was privately taken by one Cains, who presented it
to J austus the son of Sylla, in whose house it was kept,
and shown for many years after among the many rari¬
ties which Sylla had brought out of Asia. 6S
Pompey bestowed the kingdom of Bosphorus on Phar-Mio be-
naces, and honoured him with the title of a friend and f.ows upott
ally of the people of Home. Pharnaces being thus ac- kinodom 0f
knowledged king of Bosphorus, sent orders to all the Bosphorus,
garrisons of Pontus to submit themselves, with the cas¬
tles and treasures with which they were entrusted, to
Pompey, who by that means amassed an immense booty.
In the city of Talaura, which Mithridates used to call his
wardrobe, he found 20C0 cups of onyx set in gold, with
such store of gold and silver vessels, of costly furniture,
of saddles, bridles, and trappings, set with jewels and
precious stones, that the Homan commissaries spent 30
days in taking the inventory of the whole. In another
castle he found three large tables with nine salvers of
massy gold, enriched with precious stones to an inestim¬
able value ; the statues of Minerva, Mars, and Apollo,
of pure gold and most curious workmanship} and a pair
of gaming-tables of two precious stones, three feet broad,
and four feet long, on which was a moon of gold weigb-
ing 30 pounds, with their men, all of the same precious
stone. In a fort situated among the mountains, were de¬
livered up to him the king’s statue of massy gold, eight
cubits high, his throne and sceptre, and the bed of Da¬
rius the son of Hystaspes. Most of these treasures had
been transmitted to him from his ancestors, chiefly from
Darius king of Persia } some belonged to the Ptolemies
of Egypt, and bad been deposited by Cleopatra, as w6
have hinted above, in the hands of the Coans, who de¬
livered them to Mithridates ; and great part of them
had been collected by the king himself, who was very
fond of rich and stately furniture.
Pompey having thus got entire possession of Pontus,.
and reduced it to the form of a Roman province, march¬
ed into properly so called} and having wintered at
Ephesus, early in the spring set out for Italy, with a fleet
of 700 ships. As he brought over his army with him,
the senate was under no small apprehension lest he should
make himself absolute, and rule without controul. But
he no sooner landed at Brundusium, than he disbanded
the army, without waiting for any decree either of the
senate or people} what neither his friends nor his ene¬
mies. ' t
PontUSv
69
Pharnaces
falls out
with the
Romans,
70
and defeats
them.
P O N t
lilies bad believed. His triumph lasted two whole days;
and though he was attended in his triumphal chariot iy
Q2A captives of distinction, among whom were live sons
and two daughters of Mithridates, yet he would not suf¬
fer any of them to be put to death, as had been done >y
others 5 but sent them all back, except such as were o
royal extraction, to their respective countries, and even
supplied them with money to defray the charges of their
journey. After his triumph he delivered into the trea_
sury 20,000 talents, though, at the dismissing ot the
army he had divided 16,000 talents among the tribunes
and centurions, 2000 sestertiums among the qutestors,
and had given to each soldier 5° sestertiums.
Pompey had no sooner left Asia, hut Pharnaces fell
unexpectedly upon the Phanagorenses, a people ol Bos¬
phorus, whom Pompey had declared free, because they
had revolted the first of all from Mithridates, and by
their example induced others to abandon the king’s party.
Pharnaces besieged their chief city Phanagoria,and kept
them blocked up till, for want of provisions, they were
forced to sally out, and put all to the. issue ol a battle ;
which proving unsuccessful, they delivered up themselves
and the city to the conqueror. Some years a her, the
civil war breaking out between Caesar and Pompey, he
laid hold of that opportunity to recover the provinces
which his father had formerly possessed 5 and having
raised a considerable army, overran Pontus, Colchis, Bi-
thynia, Armenia, and the kingdom of Moschis, where
he plundered, as Strabo observes, the temple of the god¬
dess Leucothea. He took the strong and important
city of Sinope, hut could not reduce Amisus. But, in
the mean time, Caesar having got the better of Pompey
and his party, appointed Cn. Domitius Calvinus gover¬
nor of Asia, enjoining him to make war upon Pharnaces
with the legions that were quartered in that province.
Domitius immediately dispatched ambassadors to 1 har-
naces, commanding him to withdraw his troops from Ar¬
menia and Cappadocia. The king returned answer, that
he was willing to abandon Cappadocia j hut as lor the
kingdom of Armenia Minor, it was part of his hereditary
dominions, and therefore he would not resign it till he
had an opportunity of laying his pretensions before Ctesar
himself, whom he was ready to obey in all things. Here¬
upon Domitius drawing together what forces he could,
marched into Cappadocia, which he recovered without
opposition, Pharnaces having abandoned it to make a
stand in Armenia, which lay ne.arer his own dominions.
Thither Domitius pursued him) and having overtaken
him near Nicopolis, found his army drawn up in battle-
array, and the king ready to come to an engagement)
which Domitius not declining, both armies advanced.
The king, at the head of a choice body of men, fell
upon the Bomans left wing, consisting mostly of raw
and undisciplined Asiatics) and having with little diffi¬
culty put them to flight, penetrated to the centre, where
the thirty-fifth legion, the only one which Domitius
had, after a faint resistance, gave ground, and, retir¬
ing to the neighbouring mountains, left their allies
to&shift for themselves, who were all cut off. Domi¬
tius with the remains of his scattered army marched
back into Cappadocia ) and from thence, winter draw¬
ing on, into the province of Asia. The king being
puffed up with this victory, and hearing that Ctesar,
with the flower of the Homan forces, was engaged at
^tbe siege of Alexandria, appointed one Asander gover-
168 ] - P O N
nor of Bosphorus, and marched himself into Cappado- Pomi-
cia in pursuit of Domitius, with a design to invade Asia,
and recover all the provinces which had been once sub¬
dued by his father. Bithynia and Cappadocia readily
submitted ) hut Armenia the Lesser, which was held by
Dejotarus, made so vigorous a resistance, that he was
forced to give over the enterprise lest the Homans should
in the mean time strengthen themselves in Asia, whither
he was in haste to march, in hopes of meeting there with
the same success as Ins lather Mithridates had done.
But before he reached that province, he was informed
that Asander had revolted, in hopes of gaining thereby
the siood will of the Romans, and obtaining of them the
kingdom of Bosphorus for himself. At the same time,
he received intelligence that Caesar, having at last re¬
duced Alexandria, and settled the afiairs ol Syria, was
marching into Armenia. 71
He was not a little dismayed at this news, and there-Atteni]!
fore without delay dispatched ambassadors to sue for ^ out*:
peace ; hoping that Caesar, who was hasting into Italy™8 -
with a design to pass over into Africa, would willingly
give ear to any proposals ol that nature —Caesar cour¬
teously entertained the ambassadors) and though he did
not propose to agree to then' conditions, yet, that he
might come upon Pharnaces unawares, he shewed him¬
self very desirous ot entering into a treaty ol peace. But,
in the mean time, he pursued his march with all possible
expedition ) and arriving on the confines of Pontus, or¬
dered all the troops that were quartered in the neigh¬
bouring provinces to join him ) ior he had brought fioni
Alexandria but one legion, namely, the sixth, and that
consisting of 1000 men only, the rest having been kill¬
ed at the siege of Alexandria. Besides this veteran le¬
gion, he found at the place of general rendezvous three
others, but all of them very indifferently armed, and
worse disciplined. With these forces, however, such as
they were, he advanced against Pharnaces ) who being
greatly frightened at his approach, by reason of the suc¬
cess that had attended him in all his expeditions, again
dispatched ambassadors to him with a crown of gold,
offering him his daughter in marriage, and promising to
do whatever he should require. The ambassadors took
care, to let him know, that their master, though highly
obliged to Pompey, yet had never been prevailed upon
to send him any supplies during the civil war, which
Dejotarus, king of Armenia the Lesser, whom he had
honoured with his friendship, had done. Caesar return¬
ed for answer, that he was willing to conclude a peace
with Pharnaces, provided he retired without delay from
Pontus, returned all the captives and hostages whether
Roman or their allies, and restored the goods of the Ro¬
man citizens and publicans which he had siezed since he
first took up arms. He added, that as to his not send¬
ing supplies to Pompey, they ought rather to have con¬
cealed such an ungrateful proceeding of their master,
than alleged it as any merit, since the forsaking of one
to whom he was indebted lor his crown, bespoke him a
man of mean, selfish, and unworthy piinciples.
Pharnaces, upon the return of his ambassadors, ac¬
quainted Caesar that he agreed to the conditions ) but
finding that Caesar’s affairs called him into Italy, he re¬
quired a longer term of time for the performance of
what was stipulated between them, starting daily new
difficulties, in hopes that Caesar would in the mean time
he obliged to depart, and leave the affairs of Pontus in
the
PON
’ontas.
7i
1 whom
1 is en-
1 y de¬
nted.
73
-led in
* er en
sent.
the same posture he had found them, Cresar seeing
himself disappointed, and put off from day to day, could
not longer brook the king’s deceitful behaviour. Where¬
fore he determined to put himself at the head of his
small army, and attack the enemy in his camp, when he
least expected it. And accordingly, marching out in
the night, he came by break of day in sight of the king’s
army 5 and uttering these words, Shall this treacherous
parricide go unpunished? broke into the camp at the
head of 1000 horse. The king’s chariots, which were
armed with scythes, caused some small disorder among
Ckesar’s horse ; hut in the mean time the rest of his army
coming up, he put the enemy to flight, and obtained a
complete victory. This battle was fought near the place
where Mithridates had routed with great slaughter the
Roman army under the command of Triarius. Most of
the king’s army were either taken or cut in pieces; but
Pharnaces himself had the good luck to make his escape
while the Romans were busy in plundering the camp.
This victory was so quick, that Csesar, in a letter to his
friend Aminitius, or Anitius, at Rome, expressed it in
three words, thus : “ I came, I saw, T conquered.” He
ever afterwards used to call Pompey a fortunate rather
than a great commander, since he had gained his chief
glory in the Mithridatic war, fighting with so cowardly
an enemy. He divided the rich booty and the spoils of
the camp among his soldiers ; and because Mithridates
had erected a trophy near that plaee as a monument of
his victory over Triarius, which Caesar, as it was conse¬
crated to the gods, did not think lawful to pull down,
he set up another over against it to transmit to posterity
his victory over Pharnaces. After this victory he re¬
covered and restored to the allies of the people of Rome
all the places which Pharnaces had possessed himself
of during the war, declared Amisus a free city, and ap¬
pointed Mithridates Pergamenus king of Bosphorus in
the room of Pharnaces.
Having thus settled the affairs of Pontus, he set sail
for Italy ; leaving Domitius Calvinus to pursue the war
against Pharnaces, if he should appear again in the field.
Pharnaces had retired after the battle to Sinope with
1000 horse, where he was quickly besieged by Domitius,
to whom he surrendered the town, upon no other cdndi-
tian than that he should be suffered to retire into Bos¬
phorus with the small body that attended him. This
Domitius willingly granted ; but caused all the king’s
horses to be killed, since he had asked a safe conduct on¬
ly for his horsemen. With these and a band of Scythians
and Sarmatians he attempted to recover the kingdom of
Bosphorus, hut being met between Theodocia and Pan-
ticapeum, both which cities he had reduced, by Asander,
who was still in possession of the kingdom, a sharp en¬
gagement ensued, wherein the king’s men, as not being
used to fight on foot, were put to flight, and Pharnaces
himself, who remained alone in the field, was surround¬
ed by the enemy, and cut in pieces, after having
reigned in Bosphorus Cimmerius, the kingdom which
Pompey had bestowed upon him, according to Appian,
fifteen years, according to others, seventeen.
Upon the death of Pharnaces the kingdom of Pontus
was again reduced to the form of a province, and so con¬
tinued to the triumvirate of Mark Antony, who after
the battle at Philippi conferred it upon Darius the son
of Pharnaces for his services during the civil war. He
Vol. XVII. Part I.
f
N
but did no thins du*
Poutus.
[ 169 ] P o
continued faithful to the Romans
ring his reign worth mentioning.
Darius was succeeded in the kingdom by Polemon,
likewise preferred to that honour by Mark Antony!
He was the son of Zeno, a famous orator of Laodicea,
and greatly favoured by Antony. From him that part
of Pontus which borders on Cappadocia borrowed the
name of Polemonaicus. He attended Mark Antony in
lus expedition against the Parthians: and being taken
prisoner in that unsuccessful battle fought by Statianus,
be was sent by the king of the Medes, an ally of the
Parthians, to conclude a peace with the Romans. In
Avhich embassy he acquitted himself so well, that Anto¬
ny added the kingdom of Armenia to his own domi¬
nions. In the war between Antony and Augustus he
joined the former: but after the battle of Actium
he was received into favour by the latter; and being-
sent by Agrippa against Scribonius, who upon the death
of Asander nad usurped the kingdom of Bosphorus, he
overcame him, and reduced the kingdom of Colchis,
which was bestowed upon him by Agrippa, who like¬
wise honoured him with the title oi friend and ally of
the people of Pome. He afterwards waged war with
the neighbouring barbarians refusing to live in subjec¬
tion to the Romans; but was overcome, taken, and
put to death, by the Aspungitani, a people bordering,
according to Strabo, on the Palus Mceotis.
Upon his death his son Polemon II. was by the em¬
peror Caligula raised to the throne of Bosphorus and
Pontus. But the emperor obliged him to exchange the
kingdom of Bosphorus with part of Cilicia ; and Nero,
w'lth his consent, reduced that part of Pontus which he
enjoyed to the form of a province. He fell in love with
Berenice, daughter to Agrippa king of Judtea ; and in
order to marry her embraced the Jewish religion. But
as she soon became tired of his riotous way of living, and
icturned to her father; so he renounced his new reli¬
gion, and again embraced the superstitions of Paganism.
Polemon dying without issue, the ancient kingdom of
Pontus was parcelled out into several parts, and added Is parcelled
to the provinces of Bithynia, Galatia, and Cappadocia, °ut.into
only that part of it which was called Pontus Polemonai- 8!veral ino-
cus retaining the dignity of a distinct and separate pro- VmCeS‘
vince. During the civil discords between Vespasian and
Vitellius, one Anicetus, first a slave, afterwards freed-
man to King Polemon, and lastly commander of the
royal navy, took up arms with a design to rescue the
kingdom from the Roman bondage ; and being joined
by great multitudes drawn together with the prospect
of spoil, overran the country, and possessed himself of
1 rapesund, a city founded by the Grecians on the ut¬
most confines of i ontus. Here he cut in pieces a cohort
made up of the inhabitants, but which had been former-
ly presented with the privilege of Roman citizens. He
likewise burnt the fleet, and with scorn and insults
scoured the sea ; Mucianus having called to Byzantium
most of the Roman galleys. Hereupon Vespasian, who
was at that time in Syria, sent Verdius Gemnius into
Pontus with a choice body of auxiliaries from the le¬
gions. He assailing the enemy while they w-ere in dis¬
order, and roaming asunder in pursuit of prey, drove
them into their vessels ; then with some galleys chased
Anicetus into the mouth of the river Chobus, where he
thought himself safe under the protection of Sedochus
Y kins;
PON
t i?0 ]
POO
kiiiF nf tlin Laiians, whose alliance he had purchased,
■with lar^e sums ami rich presents. Sedochus at rs
refused to deliver him up to the Romans; hut was soon
prevailed upon, partly by threats, partly by presents to
surrender both him and all the other fugitives who had
taken sanctuary in his dominions. Thus ended that
servile war j and the kingdom of Pontus continued o
be a province of the empire till the time of David and
Alexis Comneni, who being driven from Constantinople
bv the French and Venetians A. D. 1204, under the
command of Baldwin earl of Flanders settled the one
at Heraclea, the other at Trebisond. Ihe troubles that
arose among the Latins gave Alexis Comnenus an op¬
portunity of erecting here a new empire, which com¬
prehended great part of Pontus, and was known by the
name of the empire of Trebisond. I he Comneni held it
about 2 years, till the time of Mohammed II. who
carried David Comnenus, the last emperor of Trebisond,
prisoner to Constantinople, A. D. 1462, with all his
family, and subjected his empire to that of Constanti¬
nople ; in which abject slavery Trebisond and all Pon¬
tus have continued ever since.
PONTYPOOL, a town of Monmouthshire in Lng-
land, seated between two hills. It is a small place 5 but
_ _ . . • 11 i 1. -10 nnp»n
acid vapour converts all which it penetrates, whether
lavas, tufas, volcanic ashes, or pumice-stones, into a pure
clay, mostly white, or with a tint of red, blue, green, or
yellow.
In one part of this island there is a soit of tufa i@-
markably good for the purpose of building. It is. as
hard as Bath-stone, and nearly of the same colour, with¬
out any mixture of lava or pumice-stone, which usually
abound in the tufas of Naples, Raise, and X uz7.oli.
The island of Palmarole, which is about four miles
from Ponza, is not much more than a mile in circum¬
ference. It is composed of the same volcanic matter,
and probably was once a part of Ponza ; and in our
author’s opinion it looks as if the island of Zannone,
which lies about the same distance from Ponza, was once
likewise a part of the same ; for many rocks of lava
rise above water in a line betwixt the two last-mention¬
ed islands, and the water there is much more shallow
than in the gulf of Terracina.
Zannone is much larger and higher than Palmarole;
and that half of it next" the continent is composed of a
lime-stone similar to that of the Apennines near it j the
other half is composed of lavas and tufas, resembling in
every other respect the soil of the islands just described.
land, seated between two hills. It is a small place 5 but ^ry ornei^^ ^ . but the
noted for its iron-mi'ls^nd^eat manu ac ^c 0 >lI_a latter furnishes abundance of brushwood for the use of
notea 101 its*   ^ xt r
vessels, called Pontypool. W.Long. 3. 6. N.Rat. 51.42.
PONZA, or PoNTlA, is a small island of the Luscan
sea well known to be the place to which many illustri¬
ous5 Romans were formerly banished. It is situated on
the coast of Italy near Terracina, and in the neighbour¬
hood of other small islands or rocks named Palmarole,
Zannone, &.c. between the island of Ventotienne and
Monte Circello. All these islands were visited by Sir
William Hamilton in the year 1781;.; and an account of
his journey is given in a letter to Sir J. Banks, which
appeared in the Phil. Trans, vol. Ixxvi. p. 365. Sir
William arrived at Ponza on the 20th August •, and,
according to his account, it lies about 30 miles from
Ventotienne, On the 2ist he went round it in a boat.
Its length is about five miles, but its breadth is nowhere
above half a mile, and in some places not more than 500
feet. It is surrounded by a multitude of detached rocks,
some of them very high, and most of them composed
of a compact lava. There are many irregularly formed
basaltes, but none in large columns. In some places
they have a reddish tinge from iron ochre, are very
small, and irregularly laid over one another. Some
stand perpendicularly, others obliquely, and some he
horizontally. The rocks themselves in which these
masses are found are lava of the same nature with the
basaltes. At first sight they appear like tlie ruins of
ancient Roman brick or tyle buildings. . One rock is
composed of large spherical basalts, and m other places
our author found the lava inclined to take the like
spherical form, though on a much smaller scale, some of
the former basalts being near two feet in diameter. All
these rocks, in our author’s opinion, have been detached
i y the sea from this island, which is entirely composed
of volcanic matter, lavas, and tufas of various qualities
and colours, as green, yellow, black, and white, borne
of these matters are more compact in their texture than
others 5 and in some parts great tracts seem to have un¬
dergone similar operations, which still subsist at a spot
called the Pisciarelli, on the outside of the Solfatara,
near Puzzole, and where a hot sulphureous vitriolic
a
latter furnishes abundance of brushwood for the use of
the inhabitants of Ponza, whose number, including the
garrison,amounts to near 1700. Ihe uninhabited island
of St Stefano in like manner furnishes wood for the peo¬
ple of Ventotienne. It is probable that all these islands
and rocks may in time be levelled by the action of the
sea. Ponza, in its present state, is the mere skeleton of
a volcanic island 5 little more than its hard or vitufied
parts remaining, and they seem to be slowly and gradu¬
ally mouldering away. The governor of the castle of
Ponza, who had resided there 53 years, told our author
that the island was still subject to earthquakes 5 that
there had been one violent shock there about four years
before j but that the most violent one he.ever felt was
on the very day and at the hour that Lisbon was de¬
stroyed. Two houses out of three which were then on
the island were thrown down. “ I his (says our author)
seems to prove that the volcanic matter which gave birth
to these islands is not exhausted.”
Fig. 1. is a plan of the island of Ponza as it is given piat«
in the Philosophical Transactions. Fig. 2. is a view of 9cccm
the inside of the harbour ef the island. A. in the same I*a
figure is a rock of lava. In many parts it is formed in¬
to regular basaltes of a reddish colour, tinged in all pro¬
bability with some ochre. Most of the detached rocks
of the island resemble this. BB represents a tract.of
volcanic country, converted by a hot sulphureous vitrio¬
lic acid vapour into a pure clay, the ground colour of
which is mostly white.—Fig. 3. is a view from the out-1^- 2
side of the harbour, near the lighthouse. G is a rock of
volcanic matter converted to pure clay j D is a rock of
the same kind, with strata of pumice-stone. E is a
rock of lava, inclining to take basaltic forms ; and F is
p rock composed of spherical basaltes.
POOD is a Russian weight, equal to 40 Russian or
36 English pounds.
POOL is properly a reservoir of water supplied with
springs, and discharging the overplus by sluices, defen¬
ders, weirs, and other causeways.
I'OOL, a sea-port town of Dorsetshire in England.
It
/?/:///?/ ,i- SrupureJ fiv M'A' 7J.fa'ziiiv film/run/h.
■
IS LANDofPONZA .
PLATE CCCCXXXVI.
Fig.].
Saifa Jifit/sj-irffm/ij/io XiprteftL
POO [ J
Pool It is surrounded on all sides by the sea, except on the
U north, where there is an entrance through a gate. It
Poor‘ _f was formerly nothing but a place where a few fisher-
men lived j but in the reign of Henry VI. it was greatly
enlarged, and the inhabitants had the privilege to wall
it round. It was also made a county of itself, and sent
two members to parliament. It is governed by a mayor,
a senior bailill, four other justices, and an indeterminate
number of buigesses. Ihe number of inhabitants in
t8i i was estimated at 4816 } and the number of vessels
belonging to this port is stated at 230. It is 47 miles
west-south-west of Winchester, and no west-by-south
of London. W. Long. 2. o. N. Lat. 50. 42.
POOLE, Matthew, a very learned writer in the
17th century, was born at York in 1624. He was
educated at Emmanuel-college, Cambridge, and after¬
wards incorporated in the university of Oxford. He
succeeded Dr Anthony Tuckney in the rectory of St
Michael de Quern, in London, about 1648. In 1658
he set on foot a project for maintaining youths of great
parts at the universities, and had the approbation of the
heads of houses in both of them. He solicited the
affair with so much vigour, that in a short time 900I.
per annum was procured for that purpose ; but this de¬
sign was laid aside at the Restoration. In 1662 he was
ejected from his living for nonconformity. He was ten
years employed in composing his Synopsis Criticorum,
&c. Besides this great work he published several
other pieces. When Dr Oates’s depositions concerning
the popish plot were printed, onr autlior found his name
m the list of those who were to be cut off, on the ac¬
count (as was supposed) of what he had written against
the papists in his Nullity of the Romish Faith. So that
he was obliged to retire to Holland, where he died in
1679, and left behind him the character of a very able
critic and casuist. J
POOL , the stern of a ship ; or the highest, upper¬
most, and hinder part of a ship’s hull. See Stern.
POOR, in law, an appellation given to all those who
are in such a low and mean condition, that they either
are or may become a burden to the parish.
They who rank pity amongst the original impulses
of our nature rightly contend, that when it prompts us
to the relief of human misery, it indicates sufficiently the
Divine intention, and our duty. Indeed, the same con¬
clusion is deducible from the existence of the passion
whatever account be given of its origin. Whether it
be instinct, or a habit founded in association (see Pas¬
sion), it is in fact a property of our nature which God
appointed : and the final cause for which it was appoint-
1 •1%tM t0 t!ie rn*serahle, in the compassion of
their fellow-creatures, a remedy for those inequalities
am distresses to which many are necessarily exposed
under every possible rule for the distribution of proper ¬
ty. . That the poor have a claim upon the rich, found¬
ed in the law of nature, can be questioned by no
man who admits the benevolence of the Deity, and con¬
siders his purpose in creating the world (see Theolo-
^Y’ ^ ar.t ^ect* u-)> and upon this claim the Chris¬
tian benptures are more explicit than almost upon any
1 lie rights of the poor, however, to be relieved by
e rich, as they originate in nature, and are sanctioned
by Christianity, are evidently of that kind which is call¬
ed imperfect (See Moral Philosophyy N° 13r,). It is
'I ] POO
surely needless to warn our readers in this place, that
imperfect rights are in themselves as sacred, and the
duties resulting from them as obligatory in foro conscien-
ticty as the most rigid claims of justice. Every ono
knows, that they are called imperfect only because the
extent of them in particular instances cannot he ascer¬
tained by positive laws, nor the breach of them be pu¬
nished by the civil magistrate. Hence the apostle, though
he enjoins a weekly contribution to be made for the
poor in the church of Corinth, yet leaves the sum to
be contributed by each individual wholly undetermined.
‘ Now concerning the collection for the saints, as I
have given order to the churches of Galatia, even so do
ye. Upon the first day of the w'eek let every one of
you lay by him in store as God hath prospered him.''1 By
winch St Paul certainly recommends to every man to
contribute, not a fixed sum, hut as much as, from a de¬
liberate comparison of his fortune, with the reasonable
expences and expectations of his family, he finds he can
spare for charitable purposes.
It is well known that those weekly contributions
were laid at the feet of the apostles, who transferred the
management of the fund thence arising to deacons elect¬
ed by the people, and ordained by them to see that the
money was properly distributed. Hence, under Chri¬
stianity, the maintenance of the poor became chiefly an
ecclesiastical concern ; and when that holy and benevo¬
lent religion was established in the Roman empire, a
fourth part of the tithes was in some countries of Eu¬
rope, and particularly in England, set apart for that
purpose. Afterwards, when the tithes of many parishes,
were appropriated to the monasteries, these societies
were the principal resource of the poor, who were far¬
ther relieved by voluntary contributions. Judge Black-
stone observes, that till the statute 26 Hen. VJII. cap.
26. he finds no compulsory method for providing for
the poor; hut upon the total dissolution of the mona¬
steries, abundance of statutes were made in the rei<m of
King Henry VIII. Edward YI. and Elizabeth, which
at last established the
Poor's Rate, or legal assessment for the support of
the poor. The sums that had been appropriated for
charitable uses before the Reformation were immense
and the wealth that had been accumulated through a
succession of ages by mendicant orders of religious per¬
sons was inconceivably great; nor was it in the power of
aayrr&JlS to confine men who were in the possession of
such wealth from gratifying those desires which money
can so easily find means of supplying. Yet among the
various abuses to which this opulence had given rise,
these religious orders had never so far lost sight of their
original institution as ever to neglect the poor. These
were indeed provided for by them with an indiscrimi¬
nate prolusion of largesse, better proportioned to their
oun opulence than to the wants ol the claimants, who
were too often, without examination, all equally served,
whether deserving or undeserving of that bounty which
they claimed.
M lien the religious houses, as they were called, were
entirely suppressed at the Reformation, and the wealth
that belonged to them was diverted into other channels,
the poor, who had been in use to receive their support
from thence, were of course left entirely destitute ; and
this soon became a grievance so intolerable not only to
the poor themselves, hut to the Avhole nation, as to
Y 2 excite
Poor.
POO
excite an universal desire to have it remedied,
singly, by the 14 Eliz. cap. 5- P°wer was given to the
iusdcesto lay a general assessment j and tins ’-a 1
dnued ever since. For by 43 ^ caP* 2‘the
wardens and overseers of the poor of every parish, 0
the greater part of them (with the consent o two jus¬
tices, one of whom is of the quorum, dwelling in or
near the parish), are empowered to raise weekly, or
otherwise, by taxation of every inhabitant, parson, vi¬
car, and other, and of every occupier of lands, houses.
a.IlU UlllCij aiivi v/i x
&c. materials for employing the poor, and compete
sums for their relief. Notice shall be given in church
of every such rate the next Sunday after it is allowed,
which may be inspected by every inhabitant, paying is.
and copies of it granted on demand, 6d. being paid
for every 24 names ; and a church-warden or overseer
refusing, shall forfeit 20I. to the party aggrieved. Ihe
rate is to be levied by distress on those who refuse to pay
it •, and, by 17 Geo. LI. cap. 2. cap. 38. appeals against
it are allowed. .... , c • i
If the justices find that the inhabitants of any parish
are not able to levy among themselves sufficient sums
• for the purposes specified in the act, they may assess any
other parish within the hundred 5 and if the hundred be
unable to grant necessary relief, they may rate and assess
any parish within the county. 43 Ehz. cap. 2-
In order to compel husbands and parents to maintain
their own families, the law hath provided, that all per¬
sons running away out of their parishes, and caving
their families upon the parish, shall be deemed and sul-
fer as incorrigible rogues (7 Jac. cap. 4.). And it a
person merely threatens to run away and leave his vyite
and children upon the parish, he shall, upon conviction,
before one justice by confession, or oathol one witness,
be committed to the house of correction lor any tune
not exceeding one month (17 Geo. II. cap. 5.). roi
the farther maintenance of the poor, there are many hues
and forfeitures payable to their use -, as for swearing,
drunkenness, destroying the game, &c. And also parts
of wastes, woods, and pastures, may be inclosed tor the
growth and preservation of timber and underwood ior
their relief. See WoRK-House. #
The famous statute of the 43d of Elizabeth, which
is the basis of all the poor-laws in England, was con¬
structed with a cautious forethought that can perhaps
be equalled by few laws that ever were enacted j and it
prospective reasoning alone vyere to. be relied on ill mat¬
ters of legislation, it seemed impossible to amend it: yet
experience has now proved, with a most demonstrative
certainty, that it is not so salutary as was undoubtedly
The persons who composed that law had before their
eyes such a recent proof of the abuse that had been
made of the charitable beneficence of individuals, that
they seem to have been chiefly solicitous to obviate si¬
milar abuses in future 5 and to guard against that par¬
tial kind of seduction, they rather chose to establish a
desnotic power which should be authorised to wrest
from every individual in the nation whatever sums it
might think proper to call for, trusting to a few feeble
devices which they contrived, for curbing that power
which was virtually armed with force sufficient to set all
these aside whenever it pleased. The consequence has
been that the sums levied for the relief of the poor,
which were at first but small, are now enormous, and
[ 172 3 POO
Accord- that the demands are increasing in such a rapid manner
as to give rise to the most serious and well-grounded
apprehensions. In the year 1774, parliament institu¬
ted an inquiry into the amount of the. poor s-rates in
England and Wales, and again in 1783. On compa¬
ring these together, the rise during that short period
was found to be in England upwards of 850,000k per
annum, being nearly in the proportion of one-third of
the rate at the first period. In Wales, during the same
period of time, the rates were more than doubled. A or
Poor.
d; a .Sporary s,ar«, but a part only of a gradua!
progression. Mr Wendeborn, in Ins View of England,
observes, that “ in the year 1680 the poor s-ra es pro¬
duced no more than 665,39°1. ™ *764 ^ st^ a
1200,000k and in 1773 the7 ^ere ftinlated at
-’ooo 000k” It is a known fact (says Mr Beaufoy,
in the debate on Mr Gilbert’s poor bill, April I7tli
1-788) that within the last mne years the poor s-rates
have increased one-third, and should they continue in¬
creasing in the same proportion for 50 or 53 years, they
would amount to the enormous sum of 11,230,000k a
burden which the country could not possibly bear. It
was therefore, he added, highly necessary that something
should be attempted to prevent this alarming addition,
if not to annihilate the present glaring misconduct in the
management of the poor. . . .
Such has been the fate of England with regard to
^ In Scotland, the reformation having been carried for¬
ward with a still more violent precipitancy than in Eng¬
land and the funds of the regular clergy being more
entirely alienated, the case of the poor there became
still more seemingly desperate, and the clamours were
also there considerable at that time. I hen also it was
that the Scottish court, imitating as usual at that time
the practice of England, made several feeble attempts
to introduce a system of compulsory poor s-rates into
that country, but never digested the system so thorough-
lv as to form a law that could in any case be carried in¬
to effect. Many crude laws on this head were indeed
enacted ; but all of them so evidently inadequate tor the
purpose, that they never were, even in one instance that
we have heard of, attempted at the time to be carried
into effect. Indeed it seems to have been impossible to
carry them into effect 5 for they are all so absurd and
contradictory to each other, that hardly a single clause
of any one of them can be obeyed without transgressing
others of equal importance. * 1 „
The last statute which in Scotland was enacted on
this subject bears date September 1st 1691, M i bam and
Mary, park 1. sess. 7. chap. 21. and it ratifies and
approves a//former acts of parliament and proclama¬
tions of council for repressing of beggars, and maintain¬
ing and employing the poor.” If this law therefore
were now in force, and it never was repealed, no person
could with impunity countervail any one of those statutes
which it ratifies 5 but to be convinced how impossible it
is to observe them all, the attentive reader needs only to
consider those laws and proclamations with respect to the
following particulars, viz.
t. The persons appointed to make up the poor s roll.
By the act 1579 this duty is entrusted to the provost
and bailies within burgh, and the judge constitute be
the king’s commission in paroches to landwart. By act
1663, it is the heritors of each parish. By act 1672,
POO [I
Poor, it is the ministers and elders of each parish who are to
—v—* make up this list. By the proclamation of 1692, it is
the heritors, ministers, and elders of every parish. By
that of 1693, it is the magistrates of royal burghs, and
the heritors of vacant [country] parishes ; in both cases
without either minister or elders. Among this chaos
of contradictions how is it possible to act without trans¬
gressing some law.
2. Not less contradictory are the enactments in regard
to the persons who are to paij, and the mode of appor¬
tioning the sums among them. By act 1379, the haill
inhabitants of the parochin shall be taxed and stented
according to the estimation of their substance, without
exception of persons. By that of 1663, t,ie one-half is
to be paid by the heritors, and the other half by the te¬
nants and possessors, according to their means and sub¬
stance. By the proclamation of 1692, the one half is
to be paid by the heritors, the other by the householders
of the parish. By that of 1693, in burghs royal, the
magistrates are to stent themselves, conform to such or¬
der and custom used and wont in laying on stents, an¬
nuities, or other public burdens, in the respective burgh,
as may be most effectual to reach all the inhabitants;
and the heritors of several vacant [landwart] parishes
to stent themselves for the maintenance of the respec¬
tive poor.
3, A still greater diversity takes place in regard to
the application oj the sums so stented. By the act
1579, it would seem that the whole of the money as¬
sessed was to be applied to the use of the helpless'poor
alone, and no part of it for the relief of those who were
capable of working. By the act 1663, on the contrary,
the whole of this assessment is to be applied for the
support of those onli) who are able to work. This is
still more especially provided for by the act 16725 where
the poor who are unable to work are to be supported
by the weekly collections at the kirk doors; and the
stented assessments to be applied to the support of those
in the correction houses.
It would be tiresome to enumerate all the contradic¬
tions that these laws authorise. In regard to the per¬
sons who are required to carry these acts into execution.
It is at different times the chancelloi'5 magistrates; com¬
missioners of excise; sheriffs; justices of the peace ; mi¬
nisters and elders ; the presbyteries ; heritors, ministers,
and elders ; heritors alone; commissioners nominated
by presbyteries and appointed by the king; the lords of
the privy council : in short no two. laws can be found
that do not vary from each other in this respect one
way or other.
The same variations take place with regard to the
building of correction-houses, confinement and punish¬
ment of vagrants, application of their work, awarding
their services and those of children. In short, there is
not one particular in which these laws do not vary from
and contradict each other; so that, let any person try
to act in virtue of any one of them, it is impossible for
him to avoid going in direct opposition to the enact¬
ments of some other law which is of equal force with
that he has chosen for his guide. In these circum¬
stances, it is so far from being surprising that these acts
have been suffered to remain in perpetual desuetude,
that it would have been truly wonderful if this had not
been the case. They have, however, been permitted to
remain on the statute-book as a disgrace to the times
73 ] POO
when they were formed, and as a stumbling-block to
those that were to follow. That not one of them is
now in force, was lately proved by a learned and public-
spirited gentleman, to whom his country is on that and
many other accounts deeply indebted. Refusing to pay
the poor’s tax, with which he was assessed by the over¬
seers of the parish in which he happened to reside, he
stood an action in the court of session, and prevailed,
upon the broad ground, that there is no law ix force
in Scotland, by which an involuntary poor's rate can
be established in any parish.
But how, it will be asked by our English readers, are
the poor in Scotland really maintained? We answer, by
the private alms of individuals, and by certain funds un¬
der the management of the kirk-sessions [see Presby¬
terians). It is the universal practice, each Lord’s
day, in every parish, for such of the audience as are in
easy circumstances, to give to the poor such an offering
of alms as they shall deem proper. This offering is ge¬
nerally dropped into a bason placed at the church-door,
and under the immediate care of an elder. When the
service is begun, the elder removes with the bason, which
he keeps under his charge till the congregation be dis¬
missed. The session then meets, and the money is told
over, its amount marked down in the session account
book, and deposited in a box kept for that purpose. This
box has usually a small slit in the top, through which
the pieces of money can be dropped without opening it;
and it is closed with two locks, the key of one of which
is usually kept by the minister, and the other by the
kirk-treasurer, so that it can never be opened but in the
presence of these two at least.
A kirk-session, when regularly constituted, must al¬
ways consist of the minister, elders, session-clerk, and
kirk-treasurer. None of these ever receive any salary
except the session-clerk, who is usually the schoolmaster
of the parish, and has a small salary allowed for minut¬
ing the transactions. The kirk-treasurer is for the most
part one of the elders ; and he is an important member
of this court. Without his intervention no distribution
of the poor’s funds is deemed legal; nor can any pay¬
ments be made, receipts granted, or money transferred,
but by him ; the minister and session being personally
liable to make good all money that may otherwise be
given away, should it ever afterwards be challenged by
any heritor in the parish.
The precautions taken for the distribution of the
poor’s funds are likewise simple and excellent, and are
as follow:
No money can be legally issued from the poor’s funds
even by the treasurer and session, unless legal proof can
be brought that public intimation has been given from
the pulpit immediately after divine service, and before
the congregation has dispersed, that a distribution of
poor’s money is to be made by the session, at such a
time and place, specifying the same, and inviting all
who have interest in the case to attend if they shall in¬
cline. This intimation must be made a full fortnight
before the time of distribution ; and as every heritor
(owner of landed property) in the parish has a right to
vote in the distribution of the poor’s funds, they may
all, if they so incline, then attend and exercise that
right; but if none of them should attend, which is
often the case, the session has then a right to proceed ;
and whatever they shall thus do, is deemed strictly le-
ga!»
POO
Poor. gal, and is liable to no challenge . . -
■ v —ceed without having given this previous intimation, l iey
may, if the heritors should afterwards challenge it, be
made to repay out of their own pockets every shilling
they shall have so issued. It sometimes happens, tha
young ministers, though heedlessness in this respect,
expose themselves and families to considerable trouble
and loss, which by attention might be easily avoided.
In the same way, should a minister and session, without
the intervention of a treasurer regularly constituted, lend
upon bond or otherwise any of the poor’s funds, and
diould the person so borrowing afterwards fail, these
lenders are personally liable to make good the whole,
and any heritor in the parish who chooses it can com¬
pel him to do so.
The members of the session are also liable to pay all
losses, and to account for all sums that it can be in¬
structed they received, if they neglected to keep regular
books, in which every transaction shall be entered, or
if these books have not been revised and approved of by
the presbytery (a) ; but if they shall have been so re¬
vised, they cannot be challenged for omission of forms,
and can only be made to account for errors, or frauds,
'or evident dilapidations.
Under this wise and economical system of manage¬
ment, it has been found by the experience of more than
200 years, that in the low parts of the country, where
the parishes are in general of such moderate extent as
to admit of the people of every part of the parish gene¬
rally to attend divine service every Lord’s day, the or¬
dinary funds have been amply sufficient to supply all the
real demands of the poor, and in most parishes a fund
has been accumulated from the savings of ordinary years
to help the deficiencies that may arise in years of Un¬
common scarcity.
Besides the weekly collections, the extra offerings at
the administration of the Lord’s supper, the pious do¬
nations of charitable individuals, which are all voluntary,
together with some small fees paid for the use of a mort-
doth (a black velvet pall) at funerals, which is generally
purchased with the poor’s money, go to make up this
parochial fund. Nor must any one believe that the mo¬
ney which comes through the hands of the administra¬
tors of the poor’s funds is all that is bestowed upon
the poor in Scotland •, far from it: there are a thou¬
sand other channels through which the indigent derive
consolation and support, all of them tending to produce
the happiest effects upon society. A son feels himself
ashamed to think that his parents should require the as¬
sistance of another to support them *, he therefore strains
every nerve, when in the vigour of life, to spare a little
of h is earning to render their old age more easy than it
might have been*, and sweet to a parent is the bread that
is given by the pious attention of a child. If there
are several children, they become emulous who shall dis¬
cover most kindness. It is a pious contention which
E 17+ 1 pop
But should they pro- serves to unite them the closer to each other, by com- poer
manding their mutual esteem.
Di rectly contrary to this is the effect of the poor
laws in England, where, in London at least, it is not
uncommon to see men in good business neglecting their
aged and diseased parents for no better reason than that
the parish is bound to find them bread. These laws
have other pernicious consequences 5 for they are ob¬
viously subversive of industry as well as morality among
the lower orders of the people. “ This is a heavy
charge, but not less true than heavy. Fear of want is
the only effectual motive to industry with the labouring
poor: remove that fear, and they cease to be industri¬
ous. The ruling passion of those who live by bodily
labour, is to leave a pittance for their children, and for
supporting themselves in old age. Stimulated by desire
of accomplishing those ends, they are frugal and indus¬
trious j and the prospect of success is a continual feast
to them. Now, what worse can malice invent against
such a man, under colour of friendship, than to secure
bread to him and his children whenever he takes a dis¬
like to work j Which effectually deadens his sole ambi¬
tion, and with it his honest industry ? Relying on the
certainty of a provision against want, he relaxes gra-*
dually till he sinks into idleness j idleness leads to pro¬
fligacy ; profligacy begets disease 5 and the wietch be¬
comes an object of public charity before he has run
half his course. Wisely therefore is it ordered by Pro¬
vidence, that charity should in every instance be volun¬
tary, to prevent the idle and profligate from depending
on it for support. During the reign of Elizabeth when
the monasteries were recently suppressed, and all their
revenues squandered, some compulsion might be neces¬
sary to prevent the poor from starving. A temporary
provision for this purpose, so contrived as not to super¬
sede voluntary charity, but rather to promote it, would
have been a measure extremely proper. Unlucky it ia
for England that such a measure was overlooked j but
the queen and her parliaments had not the talent of fore¬
seeing consequences without the aid of experience. A
perpetual tax for the poor was imposed, the most perni¬
cious tax, says Lord Karnes (b), that ever was imposed
in any country.”
POPA-madre, is a town of South America, in
Terfa Firma. In this place there is a convent and cha¬
pel dedicated to the Virgin Mary, to whose image the
Spaniards in those parts go in pilgrimage, particularly
those who have been at sea. It is seated on a high moun¬
tain, 50 miles east of Carthagena. W. Long. 74.32.
N. Lat. 10. 15.
POPiE. See Victimarius.
POPAYAN, a province of South America, in the
kingdom of New Granada, between the audience of Pa¬
nama, that of Quito, and the South sea 5 400 miles in
length, and 300 in breadth. A chain of barren moun¬
tains runs through the country from north to south ;
and
(a) The presbytery is by lavy appointed auditor of the poor’s accounts of the several parishes within its
hounds , and if they find any difficult case occur in the discharge of this duty, they may lay it before the synod
for ad vice.
(b) See Sketches of Man, book ii. sketch 10. where many other arguments equally forcible are urged against
all involuntary poor-rates, and where many ingenious expedients are proposed for gradually abolishing them where
they are established.
POP [ I
and near the sea the soil is so soaked with almost conti¬
nual rains, that few care to reside there, except for the
' sake of the gold that is met with in great plenty in the
sands of the rivulets. This bewitching metal brings
many in search of it, though it is a great doubt whether
they ever return back alive or not. For this reason the
savage Americans are still masters of a great part of it,
and continually annoy the Spaniards.
Popayan, the capital town of a province of that
name in South Amenca, with a bishop^s see, a Spanish
governor, and where the courts of justice are held. The
inhabitants are almost all Creoles. It is 220 miles
north-east of Quito. W. Long. 75. 55. N. Lat. 2. 35.
POX E, a name which comes from the Greek word
n«5r«i, and signifies Father. In the east this appellation
is given to all Christian priests ; and in the west, bishops
were called by it in ancient times: but now for many
centuries it has been appropriated to the bishop of Rome,
whom the Homan Catholics look upon as the common
father of all Christians.
Much ha£ been said, much written, and many warm
disputes have been carried on concerning the pope, and
the power belonging to him, within these two or three
last centuries. \Ve shall here, without entering into
controversy, lay down distinctly, from the best authori¬
ty, what the Roman Catholics really believe concerning
the pope, after having described the manner of his elec¬
tion ; and we shall give some other particulars relatino1
to this subject that seem to deserve notice, and are in
this country not generally known.
All in communion with the see of Rome unanimously
hold, that our Saviour Jesus Christ constituted St Peter
the apostle duel pastor under himself, to watch over his
whole flock here on earth, and to preserve the unity of
it; giving him the power requisite for these ends. They
also believe, that our Saviour ordained, that St Peter
should have successors with the like charge and power,
to the end of time. Now, as St Peter resided at Rome
for many years, and suft’ered martyrdom there, they con¬
sider the bishops of Rome as his successors in the dignity
and office of the universal pastor of the whole Catholic
church. There have been some varieties in the manner
of choosing the bishop of Rome in different ages, as al¬
terations may be made in discipline $ but still the clergy
of Rome have justly had the chief part in that election :
and that clergy is now represented by, or in some man¬
ner consists of, the cardinals, who have for several cen¬
turies been the sole electors of the pope.
These cardinals or principal persons of the church of
Rome are 70 in number, when the sacred college, as it is
called, is complete. Of these six are cardinal bishops,
the bishops of Ostia, of Porto, Albano, Sabino, Tuscu-
lum or Frascati, and Praeneste or Palestrina ; which are
the six suburbicarian churches j 50 are cardinal priests,
who have all titles from parish churches in Rome ; and
fourteen are cardinal deacons, who have their titles from
churches in Rome of less note, called Diaconias or Tlea-
conries. Ihese cardinals are created by the pope when
there happen to be vacancies j and sometimes he names
one or two only at a time ; but commonly he defers the
promotion until there be ten or twelve vacancies or
more j and then at every second such promotion the
emperor, the kings of Spain and France, and of Bri-
tain, when Catholic, are allowed to present one each,
to be made cardinal, whom the pope always admits if
75 ] POP
there be not some very great and evident objection.
These cardinals are commonly promoted from among
such clergymen as have borne offices in the Roman
court 5 some are assumed from religious orders 5 emi¬
nent ecclesiastics of other countries are likewise often
honoured with this digniiy, as the archbishops of To¬
ledo and Vienna are at present cardinal priests of Rome.
Sons of sovereign princes have frequently been members
ol 'be sacred college ; and there ends the direct line of
the royal family of Stuart. Their distinctive dress is
scarlet, to signify that they ought to be readv to shed
their blood for the faith and church, when the defence
and honour of either require it. They wear a scarlet
cap and hat : the cap is given to them by the pope if
they are at Rome, and is sent to them if they are ab¬
sent ; but the hat is never given but by the pope’s own
hand. These cardinals form the pope’s standing coun¬
cil or consistory for the management of the public affairs
of church and state. They are divided into different
congregations for the more easy dispatch of business; and
some of them have the principal offices in the pontifi¬
cal court, as that of cardinal-vicar—penitentiary—•chan¬
cellor—-camerlingo or chamberlain—prefect of the sig¬
nature of justice—prefect of memorials—and secretary
of state. They have the title given them ot eminence
and most eminent. But here we consider them princi¬
pally as the persons entrusted with the choice of the
pope. See Cardinal.
On the demise of a pope his pontifical seal is imme¬
diately broken by the chamberlain, and all public busi¬
ness is interrupted that can be delayed : messengers are
dispatched to all the Catholic sovereigns to acquaint
them of the event, that they make take what measures
they think proper 5 and that the cardinals in their do¬
minions, if any there be, may hasten to the future elec¬
tion if they choose to attend ; whilst the whole attention
of the sacred college is turned to the preservation of
tranquillity in the city and state, and to the necessary
preparations for the future election. The cardinal cham¬
berlain has, during the vacancy of the holy see, great
authority 5 he coins money with his ow n arms on it,
lodges in the pope’s apartments, and is attended by
body-guards. He, and the first cardinal bishop, the
first cardinal priest, and the first cardinal deacon, have
during that time, the government almost entirely in
their hands. The body of the deceased pope is carried
to St Peter’s, where funeral service is performed for
him with great pomp for nine days, and the cardinals
attend there every morning. In the mean time, all ne¬
cessary preparations for the election are made 3 and the
place where they assemble for that purpose, which is
called the conclave, is fitted up in that part of the Vati¬
can palace which is nearest St Peter’s church, as this
has long been thought the most convenient situation.,
Here is formed by partitions of wood a number of cells
or chambers equal to the number of cardinals, with a
small distance between every two, and a broad gallery
before them. A number is put on every cell, and
small papers with corresponding numbers are put into a
box : every cardinal, or some one for him, draws out
one of- these papers, which determines in what cell he
is to lodge. The cells are lined with cloth 3 and there
is a part of each one separated for the conclavists or at¬
tendants, of whom two are allowed to each cardinal,
and three to cardinal princes. They are persons of
some.:
Pope.
pop t 176 3
some rank, and generally of great confidence , bat tof y
must carry in their master’s meals, serve him at tab e,
and perform all the offices of a menial servant. 1 wo
physicians, two surgeons, an apothecary, and some other
necessary officers, are chosen for the conclave by the car-
On the 10th day after the pope’s death, the cardinals,
who are then at ‘llome, and in a competent state ot
health, meet in the chapel of St Peter’s, which is caneo
the Gregorian Chapel, where a sermon on the choice 0
a pope is preached to them, and mass is said for invok¬
ing the grace of the holy Ghost. Then the cardinals
proceed to the conclave in procession two by two, and
take up their abode. When all is properly settled, the
conclave is shut up, having boxed wheels or places ot
communication in convenient quarters : there are also
strong guards placed all around. When any foreign
cardinal arrives after the inclosure, the conclave is open¬
ed for his admission. In the beginning every cardinal
signs a paper, containing an obligation, that it he shall
be raised to the papal chair he will not alienate any part
of the pontifical dominion j that he will not be pro¬
digal to his relations 5 and such other stipulations as may
have been settled in former times or framed for that oc-
P O P
casion. ..
We come now to the election itself j and that this
may be effectual, two-thirds of the cardinals present must
vote for the same person. As this is often not easily ob¬
tained, they sometimes remain whole months in the con¬
clave. Thev meet in the chapel twice every day for
giving their votes-, and the election may be effectuated
by scrutiny, accession or acclamation. Scrutiny is the
ordinary method j and consists in this : every cardinal
writes his own name on the inner part of a piece of pa¬
per, and this is folded up and sealed 5 on a second fold
of the same paper a conclavist writes the name ol the
person for whom his master votes. Ihis, according to.
agreements observed for some centuries, must he one of
the sacred college. On the outer side of the paper is
written a sentence at random, which the voter must
well remember. Every cardinal, on entering into the
chapel, goes to the altar and puts his paper into a large
chalice.
When all are convened, two cardinals number the
votes •, and if they are more or less than the number of
cardinals present, the voting must he repeated. When
that is not the case, the cardinal appointed for the pur¬
pose reads the outer sentence, and the name of the car¬
dinal under it, so that each voter hearing his own sen¬
tence and the name joined with it, knows that there is
no mistake. The names of all the cardinals that are
voted for are taken down in writing, with the number
of votes for each ; and when it appears that any one
has two-thirds of the number present in his favour the
election is over: but when this does not happen, the
voting papers are all immediately burnt without open¬
ing up the inner part. When several trials of coming
to a conclusion by this method of scrutiny have been
made in vain, recourse is sometimes had to what is call¬
ed accession. By it, when a cardinal perceives that one
or very few votes are wanting to any one for whom he
had not voted at that time, he may say that he accedes
to the one who has near the number of votes requisite j
and if bis one vote suffices to make up the two-thirds,
or if he is followed by a sufficient number of acceders or
new voters for the said cardinal, the election is accom- Pojle
plished. Lastly, a pope is sometimes elected by accla¬
mation ; and that is, when a cardinal, being pretty sure
that he will be joined by a number sufficient, cries out
in the open chapel, that such a one shall be pope. If
lie is supported properly, the election becomes unani¬
mous 5 those who would perhaps oppose it foreseeing
that their opposition would he fruitless, and rather hurt¬
ful to themselves. It is to he observed, that the empe¬
ror of Germany and the kings of I ranee and Spain
claimed a right of excluding one cardinal from being pope
at every election. Hence, when the ambassador at Borne
of any of these sovereigns perceived that any cardinal,
disagreeable to his master, according to the instructions
he had received, was likely to be made pope, he demand¬
ed an audience of the conclave, was admitted, and theie
declared his master’s will, which was always attended to
for the common good. But each ol those sovereigns was
allowed thus to exclude only one at one time j and they
unwillingly and seldom put this right in execution.
When a pope is chosen in any of the three above-
mentioned ways, the election is immediately announced
from the balcony in the front of St Peter’s, homage is
paid to the new pontiff, and couriers are sent oil with
the news to all parts of Christendom. I he pope ap¬
points a day for his coronation at St Peter’s, and for
his taking possession of the patriarchal church of St John
Late ran •, aH which is performed with great solemnity,
lie is addressed by the expression of Holiness, ana most
holy Father. . '
Let us now proceed to see what authority Bomau
Catholics attribute to the pope thus chosen. They be¬
lieve then, that the bishop of Rome is, under Christ,
supreme pastor of the whole church j and as such is not
only the first bishop in order and dignity, but has also
a power and jurisdiction over all Christians, in order to
preserve unity and purity of faith and moral doctrine,
and to maintain order and regularity in all churches.
Wherefore they hold, that when the pope understands
that any error has been broached against faith or man¬
ners, or that any considerable difterence on such subjects
has arisen in any part of Christendom, it belongs to him,
after due deliberation and consultation, to issue out his
pastoral decree, condemning the error, clearing up the
doubt, and declaring what has been delivered down, and
what is to be believed. Some Catholic divines are of
opinion that the pope cannot err, when he thus ad¬
dresses himself to all theon matters of doctiine.
They well know, that as a private doctor he may fall
into mistakes as well as any other man but they think,
that when he teaches the whole church Providence must
preserve him from error j and they apprehend, that this
may be deduced from the promises ot Christ to St Pe¬
ter, and from the writings ot the ancient fathers. How¬
ever, this infallibility of the pope, even when he pro¬
nounces in the most solemn manner, is only an opinion,
and not an article of Roman Catholic faith. Where¬
fore, when he sends for the doctrinal decrees, the other
bishops, who are also guardians ol the faith in an infe¬
rior degree, may, with due respect, examine these de¬
crees y "and if they see them agree with what has been
always taught, they either formally signify their accep¬
tance, or they tacitly acquiesce, which, considering their
duty, is equivalent to a formal approbation. W hen the
acceptation of the generality of the bishops has been
POP [ i
p*pe. obtained, either Immediately or after some mutual cor-
respondence and explanation, the decrees of the pope
thus accepted come to be the sentence of the whole
church, and are believed to be beyond the possibility of
error !
Sometimes it may happen that the disputes and dif-
v ferences may be so great and intricate, that to the end
it may be seen more clearly what has really been deli¬
vered down, and to give all possible satisfaction, it may
appear proper to convene all the bishops who can conve¬
niently attend to one place, to learn from them more
distinctly what has been taught and held in their respec¬
tive churches. Roman Catholics believe that it belongs
to the pope to call such general councils, and to preside
in them in person or by his legates. They likewise hold,
that when the pope has approved the decrees of such
councils concerning faith or manners, such decrees are
then final, and must be received as such by all Catho¬
lics. In all this they believe, that the particular as¬
sistance of the Holy Ghost is with the pastors of the
church, that no the gates of hell may never prevail against
her.
The see of Rome, according to Roman Catholics, is
the centre of Catholic unity. All their bishops com¬
municate with the pope, and by his means with one an¬
other, and so form one body. However distant their
particular churches may be, they all meet at Rome ei¬
ther in person or by their delegates, or at least by their
letters. And, according to the discipline of the latter-
ages, though they are presented to the pope for their
office from their respective countries, yet from him they
must receive their bulls of consecration before they can
take possession of their secs.
In matters of church discipline, the pope, as chief
pastor, not only ought to take care that the canons
actually in force be observed in all churches, but he may
also make new canons and regulations when he sees it
necessary or expedient for the spiritual benefit of the
faithful, according to times and circumstances. But in
doing this he must not infringe the established rights or
customs with injury to any person ; which if, through
mistake or wrong information, he should ever do, the
persons who think themselves aggrieved may remonstrate
with respect and sue for redress. He may establish new
episcopal sees, where there have been none before ; and
be may alter the limits of former dioceses j but in such
alterations he always of course consults the temporal so¬
vereign, if in communion with him. He sends pastors
to preach the gospel to all countries where the Catholic
religion is not by law established ; and to him appeals
may be made from all parts of Christendom in ecclesi¬
astical causes ot great importance.
The pope may dispense with the observation of ec¬
clesiastical canons when there are just reasons for it, as
may frequently happen j he may also dispense with vows
when they are made with that express or tacit condi¬
tion (a) that he really may dispense with them ; he mav
also on some occasions declare that obligations have
really ceased when that is truly the case, from a great
alteration ot circumstances : But be can never gfant any
dispensation, to the injury of any third person, and can
Vol. XVII. Part I. +
77 ] V O V
never allow any one to do what is unjust, or to say what
he knows to be ialse, whatever advantage might be ex¬
pected from it.
The pope is also a temporal prince, and possesses con¬
siderable dominions in the middle part of Italy, besides
Avignon, which the French have lately taken from him,
and the duchy of Benevento inclosed within the king¬
dom ot Naples. It is also supposed that the kingdoms
of Naples and Sicily, and the duchies of Parma and Pla¬
centia, are still held of him in fict as they were before.
His predecessors have acquired these possessions at diffe¬
rent times and on difi'erent occasions, by various donations,
concessions, treaties, and agreements, in like manner as
has happened with regard to the establishment of other
sovereignties j and his title to them is like to that of
other potentates to their respective possessions. The re¬
venue arising irom this estate, and what he receives for
various reasons Irom Catholic countries, which is now
much reduced, is employed for the support of govern¬
ment, in salaries to the officers of his court, for the edu¬
cation of clergymen, and lor the maintaining of mission¬
aries in infidel countries. Great sums are particularly
expended for the propagation of the Christian faith in
different parts of Asia, especially .mi Armenia, Syria, and
China. Nor is it much to be wondered at, if the fami¬
lies, of which the sovereign pontiffs happen to har e been
born, acquire greaterriches and splendour from that con¬
nection. The princely families of Barberini, Rorghese,
Chigi, Corsini, Albani, are examples of this kind : but
regulations have been made in later times to prevent ex¬
cessive nepotism. Beyond the limits of his own tempo¬
ral dominions the pope has no temporal power or jurisdic-
tion, excepting what any nation may be pleased to allow
him : when any thing ot that kind has been granted or
brought in by custom, it is evident that it ought not to
be taken away rashly nor without just reason. But, as
chief pastor ot the church, he has no right to anv tem-
poial jurisdiction over his flock. As such, his power is
entirely spiritual, and has no means of coercion original¬
ly or necessarily connected with it, but only ecclesiastic
cal censures. It must be owned, that the popes, in seme
ages, sometimes imagining that they could do much good,
sometimes by the consent, or even at the desire, of the so^
vereigns, and sometimes no doubt out of ambitious views,
have interfered a great deal in the temporal affairs of the
different kingdoms of Europe, which has frequently given
scandal anddoneharm to religion. Butitisknown tothose
most versant in history, that their faults of this kind have
been exaggerated, and their conduct often misunderstood
or misrepresented. However, in this a Roman Catholic
is not obliged to approve what they have done ; nay,
without acting contrary to his religion, he may judge of
them freely, and blame them if he think they deserve
it; only he will do it with respect and regret. Thus ;i
Roman Catholic may either apologise, if he think he can
do it, for the conduct of Innocent III. in deposing King
John of England ; or, without being guilty of any of¬
fence against bis religion, he may blame the pontiff for
what he did on that occasion ; because the power of the
pope to depose princes, or to absolve subjects from their
allegiance, was never proposed as an article of faith, or
Z made
(a) Any other man may unquestionably do the same when they are made with that express condition.
POP [ >78 ]
made a term of communion with the cliurcli of Kome. Clinstenciom,
Some Catholic divines, indeed, especially among the Je¬
suits, are universally known to have held this extrava¬
gant and dangerous opinion ; but by far the. greater
part ol them condemn and abhor it as absurd and im¬
pious : and surely it is but fair and just to allow them
to know best what they themselves believe. And here,
to conclude, we shall add, that it is very desirable that
Christians of all denominations endeavour to understand
one another better than they have often done ; and in¬
stead of supposing imaginary differences, strive to re¬
move real ones, for the general good of mankind, lor
the glory of God, and honour of religion •, and that all
vie with one another to excel in just and charitable sen¬
timents, language, and behaviour.
The reader, who wishes to know what can be urged
for and against the supremacy of the pope, and who is
fitted by his knowledge of ecclesiastical history to un¬
derstand the nature of the question at issue, may con¬
sult, on the one hand, the works of Bellarmine, toge¬
ther with a small tract lately published in English, un¬
der the title of I'he Divine Economi/ oj Christ in his
Kingdom or Church ; and on the other, Barrow’s trea¬
tisethe Pope's Supremacy, together with Chilling-
worth’s Religion of Protestants, &c.
Pope, Dominions of, or Ecclesiastical States, a coun¬
try of Italy, bounded on the north by the gulf of Ve¬
nice and the Venetian dominions, on the south by the
Mediterranean, on the east by the kingdom of Naples
and the Adriatic, and on the west by Tuscany and Mo¬
dena. It is 200 miles long on the coast ot the Adria¬
tic from Naples to the Venetian territory. Its breadth
from sea to sea is about 130 miles, and the area of the
whole 15,500 square English miles. The population
in 1815 was estimated at 2,424,000.
The. soil, in general, of the pope’s dominions is very
fertile, but ill cultivated ; and there are many fens and
marshy grounds which are very prejudicial to the air.
That the lands are badly cultivated and inhabited, the
air bad, and the inhabitants poor, idle, lazy, and
grossly superstitious, is owing to a variety of causes.
With respect to the accommodations ol life, this country
is but in a very indifferent condition j for, notwithstand¬
ing the fertility of its soil, its advantageous situation for
traffic, the large sums spent in it by travellers, or re¬
mitted to it from foreign countries, and its having, for
its ruler, the successor of St Peter, the prince of the
apostles, and the vicar of Jesus Christ j yet it is poor
and thin of inhabitants, ill cultivated, and without trade
and manufactures. This is partly owing to the great
number of holidays, of sturdy beggars called pilgrims,
and of hospitals and convents, with the amazing but
perhaps useless wealth of churches and convents,, and
the inquisition : but the chief cause is the severity of
the government, and the grievous exactions and hard¬
ships to which the subjects are exposed. The legates,
though mostly clergymen, whose thoughts should be
chiefly employed about laying up treasures^ in heaven,
and who ought to set an example to the laity of disin¬
terestedness and a contempt ol this world, too often, it
is said, scruple no kind of rapaciousness : even the holy
father himself, and the cardinals, frequently make the
enriching of their nephews and other relations, and the
aggrandizing their families, too much the business of
their lives. The extensive claims and great pretensions
of the pope are well known, and, by a large part of
4
POP
are now treated with 'contempt and
mockery. The Keformation gave a great blow to his '
spiritual power 5 and tne French involution has lessen¬
ed it still more. His temporal dominions, however,
still continue much the same-, though how long this
may be the case, considering how much he hath lost,
and is daily losing, of his ghostly empire, and the vene¬
ration in which he was formerly held, it is difficult to
say. See Pope.—The Campania of Borne is under the
pope’s immediate government but the other provinces
are governed by legates and vice legates, and there is a
commander in chief ot the pope’s ioices in eveiy pio-
The pope is chosen by the cardinals in the con-
vince. — — j # rpj
clave: See this particularly described above, ihe
pope holds a consistory of cardinals on ecclesiastical af¬
fairs but the cardinals do not meddle with his civil
government. The pope’s chief minister is the cardinal-
patron, usually his nephew, who amasses an immense
estate, if the reign be of any long duration. The car¬
dinal that is chosen pope must generally be an Italian^
and at least 55 years of age. 'ihe spiritual power or
the pope, though far short of what it was before the
Reformation, is still considerable. It was formerly
computed that the monks and regular clergy, who were
absolutely at his devotion, amounted to 2,000,000 of
people, dispersed through all the Roman Catholic coun¬
tries, to promote the interest of the church. 1 he re¬
venues of these monks were supposed not to fall short
of 20,000,000!. sterling, besides the casual profits ari¬
sing from offerings, and the people’s bounty to the
church, who are taught that their salvation depends on
this kind of benevolence. The number of monks is
now much reduced.
The pope’s revenues, including contributions from
Catholic countries, were estimated at 8oc,oool. in
1815. The vast sums which formerly flowed into the-
papal treasury Irom all the Roman Catholic countries,
for dispensations, indulgences, canonizations, annates,
the pallia, and investitures of archbishops and bishops,
are now much diminished.
The pope has a considerable body of regular forces,
well clothed and paid j but his fleet consists only ot a
few galleys. His life guards are 40 Switzers, 75 cui¬
rassiers, and as many light horse. Since the beginning
of the French revolutionary war he had at one time a
guard of English horse.
In 1797 the northern part of the states of the church
was annexed to the Cisalpine republic, and in 1 808 the
remainder of the states east of the Apennines. In 1810
the shadow of independence which the western part of
the pope’s territories had enjoyed disappeared, and it
was formally annexed to the French empire, forming
two departments, Rome and Thrasimene. The suc¬
cesses of the allies in 1814 and 1815 restored the pope
to the full possession of his dominions.
Pope, Alexander, a celebrated English poet, descend¬
ed from a respectable family, was born the 8th of
June 1688, at London, where his father was then a
considerable merchant. He was taught to read very
early by an aunt j and learned to write without any as¬
sistance, by copying printed books. The family being
of the Romish religion, he was- put, at eight years ol
age, under one Taverner, a priest, who taught him the
rudiments of the Latin and Greek tongues together
and soon after was sent to a Popish seminary at*Win¬
chester, from whence he was removed to a school at
Hvde-
Hyde-Park Corner. He discovered early an inclination
—'to versifying; and the translation of Ggilby and San-
dys from Virgil and Ovid first falling in'his"way, they
were his favourite authors. At twelve he retired with
his parents to Binfield, in Windsor Forest ; and there
became acquainted with the writings of Spenser Wal¬
ler, and Dryden. Dry den struck him most, probably
because tne cast of that poet was most congenial with
his own; and therefore he not only studied^his works
intensely, but ever after mentioned him with a kind of
rapturous veneration. He once obtained a sight of him
at a coffee-house, but never was known to him : a mis¬
fortune which he laments in these short but expressive
words, Virgil in m tantum vidi. Though Pope had been
under more tutors than one, yet it seems they were so
insufficient for the purpose of teaching, that he had learn¬
ed very littlefromthem: so that,beingobligedafterwards
to begin all over again, he may justly be considered as
one of the etvlo^xxjoi or self-taught. At fifteen he had
acquired a readiness in the two learned languages ; to
which he soon after added the French and Italian. He
had already scribbled a great deal of poetry in various
ways ; and this year set about an epic poem called Al-
cander. He long after communicated it to Atlerbury,
with a declared intention to burn it; and that friend
concurred with him : “ Though (adds he) I would
liave interceded for the first page, and put it, with your
leave, among my curiosities.” What the poet himself
observes upon these early pieces is agreeable enough ;
and shows, that though at first a little intoxicated with
the waters of Helicon, he afterwards arrived to great
sobriety of thinking. “ I confess (says he) there was
a time when 1 was in love with myself; and my first
productions were the children of Self-love upon Inno¬
cence. I had made an epic poem, and panegyrics on
all the princes ; and I thought myself the greatest ge¬
nius that ever was. I cannot but regret these delight¬
ful visions of my childhood, which, like the fine colours
we see when our eyes are shut, are vanished for ever.”
His pastorals, begun in 1704, first introduced him to
the wits of the time ; among whom were Wycherly and
Walsh. This last gentleman proved a sincere friend to
him ; and soon discerning that his talent lay, not so
much in striking out new thoughts of his own, as in
improving those of other men, and in an easy versifica¬
tion, told him, among other things, that there was one
way left open for him to excel his predecessors in, which
was correctness : observing, that though we had seve¬
ral great poets, yet none of them were correct. Pope
took the hint, and turned it to good account; for no
doubt the distinguishing harmony of his numbers was
in a great measure owing to it. The same year, 1704,
he wrote the first part of his Windsor Forest, though
the whole was not published till 1710. In 1708, he
wrote the Essay on Criticism; which production was
justly esteemed a masterpiece in its kind, and showed
not only the peculiar turn of his talents, but that those
talents, young as he was, were ripened into perfection.
He was not yet twenty years old ; and yet the matu-
rity of judgment, the knowledge of the world, and the
penetration into human nature, displayed in that piece,
were such as would have done honour to the greatest
abilities and experience. But whatever may be the
merit of the Essay on Criticism, it was still surpassed,
in a poetical view, by the Kape of the Lock, first com-
79 ] POP
pletely published in 1712. The former excelled in the
didactic way, forwhich wewas peculiarly formed, aclear
head, strong sense, and a sound judgment, being his cha-
1 acteristical qualities ; but it is the creative power of the
imagination that constitutes what is properly called a
poet; and therefore it is in the llape of the Lock that
Pope principally appears one, there being more vis
imhginandi displayed in this poem than perhaps in all
his other works put together. In 1713, he gave out
proposals for publishing a translation of Homer’s Iliad
by subscription ; in which all parties concurred so hear¬
tily, that he acquired a considerable fortune by it
1 he subscription amounted to 6000I. besides i2ocl.
which Lintot the bookseller gave him for the copy.’
i ope’s finances being now in good condition, he pur¬
chased a house at Twickenham, whither he removed
with Ins father and mother in 1715: where the for¬
mer died about two years after. As he was a Papist
he could not purchase, nor put his money to interest
on real security ; and as he adhered to the cause of
ing James, he made it a point of conscience not to
lend it to the new government; so that, though he was
worth near 20,000!. when belaid aside business, yet, li¬
ving afterwards upon the quick stock, he left but a slen¬
der subsistence to his family. Our poet, however, did not
fail to improve it to the utmost: he had already acqui¬
red much by Ins publications, and he was all attention
to acquire more. In 1717, he published a collection
of ail he had printed separately; and proceeded to give
a new edition of Shakespeare: which, being published
in 1721, discovered that he had consulted his fortune
more than his fame in that undertaking. The Iliad
being finished, he engaged upon the like footing to
undertake the Odyssey. Mr Broome and Mr Fenton
did part of it, and received 500I. of Mr Pope for their
1 a hours. It was published in the same manner, and on
the same conditions to Lintot; excepting that, instead
of 1200I. he had but 600I. for the copy. This work
being finished in 1725, he was afterwards emploved
With Swift and Arbuthnot, in printing some volumes
°* Hiscellaiues. About this time he narrowly escaped
losing his life, as he was returning home in a friend’s
chariot ; which, on passing a bridge, happened to be
overturned, and thrown with the horses into the river.
1 be glasses were up, and he was not able to break them :
so that he had immediately been drowned, if the po¬
stilion had not broke them, and dragged him out to
the hank. A fragment of the glass, however, cut him
so desperately, that he ever after lost the use of two of
his fingers. In 1727 his Dunciad appeared in Ireland ;
and the year after in England, with notes by Swift,
under the name of Sci'iblcrus. ' This edition was pre¬
sented to the king and queen by Sir Robert Walpole ;
who, probably about this time, offered to procure Pope
a pension, which however he refused, as he had for¬
merly done a proposal of the same kind made him by
Lord Halifax. He greatly cultivated the spirit of in¬
dependency ; and “Unplac’d, unpension’d, no man’s
heir or slave,” was frequently his boast. He some¬
where observes, that the life of an author is a state of
wax fare. he has shewn himself a complete general in
this way of warring. He bore the insults and injuries
of his enemies long; but at length, in the Dunciad,
made an absolutely universal slaughter of them : for
even Cibber, who was afterwards "advanced to be the
Z 2 hero
POP [
hero of it, could not forbear owning, that nothing u-l>
ever more perfect and finished in its kind than tins poem.
In 1720, by the advice oi Lord Bolingbroke, u tUi''
ed his pen to subjects of morality ; and according y
we find him, with the assistance of that noble triend,
who furnished him with the materials, at work thisyeai
upon the Essay on Man. The following extract oi a
letter to Swift discovers the reason or Ins lordships
advice : Bid him (says Bolingbroke) talk to you ot
the work he is about, l hope in good earnest 5 it is a
fine one, and will be, in his hands, an original. His
sole complaint is, that he finds it too easy in the exe¬
cution. This flatters his laziness ; it flatters my judge-
ment •, who, always thought, that, universal as his ta¬
lents are, this is eminently and peculiarly Ins, above ail
the writers I know, living or dead •, J do not excep
Horace ” Pope tells the dean in the next letter, that
“ the work Lord Bolingbroke speaks _ of with such
abundant partiality, is a system ol ethics, in the iio-
ratian way.” In pursuing the same design, he wrote
his Ethic Epistles: the lourth of which, upon laste,
giving great offence, as he was supposed to ridicule the
duke of Chandos under the character of limon, is
said to have put him upon writing satires, which lie
continued til! 1739. He ventured to attack persons 0
the highest rank, and set no bounds to his satirical
rage. A genuine collection of his letters were publish¬
ed in 1737. In 1738, a French translation of the
Essay on Man, by the Abbe Resnel, was printed at
Paris ; and Mr Crousaz.the German professor, animad¬
verted upon this system of ethics, which he represented as
nothin'f else but a system of naturalism. Mr YV arburton,
afterwards bishop 'of Gloucester, wrote a commentary
upon the Essay in which he defends it against Grou-
saz whose objections he supposes owing to the faulti-
ness of the Abbe Resnel’s translation. The poem was
republished in 1740, with the commentary. Our au¬
thor now added a fourth book to the Duncaul, which
•was first printed separately in 1742 •, but the year al¬
ter, the whole poem came out together, as a specimen
of a more correct edition of his works. lie had made
some progress in that design, hut did not live to com¬
plete it. ' He had all his life long been subject to the
headach 5 and that complaint, which he derived from
his mother, was now greatly increased by a dropsy m
his breast, under which he expired the 30th ot May
1744, in the 56th year of his age. In his will, dated
December it. 1743* Miss Blount, a lady to whom he
was always devoted, was made his heir during her life :
and among other legacies, he bequeathed to Mr War-
burton the property of all such of his works, already
printed, as he had written, or should write commenta¬
ries upon, and which had not otherwise been disposed oi
or alienated •, with this condition, that they were pub¬
lished without future alterations. In discharge o this
trust, that gentleman gave a complete edition ot all Mr
Pope’s works, 1751, in nine vols. 8vo. A work, enti¬
tled, An Essay on the Writings and Genius oj tope, by
Mr Warton, two vols. 8vo, will be read with pleasuie by
those who desire to know more of the person, charac¬
ter, and writings of this excellent poet. Lord Orrery s
account of him is very flattering : “ It we may judge
qf him by his works (says this noble author), bis chief
aim was to be esteemed a man of virtue. His letters
u>-e written in that style j his last volumes are all of the
xSo ] POP
moral kind 5 he has avoided trifles, and consequently
has escaped a rock which has proved very injurious to
Swift’s reputation.' He has given Ins imagination full
scope, and yet lias preserved a perpetual guard upon
his conduct. The constitution ot his body and mind
mi'dit really incline them to the habits ot caution and
reserve. The treatment which he met with afterwards,
from an innumerable tribe of adversaries, confirmed this
habit •, and made him slower than the dean m pronoun¬
cing his judgment upon persons and things. His prose-
writings are little less harmonious than his verse j and
his voice in common conversation was so naturally mu¬
sical, that I remember honest Tom Southern used to
call him the little nightingale. His manners were dedi¬
cate, easy, and engaging \ and he treated bis friends
with a politeness that charmed, and a generosity that
was much to his honour. Every guest was made happy
within his doors ; pleasure dwelt under his roof, and
elegance presided at his table.”
Yet, from Dr Johnson’s account of his domestic ha¬
bits we have reason to doubt the latter part ot this
character. His parsimony (he informs us) appeared
in very petty matters, such as writing his compositions
on the hacks of letters, or in a niggardly reception of
his friends, and a scantiness of entertainment—as the
setting a single pint on the table to two friends, when,
havino- himself taken two small glasses, he would retire,
saying I leave you to your wine. He sometimes,
however, the Doctor acknowledges, made a splendid
dinner •, but this happened seldom. He was very full
of his fortune, and frequently ridiculed poverty *, and
he seems to have been of an opinion not very uncom¬
mon in the world, that to want money is to want every
thinox He was almost equally proud of las connection
witli the great, and often boasted that he obtained their
notice by no meanness or servility. 1 his admiration of
the great increased in the advance of life j yet we must
acknowledge, that he could derive but little honour
from the notice of Cobham, Burlington, or Boling-
By natural deformity, or accidental distortion, his
vital functions were so much disordered, that his life
was a long disease j and from this cause arose many of
his peculiarities and weaknesses. He stood constantly
in need of female attendants 5 and to avoid cold, of
which he was very sensible, he wore a fur doublet under
his shirt, See. The indulgence and accommodation
which his sickness required, had taught him all the un¬
pleasing and unsocial qualities ol a valetudinary man.
When he wanted to sleep, he nodded in company •, and
once slumbered at his oivn table when the prince of
Males was talking of poetry. He was extremely trou¬
blesome to such of his friends as asked him out, which
many uf them frequently did, and plagued the servants
beyond description. His love ot eating is another fault,
to which he is said to have fallen a sacrifice. In all
his intercourse with mankind, he had great delight m
artifice, and endeavoured to attain all his purposes by
indirect and unsuspected methods.
In familiar conversation it is said he never excelled j
and he was so fietful and so easily displeased, that he
would sometimes leave Lord Oxford’s silently without
any apparent reason, and was to be courted back by
more letters and messages than the servants w'ere will¬
ing to carry. ^
POP
1 ope,
: pery
Dr JohriSftn also crives a view of the intellectual cha¬
racter of Pope, and draws a parallel between Dryden
" and him. For particulars, however, we must refer our
readers to Johnson'*a Lives of the Poets.
POPERY, in ecclesiastical history, comprehends the
religious doctrines and practices adopted and maintain¬
ed by the church of Rome. The following summary,
extracted chiefly from the decrees of the council of
Trent, continued under Paul III. Julius III. and Pius
IV. from the year 1545 to 1563, by successive sessions,
and the creed of Pope Pius IV. subjoined to it, and
bearing date November 1564, may not be unacceptable
to the reader. One of the fundamental tenets, stre¬
nuously maintained by Popish writers, is the infalli¬
bility of the church of Rome ; though they are not
agreed whether this privilege belongs to the pope or a
general council, or to both united ; but they pretend
that an infallible living judge is absolutely necessary
to determine controversies, and to secure peace in the
Christian church. However., Protestants allege, that
the claim of infallibility in any church is not justified
by the authority of Scripture ; much less does it per¬
tain to the church of Rome ; and that it is inconsistent
with the nature of religion, and the personal obliga¬
tions of its professors; and that it has proved ineffec¬
tual to the end for which it is supposed to be granted,
since popes and councils have disagreed in matters of
importance, and they have been incapable, with the
advantage of this pretended infallibility, of maintaining
union and peace.
Another essential article of the popish creed is the
supremacy of the pope, or his sovereign power over the
universal church. See Pope.
Farthei-, the doctrine of the seven sacraments is a pe¬
culiar and distinguishing doctrine of the church of Rome;
these are baptism, confirmation, the eucharist, penance,
extreme unction, orders, and matrimony.
The council of Trent (sess. 7. can. 1.) pronounces
an anathema on those who say, that the sacramepts are
more or fewer than seven, or that any one of the above
number is not truly and properly a sacrament. And
yet it does not appear that they amounted to this num¬
ber before the 12th century, when Hugo de St Vie-
tore and Peter Lombard, about the year 1144, taught
that there were seven sacraments. The council of
Florence, held in 1438, was the first council that de¬
termined this number. These sacraments confer grace,
according to the decree of the council of Trent, (sess.
7. can. 8.) exopere operato, by the mere administration
of them ; three of them, viz. baptism, confirmation,
and orders, are said, (can. 9.) to impress an indelible
character, so that they cannot be repeated without sa¬
crilege ; and the efficacy of every sacrament depends
on the intention of the priest by whom it is admini¬
stered (can. 11.). Pope Pius expressly enjoins, that
all these sacraments should be administered according
to the received and approved rites of the Catholic
church. With regard to the eucharist in particular, we
may here observe, that the church of Rome holds the
doctrine of transuhstantiation ; the necessity of paying-
divine worship to Christ under the form of the conse¬
crated bread, or host ; the propitiatory sacrifice of the
mass, according to their ideas of which Christ is truly and
properly offered as a sacrifice as often as the priest says
taass; it practises likewise solitary mass, in which the
[ .81 1
POP
priest alone, who consecrates, communicates, and allows
communion only in one kind, viz. the bread, to the laity. '
Sess. 14.
The doctrine of merits is another distinguishing tenet
of popery; with regard to which the council of"Trent
has expressly decreed (sess. 6. can. 32.) that the good
woi ks or justified poisons are truly meritorious ; deserv-
ing not only an increase of grace, but eternal life, and
an increase of glory ; and It has anathematized all who
deny this doctrine. Of the same kind is the doctrine
of satisfaction ; which supposes that penitents may truly
satisfy, by the afflictions they endure under the dispen¬
sations of Providence, or by voluntary penances to
which they submit, for the temporary penalties of sin,
to which they are subject, even after the remission of
their eternal punishment. Sess. 6. can. 30. and sess. 14.
can. 8. :ind 9. In this connection we may mention the*
popish distinction of venial and mortal sins : the greatest
evils arising'from the former are the temporary pains of
purgatory ; but no man, it is said, can obtain the par¬
don of the latter without confessing to a priest, and per¬
forming the penances which he imposes.
1 he council of Trent (sess. 14. can. 1.) has expressly
decreed, that every one is accursed, who shall affirm that
penance is not truly and properly a sacrament, instituted
by Christ in the universal church, for reconciling those
Christians to the divine majesty, who have fallen into
sin after baptism : and this sacrament, it is declared, con¬
sists of two parts, the matter and the form ; the matter
is the act of the penitent, including contrition, confes¬
sion, and satisfafction ; the form of it is the act of abso¬
lution on the part ot the priest. Accordingly it is en¬
joined, that it is the duty of every man, who hath fallen
after baptism, to confess his sins, once a year at least, to
a priest: that this confession is to be secret; for public
confession is neither commanded nor expedient; and that
it must he exact and particular, including every kind
and act ot sin, with all the circumstances attending it.
When the penitent has so done, the priest pronounces an
absolution ; which is not conditional or declarative on¬
ly, but absolute and judicial. This secret or auricular
confession was first decreed and established in the fourth
council of Lateran, under Innocent III. in 1215, (cap.
21.). An cl the decree of this council was afterwards
confirmed and enlarged in the council of Florence, and
in that of Trent; which ordains, that confession was in¬
stituted by Christ, that by the law of God it is necessary
to salvation, and that it has been always practised in the
Christian- church. As for the penances imposed on the
penitent by way of satisfaction, they have been common¬
ly the repetition of certain forms of devotion, as pater¬
nosters, or ave-marias, the payment of stipulated sums,
pilgrimages, fasts, or various species of corporal discip¬
line. But the most formidable penance, in the estimation
of many who have belonged to the Romish communion,
has been the temporary pains of purgatory. But under
all the penalties which are inflicted or threatened in the
Romish church, it has provided relief by its indulgences,
and by its prayers or masses for the dead, performed
professedly lor relieving and rescuing the souls that arc
detained in purgatory.
Another article that has been long authoritatively en¬
joined ami observed in the church of Rome, is the celi-
baev^ of her clergy. This was first enjoined at Rome
by Gregory ^ II. about the year 1074, and established
Pope it.
Popery-
POP [
in England by Anselm archbishop of Canterbury about
the year 1175; though his predecessor Lanfranc had
imposed' it upon the prebendaries and clergy 1 ^ ive
in towns. And though the council of-Trent was ie-
peatedly petitioned by several princes and states to abo¬
lish this restraint, the obligation of cehbacv was rather
established than relaxed by this council ; for they de¬
creed, that marriage contracted after a vow o co
ence, is neither lawful nor valid 5 and thus deprived the
church of the possibility of ever restoring marriage to
the clergy. For if marriage, after a vow, be m risen
unlawful,' the greatest authority upon earth cannot dis¬
pense with it, nor permit marriage to the clergy, who
have already vowed continence. .
To the doctrines and practices above recited may be
farther added the worship of images, of which Protest¬
ants accuse the Papists. But to this accusation the Pa-
Papist mis- pist replies, that he keeps images by him to preserve in
represented^ m;n(] tjie rnernory of the persons represented by
them ; as people are wont to preserve the memory ot
their deceased friends by keeping their pictures. He
is taught (he says) to use them so as to cast Ins eyes
upon the pictures or images, and thence to raise his
heart to the things represented, and there to employ it
in meditation, love, and thanksgiving, desire ot imita¬
tion, &c. as the object requires.
These pictures or images have this advantage, that
they inform the mind by one glance of what 111 reading
mierht require a whole chapter. There being no other
difference between them, than that reading represents
leisurely and by degrees j and a picture, all at once.
Hence he finds a convenience in saying ins prayers with
some devout pictures before him, he being no sooner
distracted, hut the sight of these recals his wandering
thoughts to the right object 5 and as certainly brings
something good into his mind, as an immodest picture
and repre
sented
182 ] pO P
he be possessed of the divine attribute of omnipresence•, p0pen
and he who gives that attribute to any creature is un- Pophaiw
questionably guilty of idolatry. And as this decree is4-
contrary to one of the first principles ot natural religion,
so does it receive no countenance from Scripture, 01 any
Christian writer of the three first centuries. Other
practices peculiar to the Papists are the religious honour
and respect that they pay to sacred relicks 5 by which
they understand not only the bodies and parts oj. the
bodies of the saints, but any of those tilings that apper¬
tained to them, anti which they touched ; and the cele¬
bration of divine service in an unknown tongue: to which
purpose the council of Irent hath denounced an anathe¬
ma on any one who shall say that mass ought to he cele¬
brated only in the vulgar tongue; sess. 25. and scss. 22.
can. 9. Though the council of Lateran under Innocent
III. in 1215 (can. 9.) had expressly decreed, that be¬
cause in many parts within the same city and diocese
there are many people of different manners and rites
mixed together, but of one faith, the bishops of such ci¬
ties or dioceses should provide fit men foi celebrating
divine offices, according to the diversity of tongues and
rites, and for administering the sacraments.
We shall only add, that the church of Rome main¬
tains, that unwritten traditions ought to be added to the
holy Scriptures, in order to supply their derect, and to
be regarded as of equal authority; that the books of the
Apocrypha are canonical scripture 5 that the vulgate
edition of the Bible is to be deemed authentic ; and
that the Scriptures are to be received and interpreted
according to that sense which the hoiy mother chuich,
to whom it belongs to judge of the true sense, hath held,
and doth hold, and according to the unanimous consent
of the fathers.
Such are the principal and distinguishing doctrines 01
Popery, most of which have received the sanction of the
disturbs his heart with filthy thoughts. And because
he is sensible that these holy pictures and images repre¬
sent and bring to his mind such objects as in Ins heart
he loves, honours, and venerates *, he cannot but upon
that account love, honour, and respect, the images them-
Ibid. ^The council of Trent likewise decreed that all bishops
and pastors who have the cure of souls, do diligently in¬
struct their flocks, that it is good and profitable to desire
the intercession of saints reigning with Canstin hfifivc"-
And this dedree the Papists endeavour to defend by the
following observations. They confess that we have but
one Mediator of redemption ; hut affirm that it is ac¬
ceptable to God that we should have many mediators ot
intercession. Moses (say they) was such a mediator for
the Israelites j Job for his three friends; Stephen for ms
persecutors. The Romans were thus desired by St 1 aul
to be bis mediators ; so were the Corinthians, so the
Ephesians, Ep. ad Rom. Cor. Eph. so almost every sick
man desires the congregation to be bis mediators, by re¬
membering him in their prayers. And so the Papist
desires the blessed in heaven to be h.s mediators *, that
is, that they would pray to God for him. But between
these living and dead mediators there is no similarity :
the living mediator is present, and certainly hears the
request of those who desire him to intercede for them j
the dead mediator is as certainly absent, and cannot pos¬
sibly hear the requests of all those who at the same in¬
stant may be begging him to intercede for them, unless
council of Trent, and that of the creed of Pope Pius 1\ .
which is received, professed, and sworn to by every one
who enters into holy orders in the chuich of Rome ;
and at the close of this creed, we are told that the faith
contained in it is so absolutely and indispensably neces¬
sary, that no man can be saved without it.
Many of the doctrines of Popeiy were relaxed, and
very favourably interpreted by M. de Meaux, bishop of
Condom, in his Exposition of the Doctrine of the Ca¬
tholic Church, first printed in the year 1671 but this
edition, which was charged with perverting, in endea¬
vouring to palliate, the doctrine of the church, was cen¬
sured by the doctors of the Sorbonne, and actually sup¬
pressed; nor does it appear that they ever testified tLeii
approbation in the usual form of subsequent and alter¬
ed editions. It has, however, been published in tins
country, by a clergyman of the Romish church, whose
integrity, piety, and benevolence, would do honour to
any communion.
POPHAM, Sir John, lord chief justice of the com¬
mon pleas in the reign ol Queen Elizabeth, was the
eldest son of Edward Popham, Esq. of Huntworth in
Somersetshire, and horn in the year 1531’ was so.llie
time a student of Baliol college in Oxford ; “ being
then (says Ant. Wood) given at leisure hours to many
sports and exercises.” After quitting the university, li£
fixed in the Middle Temple ; where, during his noviti¬
ate, he is said to have indulged in that kind of dissipa¬
tion to which youth and a vigorous constitution more
POP [ !
,liam naturally Incline than to the study of voluminous re-
[| ports: but, satiated at length with what are called the
pleasures of the tow?i, he applied sedulously to the study
^ of his profession, was called to the bar, and in 1568 be¬
came summer or autumn reader. He was soon after
made serjeant at law, and solicitor-general in 1579. In
1581 he was appointed attorney-general, and treasurer
of the Middle Temple. In 1592 he was made lord
chief justice of the king’s bench, and the same year re¬
ceived the honour of knighthood. In the year 1601 his
lordship was one of the council detained by the unfor¬
tunate earl of Essex, when he formed the ridiculous pro¬
ject of defending himself in his house: and, on the earl’s
trial, he gave evidence against him relative to their de¬
tention. He died in the year 1607, aged 76; and was
buried in the south aisle of the church at Wellington in
Somersetshire, where he generally resided as often as it
was in his power to retire. He was thought somewhat
severe in the execution of the law against capital offen¬
ders : but his severity had the happy effect of reducing
the number of highway robbers. He wrote, x. Reports
and cases adjudged in the time of Queen Elizabeth.
2. Resolutions and judgments upon cases and matters
agitated in all the courts at Westminster in the latter
end of Queen Elizabeth’s reign.
POPLAR. See Populus, Botany Index.
POPLITzEUS, in Anatomy, a small muscle 0-
bliquely pyramidal, situated under the ham. See Ana¬
tomy, Table of the d luscles.
POPPY. See Papaver, Botany Index, and O-
pium, Materia Medica Index.
POPULAR, something that relates to the common1
people.
POPULATION, means the state of a country with
respect to the number of people. See Bills of Mor¬
tality, and Political Arithmetic.
The question concerning the number of men existing
upon earth has been variously determined by different
writers. Riccioli states the population of the globe at
1000 millions, Vossius at 500 •, the journalists of Tre-
voux at 720 5 and the editor (Xavier de Feller) of the
small Geographical Dictionary of Vosgien, reprinted
at Paris in 177^* 37° millons. This last estimate is
perhaps too low, although the writer professes to have
taken considerable pains to ascertain the point with as
much accuracy as the nature of the subject will admit..
It may, perhaps, not be deemed unworthy the attention
of the curious sgeculatist to observe, that assuming the
more probable statement of the learned Jesuits of Tre-
voux, and that the world has existed about 6006 years
in its present state of population, then the whole number
of persons who have ever existed upon earth since the
days of Adam amounts only to about one hundred and
thirty thousand millions; because 720,000,000 X 182(the
number of generations in 6006 years)=13 1,040,000,000.
See on this subject the authors above mentioned, as like¬
wise Beausobre’s Etude de la Politique.
With regard to the population of England, the rea¬
der may consult, together with our article Political
Arithmetic, An Inquiry into the present State of Popu¬
lation, &c. by W. Wales, F. R.S. ; and Mr Hewlett’s
Examination of Dr Price’s Essay on the same subject.
But for a later account of the population of England,
see the different counties under their proper names j for
83 ] P O Jl
that of Scotland, see the different counties, and for the population
general population, see Scotland.
POPULUS, the Poplar, a genus of plants belong- Porcelain,
ing to the dioecia class; and in the natural method
ranking under the 50th order, Amentacece. See Bo¬
tany Index.
The poplar, one of the most beautiful of the aquatic
trees, has frequently been introduced into the poetical
descriptions of the ancients •, as by Virgil, Eel. vii. 66.
ix. 41. Georg, ii. 66. iv. 511. JEn. viii. 31. 276. j by
Q\i&,Amo?n. Parid. 27.5 by Horace, Carm. ii. 3. and
by Catullus, jVtf/it. Phil, et Thet. 290, &c. &c.
POQUELIN, or Pocqdelin, John Baptist. See
Moliere.
PORANA, a genus of plants belonging to the pent-
andria class. See Botany Index. T
PORCELAIN, in its more general signification, Nature of
comprehends all kinds of earthen ware, which are white, l,orcelain*
semitransparent, and have some degree of a vitreous
texture. lienee, in this extensive meaning of the term,
it includes all kinds of pottery, stoneware, delft ware,
&c. : but in a more limited sense, the word Porcelain
is employed to denote only the finer kinds of earthen
ware ; and because this kind of ware has been, from
time immemorial, manufactured in the greatest degree
of perfection in China, it has obtained the name of
Chinese Porcelain, or China Ware.
In the Chinese language, porcelain is denoted by the Derivation,
word tse-ki, so that the derivation of the term is not to of the
be sought for in that language ; and hence it is suppos-name,
ed to be of European extraction, and to be derived from
the Portuguese language ; for in this language the word
porcellana signifies a cup or vessel. -
The first porcelain which was seen in Europe was Porcelain
brought from Japan and China. Its whiteness, trans- fh'st br°uglit
parency, fineness of texture, with its elegance and aiXchTa”
beautiful colours, soon introduced it as an ornament of and after-’
the tables of the rich and powerful, while at the same wards made
time it excited the admiration and industry of the Eu-in EuroPe‘
ropean manufacturer. Accordingly attempts were made
to imitate this kind of ware, in different countries of
Europe. These attempts have succeeded so well, that
the produce of the manufacture has acquired the name
of Porcelain. The first European porcelains were made
in Saxony 5 the manufacture was afterwards introduced
into France, and successively into England, Germany,
and Italy, where it has arrived at various degrees of
perfection, according to the nature of the materials
which can be obtained, and the industry and ingenuity
of the artist who superintends and directs it 5 but after
all, to whatever degree of perfection the manufacture of
this ware has reached in Europe, it must still yield, in
excellence and perfection, to the porcelain of eastern
countries. ^
Of the antiquity of the manufacture of porcelain in Antiquity
Ch ina, little precise information can be expected from a °* ^le
people.who have always shown themselves so extremely {r?es.e manu'
averse, to the freedom of intercourse with other nations5 Iy’
but it is said that the village or town of King-te-ching
has furnished the emperors of China with porcelain since
the year 442 of the Christian era, and that it is an ob¬
ject of so much attention to the Chinese government,
that the manufacture is carried on under the superin¬
tendance of one or two mandarins sent from court.
P O R
t
Poi'ce'ain.
Or osier's
general
descript,
of China.
i. History of the Manufacture of Porcelain in China.
and liistovy
ot it.
The fullest account which has yet been received in
Europe of the manufacture of Chinese porcelain, has
been piven by Father D’Entrecolles, a Romish mission-
nry> who lived for some time in the village or town
wdiere the principal manufactory is established. The ac¬
count which is given of this village, and ot the manu¬
facture of porcelain, by this author, is the following :
This village or town, which is celebrated as producing
the best porcelain of China, is in the province of Kiang-
si, and it is said to be a league and a half in length, con¬
taining not less than 1,000,000 of inhabitants. Other
manufactories, indeed, have been established in different
narts of the Chinese empire, and particularly in those
places which are convenient for the European trade, as
in the provinces of Fo-kien and Canton 5 but the por-
ctlain produced at these manufactories is said to be held
in inferior estimation. A Chinese emperor wishing to
have a manfacture of porcelain under his own inspec¬
tion at Pekin, ordered workmen to he collected for the
purpose, with all the necessary materials and implements;
hut after erecting furnaces and other expensive opera¬
tions, the attempt failed, so that King-te-tchimr. in the
time of our author, continued to be the most celebrated
place in China for beautiful porcelain, and from this it
was transported to all parts of the world. _ %
Materials The chief ingredients which enter into the composition
•employed in of fine porcelain are petuntse and kaolin, two kinds of
its composi-eaitb fYoni the mixture of which the paste is obtained,
tion. The petuntse is of a pure white, and, when fully pre¬
pared, is in the form of an impalpable powder, so that it
is very fine to the touch. rIhe kaolin, he observes, is
intermixed with small shining particles. These materi¬
als are carried to the manufactory in the shape of bricks.
The petuntse is originally the fragments of rock dug out
from certain quarries, and reduced to powder, and the
eolour of the stone which answers the purpose best, ac¬
cording to the Chinese, inclines somewhat to green.
The fragments of rock are broken to pieces with a large
iron club ; they are then put into mortars, and by means
of levers headed with hard stone, strongly secured with
iron, they are reduced to the state of fine powder. The
levers, it is scarcely necessary to observe, are moved ei¬
ther by the labour of men, or by water. ri he powder,
which is afterwards collected, is thrown into a large
vessel of water, which is strongly agitated with an iron
shovel. When this mixture has been allowed to settle
for some time, a substance resembling cream rises to the
top, which is skimmed oil, and poured into another ves¬
sel also filled with water. The water in the first vessel
is again agitated, and the frothy substance which rises
to the surface is collected as before, and the same ope¬
ration is repeated till it appear that nothing remains but
a coarse sediment which falls to the bottom by its own
weight. This sediment is carefully collected, and a-
gain subjected to the process of pulverization.
The fluid in the second vessel is allowed to remain at
rest till a sediment is produced, forming a kind of crust
.at the bottom ; and when the water above seems to be
quite transparent, it is poured off by gently inclining
the vessel, that the sediment may not be disturbed. I he
.paste is then put into large moulds, and allowed to dry
slowly j hut before it becomes quite bard, it is divided
5
Prepara¬
tion of pS
iuntse,
184 J FOR
into small Square cakes, which are sold by the hundred. Porcelaj
This is the substance which is called by the Chinese —-y*
petuntse, and the name is said to be derived from the
colour and form of this paste. _ S
The kaolin, the other substance which is employed and of
in the fabrication of porcelain, requires fewer opera-
tions in its preparation than the former, as it is found
in nature in a state almost ready for the manufacturer.
Of this substance it is said, that there are extensive
mines in certain mountains; the external strata of
which are composed of a kind of redearth. The kaolin
is found in these mines in small lumps, and it is formed
into bricks by being subjected to a similar process with
the petuntse, &c. , , . v„. 9
The fine porcelain, it has been observed, derives its Nature
fabric and texture from the kaolin. It is to this that the
qualities which it possesses of resisting the most power¬
ful agents is owing; and it has been remarked as an
extraordinary circumstance, that a soft earth snould
communicate strength and consistency to the petuntse,
which is obtained from some of the hardest rocks. Ihe
author relates an anecdote which he received frotR *
rich Chinese merchant, that the English and Dutch ha¬
ving purchased a quantity of petuntse, conveyed it to
Europe for the purpose of manufacturing porcelain ;
but having procured none of the kaolin, the attempt
failed They wanted, added the Chinese with a smile,
to form a body, the flesh of which would support itself
'V1 It^is"said that the Chinese have discovered of hte
years a new substance which may be employed in the
composition of porcelain. This stone is called hoa-che,
the first part of the word signifies glutinous, because it
is of a saponaceous quality. Porcelain made with this
substance is very rare, and bears a much higher price
than anv other. ‘The grain is extremely fine, and the
painting with which it is ornamented, when compared
with that of common porcelain, seems to exceed it as
much as vellum surpasses paper. This variety oi porce¬
lain, it is added, is also remarkable for its lightness. Jt
is besides much more brittle, and it is found difficult to
hit upon the proper degree of heat for tempering it.
This substance, we are farther informed, is but rarely
employed in the fabrication of the body of the porce¬
lain ; the reason of this perhaps is, the scarcity and high
price of this precious article, in consequence of which
the workman is contented with making it into a fine
size, into which the vessel is immersed when it is dry,
that it may receive a coat before it is painted and
glazed ; and by this process he finds that he can com¬
municate to the war* a high degree of beauty. ^ lue
previous processes in the preparation of this substance
are similar to those which are followed in the prepara¬
tion of kaolin. When hoa-che is dug out from the
mine, it is washed in rain or river water, tor the purpose
of separating a yellowish earth with which it is con¬
taminated. It is then reduced to powder, thrown into
a vessel filled with water, and then formed into cakes.
The hoa-ehe prepared in this manner, without the ad¬
dition of any other earth, is said to be alone sufficient
in the fabrication of porcelain. It is employed, as has
been already noticed, as a substitute for kaolin ; but, on
account of its scarcity, is much dearer. Ihe price ot
the former is three times that ot the latter, and from
this circumstance the value of porceffiin made with hoa-
che
P O R
[
rceliiin.
teiial
fflazin
celain.
die is nnich higher than that which is manufactured
with kaolin.
The principal ingredients in the fabrication of porce¬
lain are petuntse and kaolin ; but to these must be added
the glaze 01 varnish^ or? as it is called in the account
given of Chinese porcelain, the oil, on which depend its
splendour and whiteness. This varnish is of a whitish
colour, and is obtained from the same kind of stone
which yields the petuntse-, but for this purpose the
whitest stone is always preferred. The glaze is ob¬
tained by a process similar to that which ^followed in
the preparation of petuntse. This stone is first washed and
reduced to powder ^ it is then thrown into a vessel with
water, and alter being purified, a frothy matter rises to
the surface. lo 100 pounds of this matter, one pound
of a substance called che-kao, is added. This latter
is a saline substance, somewhat like alum, which is put
into the fire, and allowed to remain till it become red
hot, when it is reduced to powder. By the addition of
this substance the glaze acquires a greater degree of
consistence, but at the same time a proper degree
of fluidity must be preserved. The glaze prepar¬
ed in this manner is not employed alone. Another
glaze is mixed with it, which is obtained from lime
and ashes ; to 100 pounds weight of which is also added
one pound of che-kao, or the aluminous substance men¬
tioned above. W ben the two substances are mixed, it is
necessary to attend that they be nearly of the same con¬
sistence, and the workman ascertains this point by dip¬
ping into each of them some cakes of petuntse ; and by
a close examination of their surfaces after they are
drawn out, he is able to judge of the consistence of the
fluids. The proportions of the two which are usually
employed, are 10 parts of the glaze obtained from the
stone, to one of that which is prepared from the lime
and from ashes.
In the manufacture of the Chinese porcelain, the
first process after the separate preparation of the mate¬
rials, is a second purification of the petuntse and kao¬
lin 5 and when they are found to be in a state of suffi-
2 cient purity, the workmen proceed to mix the two in-
ortion gredients together. The proportions employed for the
nix- finer kinds of porcelain are equal parts of kaolin and
»fthe petuntse j for an inferior kind, four parts of kaolin to
llents- six of petuntse are employed -, and in some kinds of por¬
celain, only one part of the former is added to three of the
latter. This is the smallest proportion of kaolin which
is employed in the Chinese manufactories. When the
proportions are fixed, and the mixture finished, the mass
is thrown into a large pit, which is well paved and ce¬
mented. It is then trodden upon, and kneaded till it
become hard. This is the most fatiguing part of the
labour, for it must be continued without intermission.
From the mass prepared in this manner the workmen
detach different pieces, which they spread out upon large
slates, where they knead and roll them in all directions,
taking care that no vacuum be left, and that there be
no mixture of any foreign body. The whole work
would be entirely spoiled by the addition of a hair, or a
particle of sand. When the paste has been properly
prepared, the porcelain, when exposed to heat in the
furnace, retains its form without becoming soft, or en¬
tering into fusion, and becomes semitransparent, with-
mit exhibiting cracks or superficial fissures; but when
there is any defect in the mixture or preparation, the
^ ol. XVII. Part I. +
85 ] P O R
porcelain cracks, and becomes warped, or melts in the Porcek.nn
furnace. < v—
The paste being thus prepared, the next operation is ^
to form the vessels for which it is designed. All kinds ^let!lod of
of plain ware are formed with the wheel. When a cup, poredain
for instance, has undergone this operation, the outside ware,
of the bottom is quite round. The workman first gives
it the requisite height and diameter, and it comes from
his hands almost the moment he has received it. Great
dexterity and expedition are absolutely necessary, on ac¬
count of the low price of labour in these manufactories.
A workman, it is said, scarcely receives a farthing per
board, each board containing no less than 26 pieces.
The cup then passes to a second workman, by whom
the base is formed; it is then delivered to a third, who
applies it to the mould, and gives it the proper form.
When it is taken off the mould, it must be turned care¬
fully, and not pressed more to one side than the other;
for without ibis necessary precaution it would become
warped or disfigured. The business of the fourth work¬
man is to polish it with the chisel, especially round the
edges, and diminish the thickness, to give it the proper
degree of transparency. Having at length passed through
the different hands from whom it receives its form and
various ornaments, it then comes to the last workman,
who forms the bottom with a chisel. It is wonderful,
it is said, to see with how much dexterity and expedi¬
tion the workmen convey the vessels from one to an¬
other ; and it is added, that a single piece of porcelain,
before it is completely finished, must pass through the
hands of no fewer than 70 different workmen. It is
indeed, we may observe, to this minute division of la¬
bour that its low price is owing; and on the same circum¬
stance the remarkable dexterity and expedition which
have been noticed, depend.
In the execution of large works of porcelain, different on/rtc
parts are first formed individually; and when all the pieces work's^
are finished, and nearly dry, they are put together and
cemented with a paste formed of the same substance, and
softened with water. Some time after, the seams are po¬
lished with a knife on both sides of the vessel, so that when
it is covered with a varnish, or glazed, they are so com¬
pletely concealed, that the least trace of them is not per¬
ceptible. It is in this way that spouts, handles, rings, and
other parts of a similar nature, are united. In this way
particularly are fabricated those pieces which are formed
upon moulds, or by the hand, such as embossed works,
grotesque images, idols, figures of trees or animals, and
busts. All these are formed of four or five pieces joined
together, which are afterwards brought to perfection by
means of instruments proper for carving, polishing, and
finishing the different traces which the mould has left
imperfect. Flowers and ornaments which are not in re¬
lief, are either engraved, or the impression is made by
means of a stamp ; but ornaments in relief are prepared
separately, and added to the pieces of porcelain to which
they are destined.
The piece of porcelain being prepared according to
the operations now described, is next conveyed to the
painter: and in this art it is observed that the Chi¬
nese workmen follow no certain rule, and seem to be
unacquainted with any of the principles of perspective.
Their knowledge is the effect of practice, guided often
by a whimsical imagination. The labour of painting
porcelain in the Chinese manufactories is also divided
A a among
FOB.
■Porcelain.
[ 1
among a great number of bands. The business ol one
man, for instance, is solely limited to tracing out the
first coloured circle with which the brim of the vessel is
adorned ; another designs the flowers, and a third paints
One delineates waters and mountains, while it
them.
rtf
Veined por¬
celain and
fret-work.
I?
"Singular
ki nd of
porcelaia.
Chinese
furnaces.
is the province of another to draw and paint birds and
other animals. Of the painting on Chinese porcelain,
it has been observed, that the human figure is often most
indifferently executed ,
A peculiar kind of glaze or varnish, we are informed,
is obtained from white flint. This glaze, it is said, has
the singular property of making the pieces ol porcelain
to which it is applied exhibit the appearance ol veins
distributed in all directions. Vessels glazed with this
material seem as if the surface were cracked, without the
fragments being separated or displaced. . The colour of
this glaze is whitish gray •, and when it is applied to
porcelain having an azure blue ground, it communi¬
cates a beautifully variegated appearance. Vasesof Chi-
11 esc porcelain are sometimes fabricated in a different
manner. They are ornamented with a kind of fret¬
work, which has something ol the appearance of fine
lace, in the middle of which is placed a cup proper lor
holding any liquid j which constitutes one body with the
surrounding fret-work.
We are informed that the Chinese workmen formerly
possessed the secret of fabricating a kind of porcelain of
a more singular nature. On the sides of the vessel thus
formed were painted the figures ol fishes, insects, and
other animals, which could not be seen unless the vessel
was filled with water. It is said that this secret is in a
great measure lost j hut the following is given as part of
the process of preparing this kind ot porcelain. Ihe
vessel which is to be painted, for the purpose ol produ¬
cing this peculiar effect, must be extremely thin and de¬
licate. When it is dry, the colour is laid on, not on
the outside, however, as is usually the case, but on
the inside of the vessel, and it is laid on pretty thick.
The figures winch are painted upon it are usually fishes,
as being more characteristic oi the element in which
they live. When the colour is perfectly dry, it is coated
over with a kind of glaze, composed of porcelain eaith,
80 that the azure is thus inclosed between two layers of
earthy matter *, and when the glaze becomes dry, the
workman pours some oil into the vessel, and putting it
upon a mould, applies it to the lathe. Porcelain lain i-
cated in this manner, having received its consistence and
body within, it is the object of the workmen to make it
as thin as possible on the outside, without penetrating to
the colour. The external surface is then dipped into a
mixture for glazing, and when it is dry it is baked in a
common furnace. This kind of porcelain is known by
the name of kia-tsing, signifying pressed azure. It is
supposed that the Chinese do not at present possess the
art of making porcelain of this description, which re¬
quires a great deal of dexterity and delicate manage¬
ment *, and it is added, that they have imperfectly suc¬
ceeded in the attempts which have been occasionally
made to discover the secret of this curious process.
The next process in the manufacture of porcelain is
baking ; but before we describe the method of arranging
and managing the furnaces employed for this purpose,
we shall give a short account of their construction. 1 he
Chinese furnaces for baking porcelain are furnished with
a long porch, for the purpose of conveying air, and in
36 1 FOB
some measure as a substitute for bellows. This porch Porcelain
answers the same purpose as the arch of a glass-lioU"ej v~—
but the furnaces which, as the author from whom the
account is taken observes, were formerly only six leet in
height, and the same in length, are now constructed
upon a much more extensive plan. Tdiey are 12 leet
hi ah, and nearly four broad ; and the rool and sides are
so^thick, that the powerful heat which is applied inter¬
nally does not penetrate to the outside, at least so much
as to be inconvenient to bear it on the application ol the
hand. The dome or roof is in the form of an inverted
funnel, having a large aperture at the top by which the
smoke escapes. Beside the principal aperture, there are
five others of smaller dimensions, which are covered with
broken pots in such a manner that the workman can in¬
crease or diminish the heat as he finds it necessary.
Through these apertures also he is able to see the pro¬
gress of the baking of the porcelain, and can judge
when it is completed. By uncovering the hole which is
nearest the principal opening, he opens with a pair ot
pincers one of the cases containing the pieces ol porce¬
lain, and if he perceives a bright fire in the lurnace, and
all the pieces brought to a red heat, as well as the co¬
lours of the porcelain appearing with a full lustre, he
concludes that the process is finished. He then dimi¬
nishes the fire, and entirely shuts up the mouth ot the
furnace for some time. In the bottom of the furnace
there is a deep hearth about two feet in breadth, over
which a plank is laid, in order that the workman may
enter to arrange the porcelain. V\ hen the fire is kin¬
dled on the hearth, the mouth of the furnace is imme¬
diately closed up, and an aperture is left only sufficient
for the admission of faggots, about a foot in length, but
very narrow. The furnace is first heated lor a day and
a night, after which two men keep continually thioviing
wood into it, and relieve each other by turns. One
hundred and eighty loads are consumed for one baking.
As the porcelain is burning hot, the workman employs
for the purpose of taking it out, long scarfs or pieces of
cloth, which are suspended from his neck. 1*
Having thus given a concise account of the con
struction of the Chinese furnaces, we proceed now
lay before our raaders the method of baking porcelain
which is followed in that country. After the porcelain
has received its proper lorm, its colours, and all the in¬
tended ornaments, it is transported from the manufac¬
tory to the furnace, which is sometimes situated at the
other end of the village already mentioned. In a kind
of portico, which is erected before it, may be seen vast
numbers of boxes and eases made of earth, lor the pur¬
pose of inclosing the porcelain. Bach piece, however
inconsiderable it may be, has its own case and the Chi¬
nese workman, by means of this procedure, imitates na¬
ture, which, in order to bring the fruits of the earth to
maturity, clothes them in a covering, to defend them
from the excessive heat of the sun during the day, and
from the severity of the cold during the night.
A layer of fine sand is put into the bottom of these
boxes, which is covered over with the powder ol kaolin,
to prevent the sand from adhering too closely to the bot¬
tom of the vessel. The piece of porcelain is then pla¬
ced upon this bed of sand, and pressed gently down, in
order that the sand may take the form ot the bottom of
the vessel, which does not touch the sides of its case:
the case has no cover. A second, prepared in the same
manner,
FOR [ i
ircelain. manner, and containing its vessel, is fitted into the first,
so that it entirely shuts it, without touching the porce¬
lain which is below } and thus the furnace is filled up
with piles of cases, which defend the pieces they con¬
tain from the direct action of the fire.
With regard to small pieces of porcelain, such as
tea-cups, they are inclosed in common cases about four
inches in height. Each piece is placed upon a saucer
of earth about twice as thick as a crown-piece, and equal
in breadth to its bottom. These small cases are also
sprinkled over with the dust of the kaolin. When the
cases are large, the porcelain is not placed in the middle,
because it would be too far removed from the sides, and
consequently from the action of the fire.
These piles of cases are put into the furnace, and pla¬
ced upon a bed of coarse sand six inches thick $ those
by which the middle space is occupied are at least seven
feet high. The two boxes which are at the bottom of
each pile remain empty, because the lire acts too feebly
upon them, and because they are partly covered by the
sand. For the same reason, the case which is placed at
the top of each pile is also allowed to remain empty.
The piles containing the finest porcelain are placed in
the middle part of the furnace $ the coarsest are put at
its farthest extremity j and those pieces which have the
most body and strongest colouring are near its mouth.
These different piles are placed very closely in the
furnace ; they materially support each other by pieces
©f earth, which bind them at the top, bottom, and
middle, but in such a manner, that a free passage is
left for the flame to insinuate itself everywhere around
them.
The Chinese divide their porcelain into several kinds
or classes, distinguishing each according to the different
pc.:lam. degrees of beauty and fineness The whole of the first
or most perfect kind is reserved for the emperor; none
of it, we are assured, ever comes into the hands of the
public, unless, on account of blemishes or imperfections,
it is unworthy of being presented to the sovereign.
Many have doubted whether at any time the largest and
finest porcelain of China has ever been brought to Eu¬
rope. None of that kind, at least, is offered to sale at
Canton. I he Chinese, who are apt to undervalue the
productions of other countries, entertain a favourable
opinion of the Dresden porcelain, and hold in still high¬
er estimation the porcelain which is produced in the
French manufactories.
:“,orge TJie following is a short account of the Chinese por-
Sty ton’s celain manufactures by Sir George Staunton. “ From
went of the river,” says he, “ were seen several excavations made
in extracting from the sides of the adjoining hills, the
petuntse useful in the manufacture of porcelain. This
material is a species of fine granite, or compound of
quartz, feldspar, and mica, in which the quartz seems
to bear the largest proportion. It appears from several
experiments, that it is the same as the growan stone of
the Cornish miners. The micaceous part, in some of
this granite from both countries, often contains some
particles of iron, in which ease it will not answer the
potter’s purpose. This material can be calcined and
ground much finer by the improved mills of Enoland,
than by the very imperfect machinery of the Chinese,
and at a cheaper rate than the prepared petuntse of
their own country, notwithstanding the cheapness of la
hour there.
20
1) rent
ki , of
87 3 FOR
“ Ihe kaolin, or principal matter mixed with the pe«
tuntse is the growan clay also of the Cornish miners.
Ihe wha-she of the Chinese is the English soap-rock;
and the she-kan is asserted to be gypsum. It was relat¬
ed by a Chinese manufacturer in 'that article, that the
asbestos, or incombustible fossil stone, entered also into
the composition of porcelain. A village, or unwalled
town, called Kin-te-chin, was not very far distant from
this part of the present traveller’s route, in which 3000
furnaces for baking porcelain were said to be lighted
at a time, and gave to the place at night the appearance
of a town on hre. The genius or spirit of that element
is indeed, with some propriety, the principal deity wor¬
shipped there. The manufacture of porcelain is said to
be pit-carious, from the want of some precise method of
ascertaining and regulating the heat within the furnaces,
in consequence of which their whole contents are baked
sometimes into one solid and useless mass. Mr Wedg¬
wood’s thermometer, founded on the quality observed
by him, of clay contracting in proportion to the degree
of fiie to which it is exposed, might certainly be of use
to a Fhinpsp nnff-pi'* 21
PorecIafM.
* Kmbassy
to China,
to a Chinese potter*.
2. Inquiries of Reaumur into the Nature of Porcelain.ili*
The first scientific investigation which was made into
the nature of porcelain, was undertaken by the celebra¬
ted Reaumur; and the result of his researches was com¬
municated to the Fiench Academy of Sciences in the
years 1727 and 1729. It was not the external form or
appearance, nor was it the decorations of painting and uon
gilding, which are by no means essential to porcelain, cXin t
that constituted the object of his inquiries. His exami-amiued
nation was particularly directed to the peculiar texture
and fabric of this substance, with the view of ascer¬
taining the nature and proportions of its constituent
parts. For this purpose, he broke to pieces some of the
Japanese, the Saxon, and the French porcelains, and
carefully noted the peculiarities and differences in their
texture. The grain or texture of the Japanese porcelain
appeared to possess a considerable degree of closeness and
compactness, with a smooth and somewhat shining as¬
pect. He found that the Saxon porcelain was still more
compact, and that it was smooth, and shining like ena¬
mel, but had nothing of the granular texture. In Iris
examination of the French porcelain, he observed that
it had much of the shining appearance, and that its
grain was not so close and fine as that of the oriental
porcelain, having some resemblance to the grain or tex¬
ture of sugar. Such were the observations which oc¬
curred to the I’ rench philosopher at the commencement of
his inquiries into the nature of porcelains, and hence he
justly concluded, that they were characterised by very
marked differences.
Proceeding in Iris investigation, the same philosopher Eff 23
subjected different porcelains to the action of heat; and heaTon'
the result of his experiments with this powerful agent porcelain*
proved, that they might he distinguished by still more
decisive characters; for it appeared that the porcelain of
the east suffered no change from the action of the
greatest heat, whereas that of European manufacture
underwent fusion at no very high temperature. This
remarkable difference between the Chinese and Euro¬
pean porcelains, suggested to Reaumur an ingenious
thought, which at last led him to the discovery of the
A a 2 true
por-
t*x-
FOR
matter.
d „ true nature of the composition of porcelain
■ 01-Cy u ') served that all porcelains have some resemblance to g ass
in some of their general properties, although they axe
less compact, he considered them as in the state ot a se¬
mi vitrified substance. An earthy substance, he obser¬
ved, may be iu a semivitrified state in two ways, it
may, in the first place, be entirely composed ot vxtrih-
able or fusible matters ; and this being the case, when
it is exposed to the action of fire, provided the heat be
sufficiently strong and long continued, it will be melted
or vitrified. But as this clxange is not efiected instantly,
particularly where a violent degree of heat is not ap¬
plied ; and as it passes through different degrees, the
progress of which may be more easily observed accord¬
ing as the heat is managed and regulated •, it followed,
that by stopping in proper time the application ot the
heat to porcelain prepared in this way, the ware may
be obtained in an intermediate state between those ot
crude earths and completely vitrified substances, while,
at the same time, it possesses the semitransparency and
other distinguishing properties ot porcelain. Porcelain
of this nature, it is well known, being exposed to a
stronger degree of heat, undergoes perfect fusion and
compfete vitrification. All the European porcelains
which were subjected to experiment by Reaumur, weie
found to be of this fusible nature.
24 But on the other hand, porcelain may be composed
Porcelai.n f0f fusible or vitrifiable matter, mixed in certain propor-
. fusTblfTand tions with another matter, which is absolutely infusible
infusible in the strongest heat to which it can be exposed in the
furnace 5 and hence, if a mixture of this kind be sub¬
jected to a heat sufficient to melt entirely the vitrifiable
part of its composition, this will enter into fusion ; but
being mixed with another matter which is infusible, and
which consequently retains its consistency and opacity,
the whole will form a compound, partly opaque, and
partly transparent, or, in other words, a semitransparent
mass j that is, a semivitrified substance, or porcelain,
but possessing qualities totally distinct from those of the
former. For as the fusible part of the latter has been
brought to its utmost degree of fusibility during the pro¬
cess of baking, although the compound may be exposed
a second time to a still stronger degree of heat, it will
not approach nearer to complete vitrification, that is, it
will retain all the qualities of perfect porcelain. Reau¬
mur found that the porcelain of the east was distinguish¬
ed by the properties now described 5 and hence he con¬
cluded, that its component parts were arranged on the
principle above alluded to. Ibis opinion was afteiwards
confirmed by the most incontrovertible facts, deduced
from a train of the most satisfactory and well directed
experiments. . ,
The ingredients which enter into the composition of
the Chinese porcelain, namely, the petuntse and kaolin,
were the next object of Reaumur’s inquiries. Having-
obtained quantities of each, he subjected them separate¬
ly to a strong heat, and he found that the petuntse en¬
tered into fusion, without addition but it appeared
that the kaolin was absolutely infusible. Pie then mix¬
ed the two ingredients, formed them into cakes, and
exposed them in a furnace to the proper degree of heat;
so that by baking they were converted into porcelain
exactly similar to that of the Chinese. From these ex¬
periments it appeared, that the petuntse of the Chinese
was a vitrifiable substance, and that the kaolin was of a
25 .
The kaolin
infusible,
the pe¬
tuntse a'
vitrifiable
matter.
[ 188 ] FOR
Havino- ob- different nature, quite refractory, and totally infusible, [.reels,,
After this discovery Reaumur, it would seem, entertain-
ed hopes that he might find materials in France, capable
of making porcelain, possessing the same valuable quali¬
ties as that of China ; but whether his researches in the
discovery of proper materials in his own country, par¬
ticularly that which corresponds to the petuntse of the
Chinese, or whether he was prevented by other avoca¬
tions from prosecuting his inquiries, it does not appear.
But in his second memoir upon porcelain, we find, that
he afterwards attempted to compose an artificial pe¬
tuntse, by mixing vitrifiable stones with such saline bo¬
dies as were capable of rendering them fusible, or even
by substituting for this artificial preparation glass ready
formed, with the addition of such matters as he supposed
might be successfully employed in the place of kaolin j
but it would appear that he did not at the time prose¬
cute his inquiries, for the subject was not resumed till
the year when he announced the discoveiy ol a
process for converting common glass to a peculiar kind
of porcelain, which has been since known by the name
of Reaumur's ‘porcelain. > 26
Although it must appear, from the detail now given, Mistakes
that Reaumur was directed in his researches by the trueReaumui
spirit of philosophical inquiry, he seems to have been
misled in certain points. One of his errors was relative
to the Saxon porcelain, which he confounded with the
other fusible porcelains of European manufacture, unless
it be supposed that the porcelain of Saxony was formerly
composed of entirely fusible or vitrifiable matters, and
that it ivas porcelain of this description which he ex-
mined } for it is now certain, that all the porcelain of
that country is capable ol resisting the most powerful
heat, and is therefore equally infusible with that of
China or Japan. The appearance of the internal tex¬
ture of the Saxon porcelain may have led the philoso¬
pher ta this erroneous conclusion \ for when it is bro¬
ken, the internal surface does not exhibit a granular
texture, but is uniform, smooth, shining, and compact,
having much resemblance to white enamel. Ibis ap¬
pearance, however, so far from proving that the porce¬
lain of Saxony is a fused or vitrified substance, shews,
that it is not entirely composed of fusible matters.. J he
internal surface ol the most lusible porcelains, it is well
known to those who are acquainted with the subject, is
also the least dense, and the least compact; for no vi¬
treous matter can be internally smooth and dense, with- ^7^
out having been in a state of complete fusion. But fftheSaM
the density and shining appearance ol the porcelain ofp0rceiaii
Saxony depended only on the effects of the fusion ol a
vitreous matter, how is it to be supposed, that vessels
formed of that fusible matter should have sustained the
necessary degree of heat for producing the density and
shining appearance, without having entirely lost their
shape ? ....
This peculiar quality of the Saxon porcelain, it is in¬
ferred, must then depend on another cause. Like every
other porcelain, especially that of China and Japan, it
contains a fusible substance, which has been in a state
of complete fusion during the process of baking. I he
density and the internal lustre depend chielly on this
fused matter •, but it is also certain, that the Saxon por¬
celain contains a large proportion of a substance which
is absolutely infusible, and from which it derives its
beautiful white appearance, its firmness and solidity,
during
it:
P O R [I
]|t;elain. during the process of baking. It is this infusible sub-
stance which is to be considered as the substitute for the
kaolin of China, and which possesses the property of con¬
siderably contracting its dimensions, while it unites with
the fusible material. According to the observation of
Macquer, if it be subjected to the most decisive trial,
namely, the action of a violent fire, which is capable of
melting every porcelain composed only of fusible mate¬
rials, it appears as the result of numerous experiments,
that it remains infusible, unless it be exposed to a heat
which is also capable of melting the best and most per¬
fect porcelain of Japan. The Saxon porcelain, there¬
fore, is not to be confounded with porcelain manufac¬
tured of vitreous and fusible materials ; for it seems to
be equally excellent as that of Japan, and in some of its
properties perhaps superior, as will appear from an ex¬
amination of the qualities which constitute the peculiar
|8 excellence of porcelain.
aruvitli Reaumur seems also to have taken an erroneous view
re. J to of the nature of the Chinese kaolin. According to his
tb hmeseaccountj tjjjg matter is a fine talky powder, from the
mixture of which with petuntse, the porcelain of the
east is manufactured. It is not impossible, it has been
observed, that a porcelain similar to the Chinese might
be produced from a talky substance of this nature mixed
with petuntse 5 but it is well known to those who are at
all familiar with the manufacture of any porcelain, that
no vessels can be formed, unless the paste of which they
are made possess that degree of ductility and tenacity
which renders them fit for being worked upon the lathe,
or fashioned in the mould. But substances of a talky
nature, to whatever degree of fineness they may he re¬
duced, never acquire the requisite ductility and tenacity
which clays of all earthy substances only possess. But
as it appears that the Chinese porcelain has been turned
upon the lathe, it is obvious that they must have been
formed of a very tenacious paste ; and hence it is con¬
cluded, that kaolin is not purely a talky matter, but
mixed with clay, otherwise the petuntse and kaolin, ac¬
cording to the supposition of Reaumur, are not the only
ingredients which enter into the composition of Chinese
porcelain 5 but the addition of a certain proportion of
some matter of a tenacious quality is absolutely requi¬
site.
3. Peculiar Properties of Porcelain.
'ore
It maybe worth while now to consider the properties
which constitute the perfection of porcelain j and here
it is necessary, carefully to discriminate between the
qualities which are to be regarded as only contributing
5 to the external decoration, and the intrinsic and essential
ial properties in which the fabric and perfection of porce-
?s of lain consist. Those who have been occupied in experi-
im' ruents on this subject, have not found it difficult to form
compositions which are very white, beautifully semi¬
transparent, and covered with a shining glazing ; but
which are extremely deficient in the more essential pro¬
perties, as it appears they cannot be subjected to the ne¬
cessary operations for want of a proper degree of tena¬
city ; are not sufficiently compact ; are quite fusible,
subject to break by the sudden application of heat or
cold, and from the softness of the glazing, which cracks
and becomes rough, are soon deprived of their lustre.
Bn the other hand, it is by no means difficult to form
89 ] FOR
compositions of pastes, which are very tenacious, and porcelain.
which are capable of being easily worked and well 1 
baked, and in the process of baking which acquire the
requisite degree of hardness and density; which are in¬
fusible, and capable of resisting the effects of sudden
changes of heat and cold, and, in short, which possess
all the qualities of the most excellent porcelain, except¬
ing its whiteness and beauty. Materials fit for the com¬
position of such porcelains, it will appear, may be found
abundantly in most countries 5 but the difficulty in the
manufacture of this ware is to unite beauty and good¬
ness in one composition. The materials fit for the ma¬
nufacture of the finer and more perfect porcelains, seem
to be sparing productions of nature ; and therefore the
best kind of porcelain, it is presumed, will always be re¬
garded as a valuable and high-priced commodity. 80
It may be observed, that the potteries called stone- Nature of
ware, possess all the essential qualities of the Japanesestoneware*
porcelain ; for, excepting the whiteness, on which alone
the semitransparency depends, if we compare the pro¬
perties of Japanese porcelain with those of our stone¬
ware, little difference is found to exist between them.
Both seem to possess the same granular texture 5 both
have the same sonorous quality, when struck with a
hard body ; both have the same density ; they possess
also the same hardness, by which they strike fire with
steel ; they can resist the effects of the heat of boiling
liquors without breaking, and are equally infusible
when subjected to violent heat. Hence it is inferred,
that if the earth which enters into the composition of
stoneware, were free from foreign coloimng matters,
which prevent the whiteness and semitransparency, and
if the vessels were carefully formed and coloured with a
fine glaze, they would not be less perfect than the por¬
celain of the east. Earths fit for the production of the
more perfect kinds of porcelain, are supposed to he more
rare in Europe than in Japan and China ; and hence
probably it has happened, that, from the want of these
earths, the first manufacturers of the porcelain in Eu¬
rope confined themselves to an external imitation, by
employing only vitrifiable matters with fusible salts, and
a small quantity of white earth, from which fusible and
vitreous porcelains were composed. Such might not
improperly be denominated false porcelains ; but great
improvements have taken place since the first introduc¬
tion of the manufacture of porcelain into Europe. Ge¬
nuine white porcelains have been long ago produced in
Germany, and especially in Saxony. These porcelains
are in no respect inferior to those of China or Japan.
I hey are found even to be considerably superior in
beauty and whiteness to the productions of the eastern
manufactories of modern times 5 for in these qualities
the porcelains of the latter have greatly degenerated.
And in one of the most valuable qualities of porcelain,
namely, the property of resisting the effects of sudden
changes of heat and cold, the European porcelain ex¬
ceeds that of China or Japan. The quality of porce¬
lain, it is to be observed, is not to be judged of by a
slight trial ; for as numerous circumstances concur to
render a piece of porcelain capable or incapable of re¬
sisting the effects of heat or cold, boiling water may he
at the same time poured into two vessels, one of which
is good porcelain, and the other of an opposite quality,
it is not impossible that the former may break, and the
latter may remain entire. The true method of discover-
2
ing
FOR
[ i9° ]
FOR
'frfl'celain.
31
Japanese
porcelain
reckoned
the most
perfect,
34
hut not
superior
that of
Saxony.
mg tvliat Is good porcelain, is to examine several piece,
of it which are in daily use*, and it has been found,
that in many such pieces of porcelain of oriental manu¬
facture, which have been long used, cracks are always
seen in the direction of their height, which are never
perceived in the more perfect porcelains of European
manufacture. . . • . . ,1 „ t„
It has long been a very general opinion, that the Ja¬
panese porcelain is the most perfect *, it has indeed con¬
tinued to be the object of admiration and emulation,
and has been held up as a model for the European ma¬
nufacturer *, a model which has not yet been equal ed,
and which, according to the opinion of some, cannot be
equalled. In deciding on this subject, the Saxon porce¬
lain is considered as inferior to the Japanese, on account
of its greater smoothness, lustre, and less granular aspect
of its Internal texture, qualities in which it ought rea y
to he regarded as superior to the porcelain from Japan.
This surface has a near resemblance to that of glass, and
it is supposed that this similarity has suggested the opi¬
nion ; and it would be well founded, if the density and
lustre of the European porcelain depended on the fusible
and vitreous property of the ingredients of which it is
composed : but this not being the case, and the baxon
porcelain being equally fixed and infusible as that of Ja¬
pan, its superior density must be admitted as a valuable
property. For in the comparison of different porcelains
which are equal in other properties, that which is most
firm and compactcertainlyclaims the superiority. Hence
it is that the internal texture of the Japanese porcelain
is held in greater estimation, because it possesses a great¬
er degree of density, compactness and lustre, than the
European porcelain, which is composed only of vitreous
sand or fritt. For a similar reason the superior density
of the Saxon porcelain ought to obtain for it a prefer¬
ence to that which is imported from the east. It is sup¬
posed besides, that it would be no difficult matter to
communicate to the Saxon porcelain the granular tex¬
ture of the Japanese, by mixing with the paste a certain
proportion of sand or siliceous earth. But in this point,
in producing by these means a nearer resemb ance to
the Japanese porcelain, those who conducted and brought
to
some of the pieces of this porcelain. Statues, and even Porcelain,
groups of figures half as large as nature, and modelled' r-
from some of the finest antiques, were formed of it.
The furnaces, he observed, in which the porcelain was
subjected to the process of baking, were constructed with
a great deal of ingenuity, and were lined with bricks
made of the same materials as those which entered into
the composition of the porcelain itself*, and hence they
were able to resist the effects of high degrees of heat.
The paste of the porcelain manufactured at Florence
appeared to be extremely beautiful, and to possess all
the qualities of the best oriental porcelain. 1 he glazing
employed in this manufactory seemed to be interior 111
whiteness, a circumstance which is supposed to be owing
to the desire of using those materials only which aie
found in the country. 33
In France a greater number of manufactories of por- Mamifac.
celain has been established than in any other country
and it must be allowed that the French have had won- fl.ancC(
derful success in the improvement and perfection of this
manufacture. Some time even before Reaumur commu¬
nicated the result of his inquiries, porcelain was manu¬
factured at St Cloud, and in the suburb of St Antoine
at Paris. This porcelain indeed was of the vitreous or
fusible kind, but at the same time possessed no inconsi¬
derable degree of beauty. Since the period to which we
allude, extensive manufactories of porcelain have been
established at Villenoy, Chantilly, and Orleans, and at
those places the manufacture has been brought to a great
degree of,,perfection. But the productions of the cele¬
brated porcelain manufactory at Sevres, on account of
the pure shining white, the fine glazing and coloured
grounds, the splendour and magnificence of the gilding,
and the elegance and taste displayed in the shape and
figures, are universally allowed to surpass every thing of
the kind which has yet appeared.
In speaking of the French porcelain, we may notice
the result of some researches which were made on this
subject by Guettard, and of which an account appeared
in the Memoirs of the Academy of Sciences for the
year 1765. In the neighbourhood of Alen^on, M.
Guettard discovered a whitish argillaceous eaitb, in
This earth he
XO peiiUGLIAJIl *•      # ' .
ble that their porcelain would sink m its valuable pro¬
perties.
4. Porcelain Manufactories in different parts of Europe.
Manufactories of porcelain have been long established
in almost every country of Europe. Besides that of Saxo¬
ny, which was the first established in Europe, porcelain
is made to a considerable extent at V ienna, at I ranken-
dal and in the neighbourhood of Berlin, and in other
places of the German states. The German porcelains
are similar to those of Saxony, and are composed of simi¬
lar materials, although from differences in the propor¬
tions, or in the modes of managing the manufactories,
considerable differences arise in the porcelains manufac¬
tured at different places. Italy also is celebrated for
its porcelain manufactures, the chief of which, it is said,
are carried on at Naples. When M. de la Condamine
travelled into Italy, he visited a manufacture of porce¬
lain established at Florence, by the marquis de la Ginor,
who wa* then governor of Leghorn. I he French tra¬
veller was particularly struck with the large size of
2
employed as a substitute for kaolin. The substance
which he used in place of the petuntse, he obtained from
a hard stone, which is described as a quartzose gritt
stone, very abundant in that country, and with which
the streets of Alen^on are paved. \\ ith these materials
Guettard instituted a series of experiments on porcelain,
previous to the vear 1751, and was associated in his in
quines with the duke of Orleans. For many years the
count de Lauraguais, a member of the Academy of
Sciences, was keenly engaged in prosecuting experi¬
ments to discover the true nature of porcelain, and the
means by which the manufacture might be improved
and perfected. To obtain the object of his researches,
which was to produce porcelain that in its essential qua¬
lities might be equal to that of eastern countries, he
spared no trouble or expence j and it would appear that
he was not unsuccessful in his labours j for in the year
1766, when he exhibited some species of porcelain from
his manufactory to the members of the Academy of
Sciences, the persons who were appointed by that learn¬
ed body to examine their properties, delivered it as their
opinion, that of all the porcelain made in France, that
34
‘4ng-
P O R [ T
rcelain. of the count de Lauraguais approached most nearly in
-v—' the essential properties of solidity, texture and infusibi.
lity, to tiiat of China and Japan< ft is, said, however
that it was considerably deficient in whiteness and lustre*
when compared with the ancient porcelain of Japan. *
The manufacture of porcelain has been brought to a
great degree of perfection in England. In many of the
essential qualities, and particularly in the beauty and
richness of the paintings, as well as in the elegance of
the forms, the English porcelain is little inferior to that
of any other country. Manufactories of this ware have
been established in different parts of England. This
manufacture was first established at Derby about the
year 1750, by a Mr Duesbury, who is said to have been
a very ingenious artist. Since bis death the manufacto¬
ries received very considerable improvement, and chiefly
in the judicious methods pursued in the preparation of
the paste, and increasing the beauty of the ornaments.
I he ware itself is said not to equal in fineness that which
is manufactured in Saxony and France, although it is
greatly superior in respect of decoration and workman¬
ship. The paintings in general are rich, and executed
with taste, and the gilding and burnishing are extremely
beautiful. rIhe body of the semi-vitreous kind, which
is formed of a fine white clay, in combination with va¬
rious proportions of different fusible matters, has obtain¬
ed the name of porcelain. The best kind is wholly in¬
fusible, and i? glazed with a vitreous substance which
|5 has not a single particle of lead in its composition.
In .afford- The most famous manufactory of stone-ware, as well
as of other kinds of pottery, is at Burslem in Stafford¬
shire. This can be traced with certainty at least two
centuries back 5 but of its first introduction no tradition
remains. In 1686, as we learn from Dr Plot’s Natural
History of Staflordshire published in that year, only the
coarse yellow, red, black, and mottled wares, were made
in this country ; and the only materials employed for
them appear to have been the different coloured clays
which are found in the neighbourhood, and which form
some of the measures or strata of the coal-mines. These
clays made the body of the ware, and the glaze was pro¬
duced by powdered lead-ore, sprinkled on the pieces be¬
fore firing, with the addition of a little manganese for
some particular colours. The quantity of goods manu¬
factured was at that time so inconsiderable, that the
chief sale of them, the Doctor says, was “ to poor crate-
men, who carried them on their backs all over the coun¬
try.”
About the year 1690, two ingenious artisans from
Germany, of the name of Eller, settled near Burslem,
and carried on a small work for a little time. They
brought into this country the method of glazing stone¬
ware, by casting salt into the kiln while it is hot, and
some other improvements of less importance ; but find¬
ing they could not keep their secrets to themselves, they
left the place rather in disgust. From this time various
kmds of stone-ware, glazed by the fumes of salt in the
manner above mentioned, were added to the wares be¬
fore made. I he white kind, which afterwards became,
and for many succeeding years continued, the staple
bi anch of pottery, is said to have owed its origin to the
following accident. A potter, Mr Astbury, travelling
to London, perceived something amiss with one of his
torse’s eyes 3 an hostler at Dunstable said he could soon
91 ] POR
cure him, and for that purpose put a common black Porcelain.
flint stone into the fire. The patter observing it, when 
taken out, to be of a fine white, immediately conceived
the idea of improving his ware by the addition of this
mateiial to the whitest clay he could procure : accord¬
ingly he sent home a quantity of the flint stones of that
country, where they are plentiful among the chalk, and
by mixing them with tobacco-pipe clay, produced a
white stone-ware much superior to any that had been
seen before.
Some of the other potters soon discovered the source
of this superiority, and did not fail to follow his example.
For a long time they pounded the flint stones in private
rooms by manual labour in mortars 3 but many of the
poor workmen suffered severely from the dust of the
flint getting into their lungs, and producing dreadful
coughs, consumptions, and other pulmonary disorders.
These disasters, and the increased demand for the flint
powder, induced them to try to grind it by mills of va¬
rious constructions ; and this method being found both
effectual and safe, has continued in practice ever since.
M ith these improvements, in the beginning of the pre¬
sent century, various articles were produced for tea and
coffee equipages. Soon after attempts were made to
furnish the dinner table also 3 and before the middle of
the century, utensils for the table were manufactured in
quantity as well for exportation as home consumption.
But the salt glaze, the only one then in use for this
purpose, is in its own nature so imperfect, and the pot¬
ters, from an injudicious competition among themselves
for cheapness, rather than excellence, had been so inat¬
tentive to elegance of form and neatness of workman¬
ship, that this ware was rejected from the tables of per¬
sons of rank 3 and about the year 1760, a white ware,
much more beautiful and better glazed than ours, be¬
gan to be imported in considerable quantities from
France. „6
The inundation of a foreign manufacture, so much Improved
superior to any of our own, must have had very^had ef-^ VVedtf-
fects upon the potteries of this kingdom, if a new^ibe, w00‘i"
still more to the public taste, had not appeared soon af¬
ter. In the year 1763, Mr Josiah Wedgwood, who bad
already introduced several improvements into this art,
invented a species of earthen ware for the table quite
new in its appearance, covered with a rich and brilliant
glaze, bearing sudden alternations of heat and cold, ma¬
nufactured with ease and expedition, and consequently
cheap, and having every requisite for the purpose in¬
tended. To this new manufacture the queen was ^
pleased to give her name and patronage, commanding Queen’s
it to be called Queen's ware, and honouring the inven- ware*
tor by appointing him her majesty’s potter.
The common clay of the country is used for the ordi¬
nary sorts 3 the finer kinds are made of clay from De¬
vonshire and Dorsetshire, chiefly from Biddeford; but
the flints from the Thames are all brought rough by sea,
either to Liverpool or Hull, and so by Burton. The
convenience of plenty of coals, which abound in that
part of the country, is supposed, and with good reason,
to be the chief cause of the manufacture having been
established here.
The flints are first ground in mills, and the,clay pre¬
pared by breaking, washing, and sifting, and then they
are mixed in the requisite proportions. The flints are
bought
FOR [
bought first by the people about the countiy, and by
them burnt and ground, and sold to the manufactuieis
by the peck. . . • i m c
The mixture is then laid in large quantities in kilns
to evaporate the moisture; but this is a nice ivoik, as i
must not be too dry : next it is beaten with large woo en
hammers, and then is in order for throwing, and is
moulded into the forms in which it is to remain •, this
is the most difficult work in the whole manutacture.
A boy turns a perpendicular wheel, which by means
of thongs turns a small horizontal one, just before the
thrower, with such velocity, that it twirls round the
lump of clay he lays on it into any form he directs it
with his fingers.
There are 300 houses, which are calculated to em¬
ploy upon an average twenty hands each, or 6000 m
the whole ; but of ill the variety of people that work
in what may be called the preparation lor the employ-
ixient of the immediate manufacturers, the total number
cannot be much short of 10,000, and it is increasing
every day. Large quantities are exported to Germany,
Ireland, Holland, Russia, Spain, the East Indies, and
much to America j some of the finest sorts to France.
5. Different Processes in the Manufacture of Porcelain.
The basis of those porcelains which are known by the
r- name of vitreous or fusible, and sometimesya/.vc porce¬
lain, is denominated by the workmen n fritt. This is a
mixture of sand or powdered flints, with a saline sub¬
stance, capable of bringing it to a state of fusion when
the mixture is exposed to a sufficient degree of heat.
The fritt is then mixed with a proper proportion of clay
or argillaceous earth, so that it may have such a degree
of tenacity as to make it capable of being worked upon
the wheel. The whole mixture is, after being well
ground in a mill, to be made into a paste, which is to be
formed, either upon the wheel or in moulds, into pieces
of such forms or figures as may be required. Each of the
pieces, when it is sufficiently dried, is put into a case
made of earthen ware, and placed in the furnace, that
it may be subjected to the process of baking. These
cases are known among the English potters by the name
of seggars or saggars, and they are generally formed of
a coarser kind of clay, but this clay must possess the
property of resisting the. action of heat necessary for the
baking of porcelain, without being fused. The porce¬
lain contained in the cases is thus protected from the
smoke of the burning fuel: the whiteness of the porce¬
lain depends greatly on the purity of the clay of which
it is made, so that being of a more compact texture, the
smoke is more effectually excluded. These cases are
arranged in the furnace or kiln in piles, one upon the
other, to the very top of the furnace.
The furnaces are chambers or cavities of various
forms and sizes, and they are so constructed that the
fire-place is situated on the outside, opposite to one or
more openings, which have a communication with the
furnace internally. The flame of the fuel is^ drawn
within the furnace, the air of which being rarefied, de¬
termines a strong current of air to the inside, as is the
case in other furnaces. A small fire is first made, that
the furnaces may be gradually heated, and it is. to be
increased more and more, till the process of baking is
completed ; that is, till the porcelain shall have acquir-
2 ] FOR
ed a proper degree of hardness and transparency. To Porcelair
ascertain this point, a good deal of attention is neces-
sary ; and this is done by taking out of the furnace from
time to time, and examining, small pieces of porcelain
placed for that purpose in the cases, which have late¬
ral openings to render them accessible. When it ap¬
pears from the examination of those pieces, that the
porcelain is sufficiently baked, the fire is no longer to
be supplied with fuel 5 the furnace is allowed to cool
gradually, and the porcelain is afterwards taken out.
In this state the porcelain has the appearance of
white marble, having nothing of that shining surface
which it acquires by covering it with a vitreous compo¬
sition known by the name of glaring, a process which
is afterwards to lie described; but in the mean time
we shall speak of the infusible porcelains. . <
The materials which enter into the composition of
the infusible porcelains, and such as approach to the na¬
ture of stone ware, are first to be ground m a mill, and
the earths or clays being well washed, are next to be
carefully mixed and formed into a paste. The pieces at
first receive a rude form from the wheel or lathe ot the
potter, according to their nature and magnitude. As
the wheel and lathe are the principal machines emp ey¬
ed in the manufacture of porcelain or pottery, we shall
here give a short description of their construction. I he
potter’s wheel, which is used for larger works, consists
principally in the nut, which is a beam or axis, whose
foot or pivot plays perpendicularly on a .free-stone sole ^
or bottom. From the four corners of this beam, which Potter's
does not exceed two feet in height, arise four iron bars,wheel,
called the spokes of the wheel; which forming diagonal
lines with the beam, descend, and are fastened at bottom
to the edges of a strong wooden circle, lour feet in dia-
meter, perfectly like the felloes of a coach-wheel, ex¬
cept that it has neither axis nor radii, and is only joined
to the beam, which serves it as an axis, by the iron bars.
The top of the nut is flat, of a circular figure, and a
foot in diameter and on this is laid the clay which is
to be turned and fashioned. The wheel thus disposed
is encompassed with four sides of four different pieces
of wood fastened on a wooden frame ; the hind-piece,
which is that on which the workman sits, is made a
little inclining towards the wheel on the fore-piece
is placed the prepared earth j on the side pieces he rests
his feet, and these are made inclining to give him more
or less room. Having prepared the earth, the potter
lays a round piece.of it on the circular head of the nut,
and sitting down turns the wheel with his feet till it has
got the proper velocity ; then, wetting his hands with
water, he presses his fist or his finger-ends into the
middle of the lump, and thus forms the cavity of the
vessel continuing to widen it from the middle 5 and
thus turning the inside into form with one hand, while
he proportions the outside with the other, the wheel
constantly turning all the while, and he wetting ns
hands from time to time. When the vessel is too thick,
he uses a flat piece of iron, somewhat sharp on the edge,
to pare off what is redundant •, and when it is finished,
it is taken off from the circular head by a wire passed
under the vessel. 4C
The potter’s lathe is also a kind of wheel, but more potter
simple and slight than the former : its three chief mem kthe-
bers are an iron beam or axis three feet and a ha
high, and two feet and a half diameter, placed horizon-
& tally
P O R [ ,
Tcelain. tally at the top of the beam, and serving to form the
vessel upon: and another large wooden wheel, all of a
piece, three inches thick, and two or three feet broad,
fastened to the same beam at the bottom, and parallel
to the horizon. The beam or axis turns by a pivot at
the bottom of an iron stand. The workman gives the
motion to the lathe with his feet, by pushing the great
wheel alternately with each foot, still giving it a great¬
er or lesser degree of motion as his work requires. He
works with the lathe with the same instruments, and
after the same manner, as with the wheel. The mould¬
ings are formed by holding a piece of wood or iron
cut in the form of the moulding to the vessel, while
the wheel is turning round ; but the feet and handles
are made by themselves and set on with the hand ; and
if there be any sculpture in the work, it is usually done
in wooden moulds, and stuck on piece by piece on the
outside of the vessel. The lathe is employed for smaller
works in porcelain.
After the first application of the pieces of porce¬
lain to the wheel or lathe, they are allowed to become
nearly dry; and to give the requisite form, or a greater
degree of accuracy and perfection, they are again sub¬
jected to the same operation. They are afterwards in¬
troduced into the furnace, not, however, for the pur¬
pose of baking them completely, but only to apply a
sufficient heat, to give them that firmness and solidity
that they may undergo the various necessary manipula¬
tions without being disfigured or broken. In this state
they are ready for the process of glazing. As the pieces
of porcelain, after being subjected to this moderate de¬
gree of heat, are very dry, they readily imbibe water,
and it is this property of absorbing water, which greatly
assists in the application of the glazing; and having re¬
ceived this covering, the pieces of porcelain are again
put into the furnace, to complete the process of baking.
The heat is gradually raised, and at last brought to that
degree that all the objects within the furnace shall be
white, and the cases shall be scarcely distinguished from
the flame. To ascertain when the porcelain is sufficient¬
ly baked, small pieces are taken out in the manner al¬
ready described, after which the fire is withdrawn, and
the furnace allowed to cool gradually. If the process
of baking have succeeded properly, the pieces of porce¬
lain will, after this operation, be sonorous, compact, ha¬
ving a moderate degree of lustre, and covered exter¬
nally with a fine coat of glaze. If this porcelain is de¬
stined to receive the ornaments of painting and gilding,
these operations are performed in the manner to be af-
t terwards described.
Uft tzed After the porcelain has been subjected to the process
baking, and before it is glazed, it is said to be in the
:uij state ot biscuit, in which it possesses various degrees of
beauty and perfection, according to the nature and pro¬
portions of the materials employed. For particular pur¬
poses, the porcelain is sometimes allowed to remain in
this state, and particularly when it is employed in
smaller and finer pieces of sculpture, where the fineness
of the workmanship and the sharpness of the figures are
wished to be preserved, as it is well known that these
Vol. XVII. Part I. f
93 1 FOR
will be greatly injured by being covered with a coat of Porcelain,
glazing. The celebrated manufactory of Sevres in w—v——'
France has been long distinguished for figures or small
statues, and even for larger works, as ornamental vases,
&c. which are left in the state of biscuit. The English
manufactories, and particularly that of Mr Wedgwood,
are probably not inferior in the delicacy and accuracy
of execution of ornamental productions of this kind. 42
The next operation in the manufacture of porcelain Method of
is the process of glazing. This process consists in cover- glazing
ing the porcelain with a thin coat of vitreous or fusible t)0rceIain‘
matter, which adds greatly to its beauty, by its lustre
or shining appearance. In preparing and applying the
materials fit for glazing porcelain, it has been found
that the same kind of glass will not admit of general
application ; for it appears that a glass which forms a
fine glazing for one kind of porcelain, will not answer
the same purpose when applied to another. In the
former it may have all the necessary requisites, but in
the latter it may crack in many places, may have no
lustre, and may contain bubbles or be apt to scale off.
The first thing then is to prepare a glass which shall be
suited to the nature of the porcelain for which it is in¬
tended. The glazing must be appropriated to each kind
of porcelain, that is, to the ingredients which enter
into its composition, or to the degree of hardness or den¬
sity of the ware. The materials of which the glazing
is composed are prepared by previously fusing together
all the substances of which they consist, and thus form¬
ing a vitreous mass (a). This mass of vitrified matter
is to be finely ground in a mill, and the vitreous powder
thus obtained is to be mixed with a sufficient quantity
of water, so that the liquor shall have the consistence of
cream of milk. The pieces of porcelain are to be cover¬
ed with a thin coating of this matter, which is done by
immersing them hastily in the liquid, and as they
greedily imbibe the water, there remains on the surface
a uniform covering of the glazing materials. This co¬
vering, which, it is necessary to observe, should be very
thin, in a short time becomes so dry, that it does not
adhere to the fingers when the pieces are handled.
When they are sufficiently dry, they are replaced in the
furnace in the same manner as in preparing the biscuit,
and the heat is continued till the glazing be completely
fused ; but the degree of heat necessary for that pur¬
pose is far inferior to that which is requisite in baking
the paste. The pieces of porcelain which are intended
to remain white, are now finished, but those which are
to be ornamented with painting and gilding must go
through various other operations, of which the follow¬
ing is a general account.
The colours which are employed in painting porce-of paint-
lain are similar to those which are applied in the paint-ing.
ing of enamel. They are all composed of metallic
oxides or calces, combined with a very fusible, vitreous
matter. The different colours are obtained from differ¬
ent metals. The oxides of iron afford a red colour;
gold precipitated by means of tin, furnishes a purple and
violet colour ; copper precipitated from its solution in
acids by means of an alkali, gives a fine green ; cobalt,
13 b or
(a) The proportion of the materials employed for common white pottery-ware are 6o parts of litharge, 10 of
c’ay# and 20 of ground flint.
Porcelain.
P O R
ov when combined with vitreous matter, ®#/,
called, vields a fine bine. Earthy matters wtoch ure
slightly ferruginous, produce a yellow colour, an
„nn vjLle colours are obtained from iron in diUeren
“tes and tom manganese. A coloured glazmg has
’ ii i.. O’lfeillv * which may he ap-
* Essay <mbeen recommended by O liei y ^ ,/obtaine(l
Bleaching, plied to coarse articles or earthe _ muriatic
nace throwing It into cold water to facilitate its
nace, uuow _b be nlore
r 194 3 P O R
as it is precipitate, becomes sublimated, the metallic part re- Porcelain,
mains behind in the form of a gray soft powder.  r-
This powder is then subjected to the same process as
poll' ; that is to say, it is mixed with a small quantity
of the same flux as that used for gold, and being ground
with oil of spike, is applied with a brush on the porce¬
lain ; after which it is burnt-in under the muffle of an
enameller’s furnace, and then polished with a burmsb-
ingt<tXhe colour of platina burnt into porcelain in this
manner is a silver white, inclining a little to a steel
«ray. If the platina be mixed in different portions with
told, different shades of colour may be obtained •, the
gradations of which may be numbered, from the white
, r. • . j til** vpilnw colour 01 P’OlCl.
44
slon a, :Sing it in a mill, that it. may be more
completely diffused in water. This glazmg is attended
witli the advantage of being free from those dangerous
qualities so common in all preparations made l™n m
Vs list "ith
some'essential oil, Jwhich state they are fit to be em-
ployed for the painting of porcelain w th h|ures
flowers, or any other design with which it is intended
a -hw t0 h gUd™Sorcelain, the oxide or calx of gold (b) is
and gilding, in guum& p ’ . , i ■ the sanie manner
^ 7lnTed enamX" m which is in the state
“ very minute division, is mixed with gnu, water and
boraxTand In this state is applie. to the clean surface of
,1m porcelain with a fine camel’s hair P«nc 1 1 he
painted and gilded porcelains are then exposed to such a
degree of heat in the furnace as is capable of fusing the
vitreous matter with which the metallic colours are mix¬
ed The gold is fixed by means of the borax undergo¬
ing the process of vitrification, and thus strongly adher-
Zl to tL porcelain. Most of the metallic co ouring
matters exhibit all their beauty when the porcelain is
taken from the furnace j but to bring out the lustre and
beauty of the gold, those parts of the porcelain which
have been gilt are afterwards subjected to the operation
TT 4Sf , °f The0use of platina in porcelain painting has been re-
lina in^co- commended by Klaproth i and experiments have been
louring por-made on the subject by that celebrated chemist with
celain. the view of ascertaining its effects for this purpose. 1
following is the conclusion of Ins observations.
“ The process which I employ in the application of
platina to painting on porcelain is simple and easy: it is
as follows :—I dissolve crude platina m aqua regia, and
precipitate it by a saturated solution of sal ammoniac in
water. The red crystalline precipitate thence produced
is dried, and being reduced to a very fine powder, is
slowly brought to a red heat in a glass re ort. As the
volatile neutral salt combined with the platina in this
gradations oi which     -----
colour of unmixed platina to the yellow colour of gold.
Platina is capable of receiving a considerable addition ol
gold before the transition from the white colour to yel¬
low is perceptible. Thus, for example, in a mixture of
four parts of gold and one ol platma, no signs ol the
gold were to be observed, and the white colour could
scarcely be distinguished from that of unmixed platina:
it was only when eight parts of gold to one o platina
were employed that the gold colour assumed the supe-
^“'l’tried in the like manner, different mixtures of pla¬
tina and silver ; but the colour produced was dull, and
did not seem proper for painting on porcelain. .
“ Besides this method of burning-in platina in sub¬
stance on porcelain, it may be employed also m its dis¬
solved state } in which case it gives a different result
both in its colour and splendour. The solution ol it in
aqua regia is evaporated, and the thickened residuum is
then applied several times in succession to the porcelain.
The metallic matter thus penetrates into the substance
of the porcelain itself, and forms a metallic mirror o
the colour and splendour of polished steel.”
The same substance has been applied as a glazing to
porcelain in some of the English manufactories, but how¬
ever valuable and important the application of platma
to this purpose may be, the scarcity of that metal, an
its consequent high price, must always prevent it from
coming: into very general use. t-
We have already noticed the establishment of the ma- Mamib
nufacture of porcelain in Derby. The following is a^o f
short detail of the method of conducting that manuiac- Dcrby.
ture. After the paste has been properly prepared, by
grinding and other necessary operations, itis delivered to
the workmen, by whose dexterity the shapeless mass is
converted into various beautilul forms. \ essels of a
round form are usually made by a man called a thrower,
by whom they are worked on a circular block moving
horizontally on a vertical spindle. 'Ihey are next car¬
ried to the' lathe 5 and being fixed to the end of a hori¬
zontal spindle, they are reduced to the proper form and
thickness.
45
L
. . . x nf ;s prepared for this purpose in other two different ways. By one of those met! ■
(b) A powder g ? P 1 01. eartiien mortar, with a little honey or thick gum water, and ground till
quantity of gold leal is put 1 S . Uttle warm Water is then added, which will wash out the honey or
the gold is reduced to ^b'^ich the finest ground gold is obtained, is by gradually heat-
gum, and leav e ie go ^ then vessel, and continuing the heat till the mercury is entirely evaporated, stir-
ing a gold amalgam in ^ °Pe” e tobacco nine that the particles of gold may be prevented from adhering as
riuer-frs If gJd^Se evaporatL of the Mercury £ then ground with a little water
in a Wedgwood-ware mortar, and after being dried is fit for use.
;
•celain.
OR [ i
thickness. They are afterwards finished, and handled
by other persons, if that should be necessary, and are
47
Glfcing. 1
Pitting.
Gil ig.
iisc f,.
Dre
then introduced into a stove, where the moisture is en¬
tirely evaporated, and they become fit for the process
of baking. Vessels of an oval figure, such as tea-pots,
tureens, &c. acquire their form by being pressed with
the hand into moulds of plaster or gypsum. The pieces
of porcelain being thus prepared, are put into the sag¬
gars or cases, which are of various sizes and dimensions,
and these are set in the kiln or furnace, one upon the’
other, till they are filled up nearly to the top, in the
manner already described. The furnace being full, the
ware is baked, and after this first baking, the^porcelain
is in the state of biscuit.
The next process is the glazing, which, according to
the description already given, is'performed by dipping
the pieces of porcelain in glaze of the consistence of
cream. They are then conveyed to the glaze furnace,
where they are again baked, but in a degree of heat in¬
ferior to that necessary for the first baking.
If the pieces of porcelain are to receive the additional
ornaments of painting and gilding, they are next de¬
livered to another set of workmen. rIhe colouring mat¬
ters, as already noticed, are extracted from mineral
bodies, and after proper preparation, they are applied
to the ware by the painters, in the form of landscapes
or figures, according to the requisite pattern. After
this process the ware is again conveyed to the furnace,
and the colours are vitrified, to give them the proper
degree of fixation and lustre. After every coat or layer
of colour, a fresh burning is necessary. In the common
kind of porcelain, once or twice is found sufficient for
the ornaments it requires j but in the finer decorations,
the colours must be laid on several times, and as often
subjected to the action of heat, before the full effect can
be produced. This completes the process for those ar¬
ticles of porcelain in which glazing and painting only
are required.
But when the pieces of porcelain are to be farther
decorated with gilding, they are pencilled with a mix¬
ture of oil and gold, dissolved or thrown down by
quicksilver with the aid of heat, and are again intro¬
duced to the furnace. Here the gold returns to its solid
state, but comes out with a dull surface; and to recover
its lustre and usual brilliancy, it is burnished with blood¬
stones, and other polishing substances. Much care and
attention are necessary in the latter part of the process;
for if the gold be not sufficiently burnt, it will be apt to
separate in thin flakes, and if it have been exposed to
too great a heat, it is not susceptible of a fine polish.
In this manufactory, when pieces of porcelain are to
be finished in the highest style, they are frequently re¬
turned to the enamel furnace, where the colours are
fluxed six or seven different times ; and having gone
through the processes now described, the porcelain is fit
for the market.
White ware, or biscuit figures, are made at this ma¬
nufactory, which are supposed to be equal in beauty and
delicacy to any European productions of a similar kind.
In this kind of porcelain, the lathe is of no use, for the
figures are cast in moulds of plaster or gypsum. The ma¬
terials of which they are composed being properly pre¬
pared, and previously reduced to a liquid of the appear¬
ance and consistence of thick cream, are poured into
the moulds, which from the absorbent property of the
95 ] POR
plaster, imbibe the water contained in the mixture, so Poreokiin
that the paste soon becomes sufficiently hard to part—-y——
freely from the mould. The different parts of fio-Ures,
as the head, arms, legs, &c. are cast in separate moulds’
and after being dried and repaired, they are joined by
a paste ol the same kind, but of a thinner consistence.
The porcelain pieces thus formed are then conveyed to
the furnace, and after being subjected for a proper length
of time, to a regular and continued heat, they come out
extremely white and delicate.
Porcelain manufactories have been long established atManufae-
Tournay in I landers ; one of these manufactories fur-t0l7at
nishes all Flanders with blue and white porcelain. AtTournay-
this manufactory they have a particular process in form¬
ing cups and other vessels, which is somewhat similar to
that now described. They are neither turned on the
lathe, nor is the clay compressed in a mould ; but after
being diluted in water, and when the liquid has acqui¬
red a proper consistency, the workmen pour it into
moulds, two or three hundred of which are arranged
together. When they have filled them all, they return
to the first in the row. I he liquid part is drawn oft
by a gentle inclination ; the surplus adheres to the
side of the vessel, and thus forms the piece which it is
intended to make. The piece is detached from the mould
by means of a slight stroke, and after being sufficiently
dried, is conveyed to the furnace, to undergo the process
of bakincr.
O _ _
In the manufacture of utensils for chemical purposes, Utensils for
where they are to be subjected to the effects of powerful chemical
agents, greater attention is necessary. Vessels of this de- PnrPoses-
scription should be infusible at any degree of heat; pos¬
sess a sufficient compactness of texture, to retain saline
and other fluxes in fusion, without undergoing any
change ; and should bear sudden changes of tempera¬
ture, particularly sudden heating, without cracking, or
in any degree giving way. It has been found impracti¬
cable to have the three requisites now mentioned united
in the same ware, so that it becomes necessary to select
the kind of ware according to the purpose for which
they are intended. For bearing high degrees of heat,
Hessian crucibles are found to answer best ; they are
composed of a very refractory clay, mixed with sand, of
which the finest part is separated by a sieve, and thrown
away. These vessels are made by mixing the clay with
a smaller proportion of water than usual, so that a stiffer
mass is obtained, and the vessel brought to the requisite
shape by ramming the clay strongly into an iron mould.
In this way they are very compact, and for a consider¬
able time retain saline fluxes. Ordinary crucibles, it is
found, are rendered more retentive by lining them on
the inside, before they are quite dry, with a thin coat¬
ing of pure clay, without the addition of any other mix¬
ture. But the most refractory material known is a mix¬
ture of unburnt with burnt clay. Vessels made of this
material are found capable of resisting the effects of sa¬
line fluxes longer than any other, and hence this material
is employed in making large crucibles for glasshouses.
One of the most valuable qualities of porcelain ware,
is to bear sudden changes of heat and cold ; but in this
quality some of the most perfect kinds of ware in other
respects are extremely deficient, and can scarcely be
subjected, without danger of cracking, to the draught
of a wind furnace, even when the heat is slowly and gra¬
dually applied. This happens to the celebrated porce-
B b 2 Jain
[
Porcelain.
53
Wedg¬
wood’s por
celain.
POE
lain Are ware invented by an eniy.tened and pk'
cal manufacturer, the late MrWedgtvood. Tbts ettect
„f crackimj, on sudden changes of temperature, seem
depend on the hardness and closeness of textu ,
closeness of texture is found to be m «" t0^,e
minute division of the materials before bahu g.
clay and flint of Wedgwood’s ware are brougW to a
molt impalpable powder before mixture so thaul.^^
ture is uncommonly hard and close. . y . .
while to mention, that Wedgwood’s force am res^sb. be
effects of sudden heat and cold much better, by being
covered with a thin coating of Windsor loam or of a
fire lute composed of coarse sand and clay, an ow
horse-dung. When crucibles are intended merely for
the fusion of metals, they are greatly improved by
mixture of black lead. This substance being involved
in the clav, is protected from the access of air, and i
then incombustible. It has no affinity for the earths at
any temperature, and being absolutely infusible, it ena¬
bled the clay to bear, without melting, the greatest de-
eree of heat. The mixture of this substance, as a ma¬
terial for crucibles, has another advantage, that no part
of the melted metal is detained in the crucible, as is the
case in the common rough ware. It also bears sudden
heating and cooling better than any other
6. General Principles of the Manufacture of Porcelain
Convinced that every accurate and scientific investr
rration into the nature and processes of any important
art will always be deemed of some value to the philo¬
sophic observer, or the enlightened manufacturer, we
shall introduce the following observations on the prin¬
ciples of the manufacture of porcelain.
54 ,
Nature ot
the compo¬
nent parts
of porce¬
lain.
Observations by Vauquehn.
According to this celebrated chemist, four things may
occasion difference in the qualities of earthen-ware : 1st,
The nature or composition of the matter } 2a, ihe mode
of preparation-, 3c/, The dimensions given to the vessels j
Ath The baking to which they are subjected. Bv com¬
position of the matter, the author understands the na¬
ture and proportions of the elements of which it is form¬
ed. These elements, in the greater part of earthen
ware, either valuable or common, are silex, argil, lime,
and sometimes a little oxide of iron. Hence it is evi¬
dent that it is not so much by the diversity ot the ele¬
ments that good earthen-ware differs from bad, as by the
proportion in which they are united. Silex or quartz,
makes always two-thirds at least of earthen-ware j argil
or pure clay, from a fifth to a third •, lime, from 5 to
20 parts in the hundred and iron from o to 12 or 15
parts in the hundred. Silex gives hardness, infusibility,
and unalterability; argil makes the paste pliable, and
renders it fit to be kneaded, moulded, and turned at
pleasure. It possesses at the same time the property of
being partially fused by the heat which unites its parts
with those of the silex but it must not be too abun¬
dant, as it would render the earthen-ware too fusible
and too brittle to be used over the fire.
Hitherto it has not been proved by experience that
lime is necessary in the composition of pottery : and if
traces of it are constantly found in that substance, it is
because it is always mixed with the. other earths,
from which the washings and other manipulations have
96 ] POE
not been able to separate it. When this earth, how-
ever, does not exceed five or six parts in a hundred,'
it appears that it is not hurtful to the quality of the
pottery but if more abundant, it renders it too fu¬
sible. . . <»
The oxide of iron, besides the inconvenience o com¬
municating a red or brown colour, according to the de-
m-ee of baking, to the vessels in which it forms a part,
has the property of rendering them fusible, and even in
a greater degree than lime. , , /S
As some kinds of pottery are destined to melt very M.de of
penetrating substances, such as salts metallic oxffies Pre^.
glass, &c. they require a fine kind of paste, which
obtained only by reducing the earths employed to very
minute particles. Others destined for melting metals
and substances not very penetrating, and which must
be able to support, without breaking, a sudden transi¬
tion from great heat to great cold, require for their
fabrication a mixture of calcined argil with raw aigil.
By these means you obtain pottery, the coarse paste of
which resembles breche, or small-grained pudding-stone,
and which can endure sudden changes of tempera-
£Ure # 5^
The baking of pottery is also an object of great im-Baking
portance. The heat must be capable of expelling hu-
miditv, and agglutinating the parts which enter in o
the composition of the paste, but not strong enough 0
produce fusion; which, if too far advanced gives to
pottery a homogeneousness that renders it brittle. I he
same effect takes place in regard to the fine pottery, be¬
cause the very minute division given to the earths re¬
duces them nearly to the same state as if this matter
had been fused. This is the reason why porcelain
strongly baked is more or less brittle, and cannot easily
endure’alternations of temperature. Hence coarse por¬
celain, in the composition of which a certain quantity
of calcined argil is employed, porcelain retorts, cruci¬
bles, tubes, and common pottery, the paste ol which
is coarse, are much less brittle than dishes and saucers
formed of the same substance, ground with more la-
The general and respective dimensions of the differ-Dimen!
ent parts of vessels of earthen-ware have also consider-™
able Influence on their capability to stand the tire. . ofnss(
In some cases the glazing or covering, especial y
when too thick, and of a nature different from the body
of the pottery, also renders them liable to break. Ihus,
in making some kinds of pottery, it is always essential,
1st To follow the best proportion in the principles-,
2^ To give to the particles of the paste, by grinding, a
minuteness suited to the purpose for which it is intend¬
ed, and to all the parts the same dimensions, as far as
possible -, 3d, To carry the baking to the highest de¬
gree that the matter can bear without being fused *,
Ath, To apply the glazing in thin layers, the fusibility
of which ought to approach as near as possible to that
of the matter, in order that it may he more intimately
united. -
C. Vauquelin, being persuaded that the quality 01
good pottery depends chiefly on using proper propor¬
tions of the earthy matters, though it might be ot
importance, to those engaged in this branch of manu¬
facture, to make known the analysis of dillerent natura
’ employed for this purpose, and of pottery produ-
clays empioyeu 101 luio pmjjuot, r” j r—
ced by some of them, in order that, when a new earth
is.
p o R [ 197 1 p O R
is discovered, it may be known by a simple analysis
whether it will be proper for the same object, and to
what kind of pottery already known it bears the great¬
est resemblance.
Silex .
Argil . .
Lime .
Oxide of iron
Water .
Hessian
Crucibles.
69 ,
21.5 .
I
8 .
Argil of
Dreux.
43-5
33-2
3-5
1.
18.
Porcelain Wedgwood’s
Capsules. Pyjometers.
64.2
6l
28
6
o-5
25
6
0.2
6.2
Raw kaolin 100 parts.—Silex 74, argil 16.5, lime 2,
water 7. A hundred parts of this earth gave eight of
alum, after being treated with the sulphuric acid.
Washed kaolin 100 parts.—Silex 55, argil 27, lime
2, iron 0.5, water 14. Ihis kaolin, treated with the
sulphuric acid, gave about 45 or per cent, of alum.
Petuntze.—Silex 74, argil 14.5, lime 5.5, loss 6. A
hundred parts of this substance, treated with the sul¬
phuric acid, gave seven or eight parts of alum. But
this quantity does not equal the loss sustained.
Porcelain of retorts.—Silex 64, argil 28.8, lime 4.55,
iron 0.50, loss 2.77, Treated with the sulphuric acid,
this porcelain gave no alum.
There is a kind of earthen vessels, called Alcarre%esy
used in Spain for cooling the water intended to be
diunk. These vessels consist of 60 parts of calcareous
earth, mixed with alumina and a little oxide of iron,
and 36^ of siliceous earth, also mixed with alumina and
the same oxide. The quantity of iron may be estima¬
ted at almost one hundredth part of the whole. This
earth is first kneaded into a tough paste, being for that
purpose previously diluted with water j formed into a
cake of about six inches in thickness, and left in that
state till it begin to crack. It is then kneaded with
the feet, the workman gradually adding to it a quantity
of sea-salt, in the proportion of seven pounds to a hun¬
dred and fifty : after which it is applied to the lathe, and
baked in any kind of furnace used by potters. The al-
carrezes, however, are only about half as much baked
as the better kinds of common earthen w’are ; and being
exceedingly porous, wTater oozes through them on all
swIpo Hence the air, which comes in contact with it.
by making it evaporate, carries off the caloric contained
in the water in the vessel, which is thus rendered re¬
markably cool.
Observations of Brongniart.
The author of the following observations is superin-
tendant ofthe celebrated porcelain manufactory at Sev¬
res in I ranee. The^extensive views he has taken of the
subject, and the general principles which he has advan¬
ced, will, we doubt not, be favourably received by the
intelligent manufacturer, and meet with attention and
consideration adequate to their importance and utility,
af . e ar.t °f employing metallic oxides for colouring
by fusion different vitreous matters, is of very great an¬
tiquity : every body knows that the ancients manufac¬
tured coloured glass and enamel, and that this art was
practised in particular by the Egyptians, the first peo¬
ple who in this manner imitated precious stones. The
piactice of this art in modern times has been carried to
a high degree of perfection : but the theory has been
neglected; it is almost the only one of the chemical arts porce]ain
in which no attempt has yet been made to apply the new ■ -
principles of that science.
“It is well known that all vitrifiable colours have for
their basis metallic oxides; but all the metallic oxides
are not proper for this purpose: besides, as they are not
vitrifiable by themselves, they can scarcely ever be em¬
ployed alone.
“ Highly volatile oxides, and those which adhere little Metallic
to the great quantity of oxygen they contain, either oxides em-
cannot be employed in any manner, as the oxide ofPloyed a*
mercury and that of arsenic, or are employd only as colou,;s .fo'
agents. The colour they present cannot be depended P°,Ce aink
on, since they must lose it in the slightest heat by losing
a part of their oxygen : such are the puce-coloured and
red oxides of lead, the yellow oxides of gold, &c. Ox¬
ides in which the proportions of oxygen are susceptible
of varying with too much facility are rarely employed :
the oxide of iron, though black, is never employed for
that colour, and the green oxide of copper is, under
ma.ny circumstances, very uncertain. I have said that
oxides alone are not susceptible of fusion : however, as
they are destined to be applied to thin strata on vitrifi¬
able substances, they may be attached to them by a vio¬
lent heat. But, except the oxides of lead and bismuth,
they would give only dull colours. The violent heat,
often necessary to fix them, would change or totally de-
stroy the colours. A flux then is added to all metallic
oxides.
“ This flux is glass, lead, and silex; glass of borax, or
a mixture of both. Its general effect is, to give splen¬
dour to the colours after their fusion ; to fix them on the
article which is painted, by promoting more or less the
softening of its surface ; to envelope the metallic oxides,
and to preserve their colour by sheltering them from the
contact of the air: in a word, to facilitate the fusion
of the colour at a low temperature not capable of de¬
stroying it. „ 6l
“ I shall speak here only of the application of metal-^ature of
lie colours to vitreous bodies or to vitreous surfaces. ^ie
These bodies maybe divided into three classes, ver^hidTttey
distinct by the nature of the substances which compose are applied,
them, the effects produced on them by the colours, and
the changes they experience. These classes are : istr
Enamel, soft porcelain, and all crusts, enamels, or glass,
that contain lead in a notable quantity. 2d, Hard por¬
celain, or porcelain which has a crust of feldspar. 3c/,
Glass in the composition of which no lead enters, such
as common window-glass.
“ I shall here examine in succession the principles
of the composition of these colours, and the general
phenomena they exhibit on these three kinds of bo¬
dies.
“ It is well known that enamel is glass rendered opake
by the oxide of tin, and exceedingly fusible by the oxide
of lead. It is the oxide of lead, in particular, contained
in it, that gives it properties very different from those
of the other excipients of metallic colours. Thus all
glass and glazing that contain lead will participate in
the properties of enamel ; and what we shall say of one
may be applied to the rest with very trifling differ¬
ences.
Such are the white and transparent glazing of stone
ware, and the glazing of porcelain called soft glar¬
ing.
“ Enamel
Vorcelain.
P O R L
“ Enamel or soft porcelain colours require less flux
than others, because the glass on which they are appUe
62 becomes sufficiently soft to be penetrated by them. 1 ms
Flux for soft ^ be either glass of lead and pure silex, called
r rocail/ejov tire same glass mixed with borax.. Montamy
asserts that glass of lead ought to be bapished from
among the enamel fluxes; and he employs only borax.
He then dilutes his colours in a volatile oil. On the
other hand, the painters of the manufactory of Sevres
employ only colours without borax, because they dilute
them in gum •, and borax does not dilute well m that
substance. I have found that both methods are equally
good: and it is certain that Montamy was wrong to
exclude fluxes of lead, since they are daily employed
without any inconvenience, and as they even render the
application of colours easier. >
“ I have said that in the baking of these colours, the
crust, softened by the fire, suffers itself to be easi y pe¬
netrated by them. This is the first cause of the change
which they experience. By mixing with the crust they
become weaker, and the first heat changes a hgure
which appeared to be finished into a very light sketch.
The two principal causes of the changes which co¬
lours on enamel and soft porcelain are susceptible ot ex¬
periencing do not depend in any manner on the compo¬
sition of these colours, but on the nature of the glass to
which they are applied. It follows from what has been
said, that painting on soft procelain has need ot being
several times retouched, and of several heats, in ore er
that it maybe carried to the necessary degree ot strength.
These paintings have always a certain faintnessj but
they are constantly more brilliant, and they never are
attended with the inconvenience of detaching themselves
111 “CHard porcelain, according to the division which I
have established, is the second sort of excipient ol metal¬
lic colours. This porcelain, as is well known has tor
its base a very white clay called kaolin, mixed with a
silicious and calcareous flux, and for its covering teld-
6 spar fused without an atom of lead.
Colours ap- “ This porcelain, which is that of Saxony,
plied to netver at Sevres than the soft porcelain. H
hard Porce'applied to it are of two kinds : the first, destined to re-
lain* present different objects, are baked in a heat very inte¬
rior to that necessary for baking porcelain. 1 hey are
exceedingly numerous and varied. The others, destined
to be fused in the same heat as that which bakes porce¬
lain, lav themselves flat, and are much less numerous.
The colours of painting are made nearly like those des¬
tined for soft porcelain ; they only contain more flux.
Their flux is composed of glass ol lead and borax.
'When porcelain is exposed to heat in order to hake the
colours, the covering of feldspar dilates itself and opens
its pores, but does not become soft; as the colours do
not penetrate it, they experience none of those changes
which they undergo on soft porcelain. It must how¬
ever be said that they lose a little of their intensity by
acquiring that transparency which is given to them by
fusion. . „ . ,
“ One of the greatest inconveniences ot these colours,
especially in the manufactory of Sevres, is the facility
with which they scale off when exposed several times in
the fire. , , . . ..
“ To remedy this defect without altering the quality
of the paste, I was of opinion that the crust only ought
4
is much
The colours
198 ] FOR
to be softened by introducing into it more siliceous or Porcelain
calcareous flux, according to the nature ot the feldspai.
This method has succeeded ; and for about a year past
the colours might he exposed two or three times to the
fire without scaling, if not overcharged with flux, and
if not laid on too thick. _ ..on
“ The third sort ot excipient of vitrifiable metallic
colours is glass without lead. _ 64
“ The application of these colours to glass constitutes andtogks
painting on glass ; an art very much practised some cen¬
turies ago, and which was supposed to be lost because
out of fashion j but it has too direct a dependence on
painting in enamel and porcelain to be entirely lost.
« The matters and fluxes which enter into the com¬
position of the colours employed on glass are in general
the same as those applied to porcelain. Neither of them
differ but in their proportions 5 but there are a great
number of enamel or porcelain colours which cannot be
applied to glass, where they are deprived of the white
ground which serves to give them relief.
Of Colours in particular.
“ After collecting the general phenomena exhibited
by each class of vitrifiable colours, considered in regard
to the body on which they are applied, I must make
known the most interesting particular phenomena exhi¬
bited by each principal kind of colours employed on
soft porcelain and glass in a porcelain furnace.
Of Beds, Purples, and Violets, made from Gold.
“ Carmine red is obtained by the purple precipitate of
cassias : it is mixed with about six parts of its flux •, and
this mixture is employed directly, without being fused.
It is then of a dirty violet, but by baking it acquires a
beautiful red carmine colour: it is, however, exceed-
ino-lv delicate; a little too much heat and carbonaceous
vapours easily spoil it. On this account it is more beau¬
tiful when baked with charcoal than with wood.
“ This colour and the purple, Avhich is very little dif¬
ferent, as well as all the shades obtained from it, by
mixing it with other colours, really change on all por-
celain^and in every hand. But it is the only one that
changes on hard porcelain. Its place may be supplied
by a rose-colour from iron which does not change •, so
that by suppressing the carmine made with gold, and
substituting for it the rose oxide of iron here alluded to,
you may exhibit a palette composed of colours none of
which change in a remarkable manner. Ihis rose-co¬
loured oxide of iron has been long known ; but it was
not employed on enamel, because on that substance it
changes too much. As the painters on enamel, how¬
ever, have become the painters on porcelain, they have
preserved their ancient method.
“ It might be believed that, by first reducing to a
vitreous matter the colour called carmine already mixed
with its flux, it might be made to assume its last tint.
But the!heat necessary to fuse this vitreous mass destroys
the red colour, as I have experienced. Besides, it is
remarked that, to obtain this colour very beautiful, it
must be exposed to the fire as few times as possible.
it The carmine for soft porcelain is made with fulmi¬
nating gold slowly decomposed, and muriate ol silver
no tin enters into it 5 which proves that the combination
of the oxide of this metal with that of gold is not neces¬
sary to the existence of the purple colour.
“ Violet
FOB [ i
i celain. “ Violet is made also with purple oxide of gold. A
greater quantity of lead in the flux is what gives it this
colour, which is almost the same crude or baked.
“ These three colours totally disappear when exposed
to a great porcelain heat.
“ Carmine and purple have given us in glass tints
only of a dirty violet. The violet, on the other hand,
produces on glass a very beautiful effect, but it is liable
to turn blue. I have not yet been able to discover the
cause of this singular change, which I saw for the first
time a few days ago.
Red, Rose, and Brown Colours, extractedfrom Iron.
“ These colours are made from red oxide of iron pre¬
pared with nitric acid. These oxides are further cal¬
cined by keeping them exposed to the action of heat.
If heated too much, they pass to brown.
“ Their flux is composed of borax, sand, and minium,
in small quantity.
“ These oxides give rose and red colours capable of
supplying the place of the same colours made with oxide
of gold. When properly employed on hard porcelain,
they do not change at all. I have caused roses to be
painted with these colours, and found no difference be¬
tween the baked flower and that not baked, except
what might be expected to result from the brilliancy
given to colours by fusion.
“ These colours may be employed indiscriminately,
either previously fused or not fused.
“ In a great heat they in part disappear, or produce
a dull brick red ground, which is not agreeable.
“ The composition of them is the same both for soft
porcelain and for glass. They do not change on the
latter ; but on soft porcelain they disappear almost en¬
tirely on the first exposure to heat, and to make any
thing remain they must be employed very deep.
“ This singular effect must be ascribed to the pre¬
sence of lead in the crust or glazing. I assured myself
of this by a very simple experiment. I placed this co¬
lour on window glass, and having exposed it to a strong
baking, it did not change.
“ I covered several parts of it with minium ; and
again exposing it to the fire, the colour was totally re¬
moved in the places where the red oxide of lead had
been applied.
“ By performing this operation on a larger scale in
close vessels, a large quantity of oxygen gas was disen¬
gaged.
“ It appears to me that this observation clearly proves
the action of oxidated lead on glass as a destroyer of
colour : it is seen that it does not act, as was believed,
by burning the combustible bodies, which might tarnish
the glass, but by dissolving, discolouring, or volatilizing
with it the oxide of iron, which might alter its trans¬
parency.
Yellows.
99 ] FOB
when it is required to have them livelier, and nearer Porcelain,
the colour du souci, red oxide of iron is added, the too v—-y—-
great redness of which is dissipated in the previous fu¬
sion to which they are exposed by the action of the lead
contained in this yellow. These colours, when once
made, never change : they disappear, however, almost
entirely when exposed to a porcelain heat.
“ These yellows cannot be applied to glass : they
are too opake and dirty. That employed by the old
painters on glass has, on the contrary, a beautiful trans¬
parency, is exceedingly brilliant, and of a colour which
approaches near to that of gold. The processes which
they gave clearly showed that silver formed part of their
composition ; but, when exactly followed, nothing sa¬
tisfactory was obtained. C. Miraud, whom I have al¬
ready had occasion to mention, has found means to make
as beautiful paintings on glass as the ancients, by em¬
ploying muriate of silver, oxide of zinc, white argil, and
yellow oxide of iron. These colours are applied on glass
merely pounded, and without a flux. The oxide of iron
brings the yellow to that colour which it ought to have
after baking, and contributes with the argil and oxide
of zinc to decompose the muriate of silver without de¬
oxidating the silver. After the baking, there remains
a dust which has not penetrated into the glass, and
which is easily removed.
“ This yellow, when employed thicker, gives darker
shades, and produces a russet.
Blues.
“ It is well known that these are obtained from the
oxide of cobalt. All chemists are acquainted with the
preparation of them. T.hose of Sevres, which are justly
esteemed for their beauty, are indebted for it only to the
care employed in manufacturing them, and to the qua¬
lity of the porcelain, which appears more proper for re¬
ceiving them in proportion to the degree of heat which
it can bear.
“ I remarked respecting the oxide of cobalt a fact
which is perhaps not known to chemists : it is volatile
in a violent heat : it is to this property we must ascribe
the blueish tint always assumed by white in the neigh¬
bourhood of the blue. I have placed expressly on pur¬
pose, in the same case, a white piece close to a blue one,
and found that the side of the white piece next the blue
became evidently blueish.
“ The blue of hard porcelain, destined for what is
called the ground for a great heat (les fonds au grand
feu) is fused with feldspar ; that of soft porcelain has
for its flux silex, potash, and lead : it is not volatilized
like the preceding •, but the heat it experiences is very
inferior to that of hard porcelain.
“ These colours, when previously fused, do not change
at all in the application.
“ Blues on glass exhibit the same phenomena as those
on soft porcelain.
“ Yellows are colours which require a great deal of
care in the fabrication on account of the lead which they
contain, and which, approaching sometimes to the me¬
tallic state, produces on them black spots.
w The yellows for hard and soft porcelain are the
same : they are composed of the oxide of lead, white
oxide of antimony, and sand.
“ Oxide of tin is sometimes mixed with them j and
Greens.
“ The greens employed in painting are made with
green oxide of copper, or sometimes with a mixture of
yellow or blue. They must be previously fused with their
flux, otherwise they will become black ; but after this
first fusion they no longer change.
“ They cannot stand a strong heat, as it would make
them disappear entirely. Green grounds for a strong
heat
t
P O R
Porcelain, heat are composed with the oxides of .cohalt and me-
'““"■V"—-' kel. but a brownish green only is obtained.
“ Blueish greens, called celestial blues, winch were
formerly colours very much in vogue, can be applied
only upon soft porcelain j on hard porcelain they con
stantly become scaly, because potash enters in
C°“ These greens cannot be applied on glass: they
trive a dirty colour. To obtain a green on g ass, it is
necessary to put yellow on one side, and blue, more
or less pale, on the other. This colour may be made
also by a mixture of blue with yellow oxide of iron.
I hope to obtain from oxide of chrome a direct green
colour. The trials I have made give me reason to hope
for success. Pure chromate of lead, which I applied to
porcelain in a strong heat, gave me a pretty beautiful
green of great intensity and very fixed.
Bistres and Russets.
« These are obtained by mixtures in different pro¬
portions of manganese, brown oxide of copper, and ox¬
ide of iron from ombre earth. They are also previously
fused with their flux, so that they do not change in any
manner on soft porcelain, as lead has not the same ac¬
tion on oxide of manganese as on that of iron, as 1 as¬
sured myself by an experiment similar to that already
mentioned.
“ This colour fades very speedily on glass.
« Russet grounds in a great heat, known under the
name of tortoise-shell grounds, are made in thesomeman-
ner. Their flux is feldspar : no titanium enters into
their composition, though said so in all printed works.
Titanium was not known at the manufactory of bevres
when I arrived there. I treated this singular metal m
various ways, and never obtained but grounds of a pale
dirty yellow, and very variable in its tone.
Blacks.
“ Blacks are the colours most difficult to be obtained
very beautiful. No metallic oxide gives alone a beauti¬
ful black. Manganese is that which approaches nearest
to it. Iron gives an opake, dull, cloudy black, which
changes very easily to red : the colour-makers, there¬
fore, to obtain a black which they could not hope for
from the best theorist, have united several metallic ox¬
ides which separately do not give black, and have ob¬
tained a very beautiful colour, which, however, is liable
to become scaly and dull.
«These oxides are those of mangenese, the brown
oxides of copper, and a little of the oxide of cobalt.
The gray is obtained by suppressing the copper, and in¬
creasing the dose of the flux.
« The manufactory of Sevres is the only one which
has hitherto produced beautiful blacks in a strong heat.
This is owing rather to the quality of its paste than to
any peculiar processes, since it does not conceal them.
It is by darkening the blue by the oxides of manganese
and iron that they are able in that manufactory to ob¬
tain very brilliant blacks.
“ Having here made known the principles of the fa¬
brication of each principal colour, it may be readily
conceived that by mixing these colours together all the
shades possible may be obtained. It is evident also that
care in the preparation, choice in the raw materials, and
a just proportion of doses, must produce in the results
3
200 ] P O R
differences very sensible to an eye accustomed to paint- Porcela,
ing. A mere knowledge of the composition of the co-y-'
lours does not give the talent of executing them well.
“ In recapitulating the facts above mentioned, to pre¬
sent them under another general point of view, it is seen, ^
“ ist, That among colours generally employed onFacts5r,
hard porcelain one only is susceptible of changing, viz. tire to«
carmine, and the tints into which it enters: that its lours ree
place may be supplied by the reds of iron, and that no Pltulat"-
colour then changes.
“ I have presented to the Institute ahead not baked,
executed according to this method : and the painting of
two roses, that of the one baked, and that of the other
not baked. It has been seen that there was no differ¬
ence between them.
“ 2d, That among the colours for soft porcelain and
enamel^ several change in a considerable degree. These
are principally the reds of gold and iron, the yellows,
the greens, the browns. They have not been replaced
by others, because this kind of painting has been almost
abandoned.
“ 3d, That several of the colours on glass change
also by acquiring complete transparency. These in par¬
ticular are the yellows and greens.
“ 4th, That it is neither by calcinating the colours in
a higher degree, nor previously fusing them, as supposed
by some, that they are prevented from changing, since
these means really alter the changing colours, and pro¬
duce no effect on the rest. The change which several
colours experience on soft porcelain and on glass does
not then depend on the nature of their composition, but
rather on that of the body on which they are applied.
“ Consequently, by suppressing from the colours of
hard porcelain the carmine of gold, which is not indi¬
spensably necessary, we shall have a series of colouis
which do not change.” • , „ l6
As it must be of no small importance to the chemical Result
manufacturer to be acquainted with the results of ex-^J
periments on the effects of heat, when applied to ajs for,
t. 1 * —  -I ..4“x.-**...If' 1 xt&e 1 111 msiL: 1 no* ^
ferent proportions of the materials employed m making ceiain ii
porcelain, or other analogous ware, we shall insert the portant
following tables, exhibiting those results. The first ta¬
ble contains the results of the numerous experiments of
Achard and Morveau on the vitrification of earths with
saline bodies. The mixture of the earths and salts was
made in a clay crucible, and, in the experiments of Mor¬
veau, the crucible was exposed for two hours to a heat
from 22° to 26° of Wedgwood’s pyrometer j but in those
of Achard, the crucible was kept for three hours in the
heat of a strong wind furnace, in which the tempera¬
ture was probably higher than the former.
The second table presents a view of the effects of the
vitrification of earths by means of metallic oxides. The
mixtures were exposed in earthen crucibles to the heat
of a porcelain furnace during the whole time required
to bake porcelain ware.
In the third table are exhibited the curious results of
the effects of vitrifying materials on the crucibles in
■which the vitrification takes place. It is to be observ¬
ed, that the effects of the same materials, and in the
same proportions, are very different, in different vessels j
and without attending to this circumstance, very erro¬
neous conclusions will be drawn in estimating the action
of vitrifiable substances on each other. This diversity
of the effects of the same materials in different crucibles,
was
P O R [20
elain. was first noticed by Pott. The subject was still farther
ry-—' prosecuted by Gerrard, who made a number of experi¬
ments, from which he obtained the results expressed in
the table. He exposed various natural minerals to a de¬
gree of heat sufficient to melt cast iron for an hour, un-
1 ] P O R
der precisely the same circumstances, with this differ¬
ence only, that one specimen of each mineral was in¬
closed in a crucible of elay, another in one of chalk, and
a third in one of charcoal. The difference of the result
which is given in the tables was particularly noticed.
Porcelain.
Table I. Shewing the Results of the Vitrification of Earths with Saline Bodies.
Mixture. Results.
1! V A yellow glass> not hard enough to give sparks with steel.
* ^
colourless transparent glass, but deliquescent from the excess of alkali,
A yellow glass, not scintillant.
A vitriform mass, yellow, hard, and scintillant.
2*1 A beautiful transparent glass, not at all soluble in water.
j’^-A white porcellanous mass, scarcely scintillant.
^ A hard transparent glass—scintillant.
^ ^ A white opake melted porous mass—scintillant.
A. Silex
Carbonate of potash
M. Silex
Carbonate of soda (dry)
A. Silex
Carbonate of potash
A. Silex
Carbonate of potash
M. Silex
Borax (calcined)
A. Silex
Boracic acid
A, Silex
Boracic acid
;}
?;}a transparent glass —hard and scintillant.
j ] \ A mass resembling agate—but perfectly fused and scintillant.
jj- A green scintillant glass.
A soft green transparent glass.
* ‘ ^ Scoria—the crucible entirely destroyed.
A. Silex
Box-acic acid
A. Silex
Calcined borax
A. Silex
Calcined borax
A. Silex
Sulphate of soda
A. Silex
Nitre *
A. Silex
Common salt
M. Silex - - - I.?a,S irr-
Phosphate of soda and ammonia 2. A W Ute 0pake’ puffy’ Vltre0us mass> dehquescent, and reddening litmus.
A white spongy opake mass, crumbling between the fingers.
1
M. Lime
Carbonate of soda
A. Chalk
Carbonate of potash
A. Chalk
Carbonate of potash
A. Chalk
Carbonate of potash
M. Lime
Borax
A. Chalk
. Borax
A. Chalk
Borax
A. Chalk
Boracic acid
Vol. XVII. Part I.
^-Partly, fused—the rest pulverulent—the crucible strongly corroded.
**^-A well-fused, polished, black scintillant glass,
j ‘ Remained a white powder.
2 ^ A fine transparent yellowish glass—the crucible strongly corroded.
A well-fused, black, scintillant, polished mass,
j- A yellow scintillant glass.
A yellow glass—run through the crucible.
Poreclalft.
P O B
Mixture.
[ 202 ]
P O K
Result.
Poroelai'
A.
A.
A.
A.
M.
M.
A.
A.
M.
A.
A.
M.
M.
M.
M.
M.
M.
M.
3'| A hard yellow sclntillant glass.
I-7 A hard brown scoria—the crucible totally destroyed.
4- j
A hard yellow glass.
J-1A yellow sclntillant glass—the crucible entirely destroyed.
   . ,*1.A white opake crumbly mass.
Phosphate of soda and ammonia 2. §
Alumine - - i- 7 A gray opake ill-fused fritt, not cohering to the crucible and deliquescent.
Carbonate of soda - 2. 3
Carbonate of soda and potash in \ Remained unmelted and uncohering,
all proportions from 1 to 12.3
Chalk
Sulphate of soda
Chalk
Sulphate of soda
Chalk
Nitrate of soda
Chalk
Common salt
Lime
^ ^ Partially melted, but soft and friable.
^ A fine transparent clear green glass.
Remained pulverulent.
I,|. Part unfused and remaining pulverulent, the rest partially melted.
Alumine
Carbonate of potash
A1 umine
Borax
Alumine
Borax
Alumine
Boracic acid
Alumine
Phosphate of soda and ammonia 2
Magnesia
Carbonate of soda
Magnesia - i ^    r  . w
Borax - “ J very hard and brilliant on the surface.
Magnesia - - . I,7. A white mass a little agglutinated but not adhering to the crucible.
Phosphate of soda and ammonia 2. j
Barytes (pure)
Carbonate of soda
Barytes -
Borax - - -
* ^ A green fritt easily friable.
^ A white opake uncohering mass.
I'T A semi-transparent somewhat milky glass of a gelatinous appearance, but
2 J vpw hard and brilliant on the surface.
" A very hard semi-vitrified mass, of a clear green*
i.T A beautiful transparent glass with a faint yellow tinge, strongly adhering
2.3 to the crucible.
Barytes - - - . 1’7. A remarkably fine transparent glass.
Phosphate of soda and ammonia 2. 3
Table II. Containing the Results of the Vitrification of Earths by Metallic Oxides.
Mixture..
Silex
Oxide of iron
Silex
Oxide of iron
Silex
Oxide of iron
Silex
Oxide of copper
Silex
Oxide of copper.
Result.
1.
!. 3
J- Scoria
Not fused
* * ^ Scoria run through the crucible
Not fused.
4*^ Not fused*
Colour and Texture.
Black and polished—hard, giving sparks
with steel.
Black and friable.
Black and hard—scintillantv
Site*
PlMlaia.
Silex
Mixture,
Oxide of lead
Silex
Oxide of lead
Silex
Oxide of lead
Silex
Oxide of tin
Silex
Oxide of tin
Silex
Oxide of bismuth
Silex
Oxide of bismuth
Silex
Oxide of antimonj
Silex
mass
I5 0 R [ 203 j
Result.
solid mass but not fused
^ Fused, porous, and semi-vitrified
Perfect glass
j' A coherent
2’ ^ Vitrified
j ^Remained in powder.
^ Perfect glass «
Glass - - -
Oxide of antimony 1.^ •^ot melte^ " "
Oxide of zinc - Remained in powder.
Oxide of zinc - 2!} Melted Gnly where touching the crucible.
Oxide of zinc - 3.'| Perfectly fused
Lime (carbonated) I. 7 a
Oxide of iron - 1. J A melted Porou3 mass
“ I. 7 Melted, polished in the fracture, part of the
Oxide of copper 1.3 copper reduced
^-Melted, but porous . „
i ^-Part only melted, the rest pulverulent
Glass
j ^ Glass run through the crucible -
j Remained in powder.
Semi-vitrified
j Glass - »
Melted only where touching tlie crucible
4-|Glas3
Lime . j
Oxide of bismuth 2‘| vitriform mass
^ Glass penetrating the crucible
Lime
Oxide of copper
Lime
Oxide of copper
Lime
Oxide of copper
Lime
Oxide of lead
Lime
Oxide of lead
Lime
Oxide of lead
Lime
Oxide of tin
Lime
Oxide of tin
Lime
Oxide of tin
Lime .
Oxide of tin
Lime
Oxide of antimon
FOR
Colour and Textfir^ Pewlaia,
White and bard. v ‘
Yellow—not scintillant*
Green—not scintillant*
Gray—easibly friable.
Greenish yellow—not scintilla*!*
Deep yellow—not scintilla*t.
Colourless—scintillanU
Gray and friable.
White—hard.
Gray—scintillant.
Black—scintillant.
Red—scintillant.
The same.
Gray.
Greenish yellow—sciutilla&V
Yellow—scintillant*
Yellow—scintillafft.
Greenish yellow—scintillawt.
Gray.
Greenish yellow—scintillamt.
Green.
Yellow—scintillant.
C c 2- Li mt /
P O R
Porcelain. Mixture.
v Lime
Oxide of antimony
Lime
Oxide of antimony
Lime
Oxide of antimony
Lime
Oxide of zinc
Alumine
Oxide of iron
[ 204 ]
Result.
Alumine
Oxide of iron
Alumine
Oxide of copper -
Alumine
Oxide of copper -
Alumine
Oxide of lead
Alumine
Oxide of lead
Alumine
Oxide of lead
Alumine
Oxide of tin
Alumine
Oxide of bismuth
Alumine
Oxide of antimony
Alumine
Oxide of zinc
Magnesia
Oxide of iron
Magnesia
Oxide of copper -
Magnesia
Oxide of lead
Magnesia
Oxide of lead
Magnesia
Oxide of antimony
j- Remained in powder.
^ Glass penetrating the crucible
^ A semi-transparent polished mass
Glass
1 ‘ Only partially fused.
1 * ^ A melted porous mass
I* Only partially fused.
x‘ J-The same.
4- J
x’^- Remained in powder.
1‘ (-The same.
P O B
Colour and Texture.
Deep yellow-—scintillant.
f
Gray yellow—scintillant.
Deep- yellow—scintillant.
Black—scintillant.
Porcelain
3-3
4:}
Glass
Deep yellow—scintillant.
A melted porous mass, not polished in the ^ Gray—scintillant.
fracture
X* ^Partially fused.
1 ‘ Only partially fused,
x‘ ^ Remained in powder.
I'l Half fused, but not cohering.
3 3
1 ^ A porous half-fused mass
X* ^Not fused.
Gray—scintillant.
i.l A porous melted mass, part of the oxide re-
4-3
4. 3 duced.
X' ^ Beginning to fuse
Gray—scintillant.
Table III. Shewing the Action of the Vitrifying matters on the Cruellies that contain them.
Substances used.
Common flint.
Marble.
Gypsum.
Result in the Clay crucible Result in the Chalk crucible Result in the Charcoal <
(A). (B). r '' _ crucible
Opake and milk-white, but Opake and white, but with As in A.
without fusion. beginning fusion where in .
contact with the cruci¬
ble.
Run into a green glass. No change. No change.
Run into a radiated green No change. No change.
glass- Fluor
r r 205 i p
Result in the Clay crucible
(A.)
Melted and ran through
the crucible.
Compact, white and no signs
of fusion.
A compact mass partially
melted.
A black, glass covered with
a crust of reduced iron.
No fusion, but the colour
changed to brown.
A black glass with inter¬
spersed grains of iron.
Result in the Chalk cruci¬
ble (B).
Melted down with the cru¬
cible to a tough slag.
Run into a hard blue clear
glass.
A perfectly black glass.
Only hardened.
Brown-yellow glass with a
crust of iron.
For an account of some valuable experiments of a si¬
milar nature, which were made by the celebrated Kla¬
proth, in crucibles of clay and charcoal, in which the
dift’erences of the results are very striking, the reader is
referred to his Analyt. Essays, or to Aikin’s Dictionary
of Chemistry and Mineralogy.
PoRCELAiN-Shell, a species of Cyprjea. See Cy-
PR^a, Conchology Index.
PORCH, in Architecture, a kind of vestibule sup¬
ported by columns 5 much used at the entrance of the
ancient temples, halls, churches, &c.
A porch, in the ancient architecture, was a vestibule,
or a disposition of insulated columns usually crowned
with a pediment, forming a covert place before the
principal door of a temple or court of justice. Such is
that before the door of St Paul’s, Covent-Garden, the
work of Inigo Jones. When a porch had four columns
in front, it was called a tetrastyle when six, hexastyle ;
when eight, octostyle, &c.
Porch, in Greek e-W, a public portico in Athens,
adorned with the pictures of Polygnotus and other emi¬
nent painters. It was in this portico that Zeno the phi¬
losopher taught; and hence his followers were called
Stoics. See Stoics and Zeno.
PORCUPINE. See Hystrix, Mammalia Tnde.v.
PoiicupiNE-Man, the name by which one Edward
Rambert, who had a distempered skin, w’ent in Lon¬
don. We have the following account of him in the
Philosophical Transactions for 1755, by Mr Henry
Baker, F. R. S. “ He is now (says he) 40 years of age,
and it is 24 years since he was first shown to the socie¬
ty. The skin of this man, except on his head and face,
the palms of his hands, and the soles of his feet, is co¬
vered with excrescences that resemble an innumerable
company of warts, of a brown colour and cylindrical fi¬
gure ; all rising to an equal height, which is about an
inch, and growing as close as possible to each other at
their basis; but so stiff and elastic as to make a rust¬
ling noise when the hand is drawn over them. These
excrescences are annually shed, and renewed in some of
the autumn or winter months. The new ones, which
are of a paler colour, gradually rise up from beneath as
the old ones fall off; and at this time it has been found
necessary for him to lose a little blood, to prevent a slight
A semitransparent apple-
green glass.
Completely fused in the parts
touching the crucible.
The whole crucible was pe¬
netrated with a scoria so
as not to fall to powder
on exposure to air.
Agraysemitransparentglass
A green scoria, also with a
crust of iron.
sickness which he had been used to suffer before this pre¬
caution was taken. He has had the small-pox, and he has
been twice salivated, in hopes to get rid of this disagree¬
able covering; but though just when the pustules of the
smallpox had scaled oft’, and immediately after his sali¬
vations, his skin appeared white and smooth, yet the
excrescences soon returned by a gradual increase,and his
skin became as it was before. His health, during his
whole life has been remarkably good ; but there is one
particular of his case more extraordinary than all the
rest; this man has had six children, and all of them
had the same rugged covering as himself, which came
on like his own about nine weeks after the birth. Of
these children only one is now living, a pretty boy,
who wras shown with his father. It appears therefore,
as Mr Baker remarks, that a race of people might be
propagated by this man, as different from other men as
an African is from an Englishman ; and that if this
should have happened in any former age, and the acci¬
dental original have been forgotten, there would be the
same objections against their being derived from the
same common stock with others: it must therefore be
admitted possible, that the differences now subsisting
between one part of mankind and another may have
been produced by some such accidental cause, long af¬
ter the earth had been peopled by one common proge¬
nitor.”
PORE, in Anatomy, a little interstice or space be¬
tween the parts of the skin, serving for perspiration.
PORELLA, a genus of plants belonging to the
sryptogamia class. See Botany Index.
PORENTRU, a town of Switzerland, in Elsgaw,
and capital of the territory of the bishop of Basle, which
is distinguished only by its castle and cathedral. The
bishop was formerly a prince of the empire. It is seated
on the river Halle, near Mount Jura, 22 miles south of
Basle. E. Long. 7. 2. N. Lat. 47. 34.
PORISM, in Geometry, is a name given by the an-,
cient geometers to two classes of mathematical proposi¬
tions. . Euclid gives this name to propositions which
are involved in others which he is professedly investiga¬
ting, and which, although not his principal object, are
yet obtained along with it, as is expressed by their name
porismata, “ acquisitions.” Such propositions are now
called
jelaitt
f5 o
Substances used.
upme- spar.
an.
Porcelain clay.
Ditto, another kind.
Reddle.
Jasper.
Muscovy talc.
Spanish chalk.
Basalt.
O R
Result in the Charcoalcru- Porcelain
cible (C). 1!
Scarcely altered, except ^
slight fusion at the ‘ v_1"
edges.
As in A.
As in A.
A brown scoria containing
grains of iron.
As in A.
As in A.
As in A.
A green glass with many
grains of iron.
called corollaries. But he gives the same name, by way
of eminence, to a particular class of propositions which
he collected in the course of his researches, and selected
from among many others on account of then great su
serviency to the business of geometrical investigation m
general. These propositions were so named by him,
either from the ivay in which he discovered them, while
he was investigating something else, by which means
they might be considered as gains or acquisitions, or
from their utility in acquiring farther knowledge as
steps in the investigation. In this sense they are pons-
mata •, for signifies both to investigate and to ac¬
quire by investigation. These propositions formed a
collection, which was familiarly known to the ancient
geometers by the name of Euclid’s porisms; and Pap¬
pus of Alexandria says, that it was a most ingenious col¬
lection of many things conducive to the analysis or so¬
lution of the most difficult problems, and which afforded
great delight to those who were able to understand and
to investigate them.
Unfortunately for mathematical science, this valua¬
ble collection is now lost, and it still remains a doubtful
question in what manner the ancients conducted their
researches upon this curious subject. We have, how¬
ever, reason to believe that their method was excellent
both in principle and extentfor their analysis led them
to many profound discoveries, and was restricted by the
severest logic. The only account we have of this class
of geometrical propositions, is in a fragment of Pappus,
in which he attempts a general description of them as a
set of mathematical propositions, distinguishable in kind
from all others ; but of this description nothing remains,
except a criticism on a definition of them given by some
geometers, and with which he finds fault, as defining
them only by an accidental circumstance, “ A Porism
is that which is deficient in hypothesis from a local
theorem
Pappus then proceeds to give an account of Euclid’s
porisms •, but the enunciations are so extremely defec¬
tive, at the same time that they refer to a figure now
lost, that Dr Halley confesses the fragment in question
to he beyond his comprehension.
The high encomiums given by Pappus to these pro¬
positions have excited the curiosity of the greatest geo¬
meters of modern times, who have attempted to dis¬
cover their nature and manner of investigation. M.
Fermat, a French mathematician of the 17th century,
attaching himself to the definition which Pappus cri¬
ticises, published an introduction (for this is its modest
title) to this subject, which many others tried to eluci¬
date in vain. At length Dr Simson, Professor of Ma¬
thematics in the University of Glasgow, was so fortu¬
nate as to succeed in restoring the Porisms ol Euclid.
The account he gives of his progress and the obstacles
be encountered will always be interesting to mathema¬
ticians. In the preface to his treatise De Porismatibus,
he says, “ Postquam vero apud Pappum legeram Poris-
mata Euclidis Collectionem iuisse artificiosissimana mul-
tarum verum, qute spectant ad analysin difficiliorum et
generalium problematum, magno desiderio tenebar, all-
quid de iis cognoscendi} quare siepius et multis variisque
viis turn Pappi propositionem generalem, mancam et im-
perfectam, turn primumlib. I. porisma, quod, ut dictum
fuit, solum ex omnibus in tribus libris integrum adhuc
xaauctj iutelligere et restituere conabar j frustra tamen,
5
nihil enim proficiebam. Cumque cogitationes de hac re
multum mihi temporis consumpserint, atque tandem mo-v-
lestie admodum evaserint, firmiter animum induxi nun-
quam in posterum investigare } prsesertim cum optimus
Geometra Halleius spem omnem de iis Intelligendis ab-
jecisset. Unde quoties menti occurrebant, toties eas
arcebam. Postea tamen acciditut improvidum et pro¬
positi immemorem invaserint, meque detinuerint donee
tandem lux quaedam effulserit quae spem mihi faciebat
inveniendi saltern Pappi propositionem generalem, quam
quidem multa investigatione tandem restitui. Haecau-
tem paulo post una cum Porismate primo lib. 1. impressa
est interTransactionesPhilosophicasanni 1723,^
Dr Simson’s Restoration has all the appearance of
being just ; it precisely corresponds to Pappus’s de¬
scription of them. All the lemmas which Pappus has
given for the better understanding of Euclid’s proposi¬
tions are equally applicable to those of Dr Simson,
which are found to differ from local theorems precisely
as Pappus affirms those of Euclid to have done. They
require a particular mode of analysis, and are of im¬
mense service in geometrical investigation j on which
account they may justly claim our attention.^
While Dr Simson was employed in this inquiry, he
carried on a correspondence upon the subject with the
late Dr M. Stewart, professor of mathematics in the
university of Edinburgh \ who, besides entering into Dr
Simson’s views, and communicating to him many curi¬
ous porisms, pursued the same subject in a new and very
different direction. He published the result of his in¬
quiries in 1 746, under the title of General Theorems,
not wishing to give them any other name, lest he might
appear to anticipate the labours of his friend and for¬
mer preceptor. The gieatest part of the propositions
contained in that work are porisms, but without de¬
monstrations j therefore, whoever wishes to investigate
one of the most curious subjects in geometry, will there
find abundance of materials, and an ample field for dis¬
cussion.
Dr Simson defines a porism to be “ a proposition, is
which it is proposed to demonstrate, that one or more
things are given, between which, and every one of in¬
numerable other things not given, but assumed accord¬
ing to a given law, a certain relation described in the
proposition is shown to take place.”
This definition is not a little obscure, hut will be
plainer if expressed thus : “ A porism is a proposition
affirming the possibility of finding such conditions as
will render a certain problem indeterminate, or capable
of innumerable solutions.” This definition agrees with
Pappus’s idea of these propositions, so far at least as
they can be understood from the fragment already men¬
tioned ; for the propositions here defined, like those
which hq describes, are, Strictly speaking, neither theo¬
rems nor problems, but of an intermediate nature be¬
tween both •, for they neither simply enunciate a truth
to be demonstrated, nor propose a question to be resol¬
ved, but are affirmations of a truth in which the deter¬
mination of an unknown quantity is involved. In as
far, therefore, as they assert that a certain problem may
become indeterminate, they are of the nature of theo¬
rems 5 and, in as far as they seek to discover the condi¬
tions by which that is brought about, they are of the
nature of problems.
We shall endeavour to make our readers understand
this
P O R [ 207 ] P O R
considenncr them in the of an intermediate nature between problem-? and theo- p0VjstIx.
rems j and tliat they admitted ot being enunciated in a T .*
manner peculiarly elegant and concise. It was to such
propositions that the ancients gave the name of porisms.
This deduction requires to be illustrated by an example:
suppose, therefore, that it were required to resolve the
following problem.
A circle ABC (fig. 1.), a straight line DE, and a Plate
point I, being given in position, to find a point G in the C<?CCXXXVIV
straight line 13E such, that GE', the line drawn from it I-
to the given point, shall be equal to GI3, the line drawn
from it touching the given circle.
Suppose G to be found, and GB to be drawm touch¬
ing the given circle ABC in B, let H be its centre, join
HB, and let HD be perpendicular to DE. From I)
draw DL, touching the circle ABC in L, and join
HL j also from the centre G, with the distance GB or
GF, describe the circle BKF, meeting HD in the points
Jv and k . It is evident that HD and DC are given in
position and magnitude: also because GB touches the
circle ABC, HBG is a right angle; and since G is the
centre of the circle BKF, HB touches that circle, and
consequently HB* or HL2=KH X HK'; but because
KK' is bisected in D, KH x HK'-f DK* — DH2
therefore HL1-f-DK2=: DH2. But HL*-f-LD* =
DIP, therefore DK2 = DL* and DK = DL. But
HL is given in magnitude, therefore DK is given in mag¬
nitude, and consequently K is a given point. Forthesame
reason KA is a given point, therefore the point F being
isition. the circle KF1-C' is o-iv^n it.
this subject distinctly, by
way in which it is probable they occurred to the an¬
cient geometers in the course of their researches: this
will at the same time show the nature of the analysis
peculiar to them, and their great use in the solution of
problems.
It appears to be certain, that it has been the solution
of problems which, in all states of the mathematical sci¬
ences, has led to the discovery of geometrical truths:
the first mathematical inquiries, in particular, must have
occurred in the form of questions, where something was
given, and something required to be done; and by the
reasoning necessary to answer these questions, or to dis¬
cover the relation between the things given and those
to be found, many truths were suggested, which came
afterwards to be the subject of separate demonstra¬
tions.
The number of these was the greater, because the an¬
cient geometers always undertook the solution of pro¬
blems, with a scrupulous and minute attention, insomuch
that they would scarcely suffer any of the collateral truths
to escape their observation.
Now, as this cautious manner of proceeding gave an
opportunity of laying hold of every collateral truth con¬
nected with the main object of inquiry, these geometers
soon perceived, that there were many problems which
in certain cases would admit of no solution whatever, in
consequence of a particular relation taking place among
the quantities which were given. Such problems were
said to become impossible ; and it was soon perceived,
that this always happened when one of the conditions
of the problem was inconsistent with the rest. Thus,
when it was required to divide a line, so that the rect¬
angle contained by its segments might be equal to a
given space, it w'as found that this was possible only
when the given space was less than the square of half
the line; for when it was otherwise, the two conditions
defining, the one the magnitude of the line, and the
ether the rectangle of its segments, were inconsistent
with each other. Such cases would occur in the solution
of the most simple problems ; but if they were more
complicated, it must have been remarked, that the con¬
structions would sometimes fail, for areason directly con¬
trary to that just now assigned. Cases would occur,
where the lines, which by their intersection were to de¬
termine the thing sought, instead of intersecting each
other as they did commonly, or of not meeting at all, as
in the above-mentioned case of impossibility, would co¬
incide with one another entirely, and of course leave the
problem unresolved. It would appear to geometers up¬
on a little reflection, that since, in the case of determi¬
nate problems, the thing required was determined by the
intersection of the two lines already mentioned, that is,
by tbe points common to both ; so in the case of their
coincidence, as all theirparts were in common, everyone
of these points must give a solution, or, in other words,
the solutions must be indefinite in number.
Upon inquiry, it will be found that this proceeded
from some condition of the problem having been invol¬
ved in another, so that, in fact, the two formed but one,
and thus there was not a sufficient number of independ¬
ent conditions to limit the problem to a single or to any
determinate number of solutions. It would soon be per¬
ceived, that these cases formed very curious propositions
given in position, the circle KFK' is given in position.
Ihe point G, which is its centre, is therefore given iir
position, which was to he found. Hence this construction:
Having drawn HD perpendicular to HE, and DL
tonching the circle ABC, make HK and HK' each
equal to DL, and find G the centre of the circle de¬
scribed through the points K'FK; that is, let FK' be
joined and bisected at right angles by MN, which meets
HE in G, G will be the point required; or it will
be such a point, that if GB be drawn touching tbe
circle ABC, and GF to the given point, GB is equal1
to GF.
The synthetical demonstration is easily derived from
the preceding analysis; but it must be remarked, that
in some cases this construction fails. For, first, if F fall
anywhere in DH, as at F', the line MN becomes paral¬
lel to DE, and the point G is nowhere to be found ; or,
in other words, it is at an infinite distance from D. 
This is true in general; but if the given point F coin¬
cide with K, then MN evidently coincides with DE ;
so that, agreeable to a remark already made, every point
of the line HE may be taken for G, and will satisfy the
conditions of the problem; that is to say, GB will be
equal to GK, wherever the point G is taken in the line
HE: the same is true if F coincide with K. Thus we
have an instance of a problem, and that too a very simple
one, which, in general, admits hut of one solution ; but
which, in one particular case, when a certain relation
takes place among the things given, becomes indefinite,
and admits of innumerable solutions. The proposition-
which results from this case of the problem is a porism,
and may be thus enunciated :
“ A circle ABC being given by position, and also a
straight line DE, which does not cut the circle, a point
K may be found, such, that if G be any point whatever
hart
P O R [
Porism. in DE, tlie straight line drawn from G to the
v v ' shall be equal to the straiglit line drawn from G touch-
ina; the given circle ABC.” , , .
The problem which follows appears to have led to
the discovery of many porisms. _ t? •
ri„ , A circle ABC (fig. 2.) and two points D, E, m a
diameter of it being given, to find a point l m toe cir-
cumfereivce of the given circle •, from which, it straight
lines be drawn to the given points E, D, these straight
lines shall have to one another the given ratio ot * to /3,
which is supposed to be that of a greater to a less.
Suppose the problem resolved, and that t is tound, so
that FE has to FD the given ratio of « to /3 j produce
EF towards B, bisect the angle EFD by I'L, and
DFB by FM : therefore EL : LI):: Et : ED, that
is in a given ratio, and since ED is given, each ot the
segments EL,ED, is given, and point L is also
given *, again, because DI B is bisected by F i.l, EM .
All) • • EF : FD, that is, in a given ratio, and theretore
M is given. Since DEL is half of DEE, and DF M
half of DFB, therefore LFM is half of (DFE + 1)FB>,
that is, the half of two right angles, therefore LF M is
a right angle; and since the points L, M, are given,
the point F is in the circumference of a circle described
upon LM as a diameter, and therefore given in position.
Now the point F is also in the circumference ot the
given circle ABC, therefore it is in the intersection ot
the two given circumferences, and there!ore is found,
lienee this construction : Divide ED in L, so that EL
may be to LD in the given ratio of a, to /3, and pro¬
duce ED also to M, so that EM may be to MD in the
same given ratio of « to /3 ; bisect LM in N, and from
the centre N, with the distance NL, describe the semi¬
circle LF'M •, and the point F, in which it intersects
the circle ABC, is the point required.
The synthetical demonstration is easily derived kom
the preceding analysis. It must, however, he remarked,
that the construction fails when the circle LFM tails
either wholly within or wholly without the circle ABC,
so that the circumferences do not intersect j and in these
cases the problem cannot be solved. It is also obvious
that the construction will tail in another ease, viz., when
the two circumferences LFM, ABC, entirely coincide.
In this case, it is farther evident, that every point in the
circumference ABC will answer the conditions ot the
problem, which is therefore capable of numberless solu¬
tions, and may, as in the former instances, be converted
into a porism. We are now to inquire, therefore, in
what circumstances the point L will coincide with A,
and also the point M with C, and of consequence the
circumference LFM with ABC. If we suppose that
they coincide, FA : AD : : « : /3 : : EC : CD, and EA
: EC : : AD : CD, or by conversion, EA : AC : : AD :
CD AD : : AD : 2.DO, O being the centre of the
circle ABC-, therefore, also, F.A: AO : : AD : DO,
and by composition, EO : AO : : AO : DO, theretore
EO X OD~ AO2. Hence, if the given points E and
F'ig 3- D ffig. 3*) he so situated that EOxODxAO , and
at the same time a : : : EA : AD : : EC : C.D, the
problem admits of numberless solutions j and li either ot
the points D or E be given, the other point, and also
the ratio which will render the problem indeterminate,
may be found. Hence we have this poi ism :
“ A circle ABC, and also a point D being given,
another point E may be found, such that the two lines
; 1
208 ] p O R
inflected from these points to any point in the circum- Porism,
ference ABC, shall have to each other a given ratio,' ^
which ratio is also to be found.” Flence also we have
an example of the derivation of porisms from one ano¬
ther j for the circle ABC, and the points D and E re¬
maining as before (fig. 3.), if, through D we draw
any line whatever F1L)B, meeting the circle in B and
H and if the lines EB, EH be also drawn, these lines
will cut off equal circumferences BF. HG. I^et FC
he drawn, and it is plain from the foregoing analysis,
that the angles DFC, CFB, are equal-, therefore if
OG, OB, be drawn, the angles BOC, COG, are also
equal 5 and consequently the angles DOB, DOG. In
the same manner, by joining AB, the angle DBF be¬
ing bisected by BA, it is evident that the angle AOF
is equal to AOH, and therefore the angle FOB to
HOG hence the arch F'B is equal to the arch HG.
It is evident that if the circle ABC, and either of the
points DE were given, the other point might be found.
Therefore we have this porism, which appears to have
been the last but one of the third book of Euclid’s For-
isms. “ A point being given, either within or without
a circle given by position. If there be drawn, anyhow
through that point, a line cutting the circle in two
paints -, another point may be found, such, that it two
lines be drawn from it to the points in which the line
already drawn cuts the circle, these two lines will cut
off from the circle equal circumferences.”
The proposition from which we have deduced these
two porisms also affords an illustration of the lemaik,
that the conditions of a problem are involved in one
another in the porismatic or indefinite case} for here se¬
veral independent conditions are laid down, by the help
of which the problem is to be resolved. Two points D
and E are given, from which two lines are to be inflect¬
ed, and a circumference ABC, in which these lines are
to meet, as also a ratio which these lines are to have to
each other. Now these conditions are all independent
of one another, so that any one may be changed without
any change whatever in the rest. I his is true in gene¬
ral } but yet in one case, viz,, when the points are so re¬
lated to another that the rectangle under their distances
from the centre is equal to the square ot the radius of
the circle} it follows from the preceding"analysis, tnat
the ratio of the inflected lines is no longer a matter of
choice, but a necessary consequence ot this disposition
of the points. ’
From what has been already said, we may trace the
imperfect definition ot a porism which Fappus ascribes
to the later geometers, viz. that it differs from a local
theorem, by wanting the hypothesis assumed in that
theorem.—Now, to understand this, it must be observed,
that if we take one of the propositions called loci, and
make the construction of the figure a part of the hypo¬
thesis, we get what was called by the ancient geometers,
a local theorem. If, again, in tlve enunciation pf the
theorem, that part of the hypothesis which contains the
construction be suppressed, the proposition thence arising
will he a porism, tor it will enunciate a trutn, and will
require to the full understanding and investigation of
that truth, that something should be tound, viz. the cir¬
cumstances in the construction supposed to be omitted.
Thus, when we say, if from two given points E, D,
(fig. 3.) two straight lines EF', ID, are inflected to a pig, 3
third'point F, so as to be to one another in a given ra¬
tio,
Fn/. 2
PORISM .
Fla t/2 crccrxxxv/i
i
<
*
FOR
Ponsm.
tio, tlie point F is in the circumference of a given circle
we have a locus. But when conversely it is said if a
circle ABC, of which the centre is O, be given by po¬
sition, as also a point E; and if D be taken in the line
EO, so that EOxOD—AO*j and if from E and D
the lines EF, DF be inflected to any point of the cir¬
cumference ABC, the ratio of EF to DF will be given,
viz. the same with that of EA to AD, we have a local
theorem.
Easily, when it is said, if a circle ABC be given by
position, and also a point E, a point D may be found
such that if EF, FD be inflected from E and D to any
point F in the circumference ABC, these lines shall
have a given ratio to one another, the proposition be¬
comes a porism, and is the same that has just now been
investigated.
Hence it is evident, that the local theorem is changed
into a porism, by leaving out what relates to the deter¬
mination of D, and of the given ratio. But though all
propositions formed in this way from the conversion of
loci, are porisms, yet all porisms are not formed from
the conversion of locij the first, for instance of the pre¬
ceding cannot by conversion be changed into a locus ;
therefore Fermat’s idea of porisms, founded upon this
circumstance, could not fail to be imperfect.
To confirm the truth of the preceding theory, it may
be added, that Professor Dugald Stewart, in a paper read
r considerable time ago before the Philosophical Society
of Edinburgh, defines a porism to be “ A proposition
affirming the possibility of finding one or more condi¬
tions of an indeterminate theorem where, by an in¬
determinate theorem, he means one which expresses a
relation between certain quantities that are determinate
and certain others that are indeterminate ; a definition
which evidently agrees with the explanation which has
been here given.
If the idea which we have given of these propositions
be just, it follows, that they are to be discovered by
considering those cases in which the construction of a
problem fails, in consequence of the lines which by
their intersection, or the points which by their posi¬
tion, were to determine the problem required, happen¬
ing to coincide with one another. A porism may there¬
fore be deduced from the problem to which it belongs,
just as propositions concerning the maxima and minima
of quantities are deduced from the problems of which
they form limitations j and such is the most natural and
obvious analysis of which this class of propositions ad¬
mits.
The following porism is the first of Euclid’s, and the
first also which was restored. It is given here to ex-
emplify the advantage which, in investigations of this
kind, may be derived from employing the law of conti¬
nuity in its utmost extent, and pursuing porisms to
those extreme cases where the indeterminate magnitudes
increase ad infinitum.
This porism may be considered as having occurred in
the solution of the following problem: Two points A, B,
{fig. 4.) and also three straight lines DE, FK, KL, be-
ing given in position, together with two points H and M
in two of these lines, to inflect from A and B to a point
in the third line, two lines that shall cut off from KF
and KL two segments, adjacent to the given points H
and M, having to one another the given ratio of ec to
Now, to find whether a porism be connected with this
Vol. XVII. Part I. f
[ 209 2
for
problem, suppose that there is, and that the following
proposition is true. Two points A and B, and two '
straight lines DE, FK, being given in position, and
also a point H in one of them, a line LK may be found
and also a point in it M, both given in position, such
that AE and BE inflected from the points A and B
to any point whatever of the line DE, shall cut off from
the other lines FK and LK segments HG and MN ad¬
jacent to the given points H and M, having to one an¬
other the given ratio of « to
FiS,let AE'’ ^ be inflected t0 the E', so
that AE may be parallel to FK, then shall E'B be pa-
ra 6 t0 St’ ^ lin.e to be found > <or it it be not pa¬
rallel to KL, the point of their intersection must be at
a finite distance from the point M, and therefore mak¬
ing as /3 to a, so this distance to a fourth proportional,
the distance from H at which AE' intersects FK, will
be equal to that fourth proportional. But AE' does
not intersect FK, for they are parallel by construction;
therefore BE' cannot intersect KL, which is therefore
ni?,, , ’.a line Siven in Position. Again, let
AE , BE", be inflected to E", so that AE" may pass
through the given point H: then it is plain that BE"
must pass through the point to be found M 5 for if not,
it may be demonstrated just as above, that AE" does’
not pass through H, contrary to the supposition. The
point to be found is therefore in the line E"B, which in
given in position. Now if from E there be drawn EP
parallel to AE', and ES parallel to BE', BS : SE :: BL
: LN= —'xP)L a t> . hi.’ ..at, ™ PE=AF
BS
therefore FG : LN
, and AP: PE ::AF: FG=
PE x AF SE X BL
AP
PExAF
AP ' BS
X BS : SE X BL X AP ; wherefore the ratio of FG to
LN is compounded of the ratios of AF to BL PE to
ES, and BS to AP ; but PE : SE :: AE' • BE' and
BS : AP :: DB : DA, for DB : BS :: DE' E'E :;
DA : AP ; therefore the ratio of FG to LN is com¬
pounded of the ratios of AF to BL, AE' to BE', and
DB to DA. In like manner, because E" is a point in
the line DE and AE", BE" are inflected to it, the
ratio of IH to LM is compounded of the same ratios
of AF to BL, AE' to BE', and DB to DAj there¬
fore FH ; LM :: FG : NL (and consequently) :: HG
. ININ j but the ratio of HG to MN is given, being by
supposition the same as that of « to /S; the ratio of FH
to LM is therefore also given, and FH being given,
LM is given in magnitude. Now LM is parallel to
BE', a line given in position j therefore M is in a line
QM, parallel to AB, and given in position 5 therefore
the point M, and also the line KLM, drawn through it
parallel to BE', are given in position, which were to be
found. Hence this construction : From A draw AE'
parallel to FK, so as to meet DE in E'j join BE', and
take in it BQ, so that cc : :: HF : BQ, and through
Q draw QM parallel to AB. Let HA be drawn, and
produced till it meet DE in E", and draw BE", meet¬
ing QM in M ; through M draw KML parallel to
BE', then is KML the line and M the point which
were to be found. There are two lines which will an¬
swer the conditions of this porism j for if in QB, produ¬
ced on the other side of B, there be taken B rprBQ,
and if ^ m be drawn parallel to AB, cutting MB in m]
and if m A be drawn parallel to BQ, the part m n, cut
^ d off
Porisna.
P O R [ 210 ]
Porta., off by EB produced, will be equal to MN, and Jiave
 V t to HG the ratio required. It is plain, that whatever
be the ratio of « to /3, and whatever be the magnitude
of FH, if the other things given remain the same, the
lines found will be all parallel to BE. But if the ratio
of es to/3 remain the same likewise, and if only the poin
H vary, the position of KL will remain the same, and
the point M will vary. _ , a a
Another general remark which may be made on the
analysis of porisms is, that it often happens, as in the
last example, that the magnitudes required may all, or
a part of them, be found by considering the extreme
cases i but for the discovery of the relation between
them, and the indefinite magnitudes, we must have re¬
course to the hypothesis of the porism in its most gene¬
ral or indefinite form •, and must endeavour so to con¬
duct the reasoning, that the indefinite magnitudes may
at length totally disappear, and leave a proposition as¬
serting the relation between determinate magnitudes
011 For this purpose Dr Simson frequently employs two
statements of the general hypothesis, which he compares
together. As for instance, in his analysis ol the laslP“*
rism, he assumes not only E, any point in the line DF,
but also another point O, anywhere in the same line,
to both of which he supposes lines to be inflected from
the points A, B. This double statement, however,
cannot be made without rendering the investigation long
and complicated ; nor is it even necessary, lor it may be
avoided by having recourse to simple pormws, or to lou,
or to propositions of the data. The following porism is
given as an example where this is done, with some diffi¬
culty hut with considerable advantage both with re¬
gard to the simplicity and shortness of the demonstration.
It will be proper to premise the following lemma. Fet
Fig. 7. AB (fit?- 7-) fie a straight line, and D, L any two points
in it, one of which D is between A and B; also let
CL fie any straight line. Then shall
^adh^bd^-av+IAbe’+^dia
~ j FOR
the first, second, and fifth of these propositions, it is ma- Porismi
nifest that Y
^LA*+~LB*+^5lD,=AB xLE+EKxGH.
JLC CIj
Again, because
CL : LA :: (LB : LE::DB : DG::)DB*: DB X DG,
therefore DB X DG——£-’DB*.
And because
CL: LB:: (LA: LE :: DA: DH ::)DA*: DA x DH,
IjB
therefore DA X Dflrz-^r^DA*.
From the result of
these two last propositions we have
^•DA’ + ~-DB2=DA x DII + BD x DG j
CL CL
but DAxDH= twice tnan. ADH, and DB X DG=
twice trian. BDG, and therefore DAxDH + DBx
DC — 2 {trian. ADH-fi- trian. BDG) = 2 {tnun. AEB
trian. HEG)=AB x LE + EK x HG. Now it has
been proved, that DA XDII + DB X DG~^Tj-j"DA
+IAbi,
and that AB X LE+EK X HCJ—
LB
LB
CL
la-bd-= lb
therefore
•ALl+#-BL2
CL
AB
CL
AD2 +
CL
DLl,
as
For place CL perpendicular to AB, and through the
points A, C, B describe a circle, and le* CL meetJ.p
circle again in E, and join AE, BE. > Also draw DG
parallel to CE, meeting AE and BE in H and G, and
draw EK parallel to AB. Then, from the elements of
geometry,
CL : LB :: (LA : LE ::) LA2: LAxLE,
LB x k t
and hence LB xLEn^rj-'LA .
Also CL : LA:: (LB : LE LB* : LB x LE,
and hence LBxIJE=
Now CL : LB :: LA : LE :: EK or LD : KH,
and CL : LA :: LB : LE :: EK or LD ; KG,
therefore, (Geom. Sect. III. Theor. 8.)
CL : AB :: (LD: GH ::) LD1: EKxGH,
AB
and hence EK X GH:= ^rj-^LD2.
From the three equations which we have deduced from
CL CL
was to be demonstrated. _ . _
Porism. Let there be three straight lines AB, AC,
CB given in position (fig. 5.) 5 and from any point
whatever in one of them, as D, let perpendiculars be
drawn to the other two, as DF, DE, a point G may be
found, such, that if GD be drawn from it to the point
D, the square of that line shall have a given ratio to the
sum of the squares of the perpendiculars DF and DE,
which ratio is to be found. ™ ^
Draw AH, BK perpendicular to BC and AC ; and
in AB take L, so that AL : LB : : AH* : BK* : :
AC* : CB*. The point L is therefore given j and if
a line N be taken, so as to have to AL the same ratio
that ABa has to AH*, N will be given in magnitude.
Also, since AH*: BK* :: AL : LB, and AH . AB ..
AL : N, ex equo, BK* : AB*:: LB : N. Draw LO,
LM perpendicular to AC, CB j LO, LM are there¬
fore given in magnitude. Now, because AB* : "
AD* : DF*, N : LB :: AD2 : DF*, and DF*=-^
AL
•AD2; and for the same reason DE*=-^-‘BD
but,
LB
, LB , .p, AL -pT-vj 
by the preceding lemma, -^--AH -j—•15U —
.AL-+A.BL-+A.DE’
that is, DE*-fDF*=
FO*-l-LM* + :^-‘DL*. Join LG, then by hypothe¬
sis LO*4-LM* has to LG*, the same ratio as
DE* has to DG2 j let it fie that of R to N, then L0* +
P O R [2
r',y'vl . LM1—and therefore X)EJ-{-DFI=z^-LG!!+
^■DL“i botDE- + DP=ADGM therefore,
•LG'+2i'Dl/=| DG=a„cl ^- DL-=|- (DG>-
LG1) ; therefore DG1—LG1 has to DL* a constant
ratio, viz. that of AL to II. The angle DLG is there¬
fore a right angle, and the ratio of AB to R that of
equality, otherwise LD would be given in magnitude,
contrary to the supposition. LG is therefore given in
position : and since R f N :: AB : N :: LO? + LMa :
LG1; therefore the square of LG, and consequently
LG, is given in magnitude. The point G is there¬
fore given, and also the ratio of DE,-f.DF* to DG1,
which is the same with that of AB to N.
The construction easily follows from the analysis, but
it may be rendered more simple ; for since AH1 : AB1
:: AL : N, and BK2: ABS :: BL : N ; therefore AH*
-f-Biv3: AB1 :: AB : N. Likewise, if AG, BG, be
joined, AB : N :: AH1 : AG1, and AB : N :: BK1:
BG1; wherefore AB : N :: AfR-j-BX1 : AG*-j-BG*,
but it was proved that AB : N :: AH?+BK* : AB1,
therefore AG2-j-BG1=AB1 •, theretore the angle AGB
is a right one, and AL : LG :: LG : LB. If there-
fore AB be divided in L, so that AL : LB :: AH1 •
BK3; and if LG, a mean proportional between AL
and LB, be placed perpendicular to AB, G will be the
point required.
The step in the analysis, by which a second intro¬
duction of the general hypothesis is avoided, is that in
which the angle GLD is concluded to be a right angle j
which follows from DG1—GL* having a given ratio to
LD1, at the same time that LD is of no determinate
magnitude. For, if possible, let GLD he obtuse (fig, 6.),
and let the perpendicular from G to AB meet it in V,
therefore V is given : and since GD1—LG2=;LD14-
2DL X LVj therefore, by the supposition, LD3-j-2DL
X LV must have a given ratio to LD1; therefore the
ratio of LD1 to DLx VL, that is, of LD to VL, is
given, so that VL being given in magnitude, LD is al¬
so given. But this is contrary to the supposition ", for
LD is indefinite by hypothesis, and therefore GLD
cannot be obtuse, nor any other than a right aggie.
The conclusion that is here drawn immediately from the
indetermination of LD would be deduced, according to
Dr Simson’s method, by assuming another point IT
any how, and from the supposition that GD'1—GL1 :
LD'1 :: GD1—GL* : LD1, it would easily appear that
GLD must be a right angle, and the ratio "that of equa¬
lity.
These porisms facilitate the solution of the general
problems from which they are derived. For example,
let three straight lines AB, AC, BC (fig. 50> l)e given
in position, and also a point R, to find a point D in one
of the given lines, so that DE and DF being drawn
perpendicular to BC, AC, and DR, joined} DE^DF*
may have to DR3 a given ratio. It is plain, that hav¬
ing found G, the problem would he nothing more than
to find D, such that the ratio of GD1 to DR2, and
therefore that of GD to DR, might, be given, from
which it would follow, that the point D is in the cir¬
cumference of a given circle, as is well known to geo¬
meters. b
ir ] FOR
The same porism also assists in the solution of another rorism.
problem. For if it were required to find Dsucli thatDE* v 
-fDF* might be a given space } having found G, DG1
would have to DE3-j-DF1 a given ratio, and DG
would therefore he given } whence the solution is obvi¬
ous.
The connection of this porism with the impossible case
of the problem is evident } the point L being that from
which, if perpendiculars be drawn to AC and CB, the
sum of their squares is the least possible. For since
DF’+DE1 : DG3 :: LO + LM1: LG1} and since
LG is less than DG, LCT + LM3 must be less than
DF34-DE1.
It is evident from what has now appeared, that in
some instances at least there is a close connection be¬
tween these propositions and the maxima or minima, and
of consequence the impossible cases of problems. The
nature of this connection requires to be farther investi¬
gated, and is the more interesting because the transition
from the indefinite to the impossible case seems to be
made with wonderful rapidity. Thus in the first propo¬
sition, though there be not properly speaking an impos¬
sible case, but only one where the point to be found
goes of! ad infinitum, it may be remarked, that if the
given point F be anywhere out of the line HD (fig. i.),
the pioblem of drawing GB equal to GF is always pos¬
sible, and admits of just one solution } but if F be in
DH, the problem admits of no solution at all, the point
being then at an infinite distance, and therefore impossi¬
ble to be assigned. There is, however, this exception,
that if the given point be at K in this same line, DH is
determined by making DK equal to DL. Then every
point in the line DE gives a solution, and may be taken
for the point G. Here therefore the case of numberless
solutions, andof no solution at all, are as it were cowte?’-
minal, and so close to one another, that if the given
point be at K the problem is indefinite } but if it re¬
move ever so little from K, remaining at the same time
in the line DH, the problem cannot be resolved. This
affinity might have been determined a priori: for it is,
as we have seen, a general principle, that a problem is
converted into a porism when one or when two of the
conditions of it necessarily involve in them some one of
the rest. Suppose, then, that two of the conditions are
exactly in that state which determines the third } then
while they remain fixed or given, should that third one
vary or differ ever so little from the state required by
the other two, a contradiction will ensue : therefore if,
in the hypothesis of a problem, the conditions be so re¬
lated to one another as to render it indeterminate, a po¬
rism is produced } but if, of the conditions thus related
to one another, some one be supposed to vary, while the
others continue the same, an absurdity follows, and the
problem becomes impossible. Wherever, therefiore, any
problem admits both of an indeterminate and an impossi¬
ble case, it is certain, that these cases are nearly relat¬
ed to one another, and that some ofi the conditions by
which they are produced are common to both.
It is supposed above, that two of the conditions of a
problem involve in them a third} and wherever that
happens, the conclusion which has been deduced will
invariably take place. But a porism may in some cases
be so simple as to arise from the mere coincidence of one
condition with another, though in no case whatever any
inconsistency can take place between them. There are,
D d 2 however.
.
P O R [21
however, comparatively few porisms so simple in their
origin, or that arise from problems where the conditions
are but little complicated ; lor it usually happens that a
problem which can become indefinite may also become
impossible j and it so, the connection already explain¬
ed never fails to take place.
Another species of impossibility may frequently arise
from the porismatic case of a problem which will aftect
in some measure the application of geometry to astrono¬
my, or any of the sciences depending on experiment or
observation. For when a problem is to be resolved by
means of data furnished by experiment or observation,
the first thing to be considered is, whether the data so
obtained be sufficient for determining the thing sought j
and in this a very erroneous judgment may be formed,
if we rest satisfied with a general view of the subject;
for though the problem may in general be resolved from
the data with which we are provided, yet these data
may be so related to one another in the case under con-
aideration, that the problem will become indeterminate,
and instead of one solution will admit of an indefinite
number. This we have already found to be the case in
the foregoing propositions. Such cases may not indeed
occur in any of the practical applications of geometry 5
but there is one of the same kind which has actually oc¬
curred in astronomy. Sir Isaac Newton, in his Prm-
cipia, has considered a small part of the orbit of a comet
as a straight line described with an uniform motion.
From this" hypothesis, by means of four observations
made at proper intervals of time, the determination of
the path of the comet is reduced to this geometrical
problem : Four straight lines being in position, it is re¬
quired to draw a fifth line across them, so as to be cut
by them into three parts, having given ratios to one an¬
other. Now this problem had been constructed by Dr
Wallis and Sir Christopher Wren, and also in three dif¬
ferent ways by Sir Isaac himself in diflerent parts of his
works ; yet none of these geometers observed that there
was a particular situation of the lines in which the pro-
idem admitted of innumerable solutions : and this hap¬
pens to be the very case in which the problem is appli¬
cable to the determination of the comet’s path, as was
first discovered by the abbe Boscovich, who was led to
it by finding, that in this way he could never deter¬
mine the path of a comet with any degree of cer¬
tainty. . i 1 • 1
Besides the geometrical there is also an algebraical
analysis belonging to porisms j which, however, does not
belong to this place, because we give this account of
them merely as an article of ancient geometry, and the
ancients never employed algebra in their investigations.
Mr Playfair, formerly professor of mathematics,^ and
now of natural philosophy in the university of Edin¬
burgh, has written a paper on the origin and geometri¬
cal investigation of porisms, which is published in the
third volume of the Transactions of the Royal Society of
Edinburgh, from which this account of the subject is
taken. He has there promised a second part to his pa¬
per, in which the algebraical investigation of porisms is
to be considered. This will no doubt throw consider¬
able light upon the subject, as we may readily judge
from that gentleman’s known abilities, and from the
specimen he has already given us in the first part.
Such as are desirous of knowing more of this subject
piay consult Dr Simson’streatiseDePomwalf^, which
3
2 ] P O R
is contained in his Opera Pehqua, published after hia Porisnt
death at the sole expence ol the earl of Stanhope. Me II
have already mentioned Dr Stewart’s General 1 heorems . .. ^
which contain many beautiful porisms, but without de¬
monstrations. A considerable number of them, how¬
ever, have been demonstrated by the late Dr R. Small,
of Dundee, in the Trans. R. S. Edin. vol. ii. There is
also a paper upon the subject of porisms by Mr W.
Wallace, now of the Royal Military College, in the
fourth volume of the same work, entitled borne Geome¬
trical Porisms, with examples of their application to the
Solution of Problems.
FORK, the flesh of swine killed for the purposes of
food. See Sus.
The hog is the only domestic animal that we know
of no use to man when alive, and therefore seems pro¬
perly designed for food. Besides, as loathsome and ugly
to every human eye, it is killed without reluctance.
The Pythagoreans, whether to preserve health, or on
account of compassion, generally forbade the use of ani¬
mal food ; and yet it is alleged that Pythagoras reserved
the use of hog’s flesh for himself. I he Jews, th#
Egyptians, &c. and other inhabitants of warm countries,
and all the Mahometans at present, reject the use of
pork. It is difficult to find a satisfactory reason for this,
or for the precept given to the Jews respecting it,
though unquestionably there was some good one for it.
The Greeks gave great commendations to this foodj
and Galen, though indeed that is suspected to be from a
particular fondness, is everywhere full of it. The Ro¬
mans considered it as one of their delicacies j and if
some of the inhabitants of the northern climates have
taken an aversion to it, that probably arose from the un¬
cultivated state of their country not being able to rear it.
Pork is of a very tender structure ; increased perhaps
from a peculiarity in its economy, viz. taking on fat more
readily than any other animal. Pork is a white meat
even in its adult state, and then gives out a jelly in very
great quantity. On account of its little perspirability
and tenderness it is very nutritious, and was given for
that intention to the athletes. With regard to its alka-
lescency, no proper experiments have yet been made 5
but as it is of a gelatinous and succulent nature, it is
probably less so than many others. Upon the whole, Cutlen]
it appears to be a very valuable nutriment; and the rea¬
son is not very obvious why it was in some countries
forbid. It is said that this animal is apt to be diseased j
but why were not inconveniences felt on that account
in Greece ? Again, it has been alleged, that as Pale¬
stine would not rear these animals, and as the Jew shad
learned the use of them in Egypt, it was necessary they
should have a precept to avoid them. But the Egyp¬
tians themselves did not use the meat*, and this reli¬
gious precept, indeed, as well as many others, seems to
have been borrowed from them. Possibly, as pork, is
not very perspirable, it might increase the leprosy , which
was said to be epidemic in Palestine j though this is far
from being certain. _
PORLOCK, in the county of Somerset in Eng¬
land, is a small sea-port town six miles west from
Minehead. This whole parish, including hamlets,
contained 633 inhabitants in 1811. Tfhe situation of
the town is very romantic, being nearly surrounded on
all sides, except towards the sea, by steep and lofty
hills, intersected by deep vales and hollow glens. Some
F U ii [2
'podock of the hilts are beautifully wooded, and contain numbers
g of wild deer. The valleys are very deep and picturesque;
^y17', the sides being steep, scarred with wild rocks, and patch-
v ed with woods and forest shrubs. Some of them are well
cultivated and studded with villages or single farms and
cottages, although agriculture here is very imperfectly
understood. Most of the roads and fields are so steep,
that no carriages of any kind can be used ; all the crops
are therefore carried in with crooks on horses, and the
manure in wooden pots called dossels. Many of the
poor are employed in spinning yarn for the Dunster
manufactory. W. Long. 3. 32. N. Lat. ci. 14.
PORO. See Calauria.
PORPESSE. See Delphinus, Cetology Index.
PORPHYR1US, a famous Platonic philosopher^ was
born at Tyre in 233, in the reign of Alexander Seve-
rus. He was the disciple of Longinus, and became
the ornament of his school at Athens; from thence he
wrent to Rome, and attended Plotinus, with whom he
lived six years. After Plotinus’s death he taught phi¬
losophy at Rome with great applause ; and became well
skilled in polite literature, geography, astronomy, and
music. He lived till the end of the third century, and
died in the reign of Dioclesian. There are still extant
his book on the Categories of Aristotle ; a Treatise on
Abstinence from I'lesh ; and several other pieces in
Greek. He also composed a large treatise against the
Christian religion, wnich is lost. That work was an¬
swered by Methodius bishop of Tyre, and also by Eu¬
sebius, Apollinarius, St Augustin, St Jerome, St Cyril,
and Iheodoret. 'Ibe emperor Theodosius the Great
caused Porphyrius’s book to be burned in 338. Those
of his works that are still extant were printed at Cam¬
bridge in 1655, Svo, with a Latin version.
“ Porphyrins (says Dr Enfield) was, it must be own¬
ed, a writer of deep erudition ; and had his judgment
and integrity been equal to his learning, he would have
deserved a distinguished place among the ancients.
But neither the splendour of his diction, nor the va¬
riety of his reading, can atone for the credulity or the
dishonesty which filled the narrative part of his works
with so many extravagant tales, or interest the judici¬
ous reader in the abstruse subtilties and mystical flights
I of his philosophical writings.”
PORPH1RY, a compound rock, essentially consist¬
ing of some base or ground, in which are interspersed
crystals of some other substance, as when an argillace¬
ous stone, or a pitchstone, has crystals of feldspar or
quartz interspersed in it, and hence is denominated an
argillaceous or pitchstone porphyry. See Geology
Index. Porphyry is still found in immense strata in
Egypt. Die hard red-lead coloured porphyry, va¬
riegated with black, white, and green, is a most beauti¬
ful and valuable substance. It lias the hardness and all
tlie other characters of the oriental porphyry ; and even
greatly excels it in brightness, and in the beauty and
variegation of its colours. It is found in great plenty
in the island of Minorca ; and is well worth importing,
being greatly superior to all the Italian marbles. The
hard, pale-red porphyry, variegated with black, white,
and green, is ot a pale-flesh colour; often approaching
to white. It is variegated in blotches from half an
inch to an inch broad. It takes a high polish, and emu¬
lates all the qualities of the oriental porphyry. It is
found in immense strata in Arabia Petroea, and in the
13 J P O R
Upper Egypt; and in separate nodules in Germany, Porphyry.
England, and Ireland. i ^,1 ^.
I icoioni takes notice of two exquisitely fine columns
of black porphyry in a church at Rome. In Egypt
there are three celebrated obelisks or pillars of porphy¬
ry, one near Cairo and two at Alexandria. The French
call them aguglias, and in England they are called Cleo-
patru\s needles.
I he ait of cutting porphyry, practised by the an¬
cients, appears now to be lost. Indeed it is difficult
to conceive what tools they used lor fashioning those
huge columns and other porphyry works in some of the
ancient buildings in Rome. One of the most consider¬
able ol these, still entire, is a tomb of Constantia, the
emperor Constantine’s daughter. It is in the church of
St Agnes, and is commonly called the tomb of Bacchus.
In the palace ot the Ihuilleries there is also a bust of
Apollo and of twelve emperors, all in porphyry. Some
ancient pieces seem to have been wrought with the chis-
sel, others with the saw, others with wheels, and others
gradualiyjground down with emery. Yet modern tools
will scarcely touch porphyry. Dr Lister therefore
thinks *, that the ancients had the secret of tempering
steel better than we ; and not, as some imagine, that Transact.
they had the art of softening the porphyry ; though it is N° 203* 01
probable that time and air have contributed to increase
its hardness. Mr Addison says, he saw a workman at;^ n, it9o. ’
Rome cutting porphyry; but his advances were extreme-
y slow and almost insensible. The Italian sculptors work
the pieces of old porphyry columns still remaining (for
the porphyry quarries are long since lost) with a brass
saw without teeth. With this say, emery, and water,
they rub and wear the stone with infinite patience.
Many persons have endeavoured to retrieve the ancient
art, and particularly Leon Baptista Alberti; who,
searching lor tne necessary materials for temper, says,
he found goats blood the best of any; but even this
avails not much ; for in working with chissels temper¬
ed with it, sparks of fire came much more plentifully
than pieces of the stone. The sculptors were thus,
however, able to make a flat or oval form ; but could
never attain to any thing like a figure.
In the year I555j Cosmo de Medicis is said to have
distilled a water from certain herbs, with which his sculp¬
tor Francesco Tadda gave bis tools such an admirable
hardness and so fine a temper, that he performed some
very exquisite works with them ; particularly our Sa¬
viour’s head in demi-relievo, and Cosmo’s head and his
duchess’s. The very hair and beard, how difficult so¬
ever, are here well conducted ; and there is nothing of
the kind superior to it in all the works of the ancients;
but the secret appears to have died with him. The
I rench have discovered another mode of cutting por-
phyry, viz. with an iron saw without teeth, and gre%,
a kind of free stone pulverized, and water. The au¬
thors of this invention say that they could form the
whole contour of a column hereby if they had matter to
work on. Others have pi'oposed to harden tools so as
to cut porphyry, by steeping them in the juice of the
plant called bear’s breech or brankursine. See Birch’s
Hist. R. S. vol. i. p. 238. vol. ii. p. 73, &c. Mr Boyle
says, that he caused porphyry to be cut by means of
emery, steel saws, and water; and observes, that in his
time the English workmen were ignorant of the man¬
ner of working porphyry, and that none of them would
undertake
P O R [ 21
Porphyry undertake to cut or polish it. See his Works ahr. vol.i.
4 ]
P O R
II.
Port.
| Da Costa supposes, anti perhaps with reason, that
' the method used by the ancients in cutting and engra¬
ving porphyry was extremely simple, and that it was per¬
formed without the aid of any scientific means that are
now lost. He imagines, that, by unwearied diligence,
and with numbers of common tools at great expence,
they rudely hewed or broke the stone into the intended
figure, and by continued application reduced them into
more regular designs ; and that they completed tlm
work by polishing it with great labour, by the aid of
particular hard sands found in Egypt. And he thinks,
that in the porphyry quarries there were layers of grit
or loose disunited particles, analogous to the porphyry,
which they carefully sought for, and used for this work.
See Hist. Nat. of Fossils, p. 285.
ForphyjiY-Shell. SccMurex, Conchology Index,
PORPITES, the Hair-button Stone, in Natural
History, a name given by some authors to a small species
of fossil coral •, which is usually of a rounded figure con¬
siderably flattened, and striated from the centre to the
circumference. TLhese are of different sizes and of dif¬
ferent colours, as grayish, whitish, brownish, or bluish,
and are usually found immersed in stone.
PORRUM, the Leer •, a species of plants belong¬
ing to the genus of Allium. See Allium, Botany
Index ; and for an account of the method of cultiva¬
tion, see Gardening.
PORT, a harbour, river, or haven, formed either by
nature or art to receive and shelter shipping from the
storms and waves of the open sea.
Artificial ports are those which are either formed by
throwing a strong mound or rampire across the har¬
bour’s mouth to some island or rock, or erecting two
long barriers,- which stretch from the land on each side
like arms or the horns of a crescent, and nearly inclose
the haven ; the former of these are called mole-heads
and the latter piers.
Port, is also a name given on some occasions to the
larboard or left side of the ship, as in the following in¬
stances. Thus it is said, “ the ship heels to port,” z. e.
Stoops or inclines to the larboard-side. “ lop the yard
to port ?” the order to make the larboard extremity of
a yard higher than the other. “ Port the helm !” the
order to put the helm over to the larboard-side of the
vessel. In all these senses this phrase appears intended
to prevent any mistakes happening from the similarity
of sounds in the words starboard and larboard, particu¬
larly when they relate to the helm, where a misappre¬
hension might be attended with very dangerous conse¬
quences. t t
Ports, the embrasures or openings in the side of a
ship of war, wherein the artillery is ranged in battery
upon the decks above and below.
The ports are formed of a sufficient extent to point
and fire the cannon, without injuring the ship’s side by
the recoil; and as it serves no end to enlarge them be¬
yond what is necessary for that purpose, the shipwrights
have established certain dimensions, by which they are
cut in proportion to the size of the cannon.
The ports are shut in at sea by a sort of hanging-
doors called the port-lids ; which are fastened by hinges
to their upper edges, so as to let down when the can¬
non are drawn into the ship. By this means the water
2
is prevented from entering the lower decks in a turbu- p0rt
lent sea. The lower and upper edges of the ports are Port R«
always parallel to the deck, so that the guns, when le- v"'
veiled in their carriages, are all equally high above the
lower extremity of the ports, which is called the port-
cells.
Port, is also a strong wine brought from 1 ort-a-port,
and also called Porto and Oporto.
Port of the Voice, in Music, the faculty or habit of
making the shakes, passages, and diminutions, in which
the beauty of a song or piece of music consists.
FORT-Crayon, a pencil case, which is usually four or
five inches long, and contrived so as that the pencil may
slide up and down. Its inside is round, and its outside
is sometimes-filed into eight sides or faces, on which aie
drawn the sector-lines ; sometimes it is made round both
with-side and within, and has its length divided into
inches and parts of inches.
PoRT-Fire, a composition for setting fire to powder,
&e. Port-fires are frequently used by artillery people
in preference to matches •, and they are distinguished
into wet and dry port-fires. The composition of tlie
former is saltpetre four, sulphur one, and mealed powder
four. When these materials are thoroughly mixed and
sifted, the whole is to be moistened with a little linseed
oil, and rubbed between the hands till all the oil is im¬
bibed by the composition. The preparation for dry port¬
fires is saltpetre four, sulphur one, mealed powder two,
and antimony one. These compositions are driven into
small paper cases, to be used when necessary. _
PoRT-aux-Pnme, so called by the French, is a coun¬
try on the coast of Africa, to the north of the island
of Madagascar. It is a rich country, and fertile in rice
and pastures •, it is inhabited only by the negroes, who
are an industrious good sort of people, but very super¬
stitious. There are no towns, but several villages, and
they have some customs which seem to incline to Ju¬
daism.
PoRT-Iackson, in New Holland. See FiewHolland,
N® 7, &c. < .
PoRT-Foyal, a sea-port town in the island of Jamaica.
It was once a place of the greatest riches and importance
in the West Indies $ but in 1692 it was destroyed by an
earthquake, in 1702 by fire, in 1722 by an inundation
of the sea, and in 1744 it suffered greatly by a hurri¬
cane. It is now reduced to three streets, a tew lanes,
and about 200 houses. It contains the royal navy-yard
for heaving down and refitting the king’s ships; the
navy-hospital, and barracks for a regiment of soldiers.
The fortifications, which are very extensive, being in
excellent order, and having been lately strengthened
with many additional works, it may be said to vie m
point of strength with any fortress in the king’s domi¬
nions. The harbour is one of the best in the world,
and 1000 ships may ride therein, secure from every
wind that can blow. It is six miles east of Spanisli-
town, and as much by water south-east of Kingston.
W. Long. 76. 40. N. Lat. 18. o.
Fort-Royal, an island in North America, on the coast
of South Carolina, which, with the neighbouring con¬
tinent, forms one of the most commodious harbours in
the state. It is 15 miles in length •, and the town on
the north shore is called Beaufort. W. Long. 80. 20.
N. Lat. 31. 40.
FoRT-RoyaL the name of two monasteries of Cister-
tian
Portia
P O R [2
jrt Reyaltian nuns in the diocese of Paris 5 the one near Chev-
reuse, at the distance of five leagues from Paris, called
, Port Royal of the Fields ; and the other in Paris, in
the suburbs of St James.
The nuns of the former of these monasteries proving
refractory were dispersed; when many ecclesiastics, and
others, who were of the same sentiments as these reli¬
gious, retired to Port-Royal, took apartments there,
and printed many books. Hence the name of Pot't-
Royalists was given to all their party, and their books
were called books of Port-Royal: from hence we say
the writers of Port-Royal, Messieurs de Port-Royal,
and the translations and grammars of Port-Royal.
PORTA, or Vena Porta, in Anatomy, a large vein
distributed through the liver in the manner of an ar¬
tery. See Anatomy, N° 96.
Port A-Augusta, in Ancient Geography, mentioned
only by Ptolemy ; a town of the Vaccsei in the Hither
Spain ; thought by some to be Torre Quemada, in Old
Castile ; by others Los Valvases, a village between
Burgos and Torre Quemada.
PORTiE-RoMANvE, in Ancient Geography. Accord¬
ing to Pliny, Romulus left but three, "or at most four,
gates of Rome : afterwards, on enlarging the Pomoeria,
or compass of the city, they amounted to 37.
PORTAL, in Architecture, a little gate where there
are two gates of a different bigness ; also a little square
corner of a room cut off from the rest by the wainscot,
and forming a short passage into the room. The same
name is also sometimes given to a kind of arch of join¬
ers work before a door.
PORT ATE, or a Cross Port ate, in Heraldry, a
cross which does not stand upright, as crosses generally
do ; but lies across the escutcheon in bend, as if it were
carried on a man’s shoulder.
PORTCULLICE, in Fortification, is an assemblage
of several large pieces of wood, joined across one an¬
other like a harrow, and each pointed with iron at the
bottom. They are sometimes hung over the gate-way
of old fortified towns, ready to let down in case of sur¬
prise, when the gates could not be shut.
PORTER, a kind of malt-liquor which differs from
ale and pale beer, in its being made with high-dried
malt. See Ale, Beer, and Brewing.
PORT-Glasgow. See Glasgow, N° 12.
PORTGREVE, or Portgrave, was anciently the
principal magistrate in ports and other maritime towns.
Jhe word is formed from the Saxon port, “ a port or
other town and geref, “ a governor.”—It is some¬
times also written port-reve.
Camden observes, that the chief magistrate of Lon¬
don was anciently called port-greve ; instead of whom,
Richard I. ordained two baihjs ; and soon afterwards
King John granted them a mayor for their yearly ma¬
gistrate.
PORTICt, a palace of the king of Naples, six miles
from that capital. It has a charming situation on the
sea-side, near Mount Vesuvius. It is enriched with a
vast number of fine statues, and other remains of anti-
quity, taken out of the ruins of Herculaneum.
The museum consists of 16 rooms, in which the dif¬
ferent articles are arranged with very great taste. The
floors are paved with mosaic, taken from the recovered
towns, and the walls of the court are lined with inscrip¬
tions. Besides busts, statues, medals, intaglios, lamps,
3
for
and tripods, there is scarcely an article used by the an¬
cients of which a specimen may not be seen in this mu¬
seum. “ But the most valuable room is the library,
from the numerous manuscript rolls which it contains!
What a field is here for conjecture ! what room for
hope ! Among this inestimable collection, how many
great works are there, of which even the names are now
unknown ! how many unbroken volumes, whose very
fragments, preserved in the writings of the ancient
scholiasts, convey to us moral improvement, informa¬
tion, and delight ! perhaps, all the dramatic pieces of
Menander and Philemon; perhaps, nay, certainly, the
lost Decades of Livy ; for it is impossible to suppose,
that among so many rolls, the most admired history of
the people who possessed them is not to be found: what
private library in Britain is without the best histories
of England ? But how I tremble for their situation, as
1 ortici is built on the lava that overwhelmed Hercula¬
neum ! How I tremble too for the indifference of the
king of Naples towards this invaluable treasure, in
which all the most enlightened people ofEurope^re
deeply interested ! When I first saw them, I had no
idea of what they were, as they resemble wooden trun¬
cheons burnt almost to charcoal. They are so hard and
brittle, that the greatest caution must be used in re¬
moving them, lest they crumble to dust; nevertheless,
an ingenious friar of Genoa, named Raggi, undertook
to unroll them ; and by a most curious, though tedious
process, so far succeeded, as to transcribe three Greek
Treatises on Philosophy and Music; but finding (as I
hear) no other encouragement than his salary,°which
was but little more than you pay some of your servants,
the work was unhappily discontinued. Were these ma¬
nuscripts in England, they would not long remain a se¬
cret to the world.” See Pompeii,
PORTICO, in Architecture, a kind of gallery on
the ground ; or a piazza encompassed with arches sup¬
ported by columns, where people walk under covert.
The roof is usually vaulted, sometimes flat. The an¬
cients called it lacunar. Though the word portico be
derived from porta, “ gate, door ;” yet it is applied
to any disposition of columns which form a gailerv,
without any immediate relation to doors or gates. The
most celebrated porticoes of antiquity were, those of So¬
lomon’s temple, which formed the atrium or court, and
encompassed the sanctuary ; that of Athens, built for the
people to divert themselves in, and wherein the philoso¬
phers held their disputes and conversations, (see Porch );
and that of Pompey at Rome, raised merely for magni¬
ficence, consisting of several rows of columns support¬
ing a platform of vast extent; a draught whereof,
Serlio gives us in his antique buildings. Among the
modern porticoes, the most celebrated is the piazza
of St Peter of the Vatican.—That of Covent-Garden,
London, the work of Inigo Jones, is also much ad*-
mired.
PORTII. See Pompeii.
PORTLAND, a peninsula in Dorsetshire, of great
strength both by nature and art, being surrounded with
inaccessible rocks, except at the landing-place, where
there is a strong castle, called Portland castle, built by
King Henry VIII. There is but one church in tire
island : and that stands so near the sea, that it is often
in danger from it. It is now chiefly noted for the build¬
ing stone which is found there, and which is greatly em¬
ployed.
Portici'
Portland.
Walkin't
Tra/vekt
through
Swisser-
land, Italy,
<kc.
von
r
ployed in London, and other parts of England, for
building the finest structures. St Paul’s church, m par¬
ticular, is built of this stone. W. Long. 2. 35- Lat.
5°- 3°*
The following custom at Portland is worthy of no¬
tice. “ While I was looking over the quarries at 1 ort-
land (says Mr Smeaton), and attentively considering the
operations, observing how soon the quarrymen would
cut half a ton of spawls from an unformed block, and
what large pieces flew off at every stroke ; how speedi y
their blows followed one another, and how incessantly
they pursued this labour with a tool ol from 18 to 20
pound weight *, I was naturally led to view and consider
the figure of the operative agent; and alter having ob¬
served, that by far the greatest number of the quarry-
men were of a very robust hardy form, m whose hands
the tool I have mentioned seemed a mere play-thing,
I at last broke out with surprise, and inquired oi my
guide, Mr Roper, where they could possibly pick up
such a set of stout fellows to handle the kevel, which in
their hands seemed nothing ? for I observed, that in the
space of 15 minutes, they would knock oft as much
Waste matter from a mass of stone, as any of that occu¬
pation I had ever seen before would do m an hour, bays
Roper, ‘ we do not go to fetch those men from a distance,
they are all born upon the island, and many of them
have never been farther upon the main land than to
Weymouth.’ I told him, I thought the air of that
island must be very propitious, to furnish a breed of
men so particularly formed for the business they follow¬
ed. ‘The air ( he replied), though very sharp from our
elevated situation, is certainly very healthy to working
men' yet if you knew how these men are produced,
you would wonder the less •, for all our marriages here
ire productive of children.’ On desiring an explana¬
tion how this happened, he proceeded : ‘ Our people
here, as they are bred to hard labour, are very eaily in
a condition to marry and provide for a family 5 they in¬
termarry with one another, very rarely going to the
main-land to seek a wife *, and it has been the custom of
the island, from time immemorial, that they never mar¬
ry till the woman is pregnant.’ But pray (said 1) does
not this subject you to a great number of bastards *
Have not your Portlanders the same kind of nckleness
in their attachments that Englishman are subject to?
and in consequence, does not this produce many incon¬
veniences ? ‘ None at all (replies Roper), for previous to
my arrival here, there was but one child on record of
the parish register that had been born a bastard in the
compass of 1 jo years. The mode of courtship here is,
that a young woman never admits of the serious ad¬
dresses of a young man, but on supposition of a tho¬
rough probation. When she becomes with child, she
tells her mother, the mother tells her father, her father
tells his father, and he tells his son, that it is then pro¬
per time to be married.’ But suppose, Mr Roper, she
does not prove to be with child, what happens then ? Do
they live together without marriage ? or, if they sepa¬
rate, is not this such an imputation upon her, as to pre¬
vent her getting another suitor? ‘ The case is thus ma¬
naged (answered my friend), if the woman does not
prove with child after a competent time of courtship,
they conclude they are not destined by Providence for
each other *, they therefore separate j and as it is an esta¬
blished maxim, which the Portland women observe with
6 ] P O R
great strictness, never to admit a plurality of lovers at PortR
one time, their honour is noway tarnished : she just as y*
soon (after the afiair is declared to be broke oft) gets
another suitor, as if she had been left a widow, or that
nothing had ever happened, but that she had regained
an immaculate virgin.’ But pray, Sir, did nothing par¬
ticular happen upon your men coming down from Lon¬
don ? ‘Yes (says he) our men were much struck, and
mightily pleased with the facility of the Portland ladies,
and it was not long before several of the women proved
with child ^ but the men being called upon to mairy
them, this part of the lesson they were uninstructed in;
and on their refusal, the Portland women arose to stone
them out of the island 5 insomuch, that those few who
did not choose to take their sweethearts for better or for
worse, after so fair a trial, were in reality obliged to de¬
camp j and on this occasion some few bastaids were
born : but since then matters have gone on according to
the ancient custom.”
PORTLAND VASE, a celebrated funeral vase which
was long in possession of the Barberini family; but which
was lately purchased for 1000 guineas by the duke of
Portland, from whom it has derived its present name.
Its height is about ten inches, and its diameter where
broadest six. There are a variety of figures upon it of
most exquisite workmanship, in has relief of white opake
glass, raised on a ground of deep blue glass, which ap¬
pears black except when held against the light. It ap¬
pears to have been the work of many years, and there
are antiquarians who date its production several centuries
before the Christian era ; since, as has been said, sculp¬
ture was declining in excellence in the time of Alexan-
ber the Great
Respecting the purpose of this vase, and what the fi¬
gures on it were meant to represent, there have been a
variety of conjectures, which it is not our business to
enumerate. We think with Dr Darwin * that it was not * L* #f
made for the ashes of any particular person deceased ; the I ^
and therefore that the subject of its embellishments is
not a private history, but of a general nature. But we
are not sure that he is right in conjecturing it to repre- !
sent a part of the Eleusinian mysteries; because thatcon-
jecture depends on Warburton’s explanation of the sixth
book of the iEneid, which does not now command that
respect which it did when it was first proposed. We
shall therefore give a short account of the several figures,
without noticing any of the theories or conjectures that
have been made about them.
In one compartment three exquisite figures are placed
on a ruined column, the capital of which is fallen, and
lies at their feet among other disjointed stones: they sit
under a tree on loose piles of stone. The middle figure
is a female in a reclining and dying attitude, with an
inverted torch in her left hand, the elbow of which sup¬
ports her as she sinks, while the right hand is raised and
thrown over the drooping head. The figure on her right
hand is a man, and that on the left a woman, both sup¬
porting themselves on their arms, and apparently think¬
ing intensely. Their backs are to the dying figure, and
their faces are turned to her, but without an attempt to
assist her. On another compartment of the vase is a
figure coming through a portal, and going down with
great timidity into a darker region, where he is received
by a beautiful female, who stretches forth her hand to
help him : between her knees is a large and playful ser¬
pent*
FOR [
•ortland Pent* ^Iie sits with her feet towards an aged figure,
U having one foot sunk into the earth, and the other raised’
Forto- , on a column, with his chin resting on his hand. Above
the female figure is a Cupid preceding the first fi-mre,
and beckoning him to advance. This first figure holds
a cloak or garment, which he seems anxious to bring
with him, but which adheres to the side of the portal
through which he has passed. In this compartment
there are two trees, one of which bends over the female
figure and the other over the aged one. On the bottom
of the vase there is another figure on a larger scale than
the one we have already mentioned, but not so well
finished nor so elevated. This figure points with its fin¬
ger to its mouth. f he dress appears to be curious and
cumbersome, and above them is the foliage of a tree.
On the head of the figure there is a Phrygian cap : it is
not easy to say whether this figure be inale or female.
On the handles of the vase are represented two aged
beads with the ears of a quadruped, and from the mid¬
dle of the forehead rises a kind of tree without leaves;
these figures are in all probability mere ornaments, and
have no connection with the rest of the figures, or the
story represented on the vase.
POll TLANDIA, a genus of plants belonging to the
pentandria class, and in the natural method ranking with
those of which the order is doubtful. See Botany ln~
ilex.
PORT-IjOUIS, is a strong town of France, in the
department of Morbihan,in the diocese of Vaunts, with
a citadel and a good harbour. It was fortified by Touis
XIII. from whom it derived its name. It was a station
for part of the royal navy and the East India ships be¬
longing to France. It is seated at the mouth of the
river Blavet, 27 miles west of Vannes. W. Lomr. 3.
18. N. Lat. 47. 40.
Poar-Mahon. See Minorca.
PORTO. See Oporto.
Porto-B Ho, a town of North America, situated in
N. Lat. 9. 3 W. Long. 79. 45. close to the sea, on the
declivity of a mountain, which surrounds the whole har¬
bour. This harbour is so large, deep, and safe, that
Columbus, who first discovered it, gave it the name of
Porio-Be/lo, or the “ Fine Harbour,” which is now
commonly used to denote the town. The number of
the houses is about 130most of them of wood, large
and spacious, forming one long street along the strand,
with other smaller ones crossing it. The governor of
the town is always a gentleman ot the army, subordi¬
nate to the president ol Panama j but having under him
the commandants of the forts that defend the harbour.
At the east end of the town, on the road to Panama, is
a place called Guinea, where all the negroes of both
Tk,eS’ W^e.^,er S^aves or free, have their habitations,
j his place is very much crowded when the galleons are
here, most of the inhabitants of the town quitting their
houses entirely for the sake of letting-tliem $ while others
content themselves with a small part, in order to make
money of the rest. The Mulattoes and other poor fa¬
milies also remove either to Guinea, or to cottages al¬
ready erected near it, or built on the occasion. Great
numbers of artificers likewise, who flock to Porto-Bello
rom Panama to work at their respective callings during
the fair, fodge in Guinea for cheapness. Towards the
sea, m a large tract between the town and Gloria castle,
barracks are erected, in most of which the ships crews
Vol. XVII. Part I. 4.
17 3 for
keep stalls of sweet-meats, and other kinds of eatables,
brought from Spain ; but at the conclusion of the fair,
when iiie snips put to sea, all these buildings are taken
down, and the town returns to its former tranquillity
ami emptiness. In 1 739, the harbour was defended by
a castle and two forts 5 winch were all demolished by
Admiral Vernon, who, with six ships only, made himself
master ol this port. The country about Porto-Bello is
overrun with mountains and impenetrable forests,except
a few valleys, in winch are some scattered farms. Among
the mountains that surround the harbour is one dis¬
tinguished by the name of Capiro, and by its superior
loftiness is a sort of barometer to the country, by fore¬
telling every change of weather. Its top is always co¬
veted with clouds, ot a density and daikness seldom seen
in those of the atmosphere. When these clouds thicken,
increase their blackness, and sink below their usual sta¬
tion, it is a sure sign ofa tempest; while, 011 the other
hand, their clearness and ascent ascei tainly indicate the
approach of fair weather. These changes are very sud¬
den and frequent here. The summit 'of the mountain
is scarce ever clear from clouds ; and when it happens,
it is only, as it were, for an instant. Except in the time
of the fair, all the inhabitants of Porto-Bello do not a-
mount to 3000 j half of whom are Indians, Mulattoes,
or Negroes j the Spaniards of any substance not choos ¬
ing to reside in a place so extremely unhealthy, and fatal
even to the lives of the natives. Uiloa tells us, that the
cattle brought down hither from Panama or Carthagena,
lose their flesh so fast in the best pastures, as to become
scarce eatable: he assures us also, that neither horses nor
asses are bred here. The heat, indeed, is excessive 5 and
the torrents of rain are so dreadf ul, sudden, and impetu¬
ous, that one not accustomed to them, would imagine a
second deluge was coming. These torrents are also ac¬
companied with frightful tempests of thunder amt light-
nmg, the awfulness ot the scene being heightened by the
repercussions from the mountains, and the shrieks and
bowlings of multitudes of monkeys of all kinds which
inhabit the surrounding woods.
Iresh water pours down in streams from the moun¬
tains, some running without the town, and others cross¬
ing it. These waters are very light and digestive;
qualities which in other countries would be very valu¬
able, but are here pernicious, producing dysenteries,
which the patient seldom survives. However, these
rivulets, formed into reservoirs, serve the purposes of
bathing, which is here found to be very conducive to
health.
As the forests almost border on the houses of the
town, tygers often make incursions into the streets
during the night, carrying o(F fowls, dogs, and other
domestic animals, and sometimes even children have fal¬
len a prey to them. Besides the snares usually laid for
them, the Negroes and Mulattoes, who fell wood in the
forests of the mountains, are very dexterous in encoun¬
tering them ; and some, for a slender reward, even seek
them in their retreats.
The town of Porto-Bello, which is t' iuly inhabited
by reason of its noxious air, the scarcity of provisions,
and the barrenness of the soil, becomes, after the an ivai
of the galleons, one of the most populous towns in the
world. He who had seen it quite emptv, and every
place vvearing a melancholy aspect, would he filled with
astonishment to see the bustling multitudes in the time
21
Porto.
P O H t
of the fair, when every house is crowded, the squares
and streets encumbered with bales of merchandise and
chests of gold and silver, the harbour full of ships an
vessels, loaded with provisions and goods, i'ormerly tl e
fair was limited to no particular time;, but as a long
stay in such a sickly place extremely affected the healtl
of the traders, his Catholic majesty transmitted an or¬
der that the fair should not last above 40 days 5 and tha ,
if in that time the merchants could not agree on their
rates, those of Spain should be allowed to carry their
jroods up the country to Fern : and according y,
commodore of the galleons has orders to re-emhark them,
and retnrn to Carthagena; hut otherw'se b, v.rtue of
•X compact between the merchants of both kin^don ,
Ld ratified bv the king, no Spanish trader , to send
his goods, on his own account, beyond loito-ne .
The English were formerly allowed to send a ship an¬
nually to this fair, which turned to great accoun ’, an ,
xvhile the assiento contract subsisted, either with the
English or the French, one of their principal lactones
Wiis cit Porto-Rello. _ c*
In the summer of 1819, this town was taken by Sir
Gregor Macgregor, who professed to act lor the mde-
pemfent party in Spanish America-, but in the course of
a few daPys, he was surprised by the Spaniards, near
ly his whole force taken, and he himself narrowly es-
CaIPo/ero-Farina, a port about 12 miles from Cape
Carthage, in the bay of Tunis, where formerly the large
vessels belonging to the bey were fitted out, and laid p
on their return from a cruise. This h-bour is safe fi.m
the weather, and opens into a large lake, formed by the
Meierdah, which runs through into the sea.—The north
west wind, which blows right upon the shore, together
xvith the soil brought down by the river, which has the
same quality as the Nile of overflowing its banks, has
formed a bJr, so that only small vessels can now enter.
It is still the arsenal where the naval stores are kept. E.
^'poRTO-Farniio, a handsome town of Italy in the isle
of Elba with a good citadel. It is very strong, and
seated on » long, high, steep pent of '“J- t0 the ',ef
of the bay of the same name, which has two torts, it
belongs to' the great duke of Tuscany, who always keeps
a good garrison there. E. Long. .0. 37- N- ^ 4*
SS'Ponn-Longone, a small hot very strong town of Italy,
and in the isle'of Eiba, with a good 1,^000, and a f
tress upon a rock almostinaccessible. The kmgo Naples
has a Lht to put a garrison there,n, though the place
belongs to the prince of Piombino. It is seated on the
cast end of the island, eight miles south-west of Piombi-
no E Long. IO. io. N. Eat. 42. 52,*
PonTO-Salto, an island of the Atlant.c ocean, on
,be coast of Africa, and the least ot those called the
MaMras. It is about 13 miles in circnnifeience , it
proxies some corn, as well as -- oxen^ and wild
hogs with a ™st number O ia^m^
I' Tth'™ thklwisfa liUle honey and wax, which are
extremely good. It has no harbour, but good nmoring
in the road. It belongs to the 1 ort"|I“se and is 300
miles west of the coast of Africa. V\ • Long. lb. 20.
PQRTO-Segura, a government of South America, on
8 ] FOR
the eastern coast of Brasil; hounded on the north by
f • j . r Tii: rviv i!if> fin St Viv the
Porto,
1 Ports-;
moutli
Llie eastern
the government of Rio-dos-Hilios, on the east by the
North sea, on the south by the government oj Spmtu-
Santo, and on the west by the Tupicks. It is a very   ^
fertile country, and the capital town is of the same
name. It is built on the top of a rock, at the mouth
of a river, on the coast ol the North sea, and is in¬
habited by Portuguese. W. Long. 38. 50. S. LaU
1 ^ Eon TO ■ Vecchio, is a sea-port town of Corsica, in the
Mediterranean sea, seated on a bay on the eastern coast
of the island. It is 12 miles from Bonifacio, and 40
north of Sardinia. E. Long. 9. 20. N. Lat. 41. 42.
P or to- Venereo, is a town of Italy, on the coast ot Oe-
110a, at the entrance of the gulf of Spetia. It is seated
on the side of a hill, at the top of which there is a fort.
It has a very good harbour, and is 45 miles.south-east
of Genoa. E. Long. 9. 38. N. Lat. 44. 5*. .
PORTRAIT, or Portraiture, in painting, the
representation of a person, and especially of a face, done
from the fife. In this sense we use the term portrait-
painting, in contradiction to history-painting, vihevt a
resemblance of persons is usually disregarded. Por¬
traits, when as large as the life, are usually painted in
oil-colours sometimes they are painted in miniature
with water-colours, crayons, pastils, &x. See Painting,
P PORTREE, is a small village, containing a church
and a very few houses, with an excellent bay and a good
harbour, 'in the isle of Skye. “ The entrance of the
hay (Mr Knox tells us) represents agreeable landscapes prwx
on both sides, with excellent pasture. Tour'
‘ The bay of Portree (says Mackenzie), oft the houses,
is an exceeding good harbour for a few ships of any size j
it is well sheltered, the ground good, the depth from
five to 14 fathoms, and nothing to fear coming in but a
rock, about half a cable’s length from Airderaciug
Point, on the starboard as you enter the anchorage, part
of which is always above water.’ It is the only port or
harbour to a very considerable division of Skye, on the
east side. From this opening to the northern extremity,
a course of 20 miles, the shove is one continued line 0
loft rocks, where no ship can find refuge in the mildest
weather, and where inevitable dangers await the man¬
ners in rough weather. , „ , . , ....
« James V. of Scotland and several of lus nobility
landed here, when they made the tour of the Hebrides in
1535 from which circumstance, this fine bay has got
the honourable name of Portree."
Mr Knox tells us, “ that the country round this vil¬
lage, though mountainous, is well inhabited j it raises
much grain and many cattle. Here the late Sir James
Macdonald had marked out the lines of a town; and
government, it is said, promised to assist him 111 the work
■with cool.: but the death of that gentleman put an end
to these promising appearances.” We have to add, that
Lord Macdonald, the present (1809) proprietor, has re¬
sumed the undertaking j and, we understand, has made
some progress in building a new town, besides introdu¬
cing various other important improvements m this and
other parts of the island.
PORTSMOUTH, a sea-port town in Hampshire,
with one of the most secure and capacious harbours in
England, being defended by a numerous artillery, both
on the sea and land side, and very good fortifications.
A.
POR [ 2
Lrtsmocth. ^ ^rcat pait of the royal navy is built here 5 and here
< mbell't
| ilical
m*y>
are some of the finest docks, yards, and magazines of
naval stores, in Europe. It is seated in the isle of Port-
sea, being surrounded by the sea except on the north
side, where there is a river which runs from one arm of
it to the other. It is much resorted to on account of
the royal navy, whose usual rendezvous is at Spithead,
which is at the east end of the isle of Wight, and oppo¬
site to Portsmouth. There is a draw-bridge over the
river, and it has always a good garrison. It is governed
by a mayor, 12 aldermen, and burgesses, and sends two
members to parliament. It has one church, and two
chapels, one in the garrison, and one in the Common,
for the use of the dock, and others, besides several
meeting-houses of the dissenters. Portsmouth contain¬
ed 32,166 inhabitants in 1801, and 40,1:67 in 1811.
W. Long. 1. 1. N. Lat. 50. 47.
Ihe town is supposed to receive its name from Port,
a famous Saxon chieftain, who, A. D. 501, landed here
with his two sons. It made a considerable figure in the
time of the Saxons ; and from the utility of its situation,
was highly favoured by all our monarchs of the Norman
line. It was incorporated, and became also a parliamen¬
tary borough. In the reign of Edward III. it was in a
very flourishing state ; but A. 13. 133in the very same
reign, was burned by the French, when that monarch,
which was afterwards ratified by King Richard II. for¬
gave the inhabitants a debt, and remitted their fee-farm
for 10 years; within which space they so recovered
themselves, as to equip a squadron, which sailed into the
Seine, sunk two ships, and brought away a great booty.
The singular excellence of its port, and the convenience
of fitting out fleets from thence in the time of a French
war, induced Edward IV. to think of fortifying it, as
he actually, in some measure, did ; which fortifications
were farther carried on by Richard III. But King
Henry \ II. was the first who settled a garrison therein ;
which was increased, and the place made still stronger,
in the reign of Henry V III. who had a great dock there,
wherein was built the Henry Grace de Dieu, which was
the largest ship in the navy of his time. The same mo-
narch, remarkably attentive to the security of all mari¬
time places, built what is now called Smt/i Sea Castle,
for the protection of this.—The improvements made
here m the reign of Queen Elizabeth were much supe¬
rior to all these. King Charles II. after his restoration,
directed great alterations, established new docks and
yards, raised several forts, and fortified them after the
modern manner ; which works were augmented under
ns brother’s reign. _ Notwithstanding this, King Wil¬
liam directed likewise fresh alterations and additions ;
and succeeding princes, following his example, have, at
a large expence, extended these fortifications, and taken
m a vast deal of ground : so that it is at present, as the
importance of the place deserves, the most regular for¬
tress in Britain ; and, as it cannot be effectually attack-
ed by sea, may be justly esteemed impregnable.
Portsmouth, the largest town in the state of New
Hampshire in North America. It stands on the south¬
east side of Piscataqua river, about two miles from the
»ea, and contains about 600 houses, and 4400 inhabi¬
tants. Ihe town is handsomely built, and pleasantly
situated. Its public buildings are, a court-house, two
churches for Congregationalists, one for Episcopalians,
and one other house for public worship. Its harbour
'9 ] for
is one of the finest on the continent, having a sufficient rortsmootl,
depth of water for vessels of any burthen. It is defend- f!
ed against storms by the adjacent land, in such a man- Portugal,
net, as that ships may securely ride there in any season v ~ 1
of the year. Besides, the harbour is so well fortified by
nature, that very little art will be necessary to render it
impregnable. Its vicinity to the sea renders it verv
convenient for naval trade. A light-house, with a single
light, stands at the entrance of the harbour.-
I OKI S03 , is a handsome sea-port town, situated on
a small promontory running into the sea, on the south
side of the Murray frith, in Scotland, about six miles
from Cullen, and seven west from Banff. It sends out
several fishing vessels, particularly for the Hebride white
fishery, and exports a considerable quantity of grain. It
contained 599 inhabitants in 1811. A manufacture of
stocking and sewing thread is also carried on to a con¬
siderable amount for the London and Nottingham mar¬
kets. In the neighbourhood is a stratum of marble, of
a dark greenish colour, in which, it is said, the curious
substance called asbestos, or earth-flax, has been found.
Iheie is also a remarkable mineral production found
here, viz. a granite of a flesh colour, and found no where
else in Europe. It contains a quantity of feldspar, and
shews a brilliancy like the Labrador spar. When view¬
ed in a particular tight, it shews a purple and bluish tint;
and when polished, the figures upon it assume the ap¬
pearance of Arabic characters. It is described by Dr
Hutton, Edin. irans. vol. i. From the asbestos a sort
of incombustible cloth is made, which is purified by
throwing it into the fire. Wr. Long. 2. c. N. Lat <7
5°* T *
EORTUGAL, the most westerly kingdom of Eu¬
rope, bounded on the west and south by the Atlantic
ocean, and on the east and north by Spain; extending See Map of
about 310 miles in length, and 150 in breadth. Spain and
By modern writers, we find this country constantly Bortugal-
styled in Latin Lusitania ; and it is certain, that an- B j .• c
ciently a country of Spain went by that name ; but it ^ alle?,
does not by any means appear that the country called by
the ancients Lusitania had the same boundaries with the
modern kingdom of Portugal. Before Augustus Cresar,
Lusitania seems to have been bounded on the north by
the ocean, and on the south by the river Tagus ; by
which means it comprehended all Galicia, and excluded
two of the six provinces of Portugal. But in the more
strict and restrained sense of the word, it was bounded
on the north by the Durius, now the Douro, and on the
south by the river Anas, now the Guadiana ; in which
sense it was not quite so long as modern Portugal, but
considerably broader.
The commonly received opinion with regard to the Etymoloo-y
etymology of the word Portugal, is, that a great num-ofthe
her of Gauls landed at Porto, or Oporto, whence it re- name,
ceived the name of Portus Gallorum, or the Port of the
Gauls; and in process of time that name gradually ex¬
tended over the whole country, being softened, or rather
shortened, into Portugal. But the time when this event
happened, the reason why these Gauls came thither, and
what became of them afterwards, are all particulars
which lie buried in oblivion. It is alleged, however,
that, upon an eminence which overlooks the mouth of
the river Douro, there stood an ancient town called Cale,
strong and well peopled, but ill suited for trade ; and
this occasioned the construction of a lower town or ham-
E e 2 let,
Pwlucral.
p O R t 220 3 p °
let, ivWch tvas called Portus Cole, that is, the haven of subjection of their neighbours
— - ' • (**• -- T3—tn At length,
R
Porlugi;
  v ■— >' Cale ; and, in process of time, Portucaha. .
becoming so considerable as to merit an episcopal chair,
the bishops subscribed themselves, as the records ot an-
bient councils testify, Portucalenses, and the name ot the
Vity was transferred to the diocese. It is true, that these
bishops afterwards changed their title, and subscriber
themselves Portuenses, that is, bishops of Portu. .But the
facts just mentioned are actually recorded in authentic
histories •, and as the diocese of Portucaha contained in
a great measure that little country in which the sove¬
reignty originally began, the name extended itselt, to¬
gether with the acquisitions of the sovereigns, and has
remained in the kingdom, though the diocese itselt has
3 changed its name, and possibly on that very account.
Originally Portugal, though even yet hut a small kingdom, was
only a small ori ;nai,i much smaller. The Spanish and Portuguese
kingdom. arree> tliat Don Alonso, King of Leon and
Castile, and son to Don Ferdinand the Great, bestowed
his daughter Donna Theresa in marriage upon an illus¬
trious stranger, Don Henry and gave him with her he
frontier province which he had conquered from the
Moors, small indeed in extent, but excellently situated,
and so pleasant and fertile, that it has sometimes been
styled Medulla Hispanica, or the marrow of Spain, lo
this territory was added the title of Count ; but authors
are much divided about the time that this stranger came
into Spain, and who he was. However, the authors of
the Universal History make it pretty evident that he
was a grandson of llobert the first duke of Burgundy.
The manner in which he obtained the principality above
mentioned is related as follows : . ,.
The king, Don Alonso, apprehensive that his success
in taking the city of Toledo would bring upon him the
whole force of the Moors, sent to demand assistance h orn
Philip I. of France, and the duke of Burgundy, whose
daughter he had married. His request was granted by
both princes ; and a numerous body of troops was speedi¬
ly collected for his service, at whose head went Raymond
count of Burgundy, Henry, younger brother of Hugh
duke of Burgundy, Raymond count of 1 h°!ous*’ an
many others. They arrived at the court of Don Alonso
in the year 1087, where they were received and treated
with all possible marks of esteem *, and having in the
course of two or three years given great proofs of their
courage and conduct, the king resolved to bestow his
only daughter named Urraca, then a mere child, being
at most in her ninth year, upon Raymond count of Bur ^
gundy, and assigned them the province of Galicia tor
the support of their dignity. About four years after
Don Alonso being very desirous to express his gratitude
to Henry of Burgundy, gave him in marriage a natural
daughter of his, born while he remained in exile at 10-
ledot whose name was Donna Theresa S and upon this
marriage, he gave up in full property the country which
has been already mentioned. . ... -
The new sovereign, with his consort, fixed their re -
deuce in the town of Guimaraez, pleasantly situated on
the banks of the river Ave. The remains of an ancient
palace belonging to their successors are still to be seen ,
and on account of its having been anciently the capital,
the king, Don Denis, granted the inhabitants an immu¬
nity from taxes, which they still enjoy.
The Portuguese, nn\v finding themselves mdependen ,
immediately began, like other nations, to attempt the
4
Henry of
Burgundy
the first
xoiint of
Portugal.
suoiecuou 01 uien ncigiiuuuic. Hemy is said to have
performed great exploits against the Moors j but the ac¬
counts of them are so indistinct, that they cannot be
taken notice of here. He died in 1112 j and was suc¬
ceeded by his son Don Alonso, then an infant in the
third year of his age. In his minority, the kingdom was
governed by his mother Donna Theresa, assisted by two s
able ministers. During the first nine years of their ad- Differm
ministration, nothing remarkable happened; but after wit 1 Cm
that period some differences took place between the
queen regent (for she had assumed the title of queen af¬
ter her father’s death) and Urraca queen of Castile.
Theresa insisted, that some part of Galicia belonged to
her in virtue of her father’s will ; and therefore seized
on Toy, an episcopal town, and a place ot some conse¬
quence. Urraca, having assembled a numerous army,
went in person into Galicia; upon which Theresa was
obliged to abandon Tuy, and take shelter in one of her
own fortresses. The consequence, in all probability,
would have been fatal to the new kingdom, had not the
archbishop of Compostella, without whose assistance Ur¬
raca could do nothing, demanded leave ta retire with
bis vassals. This offended the queen to such a degree,
that she threw him into prison ; which act of violence
excited such a commotion among her own subjects, that
the Portuguese were soon delivered from their appre¬
hensions. Queen Theresa fell immediately after into a
similar error, by throwing into prison the archbishop of
Brr<m, who had not espoused her cause so warmly as she
had “expected. The bishop, however, was quickly deli¬
vered by a bull from the pope, who also threatened the
kingdom with an interdict; and this was the first re¬
markable offence which Theresa gave her subjects.
Soon after this, Queen Urraca died, and all differences
were amicably settled at an interview between Theresa
and Don Alonso Raymond, who succeeded to the king¬
dom of Castile. But, in 1126, the king of Castile be¬
ing obliged to march with the whole strength ot Ins do¬
minions against his father-in-law the king of Navarre and
Arragon, Theresa took the opportunity of again seizing
upon Tuy; but the king soon returning with a superior
army, she was again obliged to abandon her conquest.
But the greatest misfortune which befel this princess,
was a quarrel with her own son Don Alonso Enriquez.
It does not appear indeed that Theresa had given him
any just cause of offence ; but it is certain that a civil
war ensued, in which the queen’s forces were totally e-
feated, and she herself made prisoner, in which situation
she continued during the remainder of her life.
Enriquez having thus attained to the free and lul Don A
possession of his dominions, made several attempts uP°n
some places in Galicia, but without success ; so that lie ^
was at last constrained to make peace with Alonso king j.jng ()!
of Castile and Leon, who had assumed the title of i /ra-CatUk
peror of the Spains; the mere especially as his dominions
happened to be at tlsat time invaded by the Moors.-—
The number of infidels was so great, that the count ot
Portugal had little hopes of subduing them ; hut a
plague breaking out in the Moorish army, they were
obliged to retreat; after which he reduced several places
belonging to that nation. But. in the mean time, the
emperor" Don Alonso, breaking into the Portuguese
territories, destroyed every thing with fire ami sword.
The king of Portugal surprised and cut off a consider¬
able part of his army j which, however, did not hinder
P O R [ 221
rl ]_ the emperor from marching directly towards him.—
Jy-—1 Bat, at the intercession of the pope’s legate, all differ¬
ences were accommodated, and a peace concluded ; all
places and prisoners taken on both sides being delivered up.
In the mean time, the progress of the Christian arms
jn Spain being reported to Abn-Ali Texefien, the mi-
ramamolin or chief monarch of the Moot's in Barbary,
he directed Ismar, or Ishmael, his lieutenant in Spain, to
assemble all the forces in the southern provinces, and
drive the Christians beyond the Douro. Ishmael imme¬
diately began to prepare for putting these orders in exe¬
cution ; and having added a considerable body of troops
brought from Barbary to those whom he had raised in
Spain, the whole army was very numerous. He was
7 met by Don Alonso of Portugal, in the plains of Ou-
ory °f rique, on the banks of the river Tayo j and Ishmael
took all possible means to prevent the Christians from
passing that river, because his own cavalry, in which the
strength of his army chiefly consisted, had thus more
room to act. The Portuguese forces were very incon¬
siderable in number in comparison of the Moors; but
Ishmael, being too confident of victory, divided his army
into twelve bodies, and disposed them in such a manner
as might best prevent the flight, not sustain the attack,
of the Christians. The consequence was, that his army
was overthrown with incredible slaughter, and a vast
number of prisoners taken, among whom were 1000
Christians, of the sect styled Mozarab/ans, whom, at the
request of Theotonus, prior of the Holy Cross, Don
Alonso set at liberty with their wives and children, and
s procured them settlements in his own dominions.
After this signal victory, gained in the year 1139
Alon- _ _
ssumes Don Alonso was proclaimed king by his soldiers, and
itle of ever after retained that title, renouncing all kind of
subjection to the crown of Spain. Being very desirous,
however, of bringing down the power of the emperor,
he entered into a league with Raymond count of Bar¬
celona and regent of the kingdom of Arragon against
that prince. In consequence of this treaty, he entered
Galicia with a considerable force on one side, while Don
Raymond did the same on the other. Neither of these
enterprises, however, succeeded. The Portuguese mo¬
narch met with a severe check in his expedition into
Galicia, where he received a dangerous wound, and had
some of the nobility who attended him taken prisoners.
At the same time he received intelligence that the
Moors had invaded his dominions, so that he was obli¬
ged to retire j which, however, was not done in suffi¬
cient time to prevent the strong fortress of Leyria from
falling into their hands. This fortress they demolished,
and put all the garrison to the sword ; but the king
caused it to be rebuilt stronger than before, and put a
more numerous garrison into it j however, he under¬
took nothing farther this campaign. The war conti¬
nued with various success till the year 1145, when the
king projected an enterprise against Santaren, a strong
city about 12 miles from Lisbon. In this he luckily
succeeded $ and by that means gained a considerable
tract of country, and a strong barrier to his dominions.
After this success Don Alonso caused himself with
much ceremony to be chosen and crowned king of Por¬
tugal before an assembly of the states, where he also so¬
lemnly renounced all dependence on the crown of Spain,
declaring, that if any of his successors should condescend
to pay tribute or to do homage to that crown, he was
] P O R
unworthy of enjoying the kingdom of Portugal. The Portugal,
next year the king undertook the recovery of Lisbon 1 \r-—>
out of the hands of the Moors ; and concerning this 9
expedition there are such numbers of fables, that it is Rfduces
almost impossible to come at the truth. What can be nd
gathered from these accounts is, that he undertook the cities,
siege with a small army, and was able to make but little
progress in it, partly from the strength of the place,
and partly from the numerous garison by which it was
defended. At length, fortunately for Don Alonso, a
fleet of adventurers, French, English, Germans, and
Flemings, that were going to the Holy Land, anchored
at the mouth of the river Tagus, whose assistance he de¬
manded, as not altogether foreign to their design of mak¬
ing war on the infidels. His request was readily grant¬
ed ; and, with their assistance, Lisbon was speedily re¬
duced 5 which conquest so much raised the reputation
of this monarch, and brought such numbers to recruit
his army, that before the end of the year 1147 he had
reduced 12 other considerable cities. ro
For many years after this, Don Alonso was success-Has his re-
ful in all his undertakings. He settled the internal go- Sai dignity
vernment of his kingdom, procured a bull from Pope f01,{jnned
Alexander III. confirming his regal dignity, undertook ^ eP°pe*
many successful expeditions against the Moors, and be¬
came master of four of the six provinces which compose
the present kingdom of Portugal. In all his undertak¬
ings he was assisted by the counsels of his queen Ma¬
tilda, who was a woman of great capacity, and suffi¬
cient for the government of the kingdom in her hus¬
band’s absence. By her he had a numerous offspring,
particularly three daughters ; the eldest of whom Don¬
na Mafalda or Mathilda, was married to the king of
Arragon ; the second, Urraca, to Don Ferdinand king
of Leon ; and the third, Theresa, to Philip earl of
Flanders. In 1166, however, the king thought pro-j^ 11
per, from what provocation we know not, to invade celsfb” war
the dominions of his son-in-law Don Ferdinand j and with Don
possessed himself of Limmia and Turon, two cities of f'er<Jinan<*
Galicia, in which he put strong garrisons. The next^Pajn'
year, elated with his success, he marched with a nume¬
rous army towards Badajos, which he invested j on the
news of which, Don Ferdinand, who had assembled a
large army at Ciudad Rodrigo, marched to its relief.
Yet before he could come within sight of it, it had sur¬
rendered to the king of Portugal ; upon which Don
Ferdinand came to a resolution of besieging his anta¬
gonist in his newly conquered cityj which Don Alonso
perceiving, endeavoured to draw out his forces into
the field. Though he was at that time upwards of 70
years of age, he was himself on horseback, and pushing
forwards at the head of his horse to get out at the gate,
he struck his leg against one of the bolts with such vio¬
lence that the bone was shattered to pieces. This ac¬
cident occasioned such confusion, that the Portuguese
troops were easily beaten, and Don Alonso was taken
prisoner. He was exceedingly mortified by this dis¬
grace, especially as he had no great reason to expect
very kind treatment from his son-in-law. However, the
king of Leon behaved towards him with the greatest
respect and affection. He desired him to lay aside all
thoughts of business, and attend to his cure ; but find¬
ing him restless and impatient, be assured him that he
expected nothing more than to have things put into'
the same condition as before the war, and that they
22
12
Don San-
cho’s sue-
FOR [
Portugal, miglit live in peace and friendship for the future : to
 v-—' which the king of Portugal most readily assented j but
returned to his dominions before his cure was pertect-
ed, which was the cause of his being lame all the rest
of his life. However, this did not abate his military
ardour ; for, notwithstanding this inconvenience, his
courage transported him into the field whenever he was
called by the interest of his subjects. Towards the end
of his reign, an opportunity seemed to present itself of
obtaining once for all^an entire release from the disa¬
greeable pretensions of the king of Leon,'who, it seems,
bad insisted on the king of Portugal’s doing homage for
his kingdom. The opportunity which now presented
itself was a quarrel between the king of Leon and his
nephew Don Alonso king of Castile. The latter asked
assistance from the king of Portugal, which was leadily
oranted. But Don Ferdinand having received intelli¬
gence that the infant Don Sancho, (the king’s eldest
son) was advancing towards Ciudad Rodrigo, assem¬
bled his troops on that frontier with such diligence,
that he was enabled to attack him unexpectedly, and en-
„ — tire.ly defeated him. Understanding, however, that Don
cess against ganc/|10 wa3 recruiting his forces with great diligence,
the Moors. ^ jet ^ know tbat they might be much better em¬
ployed against the infidels, who remained careless and
unprepared, expecting the issue of the war. Don San¬
cho made a proper use of this advice ; and, after mak¬
ing some motions to amuse the enemy, made a sudden
irruption into Andalusia, penetrating as far as Irrana,
one of the suburbs of Seville. The Moors assembled
their forces in order to attack him on his retreat •, but
Don Sancho having first fatigued them by the celerity
of his march, at length chose a strong camp, and, hav¬
ing given his troops time to repose, drew them out and
offered the enemy battle. 'Ihe Moors accepted the
challenge, hut were entirely defeated ; and Don San¬
cho returned into Portugal with spoils to an immense
amount. For some years after the war w'as continued
without any remarkable event", but, in x i 84, Joseph
kino-of Morocco, having already transported multitudes
of men from Barbary, at length followed in person with
a prodigious army, and carried all before him as far as
the Tayo. He appeared before the city of Santaren }
but having wearied and reduced his army by unsuccess¬
ful assaults on that place, he was attacked by the Por¬
tuguese forces assisted by lerdinand of Leon, entirely
defeated, and himself killed. By this victory, the Por¬
tuguese were left at liberty to improve the interior part
of their country, and fortify their frontiers ; and dining
this interval, the king died in the 76th year of his age,
13 in the year 1185. ™ o 1 r
His wise Hon Alonso was succeeded by his son Don oanetio 1.
FOR
2 i
Lisbon. They were very kindly received and supplied
with all kinds of refreshments by Don Sancho, who
Portu
administra¬
tion \
king.
• iniLslra" Of this prince it is remarkable, that, before he ascended
tlOH whcil . f _ „C    *-1 r, ™A twovIIIto rlicnnQitinn •
the throne, lie was ot a restless and warlike disposition j
but no sooner did he come to the possession of the king¬
dom, than he became a lover of peace, and began with
great assiduity to repair the cities that had suffered most
by the war, and to repeople the country around them.
Bv his steady attention to this, he in a very short time
quite altered the appearance of his territories, and pro-^
cured to himself the glorious title of T/ie restorer of
cities, and father of his country. In the year 1189, a
fleet, composed for the most part of English vessels, hut
having on board a great number of adventurers of other
nations bound to the Holy Land, entered the river of
took this opportunity of soliciting them to assist him in a
design he had formed of attacking the city of Silves in
Algarve j to which they readily yielded. Having join¬
ed a squadron of his own galleys, and marched a body
of troops by land, the place was reduced, and the
English, according to agreement, rewarded with the
plunder. But, in a short time, the Moors from Africa
having again invaded Portugal, the town was several
times taken and retaken, till at last Don Sancho, being
sensible of the difficulties that would attend the keeping
of it, caused it to be demolished. His last enterprise
was the reduction of Elvas", soon after which he died
with the reputation of the best economist that ever sat
on the throne of Portugal. With the character of be¬
ing rather liberal than avaricious, he had amassed a
treasure of more than 700,000 crowns in ready money,
besides 1400 merks of silver and 100 of gold plate,
which he disposed of some time before his death. He
was interred by his own command with much less pomp
than his father, in the cathedral of Coimbra ; and when
his body was taken up 400 years after by order of the
king Don Emmanuel that it might be laid in a new tomb,
it was found uncorrupted.
The history of Portugal affords scarce any event of^T
importance till the year 1289; when, in the reign of ^
Don Denis, a difference commenced with Castile, which
subsisted for a long time. Frequent reconciliations took
place \ but these were either of very short duration, or
never sincere. At length, in the reign ol John I. Don
Juan of Castile, who had also pretensions to the crown
of Portugal, invaded that kingdom at the head of the
whole force of his dominions, and with the flower of
the Castilian nobility entered the province of Alentejo.
According to the Portuguese historians, he besieged
the city of Elvas without effect; which disappoint¬
ment enraged him to such a degree, that he determined
next year to invade Portugal a second time, and ruin
all the country before him. Accordingly, having col¬
lected an army of 30,000 men, he invaded Portugal,
took and ruined several places, while King John lay in¬
active, with a small army, waiting for some English
succours which he expected. At last he ventured an
engagement with the forces which he had 5 and, not-]y de) ;(j,
withstanding the great superiority of the enemy, ob¬
tained a complete victory ", after which he made an ir¬
ruption into Castile, and had the good fortune to gain
another battle, which fixed him firmly on the throne of
Portugal. The Castilians were obliged to consent to a
truce of three years, which was soon after improved in- 1 |
to a lasting peace. _ > . The Jot
In 14x4, King John undertook an expedition against Ccut,, fn
the Moors in Barbary, where he commanded in person Jfromi
hut before he set out, his queen (Philippa the daugh-Moor
ter of John duke of Lancaster) died of grief at the
thoughts of his absence. The expedition, however,
proved successful, and the city of Ceuta was taken from
the Moors almost at the first assault 5 but scarcely had
the king left that country, when the princes of Barbary
formed a league for the recovery of it j and though
they were defeated by the young princes of Portugal,
whom John again sent into Barbary, yet the trouble ol
keeping it was so great, that some of the king’s coun¬
cil were of opinion that the town should be demolished.
But
FOR [22
. But Jolin, having considered the arguments on both
sides, determined to keep the city j and therefore en¬
larged and strengthened the fortifications, augmenting
his forces there to 6000 foot and 2500 horse, which he
hoped would be sufficient for keeping oft' the attacks of
the Moors.
King John died in 1428, and was succeeded by his
eldest son Edward. He undertook an expedition against
Tangier in Barbary : but the event proved very unfor¬
tunate ; the Portuguese being so shut up by the Moors,
that they were obliged to offer Ceuta back again, in
order to obtain leave to return to Portugal. The
king’s son, Don Ferdinand, was left as a hostage for
the delivery of Ceuta ; but was, with the utmost cruel¬
ty and injustice, left in the hands of the infidels, by the
king and council of Portugal, who constantly refused
to deliver up the place. Many preparations indeed
were made for recovering the prince by force ; but be¬
fore any thing could be accomplished the king died in
1430, which put an end to all these designs. ""See Pe¬
dro, Doji.
The war with Barbary continued at intervals, but
with little success on the part of the Portuguese 5 and
til! the year 1497, there is no event of any consequence
recorded in the history of Portugal. This year was re¬
markable for the discovery of the passage to the East
Indies by the Cape of Good Hope. The enterprising
spirit of the Portuguese had prompted them to under¬
take voyages along the coast of Africa for a consider¬
able time before ; but when they undertook their first
* voyage of discovery, it is probable that they had no¬
thing farther in view than to explore those parts of the
coast of Africa which lay nearest to their own country.
But a spirit of enterprise, when roused and put in mo¬
tion, is always progressive ; and that of the Portuguese,
though slow and timid in its first operations, gradually
acquired vigour, and prompted them to advance along
the western shore of the African continent far beyond
the utmost boundary of ancient navigation in that di¬
rection. Encouraged by success, it became more ad¬
venturous, despised dangers which formerly appalled it,
and surmounted difficulties which it once deemed in¬
superable. When the Portuguese found in the torrid
zone, which the ancients had pronounced to be unin¬
habitable, fertile countries, occupied by numerous na¬
tions ; and perceived that the continent of Africa, in¬
stead of extending in breadth towards the west, ac¬
cording to the opinion of Ptolemy, appeared to contract
itself, and to bend eastwards, more extensive prospects
opened to their view, and inspired them with hopes of
reaching India, by continuing to hold the same course
which they had so long pursued.
After several unsuccessful attempts to accomplish
what they had in view, a small squadron sailed from the
Tagus, under the command of Vasco de Gama, an of¬
ficer of rank, whose abilities and courage fitted him
to conduct the most difficult and arduous enterprises.
From unacquaintance, however, with the proper season
and route of navigation in that vast ocean through
which he had to steer his course, his voyage was long
and dangerous. At length he doubled that promon¬
tory, which, for several years, had been the object of
terror and of hope to his countrymen. From that, af¬
ter a prosperous navigation along the south-east of A-
frica, he arrived at the city of Melinda, and had the
4
3 3 FOR
satisfaction of discovering there, as well as at other porl„.al.
places where he touched, people of a race very different
from the rude inhabitants of the western shore of that
continent, which alone the Portuguese had hitherto vi¬
sited. These he found to be so far advanced in civili¬
zation and acquaintance with the various arts of life,
that they carried on an active commerce, not only with
the nations on their own coast, but with remote coun¬
tries of Asia. Conducted by their pilots, who held a
course with which experience had rendered them well
acquainted, he sailed across the Indian ocean, and land¬
ed at Calecut, on the coast of Malabar, on the 22d of
May 1498, ten months and two days after his departure
from the port of Lisbon. ^
The samorin, or monarch ol the country, astonished The king
at this unexpected visit of an unknown people, whose ofl^e
aspect, and arms, and manners, bore no resemblance to
any of the nations accustomed to frequent his harbours, his new vi.
and who arrived in his dominions by a route hitherto sitors.
deemed impracticable, received them at first with that
fond admiration which is often excited by novelty 5 but
in a short time, from whatever motives, lie formed va¬
rious schemes to cut off Gama and his followers. The
I oituguese admiral, however, was not to be overreach¬
ed by such politics as his. From every danger to which
he was exposed, either by the open attacks or secret
machinations of the Indians, he extricated himself with
singular prudence and dexterity, and at last sailed from \
Calecut with his ships, loaded not only with the com¬
modities peculiar to that coast, but with many rich pro¬
ductions of the eastern parts of India. He returned to
1 ortugal in two years after his sailing from the Tagus,
but with a great loss of men ; for out of 148 persons
whom he took out with him, only 55 returned. The
king received him with all possible testimonies of re¬
spect and kindness j created him count of Videgueira ;
and not only declared him admiral of the Indies, but
made that office hereditary in his family. 20
On tlie first intelligence of Gama’s successful voy-The Yene-
age, the Venetians, with the quick-sighted discernmenttians dread
of merchants, foresaw the immediate consequence of it tJie.ru*n
to be the ruin of that lucrative branch of commerce niercc!0m*
which had contributed so greatly to enrich and aggran¬
dise their country j and they observed this with more
poignant concern, as they were apprehensive that they
did not possess any effectual means of preventing, or
even retarding, its operation.
^ Hie hopes and fears of both were well-founded. T’he^cco^t
Portuguese entered upon the new career opened to them of the
with activity and ardour, and made exertions, both com- settlement
mercial and military, far bey ond what could have beenofthe P?F_
expected from a kingdom of such inconsiderable extent. m
All these were directed by an intelligent monarch, ca¬
pable of forming plans of the greatest magnitude with
calm systematic wisdom, and of prosecuting them with
unremitting perseverance. The prudence and vigour of
his measures, however, would have availed little without
proper instruments to carry them into execution. Hap¬
pily for Portugal, the discerning eye of Emanuel select¬
ed a succession of officers to take the supreme command
in India, who, by their enterprising valour, military
skill, and political sagacity, accompanied with disinte¬
rested integrity, public spirit, and love of their country,
have a title to be ranked with the persons most eminent
for virtue and abilities in any age or nation. Greater
things,
FOR
r 224 1
P o
p
Por'di^al.
22
Opposition
made l»y
the Vene¬
tians.
«3 .
Inquisition
introduced
into Portu¬
gal.
tlunp* perlmps were achieved by them than were ever
accomplished in so short a time. W‘thin 24 }e‘irs
after the voyage of Gama, the Portuguese had rendered
themselves masters of the city of Malacca ,n winch the
great staple of trade carried on among the inhab.tan s
of all those regions in Asia, winch Europeans have di¬
stinguished by the general name ot the East Inches, was
then established. The conquest secured to them grea
influence over the interior commerce of India, while, at
the same time, by their settlements at Goa a^Dm
thev were enabled to engross the trade ot the Malabar
coast and to obstruct greatly the long established inter¬
course of Egypt with India by the Red sea. In every
part of the east they were received with re*Peci>
many they had acquired the absolute command. They
carried on trade there without rival or controul j they
prescribed to the natives the terms of their mu ual in¬
tercourse i they often set what price they pleased on the
goods which they purchased •, and were thus enabled to
import from Indostan and the regions beyond it, what¬
ever is useful, rare, or agreeable, in greater abundan ,
and of more various kinds, than had been known for-
Ilie^lot'satisfic'd with this ascendant which they had ac¬
quired in India, the Portuguese early formed a scheme
no less bold than interested, of excluding all other na-
Rons from participating of the advantages of commerce
with the east *, and they accomplished one halt of what
their ambition had planned. , ,
In consequence of this, the \enetians soon began to
feel that decrease of their own Indian trade which they
had foreseen and dreaded. In order to prevent the far¬
ther progress of this evil, they incited the sol dan of tl^
Mameluks to fit out a fleet in the Red sea, and to at¬
tack those unexpected invaders of a gainful monopoly,
of which he and his predecessors had long enjoyed un¬
disturbed possession. The Portuguese, however, en¬
countered his formidable squadron with undaunted cou-
rase entirely defeated it, and remained masters of the
Indian ocean. They continued their progress in the east
almost without obstruction, until they established there
a commercial empire-, to which, whether we consider
its extent, its opulence, the slender power by winch it
was formed, or the splendour with which the government
it was conducted, there had hitherto been nothing
comparable in the history of natrons Entanne who
laid the foundation of tins stupendous fabric, had the sa¬
tisfaction to see it almost completed. Every part of E -
rone was supplied by the Portuguese with the produc-
Rons of the east and if we except some inconsiderable
quantity of them, which the Venetians still continued to
receive by the ancient channels of conveyance, om quai
ter of the globe had no longer any commercial inter¬
course with India, and the regions of Asia beyond it,
hut bv the Cape of Good Hope. . f
In September 1522, King Emanue died of an epi¬
demical fever, and was succeeded by Ins son John I .
The most remarkable transaction of this prince s reign
was the introduction of the inquisition into his domi¬
nions. This happened in the year 1525. aS
sav in 1535. A famine happening to cease in a shoit
time after it was introduced, the priests persuaded the
•Inorant multitude that it was a blessmg from heaven on
account of the erecting such an holy tribunal. How
ever, it was not long before the bulk of the nation per¬
ceived what kind of a blessing the inquisition was : hut por
their discernment was too late-, tor by that time the in-~
quisitors had acquired such power, that it became equal¬
ly dangerous and ineffectual to attempt disclosing any ot
their mysteries.
In the mean time Solyman the Magnificent, the most
enlightened monarch of the Ottoman race, observing
the "power and the opulence of the Portuguese rising,
and attributing it to its proper cause, and eager to sup¬
plant them, sent orders to the bashaw of Egypt to em¬
ploy his whole strength against the Christians in the
East Indies. The bashaw, in obedience to these orders,
sailed out from the Red sea with a greater naval force
than ever the Mohammedans had employed before j
having 4000 Janizaries, and 16,000 other land troops
on board. Yet, by the courage and conduct ot the Por¬
tuguese officers and soldiers, all this mighty armament
was defeated,and their East India possessions saved from
the danger which threatened them. In Africa likewise
the king of Fez was baffled before the town of Safi, and
fresh quarrels breaking out among the princes gave great
relief to the Christians, who had long been obliged to
carrv on a defensive war, and had more than once been
on the very brink of ruin. For a long time indeed their
safety had been derived only from the quarrels of the
Moors among themselves; for such was the envy and
jealousy which reigned among the Portuguese, that they
could never unite heartily in opposing the common ene¬
my j and therefore, had their enemies united against
them, they must certainly have been cut oif. But when¬
ever the cheriffs quarrelled with each other, one party
was sure to have recourse to the. Portuguese; who, by
sending them a small supply, secured quiet to themselves,
and had the pleasure of seeing their enemies destroy one r
another. Yet in the end even this had bad consequences; Bad,
for on one hand, it kept up a martial spirit among theaffili,|
Moors, and on the other it made them acquainted with Bart
the Portuguese discipline; so that alter every shoit in¬
terval of repose they not only found them as much ene¬
mies as before, but much more formidable than ever.
The consequence of all this was, that King John began
to apprehend that the conquest of Barbary was impos¬
sible, and therefore to limit his desires to the keeping of
those few fortresses which he had already; which, though
a necessary and prudent measure, displeased the genera¬
lity of his subjects.
King John exerted himself much in the settlement
of Brazil in South America, which he brought into a
very good state, caused several strong towns to be erect¬
ed there, and took all possible methods to encourage the
conversion of the natives to Christianity. He also made
many regulations for the welfare and happiness of his
subjects. The disputes of the nobility about precedency
were frequently attended with very disagreeable conse¬
quences, which made the king resolve once for all to
settle them by established rules ; and the rules establish¬
ed by him on this occasion have subsisted ever since,
and in a great measure prevent these altercations. He
had other great designs in his mind, particularly with
regard to the reformation, which he had pushed very far
with respect to religious persons of both sexes; but,
on a close examination of his affairs, he found his sub¬
jects in general to have been so much injured by In®
leaving their concerns to the inspection of his council,
that he was thrown by the grief of it into a kind ot
apoplexy,
al.
PGR [2
apoplexy, from which he never recovered. His death
,!aPI»®ne(,o in Jufle 'SSI 5 and he was succeeded by his
son Don Sebastian H I. an infant of three years of aye.
After t!ie death of king John, the administration re-
niained in the hands of the queen, grandmother to Se¬
bastian, who behaved with great prudence and circum¬
spection. The Moors, however, supposing that under
a minority they might be able to dispossess the Chri¬
stians of such places as they held in Barbary, laid close
siege to Masagan. But the queen-regent sent such
speedy succours, and promised such rewards to those
who distinguished themselves, that the Moors, though
they brought 80,000 men into the field, were obliged
to abandon the enterprise. This was at first magnified
as a high instance of the queen’s capacity and wisdom:
but in a short time the natural aversion which the .Por¬
tuguese had to the government of women, together
with the prejudice they had against her country, as be¬
ing a Castilian, appeared so plainly, and gave her so
much uneasiness, that of her own accord she resigned
her authority into the hands of Cardinal Hon Henry
the king’s brother. By him Dor. Alexis de Moneses
was appointed the king’s governor, and Gonsales de
Gomera with two other priests his preceptors. By
means of these instructors the king’s education was to-
a-tally marred. His governor assiduously inculcated up-
e on him that the chief virtue of a king was courage :
* tl,at finger was never to be avoided, but always sur¬
mounted, let the occasion be what it would. His
otner tutors, instead of instructing him in the true reli¬
gion, only inspired him with an abhorrence of professed
infidels; the consequence of all which was, that he be¬
came rash, inconsiderate, and obstinate; all which qua¬
lities conspired to draw upon him the catastrophe which
ruined both him and the kingdom.
. After tIie J^g wf18 grown up to man’s estate, his de¬
sire was to distinguish himself against the infidels. He
himself chose an expedition to the East Indies ; but the
prime minister Alco^ova, who did not choose to attend
. 1118 ™onarch to such a distance, substituted Africa in its
v.stead. This expedition the kingentered into in the most
inconsiderate and absurd manner. He first sent over
Don Antonio prior of Crato, with some hundreds of
soldiers ; carried his principal courtiers over with him
from a hunting match, and without equipages ; he then
sent for the duke of Aveyro, with such troops as he
could collect on the short warning he had got; and
when all these were assembled, the king spent his time
in hunting, and slight excursions against the enemy,
without doing any thing of consequence, except expo¬
sing his person upon all occasions. At length he re¬
turned to Portugal in such tempestuous weather, that
ins subjects had given him up for lost; when they were
agreeably surprised by his unexpected arrival in the ri-
ver of Lisbon, which they celebrated with the greatest
rejoicings. _
The little success which attended the king in this ex¬
pedition served only to inflame him more with desire for
another ; so that from the time he returned he seemed
to think on nothing else. He was highly delighted also
with an accident which at this time furnished him with
a pretence for war, though of that he stood in no great
need. Muley Hamet, king of Fez and Morocco, had
Jeen dispossessed of his dominions by his unde Muley
aioloch. At the beginning of this war Don Sebastian
Vob. XVII. Part I. f
Portiijal.
25 ] p O R
had offered him his troops in Africa, which offer was
rejected with contempt: but now being a fugitive, and
having m vain applied for assistance to Philip of Spain,
Muley Hamet applied to the king of Portugal ; and,
that he might the more easily succeed, caused the for¬
tress of Arzila, which his father had recovered, to be
restored to the Portuguese. The king was in Capture
tl -n ^ that llis g]<”7 would exceed
hat of all his predecessors. He was advised against
this expedition, however, by all his friends. King Phi-
ip of Spam having done every thing to dissuade him
In U Pei'SOnal C0|nfe™ce, sent Francisco Aldana,
an old and experienced officer, to Morocco ; and at his
return ordered him to attend Don Sebastian, in order to
give him an account of the state of affairs in that coun-
try 1 his he performed with the greatest fidelity, hut
u„ ed T- ^ lhe T^een dowager and cardinal
united m their endeavours to divert him from this unfor¬
tunate enterprise ; but he treated them both with so little
respect, that his grandmother broke her heart; and the
cardinal, to show his distaste at the measure, retired to
Fvora without comingeither to court or council; which
xample was followed by many of the nobles. Many
of these, however, sent very free remonstrances to the
king on the impropriety of his conduct; and King Phi-
«P sent to him the duke de Medina Celi, once more to
mnrtrreMm 1 ^ he tho^ ^ scheme
practicable, and to put him in mind that he had no
hand m pushing him upon his destruction, or of con¬
cealing from him the dangers into which he seemed de¬
termined to plunge himself and his subjects. Lastly
he received a letter on the subject from Muley Moloch
himself, wherein that prince explained to him his own
right to the crown of Fez, and showed that he had
only dispossessed a tyrant and a murderer, who had
therefore no right to Ins friendship or assistance. He
next assured him that he had no reason to fear either the
power or neighbourhood of the Portuguese ; as a proof
of which, and as a mark of his esteem, he was content
to make him a present of ten miles of arable ground
round each of the fortresses he possessed in Africa, and
winch indeed were no more than four, viz. Tangier
Ceuta, Masagan, and Arzila. At the same time he
addressed himself to King Philip of Spain, with whom
he was on good terms, desiring him to interpose with his
nephew Sebastian, that things might be yet adjusted
without the effusion of human blood. But the king of
1 oitugal was deaf to all salutary advice ; and therefore 27
paid no regard to this letter, nor to the remonstrances of^T"1 °f
his uncle. On the 24th of June 1577, therefore, lle lus fo,CC4-
set sail from the bar of Lisbon with a fleet of co ships
and five galleys, 12 pieces of cannon, and transports and
tenders, making near 1000 sail. His troops consisted of
9000 Portuguese foot; 3000 Germans; 700 Italians
commanded by Sir Thomas Stukeley, an English exile
but remarkably brave ; 2000 Castilians and 300 volun¬
teers commanded by Don Christopher de Tuvara mas-
ter of the horse, a man of courage, but without either
conduct or experience. He touched first at Lagos bay
in the kingdom of Algarve, where he remained for
four days : thence he proceeded to Cadiz; where he
was magnificently feasted for a week by the duke de
Medina Sidonia, who took the opportunity once more
by order of Philip, of dissuading him from proceeding
further m person. But this exhortation proved as fruit!
Ff less
¥OTl [22
Portugal, less as the rest-, ami the king having sailecl with a strong
——v ' detachment for Tangier, ordered Don Diego de Souza,
his commander in chief, to follow with the remaining
part of the army.
The troops landed on the coast of Africa without
any bad accident, and joined at Aizila. Here toe
king was met by the clieriff Muley Flamet, on whose
account he had undertaken the war, who delivered him
his son Muley, a boy of 12 years of age, as a hostage,
and brought a reinforcement of 300 Moors, ihe boy
was sent to Masagan under a strong guaid j but the fa¬
ther remained in the Portuguese camp. Here it was
resolved in a council of war to reduce the town of La-
rache, hut it was disputed whether the troops should
proceed thither by land or sea. Don Sebastian, who
espoused the former opinion, finding himself opposed by
Muley Hamet, gave him such a rude answer, that he
left his presence in discontent-, after which the king’s
opinion prevailed, and the army began its march on the
29th of July. As they proceeded, the king received a
letter from the duke of Alba, requesting him to attempt
nothing beyond the taking of the town of Larache.
Along with the latter was sent an helmet which had
2g been worn by Charles V.
Movements On the other hand MuTey Moloch, having intelu-
snd dispo- gcnce of this formidable invasion, took the field, though
at that time so ill of a fever that he could not sit on
horseback, with 40,000 foot and 60,000 horse. He con¬
ducted every thing, notwitstanding his distressed situa¬
tion, with the greatest prudence. Finding some rea¬
son to suspect that part of his army were desirous of go-
in<r over to his rival, he proclaimed that such as inclined
to'join their old master w'ere at libery to do it. I his at
once put a stop to the defection, and only a very few
made use of the liberty which was granted them. Stand¬
ing in doubt likewise of the fidelity of a body of 3000
horse, he sent them to reconnoitre the enemy, by which
act of confidence he secured them. Still, however, he
feared that his officers might be corrupted by the Por¬
tuguese gold 5 for which reason he changed the dispo¬
sition of his army entirely, so that none of his officers
commanded the corps to which they had been accustom-
sitions of
the armies.
ed • and therefore, having new men to deal with, had
none whom they could trust.
Having taken these precautions, he advanced against
the Portuguese army with such celerity, that he came
in sight of them on the 3d of August. On this Don
Sebastian called a council of war ; in which many who
out of complaisance had given their opinions for this
inarch, were now for returning. They were separated
from the enemy by a river, and the Moors were masters
of the ford, so that it was impossible to force them im¬
mediately in their posts -, neither was it practicable for
them to wait for a more favourable opportunity, because
they had no provisions. The foreign officers, on the
contrary, were of opinion that fighting was now be¬
come necessary, and a retreat dangerous. ! his, however,
was violently opposed by the cherift, who saw plainly
that tlmy ran a great risk of being defeated and of lo¬
sing all, while at the same time they were not certain
of gaining any thing of consequence though they should
"be victorious ; whereas, if they drew down towards the
sea, they might entrench themselves till they were re¬
lieved by their fleet; during which interval if Muley
Moloch should die, he looked upon it as certain that a
6 ] 'POE
great part of the armv would desert to him, which would Portu":
render him master not only ot the kingdom, but of tne v~-
fate of the Christians also. hen he found that the
king was bent on fighting, he only requested that the
engagement might be delayed till lour o’clock in the
afternoon, that, in case of a defeat, they might have
some chance of escaping", but even in this he could not
prevail-, for the king having disposed ol every thing for
a battle the next day, was impatient to begin the onset
as soon as it was light
In the mean time Muley Moloch was so sensible of
the advantages of his situation, that he was inclined
to take the whole Poituguese army prisoners; hut hnd-
ing his disease increase, so that he had no hopes of re¬
covery, he came to the resolution to fight, that his anta¬
gonist might not avail himself of his death. Hie dis¬
position of the Christian army was very regular and cor¬
rect, through the care of some old officers in Don Se¬
bastian’s service ; the inlantry were disposed in three
lines ; the battalion of volunteers made the vanguard ;
the Germans commanded by Colonel Amberg, and the
Italians by Sir Thomas Stukeley, were on the right;
the Castilian battalions on the left; the Portuguese in
the. centre and rear, the cavalry, consisting ot about
I 500 men, partly on the right under the command of
the duke d’Avegro, to whom the cheriff joined him¬
self with his horse : on the left was the royal standard,
with the rest of the cavalry, under the command ot the
duke of Barcelos, eldest son to the duke ot Braganza,
Don Antonio prior of Crato, and several other persons
of great rank. The king took post at first with the vo¬
lunteers. Muley Moloch disposed also his troops in
three lines: the first consisted of the Andalusian Moors,
commanded by three officers who had distinguished
themselves 111 the wars ol Granada ; the second of re-
negadoes; and the third of the natives of Africa.
They moved in a halt moon, with 10,000 horse on
each wing, and the rest in the rear, with orders to ex¬
tend themselves in such a manner as to encompass the
Christian army. Muley Moloch, though extremely weak,
was taken out of his litter, and set on horseback, that he
might see how his commanders had been obeved ; and
being perfectly satisfied with the situation of his troops, ^ \
he directed the signal of battle to be given. The Chri-The f ?•
stians advanced with the greatest resolution ; broke theguesefc
first line of the Moorish infantry, and disordered the^T
second. On this Muley Moloch drew his sword, and
would have advanced to encourage his troops, but that
his guards prevented him; on which his emotion of mind
was so great, that he fell from his horse. One of his
guards caught him in his arms, and conveyed him to his
litter; where he immediately expired, having only time
to lay his finger on his lips by way of enjoining them to
conceal his death. But by this time the Moorish caval¬
ry had wheeled quite round, and attacked the Christian
army in the rear ; upon which the cavalry in the left
iving made such a vigorous effort that they broke the
Portuguese on the right ; and at this time the cheriff,
in passing a rivulet, was drowned. In this emergency,
the Germans, Italians, and Castilians, did wonders ; but
the Portuguese, according to their own historians, be¬
haved indifferently. Attacked on all sides, however,
they were unable to resist; and the whole army, except
about 50 men, were killed or taken prisoners. Hie
fate of the king is variously related. According te
some.,
?V gal
iwii.Ted
liiiip
Uu,
P O R [ 227
j.1, some, he had two horses killed under him, and then
mounted a third. His bravest officers were killed in
his defence ; after which the Moors surrounding him,
seized his person, stripped him of his sword and arms,
and secured him. They immediately began to quarrel
about whose prisoner he was ; upon which one of the
generals rode in among them, crying, “ What, you
dogs, when God has given you so glorious a victory,
would you cut one another's throats about a prisoner?"
at the same time discharging a blow at Sebastian, he
brought him to the ground, when the rest of the Moors
soon dispatched him. Others affirm, that one Ijewis
de Brito meeting the king with his standard wrapped
round him, Sebastian cried out, “ Hold it fast, let us
die upon it!’’ upon which charging the Moors, he was
seized, rescued by Brito, who was himself taken with
the standard, and carried to lez. He affirmed, that
after he was taken, he saw the king at a distance, and
unpursued. Don Lewis de Lima met him afterwards
making towards the river j and this is the last account
we have of his being seen alive.
Muley Hamet, the brother of Muley Moloch, was
proclaimed king by the Moors immediately after the
battle. Next day, having ordered all the prisoners to
be brought before him, the new sovereign gave orders
to search for the body of Don Sebastian. The king’s
valet-de-chambre brought back a body, which be said
was that or his master, but so disfigured with wounds,
that it could not well be known •, so that notwith¬
standing the most diligent search, this monarch’s death
could never be properly authenticated. This body,
however, was preserved by Muley Hamet, who deliver¬
ed it up as the body ot Don Sebastian to Killer Philip
of Spain. By him it was sent to Ceuta, from whence
it was transported to Portugal, and buried among his
ancestors in the monastery at Belem, with all possible
■solemnity.
By this terrible disaster, the kingdom of Portugal,
from being the most eminent, sunk at once into the
lowest rank of the. European states. All the young
nobility were cut off, or carried into slavery : the king¬
dom was exhausted of men. money, and reputation j so
that Don Henry, who assumed the government after
the death of his brother Don Sebastian, found himself
m a very disagreeable situation. The transactions of his
reign were quite trifling and unimportant ; but after
Ins death a great revolution took place. The crown of
Portugal was claimed by three different competitors ;
Viz. the prince of Parma, the duchess of Braganza,
and Philip of Spain. Whatever might have been thy
merits of their respective claims, the power of Philip
quickly decided the contest in his favour. He found
Ins schemes facilitated by the treachery of the regents,
who took the most scandalous methods of putting the
kingdom into his hands. Under pretence of inspecting
the magazines, they took out some of the powder, and
mixed the rest with sand : they appointed an agent to
go to lranee for succours, from whence they knew that
they could not arrive in time ; they dissolved the states
as soon as they discovered that they were bent on main¬
taining the freedom of the nation ; and, under a show
or confidence, sent off to distant places such of the no¬
bility as they suspected.
King Philip, finding every thing in his favour,
commanded the duke of Alva to invade Portugal, at
] p O R
the head of 20,000 men. The people, perceiving Portuga!.
that they woe betiayed, exclaimed against the gover- ***~\r—
nors, and placed on the throne Don Antonio prior of
Crato. But his forces being inexperienced, and he
himself behaving in a very improper manner, he was
quickly defeated by the duke of Alva, and forced to
fly out of the kingdom, which he effected with great
difficulty. On his flight the whole kingdom submit¬
ted, together with the garrisons of Barbary, the settle¬
ments on the western coast of Africa, of Brazil, and
in the East Indies. All the Madeiras, however, ex¬
cept the isle of St Michael, held out for Don An¬
tonio until they were reduced, and the French navy,
which came to their assistance, entirely defeated and
destroyed.
, Philip made his entry into Lisbon as soon as the i’erms
kingdom w7as totally reduced, and endeavoured to con *raiued to
ciliate the affections ol the people by confirming the 1111 ^
terms which he had before offered to the states. These
terms were, that he would take a solemn oath to main¬
tain the privileges and liberties of the people: that the
states should be assembled within the realm, and nothing
proposed in any other states that related to Portugal:
that the viceroy or chiel governor should be a native,
unless the king should give that charge to one of the
loyal family : that the household should be kept on the
sam<' footing: that-the po^t of first president, and of
all offices, civil, military, and judicial, should be filled
with Portuguese ; all dignities 111 the church and in the
orders of knighthood confined to the same; the com¬
merce of Ethiopia, Africa, and the Indies, reserved al¬
so to them, and to he carried on only by their mer¬
chants and vessels : that he would remit all imposts on
ecclesiastical revenues : that he would make no grant
of any city, town, or jurisdiction royal, to any but Por¬
tuguese : that estates resulting from forfeitures should
not be united to the domain, but go to the relations of
the last possessor, or be given to other Portuguese for
recompense of services: that when the king came to
Portugal, where he should reside as much as possible,
he should not take the houses of private persons for his
officers lodging, but keep to the custom ofPoitngal:
that wherever his majesty resided, he should have an
ecclesiastic, a treasurer, a chancellor, two masters of re¬
quests, with under officers, all of them Portuguese, who
should dispatch every thing relating to the kingdom :
that Portugal should ever continue a distinct kingdom,
and its revenue be consumed within itself: that ail mat¬
ters of justice should be decided within the realm: that
the Portuguese should he admitted to charges in the
households of the king and queen of Spain : that all du¬
ties on the frontiers should he taken away: and, lastly,
that Philip should give 300,000 ducats to redeem pri¬
soners, repair cities, and relieve the miseries which the
plague and other calamities had brought upon the peo¬
ple. AH these conditions, formerly offered and reject¬
ed by the Portuguese, the king now confirmed : but
whereas the duke of Ossuna, by way of security tor
these conditions, had promised them a law, that if the
king did not adhere to them, the states should be freed
from their obedience, and might defend their right
by the sword, without incurring the reproach of per¬
jury, or the guilt of treason ; this he absolutely refused
to ratify.
All these concessions, however, did not answer the
F f 2 purpose ;
Portugal.
.33
Is disturb¬
ed by Don
Antonio.
P O R [22
purpose } nay, though Philip was to the last degree la¬
vish of honours and employments, the Portuguese tvere
still dissatisfied. This had also an effect which was not
foreseen : it weakened the power, and absorbed the re¬
venues, of the crown ; and, by putting it out of the
power of any of his successors to be liberal in the same
proportion, it raised only a short-lived gratitude in a few,
and left a number of malcontents, to which time was
continually adding.
Tims Philip, with all his policy, and endeavours to
please, found his new subjects still more and more dis¬
gusted with his government, especially when they found
their king treating with the utmost severity all those
who had supported Don Antonio. The exiled prince,
however, still styled himself fang of Portugal. At first
he retired to France, and there demanded succours for
the recovery of his dominions. Here he found so much
countenance, that with a fleet of near 60 sail, and a
o-ood body of troops on board, he made an attempt
upon the Terceras, where his fleet was beat by the
Spaniards: and a great number of prisoners being ta¬
ken, all the officers and gentlemen were beheaded, and
a great number of meaner people hanged. Don An¬
tonio, notwithstanding, kept possession of some places,
coined money, and performed many other acts of legal
power 5 but was at length constrained to retire, and it
was Avith some difficulty that he did so, and retuincd
into France, He passed from thence into England,
where he was vrell received ; and many fitted out priva¬
teers to cruize against the Spaniards under his commis¬
sion. But after King Philip had ruined the naval power
of Portugal as well as Spain, by equipping Uie armada,
Queen Elizabeth made no difficulty of owning and as¬
sisting Don Antonio, and even of sending Sir John Nor¬
ris and Sir Francis Drake with a strong fleet and a
great army to restore him. Upon this occasion Don
Antonio sent his son Don Christopher a hostage to Mu-
ley Hamet king of Fez and Morocco, who was to lend
him 200,000 ducats. But King Philip prevented this
by surrendering Arzila : and this disappointment, the
unseasonable enterprise upon Corunna, and the disputes
that arose between N"orris and Drake, rendered that ex¬
pedition abortive 5 so that, except carrying the plague
into England, it was attended with no consequences
worthy of notice. He remained some time alter in
England ; but finding himself little regarded, he with¬
drew once more into France, where he fell into great
poverty and distress *, and at length dying in the 64th
year of his age, his body was buried in the church of
the nuns of Ave Maria, with an inscription on his
tomb, in which he is styled king. He left several
children behind him, who, on account of his being a
knight of Malta, and having made a vow of virginity
at his entrance into the order, were looked upon as il¬
legitimate. He preserved, even to the day ol his
death, a great interest in Portugal ; and had drawn
from thence, in the course of his life, immense sums of
money ; which had been squandered in many fruitless
nogociations and attempts to disturb the possessions of
King Philip in almost all parts of his dominions, and par¬
ticularly in the Indies, where the Portuguese were ra¬
ther more averse to the Castilian yoke, or at least tes¬
tified their aversion more openly than in Europe.
Bat Don Antonio was not the only pretender to the
3 ] FOR
crown of Portugal : for the people, partly through the Portu-
love of their prince, and partly from their hatred to the v-
Castilians, were continually feeding themselves with the
hopes that Don Sebastian would appear and deliver^ 34
them j and in this respect such a spirit of credulity
reigned, that it was said proverbially, they would have to be I;
taken a negro for Don Sebastian. This humour putSebastis
the son of a tiler at Alcobaza, who had led a profli¬
gate life, and at length turned hermit, to give himself
out for that prince ) and having with him two compa¬
nions, one of them styled himself Don Christopher de
Tavora, and the other the bishop of Guarda, they began
to collect money, and were in a fair way of creating
much disturbance, if the cardinal arch-duke had not
caused them to be apprehended ) and after leading them
ignominiously through the streets of Lisbon, he who
took the name of Sebastian was sent to the galleys for
life, and the pretended bishop was hanged. Not long
after, Gonsalo Alvarez, the son of a mason, gave him¬
self out for the same king *, and having promised mar¬
riage to the daughter of Pedro Alonso, a rich yeoman
whom he created earl ol Torres Novas, he assembled a
body of about 800 men, and some blood was split be¬
fore he was apprehended : at length, being clearly
proved to be an impostor, himself and his intended fa¬
ther-in-law were publicly hanged and quartered at Lis¬
bon ; which, instead of extinguishing this humour, far¬
ther increased it.
There was, however, a person who appeared, about
20 years after the fatal defeat of Sebastian, at \ enice, s rems
who created much more trouble. He assumed the namenbleoi
of Don Sebastian, and gave a very distinct account of
the manner in which he had passed his time from that
defeat. He affirmed, that he had preserved his life and
liberty by hiding himself amongst the slain : that, after
wandering in disguise for some time in Africa, he re¬
turned with two of his friends into the kingdom of Al¬
garve : that he gave notice of this to the king Don
Henry: that finding his life sought, and being unwill¬
ing to disturb the peace of the kingdom, he returned
again among the Moors, and passed freely from one
place to another in Barbary, in the habit of a peni¬
tent : that after this he became a hermit in Sicily 5 but
at length resolved to go to Rome, and distover himself
to the pope. On the road he was robbed by his do¬
mestics, and came almost naked to Venice, where he
was known, and acknowledged by some Portuguese.
Complaint being made to the senate, he was obliged to
retire to Padua. But the governor of that city order¬
ing him also to depart, he, not knowing what to do,
returned again to Venice j where, at the request of the
Spanish ambassador, who charged him not only with
being an impostor, but also with many black and atro¬
cious crimes, he was seized, and thrown into prison. He
underwent 28 examinations before a committee of noble
and impartial persons 5 in which he not only acquitted
himself clearly of all the crimes that had been laid to his
charge, but entered also into so minute a detail of the
transactions that had passed between himself and the re¬
public, that the commissioners were perfectly astonished,
and showed no disposition to declare him an impostor;
moved more especially by the firmness of his behaviour,
his singular modesty, the sobriety of his life, his exem¬
plary piety, and his admirable patience under Ins afflic-
tiens.
P O R
tions. The noise of this was diffused throughout Europe,
'and the enemies of Spain endeavoured everywhere to
give it credit.
The state, however, refused to discuss the great point,
whether he was or was not an impostor, unless they were
requested so to do by some prince or state in alliance
with them. Upon this the prince of Orange sent Don
Christopher, the son of the late Don Antonio, to make
that demand j and at his request an examination was
made with great solemnity : but no decision followed ;
only the senate set him at liberty, and ordered him to de¬
part from their dominions in three days. He went there¬
fore, loy the advice of his friends, to Padua, but in the
disguise of a monk, and from thence to Florence^ where
[ 22.9 ]
P O R
Portugal.
'   — ---
he was arrested by the command of the grand duke,
who delivered him to the viceroy of Naples. The count
de Lemos, then in possession of that dignity, died soon
after, before whom he was first brought j this man as¬
serted, he must know him to be Don Sebastian, since
he had been twice sent to him from the king of Spain.
He remained prisoner several years in the castle Del Ovo,
where he endured incredible hardships. At length he
was brought out, led with infamy through the streets
of the city, and declared to be an impostor, who assumed
the name of Sebastian : at which words, when proclaim¬
ed before him, he said gravely, And so [am. In the
same proclamation it was affirmed, that he was in truth
a Calabrian which as soon as be beard, he said, It is
false. He was next shipped on board a galley as a slave;
then carried to St Lucar, where he was some time con¬
fined ; from thence he was transferred to a castle in the
heart of Castile, and never heard of more. Some per¬
sons were executed at Lisbon for their endeavours to
raise an insurrection in his behalf; but it was thought
strange policy, or rather a strange want of policy, in
the Spaniards, to make this affair so public without
proofs ; and the attempt to silence this objection, by
affirming him to be a magician, was justly looked upon
as ridiculous.
The administration of affairs in Portugal, during the
re'£n °f Philip, was certainly detrimental to the nation ;
dmr- and yet it does not appear that this flowed so much
niiuion. from any ill intention in that monarch, as from errors
in judgment. His prodigious preparations for the in¬
vasion of England impoverished all his European domi¬
nions ; but it absolutely exhausted Portugal. The pre¬
tensions of Don Antonio, and the hopes of despoiling
their Indian fleets, exposed the Portuguese to the re¬
sentment of the English ; from which the king, having
granted away all his domains, wanted power to defend
them. Their clamours were not at all the less loud for
their being in some measure without cause. The king,
to pacify them, borrowed money from the nobility upon
the customs, which were the onlv sure remedy he had
still left ; and this was attended with fatal consequences.
Hie branches, thus mortgaged, became, and continue
to this hour, fixed and hereditary ; so that the merchant
was oppressed, and the king received nothing. This
expedient failing, a tax of three per cent was imposed,
in the nature of ship-money, for the defence of the
coasts and the commerce, which for some years was pro-
p?rly applied ; but it then became a part of the ordinary
revenue, and went into the king’s exchequer without
account. This made way for diverting other appropri¬
ated branches; as for instance, that for the repair of
sonse-
ses of
pa-
fortifications, the money being strictly levied, and the
works suffered to decay and tumble down; and for the ‘— '
maintenance of the conquests in Africa, by which the
garrisons mouldered away, and the places were lost.
Upon the whole, in the space of 18 years, the nation
was visibly impoverished : and yet the government of
I Inlip was incomparably better than that of lus succes¬
sors ; so that bis death was justly regretted ; and the
Portuguese were taught by experience to confess, that
of bad masters be was the best.
His son Philip, the second of Portugal and the third
of Spain, sat 20 years upon the throne before be made
a visit to Portugal, where the people put themselves to
a most enormous expence to receive him; for which
they received little more than the compliment, that be¬
fore his entry into Lisbon, he knew not how great a
king he was. He held an assembly of the states, in
which his son was sworn successor. Having done all
that he wanted for himself, he acquired a false idea of
the riches ot the nation from an immoderate and foolish
display ot them during his short stay at Lisbon ; and
having shown himself little, and done less, he returned
into Spain ; where he acted the part of a good kino-
upon his death-bed, in deploring bitterly that he never
thought ol acting it before. The reign of Philip III.
and i\ . was a series of worse measures, and worse for-p ^7
tune: all his dominions suffered greatly: Portugal mostinTsiaTnd
or all. I lie loss of Ormus in the East, of Brazil in the ^mel^ca-
West Indies, together with the shipwreck of a fleet
sent to escort that from Goa, brought the nation incre¬
dibly low, and encouraged the conde duke to hope they
might be entirely crushed. These are the heads only
of the transactions for 40 years ; to enter in any degree
into the particulars, is, in other words, to point out the
breaches made by the Spanish ministers on the condi¬
tions granted by King Philip; which, with respect to
them, was the original contract, and unalterable con¬
stitution of Portugal while subject to the monarchs of
Castile; and which, notwithstanding, they so often and
so flagrantly violated, that one would have imagined
they had studied to provoke the wrath of heaven," and
insult the patience of men, instead of availing them¬
selves, as they might have done, of the riches, power,
and martial spirit of the Portuguese people. „c.
It was the very basis and foundation of their privi-The Por-
leges, that the kingdom should remain separate and in- tu-tnese op-
dependent, and consequently that Lisbon should conti- piessed
nue as much its capital as ever, the several supreme conn-
ciis and courts residing there; so that the natives of this ^
realm might not be obliged to travel in search of justice.
So little, or at least so short a time, was this observed,
that neither promotion nor justice was to be obtained
without journeys, and Madrid was not more the capital
of Castile than of Portugal. The general assembly of
estates was to be held frequently, and they were held
thrice in the space of 60 years ; and of these twice
within the first three. The king was to reside in this
realm, as often and as long as possible ; in compliance
with which, Philip I. was there but once, Philip II.
but four months, and Philp III. was never there at all.
The household establishment was suppressed throimli all
their reigns. The viceroy was to be a native of Portu¬
gal, or a prince or princess of the blood ; yet when any
ot the royal family bore the title, the power was in rea¬
lity in the bands of a Spaniard. rIhus, when the prin¬
ter
P O R
C
Portugal.
39
A revolu¬
tion in fa¬
vour of the
duke of
Itraganza.
40
Perilous
state of
Portugal
on his
death.
dess of Mantua was vice-queen,the marquis de laPuebia
was to assist in council, anil in all dispatches ; and she
was to do nothing without his advice. ri he council ot
Portugal, which was to be composed entirely ol natives,
was filled with Castilians, as the garrisons also were,
though the contrary had been promised. The presi¬
dents of provinces, or corregidors, were to be natives ;
hut by keeping those offices in his own hands, the king
eluded this article. No city, town, or district, was to
he given but to Portuguese *, yet the duke ot Perm a had
Beja, Serpa, and other parts of the demesnes of the
crown, which were formerly appendages of the princes
of the blood. None but natives were capable ot offices
of justice, in the revenue, in the fleet, or ot any post ci¬
vil or military ; yet these were given promiscuously to
foreigners, or sold to the highest bidder j not excepting
the government of castles, cities, and provinces. I he
natives were so far from having an equal chance in such
cases, that no posts in the presidials were ever given to
them, and scarce any in garrisons ; and whenever it
happened, in the case of a person of extraordinary merit,
whose pretensions could not be rejected, he was either
removed, or not allowed to exercise his charge •, as fell
out to the marquis of Marialva and others. rI he forms
of proceeding, the jurisdiction, the ministers, the secre¬
taries, were all changed, in the council of Portugal;
being reduced from five to three, then two, and at last
to a single person.
By reason of these and many other grievances too te¬
dious to be mentioned here, the detestation oi the Spa¬
nish o-overnment became universal; and in 1640 a revo¬
lution took place, in which John duke ot Braganza was
declared king, by the title of John IV. Tins revolu¬
tion, as being determined by the almost unanimous voice
of the nation, was attended with very little eflu^'on pt
blood ; neither were all the efforts ol the king ot Spain
able to regain his authority. Several attempts indeed
were made for this purpose. The first battle was fought
in the year 1644, between a Portuguese army ol 6000
foot and noo horse, and a Spanish army of nearly the
same number. The latter were entirely defeated ; winch
contributed greatly to establish the affairs of Portugal
on a firm basis. The king carried on a defensive w?.r
dnrino- the remainder of his life ; and alter Ins death,
which happened in 1655, the war was renewed with
great vigour.
This was what the Spaniards did not expect; tor
they expressed a very indecent kind of joy at his death,
hopincr that it would be followed by a dissolution ot the
government. It is not indeed easy to conceive a king¬
dom left in more perilous circumstances than I ortugal
was at this time The king Don Alonzo Enriquez, a
child not more than 13 years of age, reputed ol no
very sound constitution either in body or mind ; the re¬
gency in a woman, and that woman a Castilian ; the
nation involved in a war, and this respecting the title
to the crown ; the nobility, some ot them secret y dis¬
affected to the reigning family, and almost all ot them
embarked in feuds and contentions with each other ; so
that the queen scarce knew who to trust or how she
should be obeyed. She acted, however, with great vi¬
gour and prudence. By marrying her only daughter
Vhe princess Catherine to Charles II. king ot Great
Britain, she procured to Portugal the protection ot
the English fleets, with reinforcements of some th6u-
o ] FOR
sands of horse and foot; and at last, in 1665, ter- Porta;,
minated the war by the glorious victory ot Montes- v—-y.
claros. This decisive action broke the power ot the
Spaniards, and fixed the fate of the kingdom, though
not of the king of Portugal. Alonzo was a prince
whose education had been neglected in his youth, who
was devoted to vulgar amusements and mean company,
and whom the queen for those reasons wished to deprive
of the crown, that she might place it on the head ol his
younger brother Don Pedro. Io accomplish this pur¬
pose, she attempted every method ot stern authority and
secret artifice ; but she attempted them all in vain. I he
Portuguese would not consent to set aside the lights of
primogeniture, and involve the kingdom in all the
miseries attending a disputed succession. Alter the death,
however, of the queen mother, the infant entered into
cabals against the king of a much more dangerous na¬
ture than any that she had carrieit on. Alonzo ha ^
married the princess ot Nemours ; but being, as was Don A
said, impotent, and likewise less handsome than his bro-zooth
ther, that lady transferred her affection to Don ^drn, ^
to whom she lent her assistance to hurl the king horn
the thrnne. Alonzo was compelled to sign a resigna¬
tion of the kingdom ; and his brother, alter governing
a few months without any legal authority, was in a
meeting of the states unanimously proclaimed regent,
and vested with all the powers of royalty. Soon alter
this revolution, for such it may be called, the marriage
of the king and queen was declared null by the chapter
of Lisbon'; and tbe regent, by a papal dispensation, and
with the consent of the states, immediately espoused the
ladv who had been wile to his brother. He governed,
under the appellation ^regent, 15 years, when, upon the
death of the king, he mounted the throne by the title
of Den Pedro II. and after a long reign, during which
he conducted the affairs of the kingdom with great pru¬
dence and vigour, he died on the 9th ol December
17Don John V. succeeded his father; and though he Don J
was then little more than 17 years ot age, he acted
and res
lute prl
with such wisdom and resolution, adhered so steadily to
the grand alliance formed against I ranee and Spain,
and showed such resources in his own mind, that though
he suffered great losses during the war, he obtained such
terms of peace at Utrecht, that Portugal was in all re¬
spects a gainer by the treaty. T he two crowns ot
Spain and Portugal were not, however, reconciled tho¬
roughly till the year 1737 j and from this period they
became every day more united, which gave much satis¬
faction to some courts, and no umbrage to any. In
this situation of things, a treaty was made in 1750
with the court of Madrid, by which Nova Coloma, on
the river of Plata, was yielded to his Catholic majesty,
to the great regret of the Portuguese, as well on ac¬
count of the value of that settlement, as because they
apprehended their possession of the Brasils would by this
action be rendered precarious. On tbe last ot July the
same year, this monaich, worn out by infirmities,
died in tbe 61st year of his age, and in the 44th ol bis
reign. 1 1 , • *1 4i
Don Joseph, prince of Brasil, succeeded him, to the ponj
universal satisfaction of his subjects, and with as great scph!sJ
expectations as ever any monarch that mounted theedw
throne. It was generally believed that he ivould ma e^
considerable alterations, in which he did not disappoint
the
FOR [ 2
rtu?al. {^s ^°PCS, of public; and yet tiiey were done so
,-yl-J slowly, with such moderation, and with so many circum¬
stances of prudence, as hindered all grounds of com¬
plaint. Amongst other new regulations, the power of
the inquisition suffered some restriction j the king di¬
recting that none their sentences should he put in
execution till reviewed and approved by his privy-coun¬
cil. But as in the reign of his father he had consented
to the tieaty with Spam, he ratified it after his acces¬
sion, and since carried it into execution upon this noble
principle, that no considerations of interest ought ever
to induce a monarch to break his word,
padful ^Within the space of the few years of this king’s
Dimities reign, the calamities of Portugal in general, and those
ping his of the city of. Lisbon in particular, can scarcely be pa-
i ' ■ ralleled in history. An earthquake, a fire, a famine,
an assassination-plot against their prince, executions up¬
on executions, the scaffolds and wheels for torture reek¬
ing with the noblest blood ; imprisonment after impri¬
sonment of the greatest and most distinguished person¬
ages j the expulsion of a chief order of ecclesiastics} the
invasion ol their kingdom by a powerful, stronger, and
exasperated nation ; the numerous troops of the enemy
laying waste their territory, bringing fire and sword
with them, and rolling like distant thunder towards the
gates of their capital } their prince ready almost to save
himself by flight! The Spanish ministry had already
decreed the doom of Portugal, and nothing wras to he
heard at the Escunal but Delenda est Carthago. Car¬
thaginian, perhaps, or Jewish history, may possibly af¬
ford a scene something like this, but for the shortness
of the period not so big with events, though in their
final destruction superior, irom that indeed, under the
hand of I fovidence, the national humanity and genero¬
sity of Great Britain preserved the Portuguese ; and it
remains now to he seen, in future treaties, how that peo-
, , pie will express their gratitude (see Britain, N° 450.).
?b: ca- Those who are able to search deeper into human affairs,
“jt8 may assign the causes of such a wonderful chain of
wined events’ but 110 'wise ma« will ascribe all this to so sin¬
gular a cause as that which a Spaniard has done, in a
famous pamphlet, printed in the year 1762 at Madrid.
]t is intitled, A Spanish Prophecy; and endeavours to
show that all these calamities have befallen the Portu¬
guese, solely on account of their connection with the
heretic English. The great Ruler and Governor of the
world undoubtedly acts by universal laws, regarding the
whole system, and cannot, without blasphemy, be con¬
sidered in the light of a partizan. The rest of the
pamphlet tends to show, that his Catholic majesty car¬
ried his arms into Portugal, solely to give them liberty,
and set them free from English tyranny.
Joseph dying without male issue, the succession de¬
volved to Alary, his daughter, now queen of Portugal,
bhe was. married some time before he died, with the
pope’s dispensation, to his brother Don Pedro. But as
the queen has long laboured under mental imbecility,
the executive government of the kingdom is entrusted
to her son who is styled Prince Regent.
1 ortugal has not been exempted from feeling the ef-
ects of Bonaparte’s insatiable ambition. From the un¬
relenting hatred which he bears towards Great Britain,
e has meditated the destruction of her commerce by
every means in his power, and therefore he demanded
of the Portuguese government, that all British vessels
51 ] P O R
might be excluded from having any share in the trade Portuga!.
of that country. Bonaparte demanded, that the Portu- ' '
.guese government should immediately pay to France
4,000,000 of crusades in specie, shut all the ports 0f RCmanJsof
Portugal againstBritish commerce, imprison British sub-
jects, and confiscate their property} give up the fleet ofgal.
Portugal to France, and receive French and Spanish
soldiers to protect the garrisons. It appears to have
been with extreme reluctance that the prince regent
agreed to such iniquitous demands, which naturalljTfil¬
ed the In itish merchants with consternation and dismay,
wno^e persons and property the Portuguese government
was anxious to place beyond the reach of danger} and
accordingly, the prince regent ordered their property to
he shipped, without the payment of accustomed duties,
requesting the military and" customhouse officers to pive
them every assistance. On the ryth of October 1807,
the Lively frigate sailed from Lisbon with a convoy of
50 sail for England, having on board nearly the whole
of the English merchants and property.
But such friendly dispositions towards the British the
prince regent was very soon compelled to relinquish ;•
lor, on t.ne 22d of October, be issued the following edict.
It ha,v mg been my greatest desire to preserve within my
dominions the most perfect neutrality during the present
war, upon account of the acknowledged good effects
that result from it to the subjects of this crown } but it
being impossible to preserve it any longer, and reflecting
at the same time how beneficial a general peace will be
to humanity, I have judged it proper to accede to the
cause of the continent, by uniting myself to his majasty
the emperor of the French and king of Italy, and to his
catholic majesty, in order to contribute, as far as may
be in my power, to the acceleration of a maritime
peace } wherefore I am pleased to order, that the ports
of this kingdom may be shut against the entry of all
ships of war, and merchant vessels, belonging to Great
Britain } Sind thus it is to be understood.”
A short time prior to this event, the prince regent
intimated the determination of the court to abandon the
kingdom and emigrate to the Brasils } but this resolu¬
tion was very soon followed by the abovementioned
edict. Whether we are to ascribe this change of senti¬
ment to symptoms of domestic inquietude, or whether
from the effects of some soothing opiate, administered by
those who were in the interest of Bonaparte, it appears
that the prince regent had not resolution to execute his
project. The agitation of the metropolis was such as
must have shaken his resolution } an implacable enemy
was on the frontiers, and the government being suppo¬
sed to be on the eve of emigrating, created uncommon
consternation, and the people at large seemed ripe for
an insurrection. In this situation of affairs the prince
made it publicly known, that he had yet well-
founded hopes to expect, that the absence of the Spa¬
nish and French ambassadors would be only temporal-v,
and not followed by any acts of hostility on the part of
those powers. In justification of the prince’s conduct
towards Britain en the present occasion, some have put
the question, “What means did Portugal possess to re*
sist with effect, the tyrant of the continent, who had
declared, that if the house of Braganza should not
break off its connection with England, it should cease
to reign ?”
T lie design first adopted by the prince regent was ap¬
parently
enter Lis¬
bon.
P O R [ 232 ]
J’oiiu-ii). parently relinquished for some time, hut finally c.mied
‘—-v——' into execution cn the 29th ot November, wlitn 15 f,e1'
47 . sons beloni>-in£f to the house of Bragan'/.a embai t a
^"“Rdsbon, for the Brasils, under the escort of a Br.ttsli
famflym fleet. Jn consequence of this measure, the emperor of
tlie iirasils. France declared that the throne was abdicated, an n-
the kingdom should henceforth be considered as a consti¬
tuent part of the French dominions. He dissolved the
regency formed by the prince, sequestered all the pro-
43 perty belonging to the crown, and that of all the nobles
The French vvl10 followed him into exile. General Junot, who
soon after this, entered Lisbon at the head of 14,000
men, issued a proclamation to the people of I ortugal,
in which he promised the due administration ot justice,
the preservation of tranquillity, and declared that then
future happiness should be attended to with the utmost
punctuality. These pretensions, however, did not ap¬
pear to reconcile the subjects ot Portugal to their new
masters; for when Junot seated himself in the prince a
box at the opera, all the Portuguese then present put on
their hats, and instantly withdrew. Ihe evils attending
this French invasion were such as might have been ex¬
pected. The lower classes were dying of absolute want;
and more than two-thirds of the mercantile houses in
Lisbon were plunged into the gulf of bankruptcy. .
The army of Sir Arthur Wellesley, sent by Great Bri¬
tain to act against the French troops under Junot, amount¬
ed to about 20,000 men, with an equal number of Portu¬
guese soldiers, which were to be joined by a Spanish force
49 of 10,000 men, under the command of General Jones.
French de- Xhe British and French had a desperate action near v 1-
feated at mier0[ on tj)e 2Ist 0f August 1808, which terminated in
ofViSera ^ total defeat of the French forces, who were to eva¬
cuate Portugal on certain conditions, the cinef of which
was, that they were to be carried home with all their
plunder, in vessels belonging to Great Britain. Sir Hew
Hairy m pie, who succeeded Sir Arthur Wellesley as com-
50 mander in chief of the British forces, agreed to what is
Convention called the convention of Cintra, by which indeed the
of Cintra. kino Jorn of Portugal was freed in the mean time from
the'ravagesof an unfeeling enemy, but it has been sup¬
posed that such a convention might have been much more
honourable to Britain, and the French troops compelled
to an unconditional surrender. Dishonourable as this
convention was deemed by some, it had the sanction of
Sir Charles Cotton, the admiral of the British fleet;
and the freeing the Portuguese from the oppression and
tyranny ot France by this means became a justification
of the ’measure. This convention was strongly repro¬
bated in Britain •, a board of general officers was ap¬
pointed by his majesty to form a court for the purpose of
inquiring into the circumstances which led to it j and
the result of the investigation was a decision, by a ma¬
jority of the court, that the armistice and convention
were necessary, and that nothing dishonourable or im-
proper attached to any ot the officeis concerned in it.
Every thing at the’ Brasils proceeded in a tranquil
and prosperous manner under the auspices of the new
government. The highest veneration was shewn by the
colonists of all descriptions for the prince regent, and
prompt obedience paid to his ordinances and commeicial
regulations. The most enthusiastic attachment prevailed
in Rio Janeiro and Bahia towards the English settlers-,
and the happiest consequences were expected to result
from the enterprises of their new friends in South Ame¬
rica. The consequences resulting to the Portuguese,
P O R
from the convention of Cintra, were ot the most bcftefi- pftr^f!,
cial nature. The whole country was not only in a state v-*
of subordination, but the effects of the ene rgy displayed
by the government began to be felt ail over the king¬
dom. The disaffected and suspected were everywhere
taken into custody *, and the people were making the
most active exertions for their own defence, and for the
common cause.
The Portuguese government issued a proclamation
calling upon the whole nation, from 15 bo, to lise
en masse for the defence of their country, and to oppose
an insurmountable barrier against the French. A his
order met with more prompt obedience than a similar
command experienced when issued by the emperor ot
Germany. , . .. . ,
During the wars in the Peninsula which followed the
general rising of the Spaniards in 1808, the Portuguese
continued firm in the common cause, and theii hoops,
which generally acted with the British, shared some of
the victories gained by the latter. Ihe peace in 18 j 4
restored the Portuguese government to the peaceable
possession of the country but the Prince Regent has
shewn no disposition to return from the Lrasils. Jn 1817
a plot was discovered among the military at Lisbon, the
the object of which was believed to be the subversion ot
the existing government. Some ot the ringleaders were
executed, and others banished. . 51
The air of Portugal, in the southern provinces, would Air, di-
be excessively hot, "if it were not refreshed by the sea-mate, &
breezes -, but in the northern, it is much cooler, and
the weather more subject to rains. I he spring is ex¬
tremely delightful here j and the air, in general more j
temperate than in Spain. Lisbon has been much resort¬
ed to of late by valetudinarians and consumptive persons
from Great Britain, on account of its air. The soil is
very fruitful in wine, oil, lemons, oranges, pomegra¬
nates, figs, raisins, almonds, chesnuts, and other fine
fruits \ but there is a want of corn, owing, it is said,
in a great measure to the neglect of agriculture. There
is plenty of excellent honey here and also of sea and
river fish, and sea salt. The horses in Portugal are brisk
lively animals, as they are in Spain, but of a slight
make : but mules being surer-footed, are more used for
carriage and draught. By reason of the scarcity of pa¬
sture, there are not many herds of cattle or flocks of
sheep j and what they have are small and lean, though
the flesh is tolerably good : their best meat is said to be
that of hogs and kids. The country in many parts is
mountainous: but the mountains contain all kinds of
ores-, particularly of silver, copper, tin, and iron, with
a variety of gems, beautifully variegated marble, mill¬
stones, and many curious fossils. Not far from Lisbon
is a mine of saltpetre \ but none of the metal mines are
here worked, the inhabitants being supplied with metals
of all kinds from their foreign settlements. Ihe princi¬
pal rivers are the Minho, in Latin Minius; the Limia,
anciently the fomed Lethe , the Cavado the Douro j
the Guadiana, anciently Anas ; and the Tajo, or T agus,
which is the largest river in the kingdom, carrying some
gold in its sands, and falling into the sea a little be¬
low Lisbon. There are several mineral springs in
the kingdom, both hot and cold, which are much fre*
quented. ,5?
The only religion tolerated in Portugal is that of theRelig11
church of Rome j yet there are many concealed Jews,
and those too even among the nobility, bishops, pre¬
bends.
P O R
srtagft!.
aufao-
bend?, monks, and nuns, and tlie very inquisitors them-
selves. If a Jew pretend to be a Christian and a Ro¬
man Catholic, while he is really a Jew, by going to
mass, confession, &c. or if after being converted, or
pretending to be converted and pardoned, he relapses
into Judaism and is discovered, the inquisition lays
hold of him. In the first case, if he renounce Judaism,
he is only condemned to some corporal punishment or
public shame, and then ordered to be instructed in the
Christian religion. In the second, he is condemned to
the flames without mercy. Besides Jews and heretics,
who broach or maintain any doctrines contrary to the
religion of the country, the inquisition punishes all so¬
domites, pretenders to sorcery and the black art, apo¬
states, blasphemers, perjured persons, impostors, and
hypocrites. The burning of those condemned by the
inquisition, is called an auto da fc, or “ act of faith.”
There are several tribunals of the inquisition, one of
which is at Goa in the East Indies ; but there are none
in Brasil. The number of convents in Portugal is said
to be 900. The order of Jesuits hath been suppressed
in this country, as they have been in others. Here is
a patriarch, several archbishops and bishops : the pa¬
triarch is always a cardinal, and of the royal family.
The archbishops rank with marquises, and the bishops
with counts. The Portuguese have archbishops and bi¬
shops in the other quarters of the world as well as in
Europe. The sums raised by the popes here, by vir¬
tue of their prerogatives, are thought to exceed the
revenues of the crown, and the nuncio's never fail of ac¬
quiring vast fortunes in a short time. Though there
are two universities and several academies, yet while
the papal power, and that of the ecclesiastics, continues
at such a height, true learning is like to make but a
small progress. The language of the Portuguese does
not differ much from that of Spain: Latin is the ground¬
work of both ; but the former is more remote from it,
and harsher to the ear, than the latter. The Portu¬
guese tongue is spoken on all the coast of Africa and
Asia as far as China, but mixed with the languages of
the several nations in those distant regions.
With regard to manufactures, there are very few in
Portugal, and those chiefly coarse silks, woollen cloths,
and some linen; but their foreign trade is very consider¬
able, especially with England, which takes a great deal
of their wine, salt, foreign commodities, and fruits, in
return for its woollen manufactures, with which the
Portuguese furnish their colonies and subjects iu Asia,
Africa, and America. Their plantations in Brasil are
very valuable, yielding gold, diamonds, indigo, copper,
tobacco, sugar, ginger, cotton, hides, gums, drugs, dye¬
ing woods, &c. From their plantations in Africa, they
bring gold and ivory, and slaves to cultivate their sugar
and tobacco plantations in Brasil. They have still se¬
veral settlements in the East Indies, but far less consi¬
derable than formerly. The Azores or Western isles,
Madeira, and the Cape de Verde islands, also belong to
them ; but a great part of the riches and merchandise
brought from these distant countries becomes the pro¬
perty of foreigners, for the goods they furnish the Por¬
tuguese with to carry thither. The king’s fifth of the
gold brought from Brasil amounts commonly to about
300,000!. sterling; so that the whole annual produce
sd gold in Brasil may be estimated at near 2,000.000!.
Vol. XVII. Part I. ' f
[ 233 ]
P O R
sterling. Lisbon is the greatest port in Europe next to Portusal.
London and Amsterdam. t.._.-v—..j
Before the late revolution, the government of Portu- 54
gal was an absolute hereditary monarchy. For the ad-
ministration ot the civil government, there was a conn-o0vein-
cil of state, and several secretaries ; for military affairs, meat,
a council of war ; for the finances, a treasury court ;
and for the distribution of justice several high tribunals,
with others subordinate to them, in the several districts
into which the kingdom is divided. The cities have
their particular magistracy. The proceedings of the
courts are regulated by the Roman law, the royal
edicts, the canon law, and the pope’s mandates. Like
the Spaniards, they transact most of their business in
the mornings and evenings, and sleep at noon. The
nobility are very numerous, and many of them are de¬
scended from natural sons of the royal family. They
are divided into high and low. The high consists of
the dukes, marquises, counts, viscounts, and barons,
who are also grandees, but of different classes, being
suffered to be covered in the king’s presence, and ha¬
ving the title of Dons, with a pension from the royal
treasury, to enable them the better to support their
dignity : the king styles them Illustrious in bis letters,
and treats them as princes. A duke’s sons are also
grandees, and bis daughters rank as marchionesses.
Ihe inferior nobility or gentry are termed Hidalgos,
1. e. gentlemen : they cannot assume the title of Don
without the king’s license. ^-
The revenues of the crown, since the discovery ofRevenu«*
the Brasil mines, are very considerable; but the realoftlie kin»’
amount can only be guessed at. Some have said that it&e’
amounts, clear of all salaries and pensions, to upwards
of 3,000,000!. sterling ; others make it a great deal
less. Besides the royal demesnes, the hereditary estates
of the bouse of Braganza, the monopoly of Brasil snuff,
the coinage, the money arising from the sale of indul¬
gences granted by the pope, the fifth of the gold brought
from Brasil, the farm of the Brasil diamonds, the mas¬
terships of the orders of knighthood, and other sources,
yield very large sums. The population of Portugal in
1815, was estimated at 3,680,000 ; the army at 25,000,
besides 33,000 militia ; the navy, 8 ships of the line
and 16 frigates.
There are several orders of knighthood here, viz. the Orders of
order of Christ, the badge of which is a red cross within kwiuht-
a white one, and the number of the commanderies 454.^0°d-
2. The order of St James, the badge of which is a red
sword in the shape of a cross. A great number of
towns and commanderies belong to this order. 3. The
order.of Aviz, whose badge is a green cross in form of
a lily, and the number of its commanderies 49. Though
these three orders are religious, yet the knights are at
liberty to marry. 4. The order of St John, which haa
also several commanderies.
The king’s titles are, King of Portugal and the Al¬
garve.?, on this side and the other side the sea of Africa ;
Lord of Guinea, and of the navigation, conquests, and
commerce, in Ethiopia, Arabia, Persia, India, &r.
The king’s eldest son is styled Prince of Brasil. In
the year 1749, Pope Benedict XIV. dignified the king
with the title of Ills most faithful majesty.
Portugal has recently become the scene of an extra¬
ordinary revolution. The Portuguese had long been
G g dissatisfied
P O R
[ 234 ]
P o s
<iu»at«6ea will, their government, ana seem really to
ll" have had many serious grievances. Alter the leinova
Portumna. 0f t[,e court to Brasil, the mother-country had sun ^
   to the condition of a colony, whose interests, on ac¬
count of its distance from the seat of government, were
often neglected or exposed to injury, from t ie arro
trance and corruption of subordinate functionaries.
The pride of the natives was hurt by the preference
shewn to the English, who held many places of trust
and power. Besides, the great changes the Bortugue.
had witnessed during the last ten years, and their hee
intercourse with foreigners during that periot , ia
awakened political feelings which made them arden y
wish for some alteration in their political institutions.
The revolution in Spain gave increased force to these
feelings, and rendered an explosion unavoidable. Ac¬
cordingly, on the 24th August 1820, about five months
after the completion of the Spanish revolution, a num¬
ber of the leading men in Oporto, including some ot
the highest military officers, having previously satisfied
themselves of the favourable disposition ot the troops,
assembled publicly, called out the military, and pro¬
claimed the Spanish constitution, amidst the enthusias¬
tic acclamations of the people. A provisional govern¬
ment was formed, and a deputation, supported by a
strong body of troops, immediately set out towards
Lisbon. The regency in the capital at first seemed
disposed to resist; but finding that both the citizens
and the army were decidedly favourable to the revolu¬
tion, they yielded to the torrent, and in the name ot
John VI. issued a proclamation on the 2d September
for assembling a cortes. This proceeding completed
the revolution without one drop of blood being shed,
and produced unbounded joy, both in the capital and
the provinces. Some distrust, however, naturally at¬
tached to the agents of the former government; and
after some negotiation these persons found it necessary
to lay down their powers. The cortes has since met,
and has been actively engaged in making many great
and salutary reforms in the laws and interior police of
the country. The constitution of this legislative as¬
sembly is pretty nearly the same with that of Spain ;
but in one very important point an alteration lias been
introduced. The deputies to the Portuguese cortes are
chosen directly by the people ; whereas in Spain tlieie
are three consecutive stages of election,—a mode o»
proceeding which oilers great opportunities for corrup¬
tion, and loosens the tie between the representative and
the represented. The revolution in Spain was followed
by a revolution in Brasil, and this led to the return ot
the Portuguese court to Europe. The leaders of the
Portuguese revolution have conducted themselves hi¬
therto with great firmness and moderation, correcting
manifest evils, without innovating rashly ; and avoid¬
ing all unnecessary rigour towards the agents of the
former government.
PORTUGALLICA terra, earth of Portugal; the
name of a fine astringent bole, dug in great plenty in
the northern part of Portugal.
PORTULACA, Purslane ; a genus of plants be¬
longing to the dodecandria class. See BOTANY Index.
PORTUMNA, a town of Ireland, in the county of
Galway and province of Connaught, is 74 miles from
Dublin. The castle of Portumna, the seat of the earl
of Clanricarde, is at this place, and near it are the ruins
of an ancient castle. There is also a garrison for a troop IVtunr
of horse and two companies of foot. The town is seated t!
on the river Shannon, where it falls into Lough Derg,
POSE, in Heraldry, denotes a lion, horse, or other
bea*t, standing still, with all his four feet on the ground.
POSITIVE, a term of relation opposed to negative.
It is also used in opposition to relative or arbitrary :
thus we say, Beauty is no positive thing, but depends
on the different tastes of people.
Positive Degree, in Grammar, is the adjective in
its simple signification, without any comparison.
Positive Electricity. In the Frankiinian system
all bodies supposed to contain more than their natural
quantity of electric matter are said to be positively elec¬
trified ; and those from whom some part of their elec¬
tricity is supposed to he taken away are said to be elec¬
trified negatively. These two electricities being first
produced^ one from glass, the other from amber or ro¬
sin, the former was called vitreous, the other resinous,
electricity.
POSPOLITE, in the former military establishment
of Poland, is the name given to a kind of militra. It
was the most numerous and the most useless of the Po¬
lish armies, consisting of the gentry at large, who, in
case of invasion, were assembled by a regular summons
from the king, with consent of the diet. Every palati¬
nate was divided into districts, over each of which pro¬
per officers were appointed; and every person possessing
free and noble tenures was bound to military service, ei¬
ther sinoly 01' at the head of a certain n 11 nibei oi Lis re¬
tainers, according to the extent and nature cf his posses¬
sions. The troops thus assembled were obliged only to
serve for a limited time, and were not under the neces¬
sity of marching beyond the limits ol their country.
They submitted to no discipline hut such as they liked
themselves ; and were very apt to mutiny it detained
more than a fortnight in the place appointed for their
meeting without marching. The mode of levying and
maintaining this army was exactly similar to that prac¬
tised under the feudal system. Although unfit for the
purposes of repelling a foreign enemy, it was considered
a powerful instrument in the hands of domestic faction :
for the expedition with which it was raised under the
feudal regulations facilitated the formation ol those dan¬
gerous confederacies which suddenly started up on the
contested election of a sovereign, or whenever the no¬
bles were at variance with each other.
POSSE COMITATUS, in Law, signifies the power of
the county, or the aid and assistance of all the knights,
gentlemen, yeomen, labourers, servants, apprentices,
&c. and all others within the county that are above the
age of I 5, except women, ecclesiastical persons, and
such as are decrepit and infirm.
This posse comitatus is to be raised where a riot is
committed, a possession kept upon a forcible entry, or
any force of rescue used contrary to the king’s writ,
or in opposition to the execution of justice ; and it is
the duty of all sheriffs to assist justices of the peace in
the suppression of riots, &c. and to raise the posse co-
mitatus, or to charge any number of men for that pur¬
pose.
POSSESSION, in Law, is either actual, where a
person actually enters into lands or tenements descend¬
ed or conveyed to him ; or where lands are descended
to a person, and he has not yet entered into them. A
Iona
P o s [ 235 ] P o s
session.l°ng possession is much favoured by the law as an ar- easily do that he was detected in an imposture with Possession
———' gument of right, even though no deed can be shown, respect to the clenching of his hands j that after money (]
and it is more regarded than an ancient deed without had been collected for him, he got very suddenly well j l>ost
possession. that he never had any fits while he was at St George’s
If he that is out of possession of land brings an ac- Hospital in London ; nor when visitors were excluded
tion, he must prove an undeniable title to it ; and when from his lodgings, by desire of the, author of the Nar-
a person would recover any thing of another, it is not rative j and that he was particularly careful never to
sufficient to destroy the title of the person in possession, hurt himself by his exertions during the paroxysm,
without he can prove that his own right is better than “ Is it for the credit of this philosophical age, that so
his. bungling an imposture should deceive seven clergymen,
In order to make possession lawful upon an entry, the into a public act of exorcism? This would not have pas-
former possessor and his servants are to be removed from sed even on the authors of the MaS/eus Malificarum ;
off the premises entered on : but a person by lease and for they required signs of supernatural agency, such as
release is in possession without making any entry upon . the suspension of the possessed in the air, without any
the lands. . visible support, or the use of different languages, un-
POSSESSIOV, in Scots Law. See Law, Part III. known to the demoniac in his natural state.” ^
N° clxii. 11. &c.
Dcemoniacal Possessiox. (See Daemon and De¬
moniacs). In the third volume of the Manchester
Transactions, there is a paper on popular illusions, or
medical demonology, by Dr Ferriar. He informs us in
a note, that on the 13th of June 1788, George Lukins
af Yatton in Somersetshire was exorcised in the Temple
church at Bristol, and delivered from the possession of
seven devils by the efforts of seven clergymen. An ac¬
count of his deliverance was published in several of the
public papers, authenticated by the Rev. Mr F.aster-
brook, vicar of the Temple church in Bristol.—Dr Fer¬
riar gives us the following particulars, extracted from
this account, which we shall here insert.
Lukins was first attacked by a kind of epileptic fit,
when he was going about acting Christmas plays, or
mummeries: this he ascribed to a blow given by an in¬
visible hand. He was afterwards seized by fits $ during
which he declared, with a roaring voice, that he was
the devil, and sung different songs in a variety of keys.
The fits always began and ended with a strong agita¬
tion of the right hand. He frequently uttered dreadful
e*ecrations during the fits. The whole duration of his
disorder was 18 years.
“At length, viz. in June 1788, he declared that he
was possessed by seven devils, and could only be freed
by the prayers {in faith) of seven clergymen. Accord¬
ingly the requisite force was summoned, and the patient
sung, swore, laughed, and barked, and treated the com¬
pany with a ludicrous parody on the Te Dcurn. These
astonishing symptoms resisted both hymns and prayers,
til! a small faint voice admonished the ministers to ad¬
jure. The spirits, after some murmuring, yielded to the
adjuration, and the happy patient returned thanks for
im wonderful cure. It is remarkable, that during this
solemn mockery, the fiend swore ‘ by his infernal den,’
that he would not quit his patient ; an oath, I believe,
nowhere to be found but in the Pilgrim’s Progress,
from which Lukins probably got it.
“ Very soon after the first relation of this story was
published, a person, well acquainted with Lukins, took
the trouble of undeceiving the public with regard to
bis pretended disorder, in a plain sensible narrative of
his conduct. Pie asserts that Lukins’s first seizure was
nothing else than a fit of drunkenness j that he always
foretold his fits, and remained sensible during their con¬
tinuance j that he frequently saw Lukins in his fits,
‘ in every one of which, except in singing, he per¬
formed not more than most active young people can
POSSESSIVE, in Grammar, a term applied to pro¬
nouns, which denote the enjoyment or possession of any
thing either in particular or in common : as mens,
“ mine and tuns, “ thine.”
POSSESSORY action, in Scots Laiv. See Lavt
N° clxxxiii. 18.
POSSIBILITY, in Law, is defined to be any thing
that is altogether uncertain, or what may or may not
be.
Possibility, also denotes a non-repugnance to ex¬
isting, in any thing that does not any way exist.
POSSIBLE, is sometimes opposed to real existence,
and is understood of a thing, which, though it actually
does not exist, yet may exist ; as a new star.
POSSIDONIA, in Ancient Geography. See PoE-
STUM.
POST, a word derived from the 'L%i\n positus, “ set
or placed.” It is used in several different meanings,
but all of them referring either immediately or remote¬
ly to this primitive sense of position. Thus the word
Post signifies, I. A stake or piece of timber set upright j
2. A station, particularly a military station ; 3. An of¬
fice or employment j 4. An operation in book-keeping ;
5. A conveyance for letters or dispatches j 6. A parti¬
cular mode of travelling.
Post, a stake or piece of timber set upright. Posts
are used both in building and in fencing ground. In
brick-buildings much of the strength of the fabric de¬
pends on the nature of the posts •, as it is through them,
that the several parts are sustained and held together.
The corner posts arecalled the principal posts ; thoseform-
ed into bressummers between principal posts for strength¬
ening the carcase of the house are called the prick-posts.
Posts which are to be set in the ground ought to be
well seasoned and coated to preserve them from rotting;
burning the downward end has been recommended as
an excellent preservative, but a coating of pitch or tar,
particularly the late invented coal-tar, can be most safe¬
ly relied upon. For the various uses to which posts
may be applied, and the form and species of them fittest
to be employed in each case, see the articles ARCHI¬
TECTURE, Joining, Gardening, House, Fence, &c.
In architecture and sculpture, posts are a term used to
denote certain ornaments formed after the manner of
rolls or wreathings.
Post, a station, particularly a military station. 
Any place where persons are set or placed upon parti¬
cular occasions may he termed a post: but the word in
this view is now chiefly restricted to military operations,
G g 2 and
P O S [
anil means any place or situation where soldiers are sta¬
tioned. Thus the detachments established in front of the
army are termed the out-posts, the stations on the wings
of the army are said to be the posts of honour, as being
the most conspicuous and most exposed. But m the ope¬
rations of a campaign, a post properly signifies any spot ot
ground capable of lodging soldiers, or any situation, whe¬
ther fortified or not, where a body of men may make a
stand and engage the enemy to advantage, ihe g'eat
advantages oV good posts, in carrying on war, as well as
the mode of securing them, are only learned by experi¬
ence. Barbarous nations disdain the choice of posts, or
at least are contented with such as immediately fall in
their way 5 they trust solely or chiefly to strength and
courage : and hence the fate of a kingdom may be de¬
cided bv the event of a battle. But enlightened am
experienced officers make the choice of posts a principal
object of attention. The use of them is chiefly felt in
a defensive war against an invading enemy j as by car¬
rying on a war of posts in a country where this can be
done to advantage, the most formidable army may be
so harassed and reduced, that all its enterprises may be
rendered abortive. In the choice of a post, the general
rules to be attended to are, that it be convenient for
sending out parties to reconnoitre, surprise, or inter-
cept the enemy ; that it possible it have some natural
defence, as a wood, a river, or a morass in front or flank,
or at least that it be difficult of access, and susceptible
of speedy fortification •, that it be so situated as to pie-
serve a communication with the main army, and have
covered places in the rear to favour a retreat ; that it
command a view of all the approaches to it, so that the
enemy cannot advance unperceived and rest concealed,
while the detachment stationed in the post are forced
to remain underarms-, that it be not commanded by
any neighbouring heights and that it be proportioned
in extent to the number of men who are to occupy and
defend it. It is not to be expected that all these ad¬
vantages will often be found united ; but those posts
ought to be selected which offer the greatest number
of them. See War.
Post, an office or employment. This use of the
word is 'probably derived immediately from the idea of
a military station ; a post being used to express such
offices or employments as are supposed either to ex¬
pose the holder to attack and opposition, or to require
abilities and exertion to fill tfiem. Hence the term
is used only for public offices and employments under
the government j and were strict propriety of speech al¬
ways attended to, posts would denote those stations only
in which duty must be performed. In common language,
however, every public office or appointment, even though
nominal and sinecure, goes under the name of a post.
Post, an operation in book-keeping. Posting in book¬
keeping means simply the transferring an article to the
place in which it should he put, and arranging each under
its proper head. It is upon this that the whole theory
of book-keeping is founded. The Waste-book, which
is the ground work of all subsequent operations, records
every transaction exactly in the order in which it oc¬
curs! Prom this the several articles are posted, or
transferred into the Journal, which in fact is but a kind
of supplementary book to the Waste-book. From the
Journal they are posted anew into the Ledger; in which
a separate place is appropriated for each person with
P o s
236 ]
whom transactions are carried on, and frequently for post(
every separate article about which the business is con-  ^
cerned. The particular mode according to which such
transferences are made, may vary according to the na¬
ture of the trade carried on ; the object is the same in
all, to place every article so as that its operations on
the* general state of the business may be certainly known
and distinctly traced. For a full account ol the way
in which this is done, see BoOK-Keeping.
Posr, a conveyance lor letters or dispatches.
In the early periods of society, communication be¬
tween the different parts of a country is rare and diffi¬
cult, individuals at a distance having little inclination or
opportunity for mutual intercourse : when such commu¬
nication is at any time found necessary, a special mes¬
senger must be employed. As order and civilization ad¬
vance, occasions of correspondence multiply. In parti¬
cular, the sovereign finds it requisite frequently to trans¬
mit orders and laws to every part of the kingdom; and
for doing so he makes use of couriers or messengers, to
whom he commits the charge of forwarding his dispatches.
But without stations in the way, where these couriers
can he certain oi finding refreshment for themselves and
supplies of what may Ire necessary for carrying them
forward, the journey, however urgent and important,
must always be retarded, and in many cases altogether
stopped. Experience, therefore, soon pointed out the ne¬
cessity of ensuring such accommodations, by erecting
upon all the great roads houses or stations at convenient
intei vals, where the messengers might stop, as occasion
required, and where too, for the greater convenience,
relays of fresh horses should always be in readiness, to
enable them to pursue their journey with uninterrupted
dispatch. These houses or stations were with great pro¬
priety termed posts, and the messenger who made use of
them a post. Though at first, it is probable, the institu¬
tion was intended solely for the sovereign, and the ne¬
cessities of the state ; yet by degrees individuals, seeing
the benefit resulting from it, made use of the opportunity
to carry on their own correspondence ; for which they
were willing to pay an allowance to the sovereign. Thus
a post-office, of some kind or other, gradually came to
be established in every civilized country. Without tak¬
ing notice of the different means of carrying on corres¬
pondence said to have been attempted by pigeons, dogs,
and otheranimals, we can at least trace with certainty the
invention ol something like regular posts as far back as
the ancient Persians. Xenophon assures us, that they
were invented by Ljrus on his Scytman expedition,
about 500 years before Christ ; that the houses at the
several stations were sumptuously built, and large
enough to contain a number ot men and horses ; and
that every courier on his arrival was obliged to commu¬
nicate his dispatches to the postmaster, by whom they
were immediately forwarded. From the shore o( the
iEgean sea to Susa the capital, there were, according
Herodotus, 111 stages for posts, each a day’s journey
distant from the preceding.
In what manner posts were established and conduct¬
ed among the Greeks does not clearly appear; but liom
the extended commerce carried on, and the frequent
communications enjoyed among the different states,
there can be no doubt that a regular conveyance, in
some form or other, was established.
Though posts were well known among the Romans*
P O S [2;
yet it is difficult to trace with certainty the period of
their introduction. Some writers carry it back to the
times of the republic ; posts and post-offices, under the
names of statores and stationes, having been then, it is
said, established bv the senate. Whether this was the
case or not, Suetonius assures us that Augustus institu¬
ted posts along all the great roads of the empire. At
first the dispatches were conveyed from post to post by
young men who run on foot, and delivered the dispatch
to others at the next stage. By and by Augustus sub¬
stituted, in room of these, horses and chariots, both for
the conveyance of dispatches and the convenience of tra¬
velling. His successors con tinned the same establishment;
to the maintenance of which every subject of the em¬
pire was obliged to contribute. Post horses are men¬
tioned in the Theodorian code de cur.supublico; but these
were only the public horses appointed to be kept there
for the use of the public messengers, who before this in¬
stitution seized any that came in their way. At each
post station, according to Procopius, 10 horses and as
many postilions were kept, and the usual rate of their
travelling was from five to eight stations a-day.
It is to be observed, however, that all these establish¬
ments of posts in ancient times were formed as much,
if not more, for travelling stations, as for the mere
conveyance of letters and dispatches. This latter ob¬
ject, it is true, was thereby secured j but the episto¬
lary correspondence of antiquity was probably at no
time so extensive as to require or maintain post-offices
on the footing of modern posts, for the mere convey¬
ance of letters. It is in later times only, when the ex¬
tension of commerce and diffusion of literature give oc¬
casion to frequent communication, that these establish¬
ments are to be looked for.
The earl iest institution of posts that occurs in modern
history is about the year 807 by the emperor Charle¬
magne; who, having reduced under his dominion Italy,
Germany, and a part of Spain, established three public
posts at the public expence, to carry on the communi¬
cation with these three provinces. The institution of
posts however, like many other institutions of that em¬
peror, dropped at his death, and for a considerable time
afterwards no traces of any such establishments are to be
found. We cannot indeed discover them with certainty
sooner than 1464, when that restless and suspicious
prince Louis XL established posts in France, that he
might be the sooner advertised of all that passed in his
own or the neighbouring kingdoms. He employed in
this service 230 couriers, who delivered the letters at
the different stations, and in the various towns through
which they passed in their course. Succeeding mo-
narchs created at different times certain offices for the
express purpose of superintending the posts ; but the
frequent changes to which these offices were exposed,
prevented for a long time the establishment of any regu¬
lar system of posts in that kingdom $ insomuch that
in 1619 the author of the life of the duke d’Epernon
says the packet or letter office was not yet set up in
France. Former establishments, it is probable, were
solely for the use of the court, not for the general good
of the nation. From France, the institution gradually
spread through several other parts of Europe. In Ger¬
many, Lewis Hornig assures us they were first intro¬
duced by Count Taxis, who settled them at his own
expence j in acknowledgement for which the emperor
7 ] p o s
Matthias, in 1616, gave as a fief the office of postmaster
to him and his descendants.
In England, the establishment of posts in some form
or other appears as early as the reign of Edward III.
but the notices concerning them are so vague, that no
account can be given of them. In the reign of Ed¬
ward VI. however, some species of posts must have
been set up, as an act of parliament passed in l 548, fixing
the rate of post-horses at one penny per mile: The post-
horses here referred to were, it is probable, chiefly for
travelling, and the carriage of letters or packets only
an occasional service. In 1581, we find in Camden’s
Annals mention made of a chief postmaster for Eng¬
land being appointed.—How his office was managed,
does not clearly appear 5 the limited state of the corre¬
spondence of the country probably rendered it of tri¬
fling consequence. King James I. originally erected a
post-office, under the controul of one Matthew de Quester
or de I’Equester, for the conveyance oi letters toand from
foreign parts; which office was afterwards claimed by
Lord Stanhope ; but was confirmed and continued to
William Frizel and Tho. Witherings, by King Charles
I. in 1632. Previous to this time, it would appear that
private persons were in use to convey letters to and
from foreign parts; all such interference with the post¬
master’s office is therefore expressly prohibited. King
Charles, in 1635, erected a letter office for England and
Scotland, under the direction of the above Thomas
Witherings. The rates of postage then established
were, twopence for every single letter for a distance
under 80 miles; fourpence from 80 to 140 miles; six¬
pence above 140 miles. The allowance to the post¬
masters on the road for horses employed in these posts
%vas fixed at twopence halfpenny per mile for every
single horse. All private inland posts wrere discharged
at this time ; and in 1637 all private foreign posts were
in like manner prohibited. The posts thus established,
however, extended only to a few of the principal roads j
and the times of transmission were not in every case so
certain as they ought to have been.
Witherings was superseded for abuses in the execu¬
tion of his offices in 1640, and they were sequestrated
into the hands of Philip Burlamachy, to be exercised
under the care and oversight of the king’s principal se¬
cretary of state. On the breaking out of the civil war
great confusions and interruptions were necessarily oc¬
casioned in the conduct of the letter-office ; but it was
about that time that the outline of the present more
extended and regular plan seems to have been concei¬
ved by Mr Edmond Prideaux, who was afterwards ap¬
pointed attorney-general to the commonwealth. He
was chairman of a committee in 1642 for considering
the rate of postage to be set upon inland letters; and
some time after was appointed postmaster by an ordi¬
nance of both houses of parliament; in the execution of
which office he first established a weekly conveyance of
letters into all parts of the nation. In 1653, ,^'8 reve“
nue was farmed for lo,oool. for England, Scotland, and
Ireland ; and after the charge of maintaining postmasters,
to the amount of 7000.I per annum was saved to the
public. Prideaux’s emoluments being considerable, the
common council of London endeavoured to erect another
post-office in opposition to his ; but they were checked by
a resolution of the house of commons, declaring that the
office of postmaster is, and ought to be, in the sole power
and
P O S [ 238 ] P o s
and disposal of the parliament. T-liis office was laimed
by one Mauhey in 1654. In 1656 a new and regular
general post-office was erected by the authority ot the
protector and his parliament, upon nearly the same mo¬
del that has been ever since adopted, with the following
rates of postage : For 80 miles distance, a single letter
twopence; for a greater distance, not out of England,
threepence ; to Scotland, fourpence. By an act ol parlia¬
ment passed soon after the restoration in 1660, the regu¬
lations settled in 1656 were re-established, and a general
post-office similar to the former, but with some improve¬
ments, erected. In 1663 the revenue of the post-office
was found to produce 21,500!. annually. In 1685 it was
made over to the king as a branch ot bis private income,
and was then estimated at 65,000!. per annum. The year
after the revolution the amount of the post-office revenue
was 90,504!. I os. 6d. At the union the produce of the
English post-office was stated to be I0i,i0il. In I'yil
the former establishments of separate post-offices tor Eng¬
land and Scotland were abolished ; and by the stat. 9.
Anne, c. 10. one general post-office, and one postmaster-
general, was established for the whole united kingdom j
and this postmaster was empowered to erect chief letter-
offices at Edinburgh, at Dublin, afiVVie York, and other
proper places in America and the West Indies. rlhe
rates of postage were also increased at this time as fol¬
lows.—In England, for all distances under 80 miles 3d. j
above 80 miles 4d. From London to Edinburgh 6d. In
Scotland, under 50 miles 2d. j from 50 to 80 miles 3d. ;
above 80 miles 4d. In Ireland, under 40 miles 2d.; above
40 miles 4d.—By the above act all persons, except those
employed by the postmaster, were strictly prohibited from
conveying letters. That year the gross amount of the post-
office was 111,46x1. 17s. lod. Thenett amount, on a me¬
dium, of the three preceding years, was, in the printed re¬
port of the commissioners for the equivalent, stated to be
for England, 62,000!. and for Scotland 2000I. In 1754
the gross revenue of the post-office for Great Britain a-
mounted to 210,6631.5 in 1764 10281,5351.5 and in 1774
to 345,421!.—I'he privilege of franking letters had been
enjoyed by members of parliament from the first erection
of the post-office 5 the original design of this exemption
was, that they might correspond freely with their consti¬
tuents on the business of the nation. By degrees the pri¬
vilege came to be shamefully abused, and was carried so
far, that it wasnotuncommon for the servantsof members
of parliament to procure a number of franks for the pur¬
pose of selling them; an abuse which was easily practised,
as nothing more was required for a letter’s passing free
than the subscription of a member on the cover. To
restrain these frauds, it was enacted, in 1764, that no
letter should pass free unless the whole direction was of
the member’s writing, and his subscription annexed.
Even this was found too great a latitude ; and by a new
regulation in 1784, no letter was permitted to go free
unles the date was marked on the cover in the mem¬
ber’s own hand writing, and the letter put into the post-
office the same day. That year the rates of postage
were raised in the following proportions: an addition of
id. for a single stage 5 id. from London to Edinburgh 5
id. for any distance under, and 2d. for any distance
above, 150 miles. An addition to the revenue of
120,000!. was estimated to arise from these regulations
and additional rates. The rates now mentioned are
those upon single letters: double letters pay double,
treble letters treble, an ounce weight quadruple post- pfl!t
age 5 all above are charged by the weight in the same —y»,
proportion. The rates of postage have since that time
been again increased.
About the year 1784, a great improvement was made
in the mode of conveying the mails, upon a plan first
suggested in 1782 by Mr John Palmer. Diligences
and stage-coaches, be observed, were established to
every town of note in the kingdom : and he proposed
that government, instead of sending the mails in the
old mode, by a boy on horseback, should contract with
the masters of these diligences to carry the mail, along
with a guard for its protection. This plan, he showed,
could not fail to ensure much more expeditious convey¬
ance, the rate of travelling in diligences being far
quicker than the rate of the post 5 and it was easy to
carry it into execution with little additional expeece, as
the coach owners would have a strong inducement to
contract at a cheap rate for conveying the mail, on ac¬
count of the additional recommendation to passengers
their carriages would thereby acquire in point of secu¬
rity, regularity, and dispatch.
Though government heartily approved of this plan,
and the public at large were satisfied of its utility ; yet,
like all new schemes, however beneficial, it met with a
strong opposition : it was represented by a number of the
oldest and ablest officers in the post-office, not only as
impracticable, but dangerous to commerce and the reve¬
nue. Notwithstanding of this opposition, however, it
was at last established, and gradually extended to many
different parts of the kingdom 5 and, upon a fair com¬
parison, it appeared that the revenue was improved, and
the plan itself executed for 20,OOol. per annum less than
the sum first estimated by Mr Palmer.
The present establishment of the general post-office
for Great Britain, consists of two postmasters-general,
a secretary, surveyor, comptroller-general, and upwards
of 150 assistants and clerks for the head letter office in
London 5 the number of deputy postmasters and other
officers through the kingdom is very considerable, but
not easy to ascertain with accuracy, as it must frequent¬
ly vary with the changes made in the establishment of
country posts. The total expence of this branch of the
revenue in 1778 was 149,029!, 17s. 2d. 5 the gross pro¬
duce may be reckoned at 650,000!.
The first accounts we have of the establishment of a
post-office in Scotland reach no farther back than 1635,
when Charles I. erected one both for Scotland and
England. The post to Scotland by that appointment
was to run night and day, to go from London to Edin¬
burgh and to return in six days, taking with it all lei-
ters intended for any post town in or near the road 5
the rate of postage from London to Edinburgh was
8d. for a single letter. The expedition with which the
post went from London to Edinburgh at this time, is
indeed surprising, considering the nature of the roads 5
perhaps, however, though the king made the regulation
that it should go and return in six days, the journey
was not always performed in the specified time. Du¬
ring the government of Cromwell, the public post con¬
veyed letters to Scotland as well as England 5 the post¬
age from London to Scotland was only 4d. After the
Restoration, when the post-office was erected for Eng¬
land, mention is made in the act of parliament of the
conveyance of letters to Scotland 5 and the postage to
Berwick
P O S [2
>t6t< Berwick is fixed at 3d. For some time after, however,
^ we find no establishment by act of parliament of an in¬
ternal post in Scotland. In 1662, a post between Ire¬
land and Scotland was first established 5 and the privy
council gave Ilobert Main, who was then postmaster-
general for Scotland, an allowance of 200I. sterling
to build a packet-boat for conveying the mail between
Fort pa trick and Donaghadee : the postage to Ireland
was 6i. In 1669, a post was established to go between
Edinburgh and Aberdeen twice a-week } and between
Edinburgh and Inverness once a-week : the rate of
postage was fixed, for 40 Scots miles 2d. and for every
20 miles farther an additional penny. These appear
to have been the only public posts in Scotland at that
time; hut as they could not suffice for the correspond¬
ence of the country, there must have been more, ei¬
ther under the direction of the postmaster, or in the
hands of private persons ; probably there might he of
both kinds. In 1690, an act for the security of the
common post was passed, subjecting robbers of the mail
to capital punishment. It was not till 1695 that the
establishment of the post-office in Scotland received the
sanction of parliament : posts were then appointed for
all parts of Scotland the rates of postage were fixed,
for any place within 50 miles of Edinburgh 2d. between
5° and 100 miles 3d. all places above 100 miles 4d.
By the same act, a weekly packet to Ireland was esta¬
blished, and 60I. sterling annually allowed for that ser¬
vice. Though posts were established in consequence of
this act, yet such was their mode of travelling, that
they hardly deserved the name. Thus, for instance,
the person who set out to carry the mail from Edinburgh
to Aberdeen, in place of stopping at the first interme¬
diate stage from Edinburgh, and delivering over the
mail to another to he carried forward, went on with it
himself the whole journey, resting two nights by the
way, first at Dundee, and next at Montrose.
In this manner the mail was conveyed thrice a-week
from Edinburgh to Aberdeen ; but between most parts
of Scotland the post went only twice, and between some
only once a-week. The post-boy generally travelled
on foot. Horses were but little used in the service of
the post-office.
At the Union the Scots post-office was farmed for
1194I.: in 1710, the nett amount for Scotland was
reckoned to be 2000I. The epistolary correspondence
of Scotland must have been small indeed, when even
the rates of postage then established proved so very un¬
productive. This may perhaps, however, be in part
accounted for, by conjecturing, that as private posts
had probably prevailed pretty much before 1695, it was
lopg before these were entirely suppressed, the people
still adhering to their old conveyances, and difficulties
occurring in strictly enforcing the law ; the amount of
the post-office revenue, therefore, at the two periods
above mentioned, probably exhibits a view of only a
part of the correspondence of Scotland.
In 1711, it has been already mentioned, one general
post-office was established for the whole united king¬
dom ; but the postmaster-general was authorised to
ftrect at Edinburgh a chief letter office for Scotland.—
'is vvas accordingly done, and a postmaster-general
or North Britain, with other necessary officers, ap¬
pointed. AH the deputy postmasters in Scotland are
nnder his immediate direction, but he himself is under
.19 ] P O S
the controul of the postmaster-general for Great Bri¬
tain. From this head letter-office posts were establish¬
ed to the different parts of Scotland.
For many years the post-boys generally travelled on
foot* or, if on horseback, without a change of horses.
It was not till about 1750 that the mail began to be
conveyed from stage to stage by d life rent post-boys and
Iresb horses to the principal places in Scotland, and by
foot runners to the rest. The communication between
London and Edinburgh was at first but thrice a-vveek
and so slow, that the mail from London to Edinburgh
vvas upon the road 85 hours, and from Edinburgh to
London 131 hours. In 1757, upon a representation
from the royal boroughs, regulations were fallen upon,
by which the time vvas shortened to 82 hours in the one
case, and 85 in the other. By the extension of Mr
Palmer’s plan to Scotland, the time has been still far¬
ther shortened to about 60 hours in each case.
I he establishment of the Scots post-office consists at
present of a postmaster-general, secretary, solicitor,
and accountant, with a number of other clerks and a®,
sistants for the head office at Edinburgh j under its
management are about iSo deputy postmasters for the
different post-towns through Scotland.
I lie nett produce of the post-office for Scotland in
1733 was 5399I. in 1757 10,623!. in 1766 31,103!.
In 1788 the gross produce was 55,836!. the expence
22,636k ; in 1793 the gross amount was about 64,0001.
the nett produce about ^OfOOol. y in 1803 the gross
produce was above I20,oool. the nett revenue about
97,000k; in 1807 the gross produce vvas above 145,000!.
the nett revenue towards I 20,000b
Pexny Post, a post established for the benefit of
London and other parts adjacent, whereby any letter or
packet under four ounces weight, is speedily and safe¬
ly conveyed to and from all places within the hills of
mortality, or within 10 miles of the city. It is managed
by particular officers; and receiving houses are esta¬
blished in most of the principal streets, for the more
convenient transmission of the letters. Some other
large towns have instituted similar establishments.
About the year 1776, a penny-post was set up in
Edinburgh by Mr YVilliamson, unconnected with the
general post-office. It met with hut indifferent encou¬
ragement for some years, doubts being entertained as
to its punctuality in delivering the letters ; by degrees,
however, it seemed to be advancing in estimation, and
was more frequently employecT. Twenty years after,
the general post-office, in virtue of the act of parlia¬
ment prohibiting the conveyance of letters by any hut
those employed under the postmaster-general, took the
penny-post entirely into its own hands; and Mr Wil¬
liamson was allowed an annuity during life equal to
what his private establishment yielded. Letters are now
transmitted to the different quarters of Edinburgh, and
the suburbs, three times a-day.
Post, a particular mode of travelling. A person is
said to travel post in contradistinction to common jour¬
ney travelling, when in place of going on during his
whole journey in the same vehicle, and with the same
horses, he stops at different stages, to provide fresh
horses or carriages for the sake of greater convenience
and expedition. As he thus uses the same mode of tra¬
velling that is employed for the common post, he is said
to travel post, or in post, i. e. in the manner of a post.
la
Post.
240 ] P o s
and either the distance in miles to he travelled, or that
the horses are hired by the day, as the case happens to '■
be. These tickets must he delivered to the har-keeper
at the first turnpike through which the traveller passes;
and the turnpike-keeper gives, if demanded, what is
termed an exchange ticket, to be produced at the next
turnpike. The stamp-office issues to the person licen¬
ced to let post-horses such a number of these tickets as
is required, and these must he regularly accounted for
bv the person to whom they are issued. As an effec¬
tual check upon his account, the turnpike-keeper is
obliged to return hack to the stamp-office all the tickets
he takes up from travellers. Evasions are by these
means rendered difficult to be practised without running
a great risk of detection. In 1787, for the more effec¬
tually levying the post-horse duties, a law was passed,
authorising the commissioners of the stamp office to let
them to farm by public auction, for a sum not less than
the produce in the year ending first August 1786.
In the advertisement published by the commissioners
in consequence ot this law, previous to the receiving
P O S T
In tracing tlie origin of posts, it lias already been re-
marked, that the more ancient establishment
kind were fully as rand, fur travelling statmns as the
conveyance of letters. The relays ot horses prov W
at these public stations for the messengers of the prince
were occasionally, by special license, allowed to be ns d
by other travellers who had sufficient interest at oour .
Frequent demands of this nature would suggest the ex¬
pedient of having in readiness supplies of I resh horses
carriages over and above what the public service requir¬
ed, to'be hired out to other travellers on payment of a
adequate price. We find, therefore, that in former times
the postmasters alone were in use to let out horses oi
riding post, the rates of which were fixed in 154B by
statute of Edward VI. at one penny per mile. In what
situation the state of the kingdom was with regard to
travelling post for more than a century alter this pe¬
riod, we cannot now certainly discover ; but in the s a-
tute re-establishing the post-office in 1660, it »s enact¬
ed, that none but the postmaster, his deputies, cr as¬
signs, shall furnish post-horses lor trave trs , w* 1 * * j1 for farming them, the total amount of the
proviso, however, that if he has them - * ^e dutWor Great Britafn is stated to have been, at the
an hour after being demanded, he traveller shall be at dut^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ for which
liberty to provide himselt elsewhere. ,. 1 . j . wa, farmed in 1794 amounted in all to
The same prohibition is contained m the act es abl.sh- that duty was .aimed 1 794  
rr * , ^ as m tne sub
Pom
X lie artiuv, pi v/i.i   ,1 . . 1
ing the Scots post-office in 1695, as well as in the su o-
sequent act of Queen Anne, erecting the general office
for the united kingdom. It is doubtful, however, whe¬
ther it was ever strictly enforced. By an explanatory
act of 26 Geo. II. the prohibition is confined to post
horses only, and every person declared to he at liberty
to furnish carriages of every kind for riding post. 1 his
regulation has, in fact, done away the prohibition,
as hardly any person now thinks ot travelling post, ex¬
cept in a carriage. . 0 .1 j r
The rate fixed by the act 1695, in Scotland, for a
horse riding post, was threepence per Scotch mile, lly
the act 9 Anne, c. 10. threepence a mile without, and
fourpence a mile with, a guide, was the sum fixed lor
each horse riding post. The increase of commerce, and
necessity for a speedy communication between dinerent
parts of the kingdom, have brought the mode of tia-
velling post so much into use, that upon every great
road in the kingdom post-chaises are now in readiness
at proper distances ; and die convenience of posting is
enjoyed in Britain to a degree far superior to what is to
be met with in any other country whatever.
Posting at last appeared to the legislature a proper
object of taxation. In 1779 the first act was passed,
imposing duties on horses hired either by themselves or
to run in carriages travelling post ; the duties were, one
penny per mile on each horse it hired by the mile or
stage, and one shilling per day if hired by the day. Eve¬
ry °per!ion luting out such horses was also obliged to
take out a license at five shillings per annum. These
duties were next year repealed, and new outies impo¬
sed, of one penny per mile on each horse hired by the
mile or stage, and is. 6d. on each if hired by the day.
A number of additional regulations were at the same
time enacted for securing these duties. An addition
of one halfpenny per mile, or threepence per day, for
each horse riding post, was imposed in 17^5*
25 Geo. III. c. 51. The duty is secured, by obliging
every letter of horses to deliver to the person hiring
them a ticket, expressing the number of horses hired,
140,030!. of which the district of North Britain was
Soon after the tax was imposed, considerable diffi¬
culties were raised about the meaning ol the teim^os?-
ing, and what mode of journey should subject travel¬
lers to duty. The old law, Stat. 9 Anne, c. 10. ex¬
plained posting to he “ travelling several stages, and
changing horses j” hut the acts imposing the posting
duties expressly declare, that “ every horse hired by
the mile or stage shall he deemed to be hired to travel
post, although the person hiring the same doth not go
several stages upon a post road, or change horses j and^
that “ every horse hired lor a day or less period ot
time, is chargeable with the duty of three halfpence per
mile, if the distance be then ascertained ; and if the di¬
stance be not then ascertained, with is. 6d. each
horse.” Horses hired for any less time than two days
are by these acts to he deemed to he hired for a day.
An action was brought in 1788, in the court of exche¬
quer at Edinburgh, to determine whether several dis¬
puted cases fell under the meaning of the act, and were
liable to duty, when the following decisions were gi-
ven :
Saddle-horses both hired and paid by the mile, aud
saddle-horses hired originally for an excursion, but af¬
terwards paid by the mile, were found liable to duty
according to the number of miles paid for *, carriage-
horses, where the carriage is hired and paid lor only at
the usual rate of outgoing carriages, and no more, whe¬
ther the person hiring it does or does not return in it,
were found liable to duty only for the number of mile*
out; but if the carriage he hired and paid lor, or ac¬
tually paid for, though not originally hired, at the usual
rate of carriages employed both to carry out and bring
back the same company, the duty was found to be exi¬
gible according to the number of miles both out and
home taken together. Hackney-coaches in Edinburgh,
hired and paid for less than two miles, were found liable
to duty for one mile.
No duty was found to be exigible on saddle-horses
hired
p o S [24t] P O Ti
'0.t Iiired for a mere excursion, and paid for accordingly,
|| where the distance neither is nor can be ascertained ; on
tulate hackney-coaches employed in the streets for less than a
mile, or for an excursion or round of visits merely ; and
on horses or carriages hired for a journey of three days
or more, and paid for accordingly, or paid for at the
rate of three days, though the journey should actually
be performed in two full travelling days. The gene¬
ral rule of these decisions rvas, that in every case, except
unascertainable distance, or journeys exceeding two
days, the mode of travelling fell under the legal defi¬
nition of posting. The only point that may seem doubt¬
ful in the judgments here stated, is that where the duty
is found chargeable by the number of miles both going
and returning. Yet as the law expressly declares, that
horses hired by the mile or stage are to be deemed post¬
ing, and as tbe number of miles for which they are hired
can only be ascertained by tbe number paid for, it is
clear, that where an addition to tbe outgoing charge is
made on account of bringing back, the person hiring
the carriage, the carriage in that case is actually hired
and paid for according to the number of miles both out
and home, and the duty must fall to be rated accord¬
ingly. The doubtful points being now settled by the
above decisions, tbe mode of levying the duty in Scot¬
land has been regulated agreeably to them ever since
the matter was thus determined.
POSTERIOR, a term of relation, implying some¬
thing behind, or that comes after, another. In which
sense it is used in opposition to prior and anterior.
The back and hips are tbe posterior parts of man.
Aristotle has given prior and posterior analytics. A
date is posterior to another when it is later or fresher.
POSTERN, in fortification, a small gate, usually
ipade in the angle of the flank of a bastion, or in that
of the curtain, or near the orillon, descending into the
ditch ; whereby the garrison can march in and out, un¬
perceived by the enemy, either to relieve the works, or
to make private sallies, &c.
The word is also used in general for any private or
back door.
POSTHUMOUS, a child born after tbe death of
his father, or taken out of the body of a dead mother j
from whence it is frequently applied to the works of an
author not published till after his decease.
POSTIL, a name anciently given to a note in the
margin of the Bible, and afterwards to one in any other
book posterior to the text.
POSTING, among merchants, the putting an ac¬
count forward from one book to anether, particularly
from the journal or waste-book to the ledger. See Post
and Book-Keeping.
POSTLIMINIUM, among the Romans, the return
of one who had gone to sojourn elsewhere, or had been
banished, or taken by an enemy, to his own country or
state.
POSTPONING, putting any thing after or behind
anether, with regard to time.
POSTSCRIPT, an article added to a letter or me¬
moir containing something learnt or recollected after
the piece was written.
POSTULATE, in mathematics, &c. is described
to be such an easy and self-evident supposition, as needs
no explication or illustration to render it intelligible ;
Vol. XVII. Part I. f
as that a right line may be drawn from one point to an- Postulate
other. |j
POSTURE, in painting and sculpture, the situa- Potamon
tion of a figure with regard to the eye, and of the se-'
veral principal members thereof with regard to one an¬
other, whereby its action is expressed. A considerable
part of tbe art of a painter consists in adjusting the
postures, or in giving the most agreeable ones to bis
figures, in accommodating them to the characters of
the respective figures, and the part each has in tbe ac¬
tion, and in conducting and in pursuing them through¬
out.
Postures are either natural or artificial.
Natural postures are such as nature seems to have had
a view to in the mechanism of the body, or rather such
as the ordinary actions and occasions of life lead us to
exhibit while young, and while the joints, muscles, li¬
gaments, &c. are flexible.
Artificial postures, are those wbichseme extraordinary
view's or studies occasion us to learn j as those of dan-
fencing, &c. buch also are thos/e of our balance
and posture masters.
A painter would be strangely puzzled with the figure
of Clark (a late famous posture-master in London) in
a history-piece. This man, we are told in the Phil.
"I rans. had such an absolute command of his muscles,
&c. that he could disjoint almost his whole body j so
that be imposed on the great surgeon Mullens, who
looked upon him as in such a miserable condition, be
would not undertake his cure. Though a well-made
man, he would appear with all the deformities imagina¬
ble $ hunch-backed, pot-bellied, sharp-breasted, ^ &c.
He disjointed bis arms, shoulders, legs, and thighs; and
rendered himself such an object of pity, that he has fre¬
quently extorted money, in quality of a cripple, from
the same company in which he had the minute before
been in quality of a comrade. He would make his hips
stand a considerable way out from his loins, and so high
as to invade the place of his back. Yet bis face was the
most changeable part about him, and showed more pos¬
tures than all the rest. Of himself he could exhibit all
the uncouth odd faces of a quakers meeting.
POTAMOGETON, Pond-weed ; a genus of
plants belonging to the tetrandria class ; and in the na¬
tural method ranking under the 15th order, Inundatce.
See Botany Index.
101AMON, or Potamo, was a philosopher of
Alexandria. He kept a middle course between the
scepticism of the Pyrrhonians and the presumption of
the dogmatists ; but attached himself to none of the
schools of philosophy of his time. He was the first
projector, of the Eclectic sect; for though the mode of
philosophising had been pretty common before, he was
tbe first that attempted to institute a new sect on this
principle. Diogenes Laertius relates, that not long be¬
fore he wrote his Lives of the Philosophers, an Eclec¬
tic sect, vtXixlixij rig ttifga-tg, had been introduced by Po- F.njiel<r»
tamo of Alexandria, who selected tenets from every Hliiory °.f
former sect. He then proceeds to quote a few particu-4
lars of his system from his Eclectic institutes, respecting
the principles of reasoning, and certain general topics
of philosophical inquiry; from which nothing further
can be learned than that Potamo endeavoured to recon¬
cile the precepts of Plato w'ith those of other masters.
H h _ As
Fotiinion,
Potash.
POT [ 242 ] ^ ^ ^ .c
1'inconlipr liesitles where vegetable matters abound. For if by examining
As nothing remams concerning ‘l'13 P'1'““f " bbescure Kas8ia (f) potash, for example, we find that its super!-
the brief account just referred to tnLaerUu8 an obscure ^ depe’nd3 ^ ^ being clear of eartll, or
passage in Suidas, and another still m . jts containing a large proportion of oil, or re-
Porphyry j it is probable that his attemp fi^ecl sa]t> these advantages may, by properly regulating
school upon the Eclectic plan pi over SlliJas tlieoperation,begiventoEnglishpotashes,soasper-
The time when Potamo flourished is uncertain, buidas tne operation, t fa V. at._r u...
Potask
Dr Shaw’s
method of
making
potash.
1 lie lime vvucn a    
places him under Augustus; but it is more probable,
from the account of Laertius, that he began his undei-
taking about the close of the second century.
POTASH, the lixivious ashes of certain vegetables,
used in making glass, soap, &c. _ See Glass, Soap,
&c. For an account of the properties and combinations
of potash, see Chemistry. Potash was till lately con¬
sidered as a simple substance ; but it appears from the
unexpected discoveries of Mr Davy in galvanism to be
a compound of a peculiar metallic substance and oxy-
e-en. Soda is also a compound of a similar nature. Tor
an account of Mr Davy’s discoveries, see Zinc. Here -
we treat only of the manufacture of potash.
The method of making potash is directed by Dr
Shaw as follows. Burn a quantity of billet-wood to
gray ashes ; and taking several pounds of these ashes,
boil them in water, so as to make a very strong lixivium,
or ley. Let this ley be strained through a coarse linen
cloth, to keep out any black parts of the half-burnt
wood that might happen to remain in the ashes ; then
evaporate this strained lye in an iron pan over a quick
fire almost to dryness: then taking out the matter xe-
maining at the bottom, and putting it into an iron
crucible, set it in a strong fire till the matter is melted,
and then immediately pour it out upon an iron plate,
where it soon cools, and appears in the form of a solid
lump of potash *. Much after this manner is potash
made in the large way, for the service of the soap-boiler,
glass-maker, fuller, &c. but according to the diflerence
actions of of the wood, or combustible matter employed, with
the Royal the manner of turning it, and conducting the process,
Irish Aca- different kinds of potash are prepared. Ihere are cer-
dcmi/,1789, ta|n galine piants that yield this potash to great advan-
Sci'encf^tage, as particularly the plant kali; there are others
that afford it in less plenty, and of an inferior quality,
as bean-stalks, &c.: but in general, all vegetable sub¬
jects afford it of one kind or other, and may most of
them he made to yield it tolerably perfect after the
manner of the process already laid down, even the lop¬
pings, roots, and refuse parts of ordinary trees, \111e
clippings, &c. The fixed salts of all vegetables, except¬
ing the kali and marine plants, when reduced to abso¬
lute purity, or entirely separated from the other prin¬
ciples, appear to be one and the same thing: whence it
should seem, says Dr Shaw, that by a suitable manage¬
ment good saleable potash might be made in all places
Plate
* See
Pearl-
Ash, and
Trajis-
haps to render the latter as good as the former : hut
where the potash of any remarkable saline vegetable 13
to be imitated, that of the kali, for example, the doctor
recommends a prudent sprinkling of the subject with
salt, or sea-water, in the burning; and by these ways,
properly diversified, any principle that is naturally want¬
ing might he artificially introduced so as to perfect the
art of potash. ^ 1 a * 1
Above half a century ago, Mr Stephens, encouraged Account c;’j
by the Society of Arts, &c. and by a parliamentary^,^
grant of 3OC0I. established a manufacture of potash in nufact^,
North America, which produced such as was so per¬
fectly good as to answer in bleaching and other uses the
purposes of pearl-as/i ,* and which at the same time af¬
forded a very large produce. But the very great heat
which his process required, occasioned the destruction
of a very extensive apparatus ; and other circumstances
concurred to disappoint the hopes and check the spirit
of the proprietors. The manufacture wTas, however,
afterwards undertaken and prosecuted by others. _ Mr
Stephens’s apparatus was as follows : Fig. 1. A is the
bed of the kiln, which flies off about four feet by two ^
from the grate, more or less according to the size ; C
is the ash-hole, 2^ or 3 feet deep, Fig. 2. B repre-Fig.i.
sents quadrangular bars of iron, with their opposrte 3
angles placed upwards and downwards, not a*30ve an paratTls
inch asunder. Fig. 3* B, and C, are three sleepers
five feet deep, and of any width from four to eight feet
square, of the best white pine or cypress plank, with
square joints and strong oak frames, placed each over a
receiver, with a cock to let off the ley, and a vent just
beneath the surface of the grating. F represents three
receivers, standing each under, and projecting out, from
its steeper. They must be made of the best stuff, care¬
fully put together, and laid in tough clay, well rammed
within the ground, their tops being level with the sur¬
face : they need not be so large as the sleepers by six,
eight, or twelve inches. Fig. 4. E represents a false Fig. 4<
bottom or lattice of boards, eight inches deep and five
square, with a hole in the under edge of every partition ^
for the ley to pass into the steeper. Fig 5. A is the Fig- 5*
vessel over the furnace in which the ley and ashes are
mixed; B is a hole or funnel a few inches from the back
of the furnace, with an iron socket to let the pipe
through the hinder part of the arch, to reach down
within two inches of the floor of the furnace. C is a
(a) According to Sir Peter Warren, the best woods for making Russian potash are, oak, ash, poplar, luccory,
elm, hazel, and beech. They must be cut in November, December, January, and February, split and stacked to
div After 12 months, in warm open weather, it must be burnt on a brick hearth by a slow fare in a kiln, or
close place ; the ashes must be sifted through two sieves, one finer than the other, and then put up in brick troughs
or wooden backs, covered with rain or river water, and must remain well mashed and incorporated five months.
Brick furnaces shaped like bakers ovens must be heated with a strong fire of oak or ash, burning night and day ;
the prepared ashes must he gradually thrown on the fire, when they will run into metal like lead : the hre must
not go out till the furnace is nigh filled with potashes. rihe ashes must then be broken to be taken out, mt ie
larger the pieces the better; they must be preserved from the air in tight casks, tue huge pieces >y tumse ves,
and the dust by itself.
POT
potash.
4
irocess
| ithout
:,ing a
jla.
f i with
cast-iron cauldron for boiling the ley to dryness when
pearl-ash is made. D is a vessel whence the liquor is let
into the cauldron as it evaporates. The mortar for
building the furnace should be made of loam ; the arch
should be 18 inches thick, and the floor should be laid
with tyles on a layer of sand an inch thick, with neat
joints.
Mr Stephens’s process, both with and without the
kiln, was as follows. Cut timber, felled at any season,
into lengths of about eight feet: lay from three to ten
of them lengthwise in a heap upon dry ground, and fill
the vacancies between with smaller wood : the sooner it
is burnt after felling, the better. Set fire to it by lay¬
ing embers on the bottom logs at each end ; and for
burning the brush and lappings, with other smaller
woods, lay them lengthwise on the ground, top to top,
lapping over a little, with the butt ends outwards, and
as close as a faggot; laying the larger woods on top till
the heap is full four feet high j the length of the brush
set against each other making the breadth of the heap.
As to the choice of the timber, old hollow trees, if not
dead, are best: pine, cypress, and cedar, are to be total¬
ly rejected.
As soon as the pile is burnt down, rake such ashes as
lie round the outside a little in towards the middle ; add
no fresh fuel, nor throw on any brands. Let the ashes
lie without stirring till you can just bear your hand in
them $ then carry them to a house, or under a shed, on
a plank floor raised a little from the earth and well
jointed j there wet them till brought nearly to the con¬
sistence of mortar in the first mixture of lime and sand,
and ram them in a heap, in which they must lie full 20
days, or some months if you please ; observing to be
more sparing of water in winter, and ramming them
closer, and sometimes wetting the top that it may never
grow quite dry.
Wood may also be burnt in a kiln, as fig. i. and 2. j
and then it must be cut into such lengths as may be
most convenient for carriage, and best suit the size of
the kiln. The mouth of the ash-hole must be close
stopped by daubing the joints of the lid with loam, or
throwing a bank of sand or earth against it: keep the
bed ot the kiln filled with wood up to the surface, but
not above it, and let it burn incessantly till the ashes rise
within six or eight inches of the grate. Draw them
out whilst red-hot, and in that state sprinkle them with
ley, from four to six caracts weight j weigh a small phial
which holds about four ounces very exactly ; then fill it
with water and weigh that also : divide the weight of
water into equal parts till you come to of the whole,
which is called a caract, ^ two caracts, &c. until you
have a weight equal to ^ of the whole water, which is
called 32 caracts: all which small weights, together
with one equal to the phial filled with water, are to he
kept for weighing the ley in the said phial till they are
made damp ; then ram them as before in a heap, but se¬
parate from the ashes made as above. N. B. By kiln¬
burning a stronger ley may be more certainly procured
than by the other way, where rain may chance to fall
on the ashes before they can be removed.
Ihe ashes thus prepared are to be put into vats or
sleepers, fig. 3. with a false latticed bottom, as fig. 4. ;
first putting coarse wheat or rye straw about a foot thick
on the lattice or grating ; on which put ashes to with¬
in four or five inches of the top, ramming them all the
C 243 ]
POT
way up, especially at the sides, with a small light ram- Fota*h.
mer, as tight as you can, without bursting the vat. 1— 
Form on the top of the steeper a hollow bason in the
ashes four or five inches deep leaving the ashes four or
five inches thick on the sides, by raising a small bank
round the sides, so that the liquor may not overflow the
edges ot the ashes at top j keep this bason constantly
filled with soft water in the steeper A, until the ashes
will imbibe no more, which will be in 24 hours or more,
according as it is rammed; then turn the cock, and let
oft’ what shall be soaked through into the receiver or
lower chamber of the steeper, and no more ; for if the
several runnings are not kept separate, the ley will not
be brought to its due strength. Follow that steeper
with fresh water on the same ashes for several other run¬
nings, which will each come off in a few days, till the
liquor has neither smell nor taste j then heave out the
ashes, and charge the steeper afresh.
Upon drawing off the first running from the steeper
3* fi^ ^le steeper B with ashes as before, and
put into its hollow at the top the ley so first run off,
and the smaller or half leys also, till full, and draw off
as directed for the steeper A : if this weighs 18 caracts
or more, pump it into the cistern F as fit for use ; if it
be short of that, pass it off as half ley to the steeper C,
and through fresh ashes till strong enough. With kiln-
ashes only, from water passing through the first steeper,
it will be strong enough for the cistern, if the ashes are
well prepared. If your water be hard, let it stand two
or three days exposed to the air and sun in a shallow
back, and it will be soft. When you use kiln-ashes
with others, lay them at bottom.
The ley must be conveyed from the cistern F, as it
is wanted to the vessel A fig. 5. j where with every gal¬
lon of proof ley mix three ounces of fine light wood
ashes; and to the ley that is one-fourth over-proof put
six ounces of ashes ; and if two-fifths over-proof 1 2
ounces, increasing or lessening according to the strength
of the ley.
For evaporating the ley and melting the salt, heat a
furnace till you bring it very near a white heat, of
which the side-doors being red-hot is a mark. This
will take 48 hours or more if the furnace be quite cold :
when thorough hot, a little fuel keeps it so. Then,
through the cock of the vessel A, pass the mixture by
the funnel B into the furnace, not so as to reach much
beyond the middle of the floor, before it changes from
dark to bright red, letting the heat prevail towards
front or back as you see necessary. When the mass be¬
gins to gather about the flues or in heaps, run in no
more till the furnace is cleared by driving the fire back¬
ward. You must have two funnels, one soon choking;
in an hour or less will issue out a red-hot stream of
melted salt, which is potash, to be broken to pieces as
soon as cold, and packed in tight close casks, being in
no respect inferior to the best foreign ash whatever.
The best potash is made from barilla, and comes from Spanish
Spain. The plants from whic h it is procured are found potash the
in great plenty about Carthagena, where they are indi-best.
genous, and may be collected in a swamp called Almojar
east of that place \ the Sciyoncs barilla is the best. They
are found, besides all along that coast, on the borders
of the Mediterranean for 60 leagues in length, and 8 in
breadth. About 150,000 quintals of it are annually
exported from Spain. It produces a revenue of 25,500!.
FI h 2 a-year j
Potash.
Dr ferci-
val’s ac¬
count of
making
potash.
Other at
tempts.
POT C
a-year; each quintal paying a duty of 17 rca,s 2J'jf
Don Bernardo de Ulloa, A. D. 1740, says it ws farm-
cd at 1822!. 4s. 3d. M. Macdonnell haa brought the
manufacture of potash to its present pette-tl'™ j|> ^ ’
but its exportation is materially injured In t y
tax on it. See Townshend’s 1 ravels, vol. m- ?• j
S”in'the^0* volume of the Philosophical Transactions
\ve have an account of a method of Procuring this salt
from the putrid water which runs from dung nils. Ihe
process is very easy, consisting only in s,ml,la '
tion of the fluid, and calcinating the impure salt till mo t
of the foulness Is burnt ont. From 24 wine-pipe full
of this muck-water were obtained 9 cwl. I q. 1 2 lb-
saleable potash, valued at 42s. per ewt : the expence of
manufacturing them being only valued at 4 •9s-
The potash thus made is ot a grayish white appear¬
ance 5 deliquesces a little in moist air; but il kept in a
dry room, near the fire, acquires a powdery surface,
is hard and of a spongy texture when broken, ^h ma¬
ny small crystals in its substance. 1 h%col°ur -
ternal parts is dusky and variegated, lo tliet^te ^
aCrid saline, and sulphureous. It emits no smell of vo¬
latile’alkali, either in a solid form, dissolved, or when
added to lime-water; neither does it communica e the
sapphire-colour to a solution ot blue vitno . > 1 ve .
quickly tinged black by it ; a proof that it contains
much phlogiston. Ten grains of this potash lequned
11 drops of the weak spirit of vitriol to separate it.
The like quantity of salt of tartar required 24 drops .
a strong effervescence occurred, in both mixtures ; an
a sulphureous vapour exhaled from the former. A tea
spoonful of the syrup of violets, diluted with an ounce
of water, was changed into a bright green colour by
five grains of the salt of tartar; but ten grains ot this
potash were necessary to produce the same hue in a simi¬
lar mixture. Halfan ounce of the salt dissolved entire¬
ly in half a pint of hot water ; and when the liquor was
cold, a large purple sediment subsided to the bottom ;
and it was found that this sediment amounted to about
two-thirds of the whole quantity of ashes used.
Dr Percival, the author of this paper, concludes with
observing, that this potash is a true fixed vegetable al¬
kali, produced by putrefaction ; that the quantity of
alkali contained in it may be estimated at one-third ot
its weight, whereas the white Muscovy ashes are said to
yield only one eighth part; that no quicklime appears
to he contained in this potash, for a solution of it pour¬
ed from its sediment remained clear though long ex¬
posed to the air ; that it would be worth trying, whe¬
ther the large purple sediment, which subsides when this
potash is lixiviated, might not be applied to the manu¬
facture of Prussian blue, or used in the manner recom¬
mended by Macquer for dyeing wool and silks ; and
that this manufacture will furnish the farmer with top-
dressino- for his garden and land, of great fertilizing
powers. See Phil. Trans, vol. Ixx. p. 345;
These are the processes most essentially different irom
one another which have appeared concerning the manu¬
facture of this useful salt. Some indeed have attempt¬
ed to compose it on the supposition that alkali consisted
of an earth combined in a peculiar manner with a cer¬
tain acid. But the little success of all these attempts show
that they have been built on a false principle. I he on¬
ly method of producing alkaline salts originally is from
POT
244 ]
the ashes of vegetables; and the vegetable substances Potash,
which yield the largest quantity of them are tartar and v—
marine plants. From the former the purest and strongest
vegetable alkali is obtained, and from the latter the mi¬
neral alkali. From other vegetables, as fern, broom,
bean-stalks, &c. an alkaline salt is produced, but so im¬
pure, and in such small quantity, that no manutacture ot
it can be established in this country with any reasonable
expectation of profit. „ 9
Dr Watson (the present bishop of Landau) suggests, On extra)
that the investigation of a method of extracting it»
line part from rock salt would lie a most serviceable dts-^^
coverv We have inexhaustible mines ot rock-salt insa-
this country, which (he observes) the proprietors can
afford at ten shillings a ton. A ton o rock-salt con¬
tains about half a ton of mineral alkali, which is for
most nurposes far preferable to potash, lo those who
have leisure to attempt such a discovery, he gives the
following hint: whether the alkaline part of rock-salt
may not be obtained by calcining it in conjunction with
charcoal in open fires ? His reason for this conjecture
is founded upon the following experiment: upon binn¬
ing sea-wreck to a black coal, and stopping the process
at that point, he has obtained great plenty of common
salt but no mineral alkali from the black ashes; though
we are certain, that when the black ashes are thorough¬
ly calcined, or reduced to white ashes, mineral alka i
may be obtained from them. This makes it probable
that the common salt contained m the black ashes ot
sea-wreck is decomposed, and changed into a mineral al¬
kali, during the burning of the black ashes. 1 here aie
reasons to suppose, that the cinder of pit-coal would an¬
swer the purpose better than charcoal. Chem. Tss. vol. 1.
p. 136, &c.
I k/*
bi
p. 13b, C£C. . , . 10
The potashes of different countries vary much m qua-Dr Hod
litv * an(f the experiments of Dr Home, in his Treatiserxperi-
my , aim uic ! nrnnpr-D'eltsa
ties in the clearest point of view. Ihe different kinds^o|
tried bv him were, differeD
1. Blue pearl-ashes.—These appear to he a pure al-countn
kaline salt, mixed with a small quantity of vitriolated
tartar and earth. Half a pound of this, filtered and eva¬
porated, yielded yl ounces of pure salt.—Here, however,
we must observe, that though the quantity was so tar di¬
minished by this operation, yet we are not to imagine
that the whole of this diminution was owing to impuri¬
ties ; for all salts are destroyed in some measure by so¬
lution in water and exsiccation.
2. White pearl-ashes are nearly of the same quality
with the former; half a pound of them giving hve
ounces and sever drams of pure salt, with some vitriola¬
ted tartar and earth.
3. Russia or Muscovy ashes have very much the ap¬
pearance of slaked lime, and are, like it, friable betwixt
the fingers. They adhere to the tongue : and their al¬
kaline taste soon goes away, leaving m the mouth a
strong taste of lime. Some small bits ot charcoal are
observable in their composition, and they never turn
moist in the air. Half a pound of the salt lixiv.ated
with water, and evaporated, gave only 10 drams 15
grains of very caustic salt. T hese consist therefore 0
a small quantity of alkaline salt united with a large
quantity of lime. ,
4. Cashub-ashes are of the colour of iron-stone, ant
extremely hard, with many shining particles of thai coa^
ii
tail-
bi; 0f
fcn
Lii-
POT [ 245 ] POT
ash in them. They have a saline taste, with a considerable
y—< decree of pungency •, feel gi itty in the mouth when
broke in pieces by the teeth, and will dissolve in water.
To extract the pure salt, half a pound of the ashes were
boiled in a pint of water ; then that water poured off,
and half a pint put on the ashes again 5 and so on, till
the ashes tasted no more salt. This boiling took. 24
hours, and the last water that came oft' had a strong
taste of sulphur, apd was blackish. A piece of silver
put in the decoction was in a few minutes turned al¬
most black ; but though the decoction was evaporated
considerably, it did not turn silver black more speedily
than before. The whole, when totally evaporated, yield¬
ed only 10 drams of a brown salt having a strong caustic
alkaline taste. Some Cashub-ashes powdered, and often
washed in water, so that the salts were all carried olf,
were infused in water. After standing sonffe time, there
was a weak lime-water, with something of a saline taste,
but no pellicle. Some of this residuum was put into a
reverberatory furnace for two hours $ after which it af¬
forded good lime-water. Cashub-ashes then appear to
contain an earth half vitrified, some lime, alkaline salts,
and a quantity of sulphur.
5. Marcoft ashes are of a paler colour than the for¬
mer, with some small pieces of charcoal in their compo¬
sition. They have a strong saline taste j and so great
pungency, that they cannot be held long in the mouth.
Haifa pound dissolved in water, filtered and evaporated,
yielded 11 drams one scruple and two grains of alkaline
residuum. The decoction blackened silver, but not so
strongly as the former ; and by evaporation it quickly
• I lost that quality.
nanu- Our author next proceeds to consider the probability
‘dug of manufacturing these ashes in this country. On which
in subject he has the following observations.—“ The blue
and white pearl-ashes we have discovered to be pure al¬
kaline salts, without any considerable mixture of hetero¬
geneous bodies. Their purity shows the lixive to have
been strained through some close substance, such as linen
or flannel. The blue ashes show by their colour that
they have su-tained the most fire. But both of them are
so much alike, that the one may be substituted for the
other; and therefore we shall consider them in one
view.
“ Every one knows that alkaline salts, such as these,
are got from all plants except the alkalescent, and from
all trees except the most resinous, which afford them
in very small quantity. These plants or trees, when
sound, are pulled or felled in the spring, dried, and
burnt to ashes. By the affusion of warm water the
salts are dissolved, and, by straining, separated from the
earth along with the water. This saline liquor, which
is called a lixive, is evaporated over a fire 5 and what
remains is an alkaline salt of the same kind with the
pearl-ashes.
“ I was informed by a skilful bleacher in Ireland,
that he practised a more expeditious way of extracting
the salts. He bought the ashes of different vegetables
from the commonalty for 9s. a bushel. From these a
very strong ley was made, into which dry straw was
dipped until it sucked up all the ley. This straw was
afterwards dried and burnt, and gave him salts which
he showed me, almost as good and pure as the pearl-
ashes. This method I have several times tried ; but
could never burn the straw to white ashes, the salts di¬
minishing the inflammability of the straw. It is a very
expeditious method if it can be practised. But I can
see no occasion for bringing the ley into a solid form, as
the salts must again be dissolved in water before they
can be used. The strength of the ley can easily be de¬
termined by the hydrostatical balance.
“ Though I make no question, that the quantity of
salt in plants of the same species, will vary in different
soils and climates $ yet it would be of advantage to
have the proportion ascertained in general. Some trials
of this kind I have made.
“ Two pounds of fern which had been pulled Au¬
gust 16. were dried, and burnt to white ashes. These
weighed 7 dr. and tasted very salt. When lixiviated,
strained, and evaporated, they gave me 49 gr. of salt,
about the eighth part of the ashes. If the fern had
been pulled in April, it would have afforded more salt.
Why then should we not prepare salts from this vege¬
table ? There is more of it growing on our hills than
would serve all our bleachfields. The Irish make great
use of it.
“ From 11 oz. of tobacco-ashes I had I oz. of salt.
Two ounces of peat-ashes afforded half a drachm of
salt. Nettles, I am informed, afford much salt. Furze
and broom, natives of this country, are very fit for this
purpose.
“ But the kelp, as it grows in such plenty along our
shore, and contains more salt than any other vegetable
I know, would be the most proper, were it not for a
mixture of some substance that renders it unfit for
bleaching, at least of fine cloths, after they have ob¬
tained a tolerable decree of whiteness. It is observed
by bleachers, that in these circumstances, it leaves a
great yellowness in the linen. As these ashes are much
used in Ireland, and as it is not uncommon to bleach
coarse cloths with them in Scotland, a disquisition into
their nature, and some attempts to purify them, may not
be improper. There are no ashes sold so cheap as these ;
for the best gives but 2I. the 2000 weight (b). They
may, therefore, allow of more labour to be expended on
them, and come cheaper at long-run than the foreign
salts.
“ I dried some sea-w'are, and burnt it, though I found
that last operation very difficult. When I had kept it
fused in the fire for two hours, it weighed 3! oz. I
poured on the ashes an English pint and a halfa of cold
water, that I might have as little of the sulphur as pos¬
sibly. Thisley,afterithad stood for some hours, was pour¬
ed off clear, and had but a slight tendency to a green co¬
lour. I made a second infusion with milk-warm water,
and poured it off from the sediment. This had a darker
colour than the former; was kept separated from it,
and evaporated by itself. There was a third infusion
made 5
Potash
(b) “ Since this treatise was written, however, the price of kelp has been advanced to yl. or upwards the
2000 weight j so that those who would now attempt any thing of this kind, must also manufacture the kelp them¬
selves.”
POT
[ H6 3
POT
Potash.
made j but having no salt taste, it was thrown away.
1 The second infusion seemed to contain more sulphur than
the first; and a piece of white linen kept in it halt an
hour, while it was boiling, was tinged yellow, and could
not be washed white again. The earthy part remaining,
weighed, when well dried, I oz. 2 dr. I he saline de¬
coction evaporated by degrees, and set at different times
in a cellar to crystallize, afiorded me 5 dr. 46 gr. 1 he
liquor, when entirely evaporated, left 4!- dr. of a yellow
salt, which appeared to be a strong alkaline, x he salts
which crystallized seemed to be mostly sea-salt, with a
considerable quantity of sulphur, and some alkaline salt.
There appeared no signs of the bittern in these salts, as
their solution did not turn turbid with the oil of tartar.
Nor is any of the bittern to be expected in kelp-ashes,
although it probably is to be found in the recent vege¬
table j because the alkaline salts formed by the fire must
have changed it into a neutral. The ley made warm
with water, being evaporated, left 4 dr. of a blacic bit¬
ter salt, which, from its quantity of sulphur, appeared
unfit for bleaching. These ashes, then, seem to be a
composition of somewhat less than the fourth of sulphur,
the same quantity of sea-salt, about a fourth of alkaline
salt, and somewhat more than a fourth 01 earth, ihe
alkaline salt contained in kelp ashes amounts to one
penny a pound. Tlhis cheapness makes it worth our
pains to bestow some labour on them.
“ If the bad effects in bleaching with kelp-ashes arise
from the sea-salt, as some of the most knowing bleachers
think, they can be freed from it in an easy manner. Let
a lixive of kelp-ashes be made with cold water, for that
does not extract so much of the sulphur j it must stand
but for a short time, for these salts dissolve easily } de¬
cant it, and evaporate the ley. As the boiling conti¬
nues, the sea-salt will crystallize. When that is all
separated, the remaining ley will contain alkaline salt
with some sulphur. This operation every master of a
bleachfield may learn and oversee, without taking up
much of his time. A similar process is carried on by
common servants in the alum-works, who have by prac¬
tice learned it from others.
“ I had some hopes that the sulphur might be car¬
ried off by long roasting, such as these salts undergo
before they are fused in order to be turned into glass ;
because I had observed, that the longer time they were
kept in the fire, the freer were they from this sulphu¬
reous part.
“ I ordered a quantity of kelp-ashes to be kept in the
furnace of a glasshouse, where the heat was just below
the vitrifying point, for 24 hours. During this time
they had lost almost four-fifths of their weight. They
were now much freer from their sulphur, and were of a
light colour *, but much of the alkaline salt had been
driven off' with the oils. If a ley is much impregnated
with this sulphureous matter, it appears to be carried
off in a great measure by long boiling.
“ We come now to explain the method of manufac¬
turing the white Muscovy ashes. We have shown, by
undoubted experiments, that the greatest part of these
ashes consists of lime ; and yet we have several acts of
parliament which forbid the use of that material under
severe penalties. The parliament were in the right to
dischargeits use, upon the disadvantageous reports which
were made to them. We shall immediately see how
dangerous a material it is when used improperly, or with-
3
out the mixture of alkaline salts, which render it safe, pota;
and more soluble in water. But I will venture te say, L-v
that experiment will not support the prejudice enter¬
tained with regard to it, if carried any further.
“ Since bleaching, then, cannot be carried on with¬
out it (for those ashes which contain it are quite neces¬
sary in that operation), and since we import them from
foreign countries, let these prejudices against it cease,
and let us only consider how we may render our own
lime as safe as the foreign. If we can do that, the
wisdom of the legislature will be as ready to abrogate
these acts as they were to make them.
tl By my experiments on the white Muscovy ashes,
I got about the eighth part of alkaline salts from them.
This made me expect, that, by mixing in the same pro¬
portion quicklime and alkaline salts, I should be able to
produce Muscovy ashes.
“ To an ounce of quicklime and a dram of white
pearl-ashes, I added about a gill of water, and boiled
them together till the water was all evaporated. I he
taste of this substance was little different from lime.
To recover the salts again from the lime, I dissolved it
in water, strained off the liquor, and evapoiated it.
Instead of the dram of salts, I had but two grains of a
substance which was more earthy than saline.
“ To 3 drams of quicklime, and as much potashes, I
added a mutchkin of water, and kept it boiling for two
hours till it was evaporated. I dissolved it again in
water, which being filtered and evaporated, gave ms
14- dram of a caustic salt, that liquefied in the air when
it had been but four minutes from the fire. It appears,
then, that the alkaline salts are destroyed by lime, and
that a great part of them can never be again recovered.
From the remaining lime, after the salts were extracted,
I got strong lime-water, but without a pellicle. Ihis
shows, that a quantity of alkaline salts, equal to th#
lime, boiled with it for two hours, are not able to fix all
the soluble part of the lime.
“ From these experiments we may draw some corol¬
laries with regard to the present subject. 1st, That
evaporating the water from the lime and salts by boil¬
ing, is a most unfrugal way of preparing these white
ashes. 2dly, That these ashes ought to be kept close
shut up in casks •, for if exposed to the open air, though
in a room, the alternate moisture and drought must fix
their most useful parts. This I have found to be fact:
for the salts that I made became less pungent by keep¬
ing ; and I have observed, that the surface of the Mus¬
covy ashes lost all pungency by being exposed to the
air, while their internal parts still retained it. 3^)^
That all boiling is prejudicial to these Muscovy ashes,
as it fixes, and that quickly, their most subtile and pro¬
bably their most serviceable parts.
“ Let us now proceed to another method of making
these white ashes. I imagined, that if the salts were
dissolved in water, and the quicklime slaked with that,
the mass would soon dry without the assistance of fire.
In this way I added equal parts of both } but the com¬
position was so strong, that it blistered my tongue if it
hut touched it. When the fourth part was alkaline
salt, it blistered my tongue when kept to it a few se¬
conds. I could taste the salts plainly in the composi¬
tion, when they made but the thirty-second part of the
whole.
“ I thought, when composed with the eighteenth
part
POT
ish. part of salt, it had, when fresh made, just the taste and
—Jlook of the Muscovy ashes ; nor could any person have
distinguished them. This I once imagined was the pro¬
portion } but when I found that the saline pungency
goon turned weaker by keeping, and that this compo¬
sition would not afford the same quantity of salts that
the Muscovy ashes did, I saw that a much greater quan¬
tity of salts was necessary. The proportion appears to
be one of salts to four of lime, prepared in this last way.
Three drams of ashes prepared in this way, and kept
for a fortnight, gave me but 15 grains of salt; which
is but the half of what the Muscovy would have af¬
forded. I find, if the quicklime is first quenched, it
does not fix the salts so much ; and therefore is better
and cheaper. One dram of potashes dissolved in a little
water, and added to three drams of quenched lime,
gave me 44 grains of a very caustic salt. I prefer this
method as the best.
“ The manufacturers of this salt probably pour the
lixive upon the lime, as they can know by its specific
gravity what quantity of salts is in the water, and so
save themselves the expence of procuring the salts in a
dry form.
“ The manufacture of the Marcoft and Cashub ashes
remains yet to be explained. We have discovered that
both of them contained sulphur, earth, alkaline salts, and
lime ; and differ ia nothing but in the Cashub’s having
more sulphur than the Marcoft ashes. We shall there¬
fore consider them together.
“ Whether these two species of ashes are of any use
in bleaching, may be, and has already been, disputed.
I find they contain no other principles, the sulphureous
part excepted, than the former ashes combined together.
Why then should we expect any other effects from the
same ingredients in the Marcoft and Cashub ashes,
than what we have from either of the pearl and Mus¬
covy ashes mixed together P The sulphureous principle
in the former must have very bad effects; as I find by
experiment, that it leaves a yellowness on cloth that is
very hard to be washed out. It is owing to this sul¬
phureous principle that linen, after it has been washed
with soap, and is pretty well advanced in whiteness, is
apt to be discoloured by ley which is brought to boil :
for, by boiling, the sulphureous part is extracted from
the ashes, and the ley becomes of a deep brown colour.
Daily practice, then, shows the disadvantage of this sul¬
phureous principle. Besides, as sulphur unites itself
quickly and firmly with alkaline salt-, it must weaken
or altogether destroy a great quantity of these in the
Marcoft and Cashub ashes, and so render them of no ef¬
fect in bleaching. These two reasons seem to me suffi¬
cient to exclude them from the bleachfield ; especially
as, by increasing the other materials, we can attain per¬
haps more speedily the same ends.
“ However, as custom has introduced them into ge¬
neral practice, we shall consider how they are to be ma¬
nufactured. Dr Mitchell has, in a very ingenious and
useful paper, contained in the Philosophical Transac¬
tions for the year 174^> delivered an account transmit¬
ted to him by Linnaeus of the method of making
potashes in Sweden. 1 his account was contained in an
academical dissertation of one Lundmark upon this sub¬
ject at Aboe in Sweden. The substance of this account
JS, ‘ I hat birch or alder is burnt by a slow fire to ashes,
-nil made into a paste with water. This paste is plas-
P O T
tered over a row of green pine or fir logs. Above that Potash.
is laid transversely another row of the same ; and that1——v 
likewise is plastered over. In this way they continue
building and plastering till the pile be of a considerable
height. This pile is set on fire ; and whenever the
ashes begin to run, it is overturned, and the melted ashes
are beat with flexible sticks, so that the ashes incrust
the logs of wood, and become as hard as stone.’ This,
in the Doctor’s opinion, is the method of making the
potashes that come from Sweden, Russia, and Dantzic :
and that there is no other difference bewixt the ashes
made in those different countries, but that the Russian,
containing more salt, must be made into a paste with a
strong ley.
“ There would appear, by my experiments, a greater
difference than this betwixt the Swedish ashes, if that
is the true process, and those I have examined. I had
discovered the greatest part of the Muscovy ashes to be
lime. I suspected it might enter into the composition
of the Marcoft and Cashub; and have accordingly dis¬
covered it there. Without the same grounds, none
would ever have searched for it. Whence then comes
this lime ? It must either enter into its composition, or
arise from the materials managed according as the pro¬
cess directs.
u I have tried the birch ashes made into a paste with
water. I have tried common charcoal made into a paste
with a third part of potashes, and kept them in a strong
reverberatory heat for some hours, and yet no such cau¬
stic substance appeared. I have kept earth and salts of
kelp ashes fused together for 24 hours in the furnace of
a glasshouse, where the heat was just below the degree
of vitrification ; and yet no remarkable causticity ap¬
peared afterwards in the concreted mass. But supposing
that there did, will ever this account for the generation
of lime ? These chemists do not assert that it is a calca¬
reous causticity. The earth of vegetables kept in fusion
with their salts, is so far from turning into a quicklime,
that the mass takes the opposite course, and becomes
glass. Bodies that, by the laws of nature, are vitres-
cible, can never, so far as we know, become calcareous.
In one or other of these two substances all bodies termi¬
nate that are changeable by fire ; and vegetables are of
the former kind. Piece it may be asked, Why then,
since they endure such a fire, are they not vitrified ? the
objection would be just, did they contain nothing else
but what was found in vegatables. But if we once al¬
low that lime is one of the materials, the difficulty is
easily solved : for lime, we know, in proportion as it is
mixed, hinders the vitrification of all bodies. In effect,
the earthy part in these ashes is almost vitrified: and I
think that I have carried the vitrification yet farther in
that part; but I never was able, with the utmost heat
of a reverberatory furnace, continued for six hours, to
produce any tiling like a thorough vitrification in these
ashes. The heat of the fire used in the process would
seem to he very great ; and must, if it were not very
difficult, reduce them to glass. The invitrescible na¬
ture of these salts, so far from being an objection, be¬
comes a strong proof of mv opinion.
“ These salts have a remarkable pungency. This we
have already seen is the natural effect of quicklime on
salts.
“These salts are found to he the fittest for making
soap, and to incorporate soonest and best with oils.
Salts,
[ 247 ]
Potash,
Potato.
72
'otashes
,nd pearl-
^lies ob-
ained from
leutral
POT [248
Salts, we know, of themselves do P*
oil ; but when once mixed with quickUm , 7
^^Ktse ashes are more easily Haa
ed than charcoal made into a paste with the thir p
salt; 1 which is much more than the ashes contain.
Now it is observed that quicklime increases the flux-
ino power of alkaline salts; for the common caustic
S of quicklime and alkaline salts is sooner fused
tli'in the latter alone* # -i . -i*
“ From these reasons, and the expenments that d.s-
cover lime in these ashes, I am led to think, that , ,s
not oenerated hy the process, but mixed with the ashes
when they are made alto a paste. The following expe¬
riment isya convincing proof of what I have been endea
V°"tSbld tm^ase straw In a strong ley of pearl-
ashes burnt into a black coal, and made it into a paste
wUh water. Another quantity of straw was boiled m
a lev made of one part of quicklime and four parts of
pearl salts, the ley being poured off turbid from the lime.
This straw was likewise burnt when dry, and made into
a paste. These two substances were put into separate
crucibles, and fluxed in a reverberatory furnace. Ihe
latter appeared to resemble the Marcoft and Cashub
ashes more than the former, which seemed to want their
I>UTfhough the only method of preparing the alkaline
salt originally is by the combustion of vegetables, yet
there are some neutral salts from which if it were pos¬
sible to expel the acid, we should have it in our power
to procure the finest pearl-ashes in vast quantity. I hese
are violated tartar, nitre, &c. But there are objec¬
tions to all those. The vitriolated tartar, or any other
salt in which the vitriolic acid enters, cannot be decom¬
posed without converting the acid nito sulphur by char¬
coal dust 5 in which case it is as difficult to get free of
the sulphur as of the acid. With respect to nitre,
though its acid may be expelled by fire, yet it is 00
high-priced, and too much used in other manufactures,
to be thought of for this purpose.
POTATO. See Solanum, Botany Index.' _
Potatoes, it is generally thought, came originally
from North America, where they were not reckone
o-ood for food. They were first (we are told) introdu¬
ced into Ireland in the year 1565, and from thence into
England hy a vessel wrecked on the western coast, call¬
ed North Meols, in Lancashire, a place and soil even
now famous for producing this vegetable 111 great per¬
fection. It was 40 years after their introduction, how¬
ever, before they were much cultivated about London j
and then thev were considered as rarities, without any
conception of the utility that might arise from bringing
them into common use. At this time they were distin¬
guished from the Spanish by the name of Virginia po¬
tatoes or battatas, which is the Indian name of the
Spanish sort. At a meeting of the Loyal Society,
March 18. 1662-3, a letter was read from Mr Buck-
land, a Somerset gentleman, recommending the planting
of potatoes in all parts of the kingdom to prevent fa¬
mine. This was referred to a committeeand, in con¬
sequence of their report, Mr Buckland had the thanks
of the society, such members as had lands were intreat-
ed to plant them, and Mr Evelyn was desired to men¬
tion the proposals at the close of his Sylva.
] P 0 T . .
In Sweden, notwithstanding the indefatigable industry | pot
of Linnaeus, the culture of potatoes was only introduced 1 i
in 1764, when a royal edict was published to encourage
their general cultivation. They were known there
however, at an earlier period ; for in the Memoirs of
the Royal Academy of Sciences in Sweden, 1747, M.
Charles Skytse proposed to distil brandy from them, in
order to save corn, which in that country is very dear.
He found bv experience, that an acre of land set with
potatoes will yield a much greater quantity of brandy
than when sown with barley. For a full account of the
methods of cultivating and preserving this valuable
root, see Agriculture Index.
We have already mentioned a cheap preparation by
means of potatoes for the poor, see Agriculture,
N° 288 • we shall here introduce a receipt to make a
potato harrico, which may bo equally useful to those
whose circumstances are not such as to make them re¬
gardless of economy. We take it Item the Gentleman s
Magazine, and give it in the words of a person who
had made the experiment. j r i
“ Scrape the skin clean off four pounds of good raw
potatoes, then wash them clean in fair water : take two
pounds of beef, one of mutton, and one of pork 5 or, as
you like best, four pounds of any of these meats ; cut
them into pieces of three or four ounces each, season
them very well with pepper and salt and a good onion
chopped very small: have ready a strong wide-mouthed
stone-iar, such as hares are usually jugged in ; slice thin
a layer of the potatoes into the jar, then a ayer of the
seasoned meat over them, and so alternately layers of
potatoes and meat*, let your uppermost layer be pota¬
toes, so that your jar be about three quarters full, but
put no water into your jar j then close or stop the
mouth of it with a large well-fitted piece of cork, co¬
vering the same with a strong piece of canvas and tying
it down with packthread, so as only a little of the steam
may escape in the stewing •, for a little should constantly
evaporate from the side of the cork to save the jar from
bursting. Then place your jar upright in a kettle of
cold water on the fire, so as the mouth of the jar may
be always two inches above the water in the kettle when
boilimr. The harrico in the jar will begin to boil some
minute* sooner than the water in the kettle, and that
for obvious reasons. In about an hour after the water
in the kettle begins to boil, your harrico will be fully
stewed. Then take out and open the jar, pour out the
harrico into a deep dish, and serve it up.
“ This excellent, wholesome, and economical dish
supplies an agreeable dinner twice a week to a family
consisting of three grown people, and three children
under 14 years of age, where neither health nor good
stomachs are wanting, thanks to God : and, in point 0
economy, we must observe, that here is the whole ar¬
ticle of butter saved, as also the whole article of bread,
or nearly so ; nor does there require so large or so con¬
tinued a fire, nor so much time or trouble as is necessary
for the dressing of many other dishes that by no means
deserve the preference to this excellent harrico.
“ We have also (hy way of change) made it with pow¬
dered beef, sometimes with powdered pork, sometimes
with half fresh beef or mutton and half pick ed pork,
and found it good in all these ways, particularly w>fh
three pounds of fresh beef and one of pickled pork,
have left off sending pies and stews to the bakers, we
POT
jtato
II .
3tOSl
sometimes (in a larger kettle) boil a small piece of pow¬
dered beef along-side of the jar, by continuing the boil¬
ing an hour and a half longer, and this serves us to eat
cold the next day, with hot garden-stuff or a pudding.”
PoTATO-Bread. See Bread of Potatoes.
Spanish Potato. See Convolvuvus, Botany
Index.
POTENT, or Potence, in Heraldry, a term for a
kind of cross, whose ends all terminate like the head of
a crutch. It is otherwise called the Jerusalem cross,
See Heraldry.
POIEN11A (power), that whereby a thing is ca¬
pable either of acting or being acted upon.
POTENTIAL, in the schools, is used to denote
and distinguish a kind of qualities, which are supposed
to exist in the body in potentia only $ by which they are
capable in some measure of affecting and impressing on
us the ideas of such qualities, though not actually inhe¬
rent in themselves j in which sense we say, potential
heat, potential cold, &c.
Potential Cautery, in Medicine, denotes the con¬
suming, or reducing to an eschar, any part of the hu¬
man body by a caustic alkaline or metallic salt, &c. in¬
stead of a red-hot iron, which last is called the actual
cautery.
Potential, in Grammar, an epithet applied to one
of the moods of verbs. The potential is the same in
form with the subjunctive, and is, according to Kuddi-
man, implied in that mood, for which reason that gram¬
marian rejects it •, but others will have it to dift'er from
the subjunctive in this, that it always implies in it either
[ 249 1
POT
to 36,450,000 livres § per annum. But this abun¬
dance of metals soon decreased. From 1564 to 1585,
the annual fifth part amounted to no more than
15,187,489 livres four sols f. From 1585 to 1624,
it amounted to 12,149,994 livres 12 sols From 1624
to 1633, to 6,074,997 livres six sols ||. From this last
period, the produce of these mines hath so evidently de¬
creased, that in 1763 the fifth part, belonging to the
king, did not exceed 1,364,682 livres 12 sols Situ¬
ated in \V. Long. 67. S. Lat. 22. See Peru.
POISDAM, or Postdam, a town of Germany, in
the circle of Upper Saxony, with a palace, belonging
to the king of Prussia. It is seated in an island 10
miles in circumference, formed by the rivers Sprae and
Havel. The palace is finely built, delightfully situated
on a spot 12 miles west of Berlin. E. Long. 13. 42.
N. Lat. 52. 34. Riesbeck in his Travels informs us,
that the houses in Potsdam are still finer than those of
Berlin 5 but like them they are inhabited only by per¬
sons of the lotver and middling ranks. The population
of Potsdam is stated at 26,000.
PC) IT, Percival, was born in London in 1713.
He received the fiiNt rudim< nt- of bis education at a pri¬
vate school at Darne in Kent ; and became an appren¬
tice to Mr Nourse, one of the surgeons of St Bartholo¬
mew’s hospital; of which hospital, in 174;-!:, be was
elected an assistant surgeon, and in 1740 appointed one
of the principal surgeons. In 1746, he married the
daughter of Robert Cruttenden, E-q. His first pub¬
lication is said to have been planned in 17 >6, during his
confinement in con-iquence of a compound fracture of
Potosi
Potter.
£ 1, .,13,7501
f 632,812!.
is.
t 506,249!.
I ;s 6d.
II - 53.-24,>
17 s. pd.
§ -,6,86il,
i^s. pd.
possum, volo, or debeo. It is sometimes called the per- the leg: from that tinu, his pen was seldom long un-
1 cei J lyyinnsf rw-»r»• j 11 e« 11 rv f t■ rv-i rH      1 1 11 * . • 1 1 • •
missive mood, because it often implies a permission or
concession to do a thiuy. See Grammar
POTENTILLA, Silver weed, Wild Tansey, or
Cinquefoil; a genu* of plants belonging to the icosandria
class ; and in the natural method ranking under the
35th order, Senticosce. See Botany Index.
POTERIUM. G arden Burnet ; a genus of plants
belonging to the monoecia class ; and in the natural me¬
thod ranking under the 54th order, Miscellanea;. See
Botany Index.
POTHOS, a genus of plants belonging to the gy-
nandria class. See Botany Index.
POTION, a liquid medicine, consisting of as much
as can be drunk at one draught.
POTLPHAR, or Putiphar, an officer of the court
of Pharaoh king of Egypt, and general of his troops,
according to our translation, Le Clerc, and the version
of the vulgate ; but according to the Hebrew and Sep-
tuagint, the chief of his butchers or cooks. The He¬
brew text, the Septuagint, and vulgate, call him Eu¬
nuch. But it is probable it in this place means only an
officer of the king’s court, for he was certainly married
and had children. We have no other accounts of him
but what appears in scripture ; and that account is too
generally known to require to be enlarged on in this
place. See Genesis xxxviii. xxxix, &c.
POTOSI, a city of Peru in South America, situated
at the bottom of a mountain of that name, in which is
the richest silver mine ever discovered. To give an idea
of its richness, we shall mention its produce at different
times. Exclusive of what was not registered, says Abbe
Raynal, and wTas smuggled away, the fifth part belong-
mg to the government from J545 to 1564, amounted
VOL. XVII. Part I. f
employed His practice and his reputation were now
rap dlv increasing: in 1764, he was elected a fellow of
the Royal Society; and afterwards was complimented
with honorary diplomas from the Royal Colleges of Sur¬
geons at Edinburgh and in Ireland. In 1787, be re¬
signed the office of surgeon to St Bartholomew’s hospi¬
tal, “ after having served it (as he used to say), man
and boy, half a century and on the 2 2d of December
1788, after an illness of eight days, he expired.
“ The labours of the greatest part of his life (says
Mr Earle, who published his Chirurgical works), were
without relaxation ; an increasing family required his
utmost exertion: of late years he had a villa at Neas-
den ; and in the autumn usually passed > month at Bath
or at the sea-side. Thus, though he gathered, as he ex¬
pressed it, some of the fruit of the garden which be had
planted as he went along, and always lived in a gene¬
rous and hospitable manner, at the same time bestowing
on four sons and four daughters a liberal and necessarily
expensive education, and applying large sums to their
establishment during his lifetime, he left an ample pro¬
vision for them at his decease. Among his papers was
found, what lie had often mentioned, a small box, con¬
taining a few pieces of money, being the whole which
he ever received from the wreck of his father’s fortune.
With this was deposited an exact account of every indi¬
vidual fee which a long life of business had produced 
abundant evidence of well spent time, and the industri¬
ous application of abilities, to which the res unsusta do-
mi, at the commencement, probably acted more power¬
fully as an incentive than as an obstacle.”
POTTER, Christopher, a learned English divine,
was born in J591, and bred at Oxford. In 1633. he
I i publishett
P O V [ 2i
Polt'-r publialied his 11 Answer to a lale Popish Plots” ontitleh
\\ Charity mistaken, which he wrote by special order ot
Poverty. Kimv Charles T. whose chaplain he was. In 1634, ne
 was promoted to the deanery of Worcester; and, in
1640, was constituted vice-chancellor of the university
of Oxford, in the execution of which office he met with
some trouble from the members of the long parliament.
Upon the breaking out of the civil wars, he sent a! his
plate to the king, declaring, “ that he would rather,
like Diogenes, drink in the hollow of his hand, than
that his majesty should wantand he afterwards suf¬
fered much for the royal cause. In consideration of this
he was nominated to Hie deanery of Durham in 1646,
but was prevented from being installed by his death,
which happened about two months alter. He was a
person learned and religious, exemplary in his conversa¬
tion, courteous in his carriage, ot a sweet and obliging
nature, and of a comely presence. He was remark¬
able in his charity to the poor.
POTTER, Dr John, archbishop of Canterbury, was
the son of a linen draper at Wakefield in Yorkshire,
where he was born about tbe year 1674. He studied
at University college, Oxford ; and at 19 published A «-
riantes Icctiones ct noire ad Plutarchi librum de audien-
dis poet is ; et ad Basilii magni orationcm ad juvenes,
quomodo cum fructu legere possint^ Grrecorum hbros,
8vo, 1693. In 1697, came out his edition of Lyco-
phron, in folio -, which is reckoned the best of that ob¬
scure writer: soon after, he published his antiquities of
Greece, 2 vols. 8vo. These works established his lite¬
rary reputation, and engaged him in a correspondence
with Grtevius and other learned foreigners. In 1706,
lie was made chaplain to the queen ; in I7I5’ bishop of
Oxford ; and in 17^7, he succeeded Archbishop Wake
in the see of Canterbury, which high station he support¬
ed with much dignity until his death in 1747- He was
a learned and exemplary churchman but not of an
amiable disposition, being but too strongly tinctured
with the pride of office nor is it to his credit that he
disinherited his eldest son for marrying below his rank
in life. His “ Theological works, containing sermons,
charges, discourses on church-government, and divinity
jec' iires,” were printed at Oxford, in 3 vols. 8vo, 1753-
POTTERY, the manufacture of earthen-ware, or
the art of making earthen vessels. See Delft-U are,
and Porcelain.
POTTLE, an English measure containing two
quarts
POVERTY signifies indigence or wrant of riches,
and has been the lot of a large portion ot men in every
age. Whether, on the whole, it has been productive
of good or had consequences, has been disputed. In a
moral view, perhaps it has been, on the uhole, useful,
as adversity is in general more conducive to virtue than
prosperity, which too often leads to luxury and vice.—
Sometimes, however, poverty has had a baneful effect
upon the mind, and has prompted men to commit very
inhuman actions ; hut this in civilized communities very
seldom occurs. In a political view, poverty is thought
by some to be burtful : Raynal thinks it is a check to
population (see his History, vol. vi. p. 471-) i and Dr
Smith so far agrees with him -, for though he asserts,
and indeed proves, that poverty is no check to the pro¬
duction of children, he allows it to be very unfavour¬
able. to raising them. See Political Economy ; and
o ] P O U
also Smith’s Wealth of Nations, vol. i. p. H9> &c* Poverty
See also Poor. . . p ^
POULADUFF, two large and remarkable cavities, , rouU(
about a mile west of Ros4s, in the county of Cork, and
province of Munster, in Ireland, 80 yards deep, in
which the sea flows by subterraneous passages. They
are called East and W est Pouluduff.
POULES or Foulques, one of the chief nations
on the banks of the Senegal. Their country extends
more than 180 miles along the river, and they demand
exorbitant customs from the Senegal traders with the
interior of the country. They are of a copper colour,
somewhat inclining to red, although their children,
who reside for some years at Senegal, become much
blacker. Their females are handsome, and many of
them are procured by the white people of Senegal.
They are, however, incapable of attachment, and then-
dispositions are bad, requiring to be narrowly watched
to prevent their infidelity : The dread ol the bastinado
will often effect what attention and compliance can ne¬
ver bring about.
Although the Poules inhabit one of the finest spots in
Africa, they are nevertheless a wretched people -, they
are base, cruel, thievish, and fanatic in the. extreme.
They are commanded by a chief of their religion, which
is a contemptible mixture ol Mahometanism anu idola¬
try. This chief is called the Almamy; he is always
chosen from among the tampsirs, who are 12 in number.
The tampsirs are the interpreters of the law, and are the
most learned, or rather the most fanatical among them.
The almamy has the power of life and death over his
subjects ; yet he may be deposed by an assembly of
tampsirs : it is therefore his interest to keep on good
terms with them. The payment of customs is made to
the almamy, and is afterwards distributed among the
tampsirs ; and although a part belongs to the former,
he nevertheless requires a separate present for himself.
POULTICE, a sort of medicine, called also a ca/a-
plasm. See Cataplasma.
POULTRY, all kinds of domestic birds brought up
in yards, as cocks, hens, capons, ducks, turkeys, &c.
Almost, if not all the domestic birds of the poultry
kind that we maintain in our yards are of foreign ex¬
traction : hut there are others to he ranked in this class
that are as yet in a state^ of nature, and perhaps only
wait till they become sufficiently scarce to be taken un¬
der the care of man to multiply their propagation. It
will appear remarkable enough, if we consider how
much the tame poultry which we have imported from
distant climates has increased, and how much those
wild birds of the poultry kind that have never yet been
taken into keeping have been diminished and destroy¬
ed. They are all thinned ; and many of the species,
especially in the more cultivated and populous parts of
the kingdom, are utterly unseen.
Under birds of the poultry kind may he ranked all
those that have white llesh, and, comparatively to their
heads and limbs, have bulky bodies. Iney are furnish¬
ed with short strong hills for picking up grain, which is
their chief and often their onl y sustenance. Their wings,
are short and concave -, for which reason they are not
able to fly far. They lay a great many eygs *, and as
they lead their young abroad, the very day they are
hatched, in quest of food, which they are shown by
the mother, and which they pick up for themselves,
they
P O U [ :
nltry, tliey generally make their nests on the ground. The
toes of all these are united by a membrane as far as the
first articulation, and are then divided.
Under this class we may therefore render the com¬
mon cock, the peacock, the turkey, thepintada or Gui¬
nea hen, the pheasant, the bustard, the grous, the par¬
tridge, and the quail. They all hear a strong simili¬
tude to each other, being equally granivorous, flesbv,
and delicate to the palate. They are among birds what
beasts of pasture are among quadrupeds, peaceable te¬
nants of the field, and shunning the thicker parts of the
forest, that abound with numerous animals who carry
on unceasing hostilities against them.
As nature has formed the rapacious class for war, so
she seems equally to have fitted these for peace, rest,
and society. Their wings are but short, so that they
are ill formed for wandering from one region to an¬
other : their bills are also short, and incapable of annoy¬
ing their opposers : their legs are strong indeed j but
their toes are made for scratching up their food, and
not for holding or tearing it. These are sufficient indi¬
cations of their harmless nature j while their bodies,
which are fat and fleshy, render them unwieldy travel¬
lers, and incapable of straying far from each other.
Accordingly, we find them chiefly in society: they
live -together : and though they may have their dis¬
putes, like all other animals, upon some occasions •,
yet, when kept in the same district, or fed in the
same yard, they learn the art of subordination and,
in proportion as each knows his strength, he seldom
tries a second time the combat where he has once been
worsted.
In this manner, all of this kind seem to lead an in¬
dolent voluptuous life. As they are furnished internal¬
ly with a very strong stomach, commonlr called a g/xs-
%ard, so their voraciousness scarce knows any bounds.
If kept in close captivity, and separated from all their
former companions, they have still the pleasure of eat¬
ing left j and they soon grow fat and unwieldy in their
prison. To say this more simply, many of the wilder
species of birds, when cooped or caged, pine away, grow
gloomy, and some refuse all sustenance whatever ; none
except those of the poultry kind grow fat, who seem to
lose all remembrance of their former liberty, satisfied
with indolence and plenty.
The following method of raising poultry has been
successfully practised by Mrs d’Oyley of Sion Hill near
Northallerton, and seems worthy of being noticed. We
shall extract the account of it, as it was given to the So¬
ciety for the Encouragement of Arts, &c. in her own
words, “ I keep,” says she, “ a large stock of poultry,
which are regularly fed in a morning upon steamed po¬
tatoes chopped small, and at noon they have barley;
they are in high condition, tractable, and lay a very
great quantity of eggs. Jn the poultry-yard is a small
building, similar to a pigeon cote, for the hens to lay in,
with frames covered with net to slide before each nest:
the house is dry, light, and well ventilated, kept free
from dirt by having the nests and w'alls white-washed
two or three times a-year, and the floor covered once a-
week with fresh ashes. When I wish to procure chick¬
ens, I take the opportunity of setting many hens toge¬
ther, confining each to her respective nest; a hoy at¬
tends morning and evening to let any oft' that appear
i’estless, and to see that they return to their proper
>5t ] P O U
places : when they hatch, the chickens are taken away, Poultry,
and a second lot of eggs allowed them to set again, by  v—
which means they produce as numerous a brood as be¬
fore. I put the chickens into long wicker cages, placed
against a hot wall at the back of the kitchen lire, and
within them have artificial mothers for the chickens to
run under; they are made similar to those described by
M. Reaumur, in his Art defaire eclorre ct d'elever cu
tontes Saisons dcs Oiseaux domesiiques de toutes Especcs,
&c. in two volumes, printed at Paris, 1751 : 'they ate
made of boards about 10 inches broad, and 15 inches
long, supported by two feet in the front four inches in
height, and by a board at the back two inches in
height. The roof and back are lined with lambs skins
dressed with the wool upon them. The roof is thickly
perforated with holes tor the heated air to escape; they
are formed without bottoms, and have a flanael curtain
in front and at the ends for the chickens to run under,
which they do apparently by instinct. The cages are
kept perfectly dry and clean with sand or moss. The
above is a proper size for 50 or 60 new hatched chick¬
ens, but as they increase in size they of course require
a larger mother. When they are a week old, and the
weather fine, tiie hoy carries them and their artificial
mother to the grass-plot, nourishes and keeps them warm,
by placing a long narrow tin vessel filled with hot water
at the back of the mother, which will retain its heat for
three hours, and is then renewed fresh from the steamer.
In the evening they are driven into their cages, and re¬
sume their station at the hot wall, till they are nearly
three weeks old, and able to go into a small room ap¬
propriated to that purpose. The room is furnished with
frames similar to the aitificial mothers, placed round the.
floor, and with perches conveniently arranged for them
to roost upon.
“ W hen I first attempted to bring up poultry in the
above way, I lost immense numbers by too great heat
and suffocation, owing to the x'oofs of the mothers not
being sufficiently ventilated; and when that evil was
remedied, I had another serious one to encounter : I
found chickens brought up in this way did not thrive
upon the food I gave them, and many of them died, till
I thought of getting coarse barley-meal, and steaming it
till quite soft; the boy feeds them with this and minced
potatoes alternately ; he is also employed rolling up pel¬
lets of dough, made of coarse wheat flour, which he
throws to excite them to eat, thereby causing them to
growr surprisingly.
“ I was making the above experiments in the summer
for about two months ; and during that time my hens
produced me upwards of 50O chickens, 400 of which I
reared fit for the table or market. I used a great manv
made into pies for the family, and found them cheaper'
than butcher’s meat. Were 1 situated in the neighbour¬
hood of London, or any very populous place, I am con¬
fident I could make an immense profit, by rearing dif¬
ferent kinds of poultry in the abovo method for the mar¬
kets, and selling them cn an average at the price of but¬
cher’s meat.
“ A young person of 12 or 14 years of age might
bring up in a season some thousands, and by adoptimr u
fence similar to the improved sheep-fold, almost any
number might be cheaply reared, and with little trouble.
Hens kept as mine are, and having the same convenicu-.
ces, will readily set four times a season, and by setting
I i 2 \ twice
p o u [
, fw;re pad, time, they would produce at the lowest cal-
Fmjtry culation eighty chickens each, which would soon make
Poundage them very plentiful. . , ,, ,,
1 “ The most convenient size of an artificial mother,
continues the author, “ for 40 or 50 young cluckens is
ahout T ? inches long, 10 deep, lour high in front, and
two at the back •, it is placed in a long wicker cage against
a warm wall, the heat at ahout 80 degrees! a lire nheits
thermometer, till the chickens are a few days old, and
used to the comfort of it, after which time they run un¬
der when th(‘y want rest, and acquire warmth by crow -
imf together. I find it advisable to have two or three
chic kirns among them of about a week old to teach them
to peck and eat. The meat and water is given them in
small troughs fixi d to the outside ol the cage, and a little
is strewed along from the artificial mother, as a train to
the main deposit. It would have given me great plea¬
sure to have been able to send a specimen ot my superior
feed and management, if the season had been rather
more advanced, for I think it is not possible for turkeys
and chickens to weigh heavier, be whiter, or altogether
better fed than mine are.
“ After a certain age, they are allowed then liber¬
ty, living chiefly on steamed potatoes } and being si¬
tuated tolerably secure from the depredations ot men
and foxes, are permitted to roost in trees near the
“ To prevent trouble and prejudice in the first outset,
I think it necessary to remark, that it the chickens do
not readily run after the artificial mother for want ot
some educated ones to teach them, it will be proper
to have the curtain in front made of rabbit or haie
skin, with the fur side outwards, for the warmth
and comfort to attract them j afterwards they run
under the flannel ones, similar to the one I sent, which
are preferable for common use, on account of clean 1-
ness, and not being liable to get into the mouths ot the
'frans. ©/“chickens i t. i
the Society, POUNCE, gum sandarach pounded and sifted very
fine, to rub on paper, in order to preserve it from sink¬
ing, and to make it more fit to write upon.
Pounce, is also a little heap ot charcoal dust, in¬
closed in a piece of muslin or some other open stuff, to
be passed over holes pricked in a work, in order to mark
the lines or designs thereof on paper, silk, &c. placed
underneath j which are to be afterwards finished with
a pen and ink, a needle, or the like. 1 Ins kind ot
pounce is much used by embroiderers, to transfer their
patterns upon stuffs* by lace-makers, and sometimes al¬
so by engravers. f ,
Pounces, in falconry, the talons or claws ot a bud
of prey. . ,
POUND, a standard-weight * for the proportion and
subdivisions of which, see the article Weight.
Pound also denotes a money of account* so called,
because the ancient pound of silver weighed a pound
Pound, among lawyers, denotes a place of strength,
in which to keep cattle that are distrained or put in for
trespass, until they are replevied or redeemed.
POUNDAGE, a subsidy of lid. in the pound,
granted to the crown on all goods and merchandises
exported or imported * and if by aliens, one penny
more.
&c. for
>1307.
2 ] P O U
POUPtPHESTURE, in Law, is a wrongful inclo¬
sure, or incroacbment upon another person’s property.
POURSUIVANT, or Pursuivant, in Heraldry,
the lowest order of officers at arms.—They are proper¬
ly attendants on the heralds when they marshal pubhn
ceremonies. Of these in England there were formerly
many ; but at present there are only four, viz. blue-
mantle, rouge-cross, rouge-dragon, and port-cullice. In
Scotland there is only one king at arms, who is staled
Lyon; and has under him no less than six heralds, as
many pursuivants, and a great many messengers at
arms. See Lyon. . r ,,
POURVEYANCE, or Purveyance, in Law, the
providing corn, fuel, victuals, &c. for the king’s house¬
hold 5 and hence the officer who did so was termed
pourveyor. As several offences were committed by these
officers, it was enacted by stat. 12. Car. IL that no
person, under colour of pourveyance, shall take any
timber, cattle, corn, &c. from any subject without his
free consent, or without a just appraisement and paying
for the same . .
POUSSIN, Nicholas, an eminent Irench painter,
horn in 1594, at Andel, a little city in Normandy,
where his father was of noble extraction, but born to a
small estate. He was instructed for a few months by
one Ferdinand Elle, a portrait-painter, and afterwards
spent a month with L’Ailemant * but finding these ar¬
tists not likely to improve him suitably to his desires
he first studied the paintings of the best masters, and
then hastened to finish a few pieces he was engaged in,
and travelled to Italy. Here he devoted almost his
whole attention to the study of antique statues and bas
reliefs * which was probably the cause of his want ci
knowledge in, and taste for, the art of' colouring. Le-
ing invited back to Paris by Louis XIII. who assign¬
ed him a pension with lodgings in the Thuillenes, he
painted for Prince Justiniani an historical picture re¬
presenting Herod’s cruelty * an admirable composition,
in which he gave such expresion to every character, as
could not fail to strike the behold-1 with terror and
pity: he then laboured for several years on the cele¬
brated pictures of the seven sacraments ol the Romish
church. But none of Poussin’s designs have been more
generally admired than that of the death of Germa-
nicus * which would have gained him immortal honour
if he had never painted another picture. He began the
labours of Hercules in the gallery of the Louvre * but
tbe faction ofVouet’s school railing at him and Ins
performances, put him so out of humour with his own
country, that he returned to Rome, where he died in
1665/ He never went beyond easel-pieces, for which
he had a perpetual demand, and his method was to fix
the price he expected on the back of the canvas, which
was readily paid.
Poussin, Gaspar. This painter, whose real name
was Duohet, was born at Paris in l6uO, and was in¬
duced to travel to Rome, not only from a love to the
art of painting, but also to visit his sister, who was mar¬
ried to Nicholas Poussin. Sandi at says that Caspar was
employed at first only to prepare the pallet, pencils, and
colours, for Nicholas * but by the precepts and example
of that excellent master, gradually rose to the highest re¬
putation, and is undoubtedly one ot the best landscape -
painters that ever appeared. It is generally thought that
Pourprex
ture
POW [ 253 1 P R A
Mssift 110 painter ever studied natui’e to better purpose, or re-
|{ presented the effects of land-storms more happily, than
r* Caspar ; all his trees show a natural degree of agitation,
“every leaf being in motion ; his scenes are beautifully
chosen, as are the sites of his buildings. He designed
human figures but very indifferently j for which reason
he frequently prevailed on Nicholas to paint them for
him ; and they were always introduced with the utmost
propriety. W hile he continued at Home he dropped his
own name, and assumed that of his brother-in-law and
benefactor, by which only he is now known. He died
in 1662.
POWDER, in Pharmacy, a dry medicine well bro¬
ken, either in a mortar by grinding or by some chemi¬
cal operation.
Gim-PolVDER. See Gunpowder. See also Obser¬
vations on Gunpowder in the Irish Transactions 1788,
p. 97. class Science, by Mr Napier.
PowDER-Ckests, certain small boxes charged with
powder and a quantity of old nails or splinters of iron,
and fastened occasionally on the deck and sides of a
ship, in order to be discharged on an enemy who at¬
tempts to seize her by boarding. These cases are usu¬
ally from 12 to 18 inches in length, and about eight
or ten in breadth, having their outer or upper part ter¬
minating in an edge. They are nailed to several places
of the quarter-deck and bulk head of the waist, having
a train of powder, which communicates with the inner
apartments of the ship, so as to he fired at pleasure to
annoy the enemy. They are particularly used in mer¬
chant-ships which are furnished with close quarters to
oppose the boarders.
Powder-Magazine, a bomb-proof arched building,
to contain powder in fortified places.
Powder for the Hair. The best sort is starch well
pounded and sifted, and generally prepared with some
perfume.
James's Powder. See James's Powder. In the
Philosophical Transactions for 1791, p. 217. there is
a paper by Dr Pearson, containing experiments and ob¬
servations on James’s powder. Dr Pearson says, it was
originally a patent medicine ; but it is well known that
it cannot be prepared by following the directions of the
specification in the court of chancery. His observations
and experiments, therefore, he thinks, may explain the
nature and manner of preparing this medicine, and per¬
haps may extend the history of antimony. The result
of the whole, in Dr Pearson’s own words, is as follows :
I. James’s powder consists of phosphoric acid, lime,
and antimonial calx j with a minute quantity of calx of
iron, which is considered to be an accidental substance.
2. Either these three essential ingredients are united
with each other, forming a triple compound, or phospho¬
rated lime is combined with the antimonial calx, compo¬
sing a double compound in the proportion of about 57
parts of calx and 43 parts of phosphorated lime. 3. This
antimonial calx is difi’erent from any other known calx .
of antimony in several of its chemical qualities. About
three-fourths of it are soluble in marine acid, and afford
Algaroth powder, and the remainder is not soluble in
this menstruum, and is apparently vitrified. It also ap¬
pears, that by calcining together bone-ashes, that is,
phosphorated lime and antimony in a certain propor¬
tion, and afterwards exposing the mixture 10 a white
beat, a compound was formed, consisting of antimonial
calx, and phosphorated lime in the same proportion, powder
and possessing the same kind of chemical properties as ||
James’s powder. Practice.
POWDIKE, in the fens of Norfolk and Ely. By ' * '
stat. 22 Hen. VIII. c. 1 r. perversely to cut down and
destroy the powdike in the fens of Noifolk and Ely is fe-"
lony. See Blackstone's Commentaries, vol. iv. p. 243.
POWER, has been defined the faculty of doing or
suffering any thing. Power, therefore, fiTtwo-fold, viz.
considered as able to make, or able to receive, anv
change j the former whereof may he called active, and
the latter passive,power: but this distinction is impro¬
per. See Metaphysics, N° 116.
Power, in Mechanics, denotes any force, whether of
a man, a horse, a spring, the wind, water, &c. which,
being applied to a machine, tends to produce motion.
Power, in Law, signifies in general a particular au¬
thority granted by any person to another to represent
him, or to act in his stead.
POWERS, in Arithmetic and Algebra, are nothing
hut the products arising from the continual multiplica¬
tions of a number or quantity into itself. See Alge¬
bra and Arithmetic.
POX, French-Pox, or Lues Venerea. See Medi¬
cine, N° 3 50.
Small Pox. See Inoculation, and Medicine,
N° 222—226.
POYNING’s LAWr, an act of parliament made in
Ireland under Henry VIE whereby all the statutes of
force in England were made offeree in Ireland ; which
before that time they were not.—Nor are any now in
force there made in England since that time.
The law took its name from Sir Edward Poyning,
lord-lieutenant of that kingdom at the time of its ma¬
king. See Ireland, N° 46.
POZZOLANA. See Puzzolana.
PRACTICE, in Arithmetic. See there, N° 16.
&c.
G?/«-P^cr/CE, in military education. In thespring,
as soon as the weather permits, the exercise of the great
guns begins, with an intention to show the gentlemen
cadets at the royal military academy at Woolwich, and
private men, the manner of laying, loading, pointing,
and firing the guns. Sometimes instruments are used
to find the centre line, or two points, one at the breech,
the other at the muzzle, which are marked with chalk,
and whereby the piece is directed to the target: then
a quadrant is put into the mouth to give the gun the
required elevation, which at first is guessed at, accord¬
ing to the distance the target is from the piece. V hen
the piece has been fired, it is sponged to clear it from
any dust or sparks of fire that might remain in the
bore, and loaded: then the centre line is found as be¬
fore } and if the shot went too high or too low, to the
right or to the left, the elevation and trail are altered
accordingly. This practice continues morning and
evening for about six weeks, more or less according as
there are a greater or less number of recruits. In the
mean time others are shown the motions of quick-firing
with field-pieces.
Mortar-Practice, generally thus. A line of 1500
or 2000 yard>> is measured in an open spot of ground
from the place where the mortars stand, and a flag fix¬
ed at about 300 or 500 yards : this being done, the
ground where the mortars are to be placed is prepared
and
p ir m [ 23
and levelled with sand, so that they may lie at an ele¬
vation of 45 degrees; then they are loaded, with a
small quantity of powder at first, which is increased
afterwards hy an ounce every time, till they are load¬
ed with a full charge ; the times of the flights of the
shells are observed, to determine the length ol the fuzes.
The intention of this practice is, when a mortar bat¬
tery is raised in a siege, to know what quantity of
powder is required to throw the shells into the works
at a given distance, and to cut the fuzes ol a just
length, that the shell may burst as soon as it touches tue
ground.
~ PRAEMUNIRE, in Law, is taken either for a writ
so called, or for the ofi’cnce whereon the writ is grant¬
ed ; the one may be understood by the other.— 1 he
church of Rome, under pretence of her supremacy
and the dignity of St Peter’s chair, took on her to be¬
stow most of the ecclesiastical livings of any woith in
England, by mandates, before they were void ; pre¬
tending therein great care to see the church provided
of a successor before it needed. Whence these man¬
dates or bulls were called gratia e.rpectativa, gyprovi¬
sion cs ; w hereof see a learned discourse in Duarenus de
bemjiciis, lih. iii. cap. I. These provisions were so
common, that at last Edward 1. not digesting so intole¬
rable an encroachment, in the 35th year of his reign
made astatute against papal provisions,which,according
to Sir Edward Coke, is the foundation of all the subse¬
quent statutes of praemunire : which is ranked as an ef-
fence immediately against the king, because every en¬
couragement of the papal power is a diminution of the
authority of the crown.
In the weak reign of Edward II. the pope again
endeavoured to enroach, but the parliament manfully
withstood him ; and it was one of the articles charged
against that unhappy prince, that he had given allow¬
ance to the hulls of the see of Rome. But Edw. III.
was of a temper extremely different ; and, to remedy
these inconveniences, first, by gentle means, he and bis
nobility wrote an expostulation to the pope : but re¬
ceiving a menacing and contemptuous answrer, withal
acquainting him, that the emperor (who a few years
before at the diet of Nuremberg, A. 13. 1323, had
established a law against provisions), and also the king
of France, had lately submitted to the holy see ; the
king replied, that if both the emperor and the French
king should take the pope’s part, he was ready to give
battle to them both, in defence of the liberties of the
crown. Hereupon more sharp and penal laws were
devised against provisors, which enact severally, that
the court of Rome shall present or collate to no bishop¬
ric or living in England ; and that whoever disturbs
any patron in the presentation to a living by virtue of
a papal provision, such provisor shall pay fine and ran¬
som to the king at his will, and be imprisoned till he
renounces such provision ; and the same punishment ia
inflicted on such as cite the king, or any of his sub¬
jects, to answer in the court of Rome. And when the
holy see resented these proceedings, and Pope Urban V.
attempted to revive the vassalage and annualrent to
which King John had subjected his kingdom, it was
junanimously agreed by all the estates of the realm in
parliament assembled, 40 Edw. III. that King John’s
donation was null and void, being without the concur-
xence of parliament, and contrary to his coronation-oath ;
4 ] PR
and ail the temporal nobility and commons engaged, pr
that if the pope should endeavour by process or other¬
wise to maintain these usurpations, they would resist and
withstand him with all their power.
In the reign of Richard II. it was found necessary
to sharpen and strengthen these laws, and therefore it
was enacted by statutes 3 Ric. II. c. 3- and 7 Eic. II#
c. 1 2. first, that no alien shall be capable of letting his
benefice to farm ; in order to compel such as had crept
in, at least to reside on their preterments: and after¬
wards, that no alien should be capable to be presented
to any ecclesiastical preferment, under the penalty of
the statutes of provisors. By the statute 12 Ric. IT.
c. 15. all liegemen of the king accepting of a living by
any foreign provision, are put out of the king’s protec¬
tion, and the benefice made void. 'Io which the sta¬
tute 13 Ric. IE st. 2. c. 2. adds banishment and forfei¬
ture of lands and goods : and by c. 3. of the same sta¬
tute, any person bringing over any citation or excom¬
munication from beyond sea, on account of the execu¬
tion of the foregoing statutes of provisors, shall be im¬
prisoned ; forfeit his goods and lands, and moreover suf¬
fer pain of life and member.
In the writ for the execution of all these statutes, the
words preemumre facias being used to command a
citation of the party, h*ve denominated in common
speech, not only the writ, but the offence itself of main¬
taining the papal power, by the name of pramunire.
And, accordingly, the next statute we shall mention,
which is generally referred to by all subse,quent statutes,
is qsually called \\w statute ofpreemunire. It is the sta¬
tute 16 Richard II. c. 5. which enacts, that whoever
procures at Rome, or elsewhere, any translations, pro¬
cesses, excommunications, bulls, instruments, or other
tilings which touch the king, against him, his crowm,
and realm, and all persons aiding and assisting therein,
shall lie put out of the king’s protection, their lands and
goods forfeited to the king’s use, and they shall be at¬
tached by their bodies to answ’er to the king and his
council ; or process of preemunire facias shall be made
out against them as in other cases of provisois.
By the statute 2 Henry IV. c. 3. all persons who ac¬
cept any provision from the pope, to be exempt from
canonical obedience to their proper ordinary, are also
subjected to the penalties of praemunire. And this is
the last of our ancient statutes touching this offence ;
the usurped civil power of the bishop of Rome being
pretty w^ell broken down by these statutes, as bis usurp¬
ed religious power was in about a century afterwards:
the spirit of the nation being so much raised against
foreigners, that about this time, in the reign of Hen. V.
the alien priories, or abbeys for foreign monks, were sup¬
pressed, and their lands given to the crown. And no
farther attempts were afterwards made in supportof these
foreign jurisdictions.
This, then, is the original meaning of the offence
which we call preemunire; viz. introducing a foreign
power into this land, and creating imperium in wiperw,
by paying that obedience to papal process which con¬
stitutionally belonged to the king alone, long before
the Reformation in the reign of Henry \ HI. at which
time the penalties of praemunire were indeed extended
to more papal abuses than before; as the kingdom then
entirely renounced the authority of the see of Rome,
though not at all the corrupted doctrines of the Roman
church.
P R [ :
.cliurch. And therefore, by the several statutes of 24
Hen. VI! f. c. 12. and 25 Hen. \ [LI. c. 19. & 21. to
appeal to Rome from any of the king’s courts, which
(though illegal before) had at times been connived at ,
to sue to Rome for any license or dispensation, or to
obey any process from thence, are made liable to the
pains ot praemunire. And, in order to restore to the
king in edect the nomination of vacant bishoprics, and
yet keep up the established forms, it is enacted by sta¬
tute 25 Hen. V!II. c. 20. that if the dean and chapter
refuse to elect the person named by the king, or any
archbishop or bishop to confirm or consecrate him, they
shall fall within the penalties of the statutes of praemu¬
nire. ARo by statute 5 Eliz. c. I. to refuse the oath
of supremacy will incur the pains of praemunire 5 and to
defend the pope’s jurisdiction in this realm, is a praemu¬
nire for the first offence, and high treason for the se¬
cond. So, too, by statute 13 Eliz. c. 2. to import any
agnus Di i, crosses, beads, or other superstitious things
pretended to be hallowed by the bishop of Rome, and
tender the same to be used j or to receive the same
with sucli intent, and not discover the offender; or if a
justice of the peace, knowing thereof, shall not within
14 days declare it to a privy-counsellor, they all incur a
praemunire. But importing or selling mass-books, or
other Popish books, is by stat. 3 Jac. I. c. 5. § 25. only
liable to a penalty of 403. Lastly, to contribute to the
maintenance of a Jesuit’s college, or any Popish semina¬
ry whatever beyond sea, or any person in the same, or
to contribute to the maintenance of any Jesuit or Popish
priest in England, is by statute 37 Eliz. c. 2. made lia¬
ble to the penalties of praemunire.
Thus far the penalties of praemunire seem to have
kept within the proper bounds of their original institu¬
tion, the depressing the power of the pope : but they
being pains of no considerable consequence, it lias been
thought fit to apply the same to other heinous olfences;
some of which bear more, and some less, relation to this
original offence, and some no relation at all.
Thus, 1. By the statute I and 2 Ph. and Mar. c. 8. to
molest the possessors of abbey-lands granted by parlia¬
ment to Henry VIII. and Edward VI. is a praemunire.
2. So likewise is the offence of acting as a broker or
agent in any usurious contract where above 10 per cent,
interest is taken, by statute 13 Eliz. c. 10. 3. To ob¬
tain any stay of proceedings, other than by arrest of
judgment or writ of error, in any suit for a monopoly,
is likewise a praemunire, by stat. 21 Jac I. c. 3. 4. To
obtain an exclusive patent for the sole making or impor¬
tation of gunpowder or arms, or to hinder others from
importing them, is also a praemunire by two statutes ;
the one 16 Car. I. c. 21. the other 1 Jac. II. c. 8.
5. On the abolition, by stat. 12 Car, II. c. 24. of pur¬
veyance, and the prerogative of pre-emption, or taking
any victual, beasts, or goods for the king’s use, at a
stated price, without consent of the proprietor, the ex¬
ertion of any such power for the future was declared to
incur the penalties of praemunire. 6. To assert, mali¬
ciously and advisedly, by speaking or writing, that both
or either house ol parliament have a legislative authority
without the king, is declared a praemunire by statute 13
Car. II. c. 1. 7 By the habeas corpus act also, 31
Car. ll, c. 2. it is a praemunire, and incapable of the
king’s pardon, besides other heavy penalties, to send any
subject ol this realm a prisoner into parts beyond the
55 ] P R
seas. 8. By the statute 1 W. & M. st. x. c. 8. persons
of 18 years of age refusing to take the new oaths of al¬
legiance as well as supremacy, upon tender by the pro¬
per magistrate, are subject to the penalties of a praemu¬
nire ; and by statutes 7 & 8 W. III. c. 24. Serjeants,
counsellors, proctors, attorneys, and all officers of courts,
practising without having taken the oaths of allegiance
and supremacy, and subscribed the declaration against
popery, are guilty of a praemunire whether the oaths he
tendered or not. 9. Bv the statute 6 Ann. c. 7. to as¬
sert maliciously and directly, by preaching, teaching, or
ad vised speaking, that the then pretended prince of
Wales, or any person other than according to the acts
of settlement and union, hath any right to the throne
of these kingdoms, or that the king and parliament can¬
not make laws to limit the descent of the crown ; such
preaching, teaching, or advised speaking, is a praemu¬
nire : as writing, printing, or publishing the same doc¬
trines amounted, we may remember, to high treason.
10. By statute 6 Ann. c. 23. if the assembly of peers of
Scotland, convened to elect their 16 representatives in
the British parliament, shall presume to treat of any other
matter save only the election, they incur the penalties
of a praemunire. ] 1. The stat. 6 Geo.I. c.,18. (enact¬
ed in the year after the infamous South Sea project
had beggared half the nation) makes all unwarrant¬
able undertakings by unlawful subscriptions, then com¬
monly known by the name of bubbles, subject to the
penalties of a praemunire. 12. The stat. 12 Geo. III.
c. 11. subjects to the penalties of the statute of praemu¬
nire all such as knowingly and wilfully solemnize, assist,
or are present at, any forbidden marriage of such of the
descendants of the body of King Geo. II. as are by that
act prohibited to contract matrimony without the con¬
sent of the crown.
Having thus inquired into the nature and several spe¬
cies ol praemunire, its punishment may he gathered from
the foregoing statutes, which are thus shortly summed
up by Sir Edward Coke : “ That, from the conviction,
the defendant shall be out of the king’s protection, and
his lands and tenements, goods and chattels, forfeited to
the king ; and that his body shall remain in prison at
the king’s pleasure, or (as other authorities have it)
during life ; both which amount to the same thing, as
the king by his prerogative may at any time remit the
whole, or any part of the punishment, except in the case>
of transgressing the statute of habeas corpus. These for¬
feitures here inflicted do not (by the way) bring this
offence within our former definition of Felony ; being
inflicted by particular statutes, and not by the common
law.” But so odious, Sir Edward Coke adds, was this
offence of praemunire, that a man that was attainted of
the same, might have been slain by any other man with¬
out danger of law; because it was provided by law,,
that any man might do to him as to the king’s enemy ;
and any man may lawfully kill an enemy. However,
the position itself, that it is at any time lawful to kill
an enemy, is bv no means tenable : it is only lawful, by
the law of nature and nations, to kill him in the heat
of battle, or for necessary self-defence. And to obviate
such savage and mistaken notions, the statute 5 Eliz.
c. 1. provides, that it shall not be lawful to kill any
person attainted in a praemunire, any law, statute, opi¬
nion, or exposition of law to the contrary notwithstand-,
ing. But still such delinquent, though protected as a
pifvt r.
Praemunire
II
Prague
P R A I 25
part of the public from public wrongs, can bring no ac¬
tion for any private injury, bow atrocious soever ; e-
ing so far out of the protection ot the law, that it will
not guard his civil rights, nor remedy any grievance
which he as an individual may suffer. And no man,
knowing him to be guilty, can with safety give him
comfort, aid, or relief.
PRiENESTE, in Ancient Geography, a town ot Ea-
tium, to the south-east of Rome, towards the territory
of the /Equi } a place of great strength. Famous for
the temple and oracle of Fortune, called Sortes Prcenes-
tince (Strabo) which Tiberius wanted to destroy, but
was deterred by the awful majesty of the place.. From
a colony it was raised to a municipium by Tiberius (In¬
scriptions, Florus, A. Gellius), on the consideration of
his recovery from a dangerous illness near this place.
Thither the Roman emperors usually retired, on account
of the agreeableness of the situation (Suetonius). It
was 1 very ancient city, with a territory of large extent
(Livy). The temple of Fortune was built in the most
sumptuous manner by Sylla, and the pavement was mo¬
saic work (Pliny). Concerning the Sortes, there is a
remarkable passage in Cicero } who says that it was all
a mere contrivance, in order to deceive, either for the
purposes of gain or superstition. T he town that has
succeeded it stands low in a valley, and is called Pales¬
trina, in the Campania of Rome. E. Long. 13* 30,
Lat. 42. o.
PRiESIDIUM (Notitia), a town of the Cornavn m
Britain. Now thought to be Warwick (Camden).—
Another of Corsica (Antonine), 30 miles to the south
of Aleria.—A third Presidium surnamcd Julium, in
Baetica (Pliny).
PR/ETORIA AUGUSTA (Ptolemy), a town of Da¬
cia. Now called Prassow by the natives, and Cronstat
by the Germans (Baudrand) : a town of 1 ransylvania.
E. Long. 250. N. Lat. 470.—Another of the Salassii,
near the two gates or defiles of the Alps, the Grajae and
Penninae (Pliny) ; a Roman colony settled by Augus¬
tus after the defeat of the Salassii by lerentius \arro,
on the spot where he encamped (Strabo, Dio Cassius,
Ptolemy), situated on the river Duria Major. ’Ihe
town is now called Aosta or Aoust, in Piedmont. E.
Long. 7. 14. N. Lat. 45. 19.
PRyETORIUM (Antonine, Notitia Imperii), a
town of the Brigantes. Now Paterington (Camden),
near the mouth of the Humber in Yorkshire. Coventry
(Talbot).
PRAGMATIC SANCTION, in the civil law, is de¬
fined by Hottoman to be a rescript or answer of the
sovereign, delivered by advice of his council, to some
college, order, or body of people, upon consulting him
on some case of their community. The like answer given
to any particular person is called simply rescript.
The term pragmatic sanction is chiefly applied to a
settlement of Charles VI, emperor of Germany, who,
in the year 1722, having no sons, settled his hereditary
dominions on his eldest daughter the archduchess Maria
Theresa, which was confirmed by the diet ot the em¬
pire, and guaranteed by Great Britain, France, the
States-General, and most of the powers in Europe. The
word pragmatic is derived from the Greek Tr^uypoc, ne-
gotium, “ business.”—It is sometimes also called abso¬
lutely pragmatic, to Tr^aypxltKov.
PRAGUE, a city of Bohemia, and capital of the
6 ] P R A
whole kingdom, is situated in 140 40' of longitude* and pra^
50° 5' of latitude. It stands on both sides the Moldau,
over which there is a bridge 700 feet long, built of
large freestone. The river, though of great breadth
here, is nevertheless shallow, and not navigable. On
both sides of the bridge are several statues, and among
others that of St John of Nepomuck, whom King Wen-
sei caused to be thrown from the bridge into the river,
for venturing to reprove him upon some occasion j but
in 1720, he was canonized as a saint, and is at present
held in such veneration in Bohemia, that all other saints
seem on his account to be forgotten. Near the bridge,
which stands at the upper part of the city, the number
of people is very great, but the farther you go from
thence the more desolate you find every place. 'Die
city is about three miles long and two broad ; the num¬
ber of it'. Christian inhabitants is said to be 70,000,
and of Jews about 12,000. The principal branch of
its trade consists in brewing beer. It is divided into
the Old and the New Towns, and that called the Small
side ; the former lying on the east side of the Moldau,
and the latter on the west. The whole is about 12
miles in circumference. The fortifications are not of
great importance, as it may be flanked and raked on
all sides. However, the king of Prussia was not able
to make himself master of it in the late war, though
he almost destroyed it with his bombs, &c. See
Prussia, N° 24, &c.—It has suffered greatly, by
sieges, and has been often taken and plundered. Ihe
university was founded by Charles IV in the year 1347*
In 1409, when John Huss was rector of the unneisity,
there were no less than 44,000 students j and when the
emperor Charles V. would have retrenched then pii\i
leges, 24,000 are said to have left it in one week, and
16,000 in a short time after. The Jews have the
trade of this city almost entirely in their own hands.
They deal in all sorts of commodities, especially the pre¬
cious stones found in the Bohemian mines, and,, by re¬
ceiving all old-fashioned things in payment, quite ruin
the Christian handicraftsmen. In 1744, they narrowly
escaped being expelled the kingdom, having been sus¬
pected of corresponding with the Prussians, when they
made themselves masters ot the city. Ihe grand piior
of the order of Malta, for Bohemia, Moravia, and Siie-
sia, resides here ; and the church and hospital of the
Holy Ghost is the seat of the general and grand masters
of the holy order of knights of the cross with the red
star, residing in the above mentioned countnes, and in
Poland and Hungary. The houses of this city are all
built of stone, and generally consist of three stories ;
but there are very few good buildings in it, and almost
every thing looks dirty. I he cathedral, which is de¬
dicated to St Veit, is an old building, in which there
are some pieces of excellent architecture and many mag¬
nificent tombs of great men. There are 100 churches
and chapels, and about 40 cloisters in the place. On
Ratschin-hill, in Upper Prague, most of the nobility
have houses, and the emperor a very magnificent palace,
and a summer house commanding one ot the finest pro
spects in the world. Here the tribunals oi the regency
meet; and the halls, galleries, and other apartments,
are adorned with a multitude ot noble pictures. Ihe
great hall, where the coronation feast is kept, is said to
be the largest of the kind in Europe next to that ot
Westminster. The castle stands on the above-mention¬
ed
FRA
ague
II
itique
e<l mountain, called Ratschin or the White Mountain,
and is very strong. From a window of this castle the
emperor’s counsellors were thrown in 1618 ; but though
" they fell from a great height, yet they were not killed,
nor indeed much hurt. On the same mountain stands
also the archiepiscopal palace. In the New Town is an
arsenal, and a religious foundation for ladies, called the
Free Temporal English Foundation,over which an abbess
presides. In the Lesser Side or Town, the counts Col-
loredo and Wallenstein have very magnificent palaces
and gardens.. The stables of the latter are very grand ;
the racks being of steel and the mangers of marble, and
a marble pillar betwixt each horse j over each horse also
is placed his picture as big as life. Though the inha¬
bitants of Prague in general are poor, and their shops
but meanly furnished, yet, it is said, there are few cities
where the nobility and gentry are more wealthy, and
live in greater state. Here is much gaming, masquera-
diug, feasting, and very splendid public balls, with an
Italian opera, and assemblies in the houses of the quality
every night. On the White Mountain, near the town,
was fought the battle in which the Protestants, with
the elector Palatine I rederic their king, were defeated.
The lustres and drinking-glasses made here of Bohe¬
mian crystal are much esteemed, and vended ail over
Europe. These crystals are also polished by the Jews,
and set in rings, ear-pendants, and shirt-buttons. The
chief tribunal consists of twelve stadtholders, at the head
of whom is the great burgrave, governor of the kingdom
and city, immediately under the emperor, and the chan¬
cery of Bohemia. 1 hough the city of Prague is very
ill built, it is pleasantly situated, and some of the pro¬
spects are beautiful, and the gardens and pleasure-houses
are excellent. I he people, Riesbeck informs us, enjoy
sensual pleasures more than those of Vienna, because
they know better how to connect mental enjoyments
with them. The numerous garrison kept in the place
(9000 men) contributes much to its gaiety and liveli¬
ness.
PRAM, or Prame, a kind of lighter used in Hol¬
land and the ports of the Baltic sea, to carry the cargo
of a merchant ship along side, in order to lade or to
bring it to shore to be lodged in the storehouses after
being discharged out of the vessel.
Frame, in military affairs, a kind of floating bat¬
tery, being a flat-bottomed vessel, which draws little
water, mounts several guns, and is very useful in cover¬
ing the disembarkation of troops. They are generally
made use of in transporting troops over the lakes in
America.
PRASHJM, a genus of plants belonging to the di-
dynamia class, and in the natural method ranking under
the 42d order, V°riicillatce. See Botany Index.
PRAT IN AS, a Greek poet contemporary with yEs-
cbylus, born at Phlius, He was the first among the
Greeks who composed satires, which were represented
as farces. Of these 32 were acted, as also 18 of his
tragedies, one of which only v obtained the poetical
prize. Some of his verses are extant, quoted by Athe-
naeus. •
, PRATIQUE, or Prattic, in commerce, a nego-
ciation or communication of commerce which a mer¬
chant vessel obtains in the port it arrives in and the coun¬
tries it discovers : hence to obtain a pratique, is to ob-
Vol. XVII. Part I. f
t 257 ]
P R A
tain liberty to frequent a port, to go ashore, to buy and
sell, &c. ]
PRATT, Charles, earl of Camden, was the third
son of Sir John Pratt, knight, chief-justice of the court
of king’s-bench under George I. by his second wife
Elizabeth, daughter of the Reverend Hugh Wilson ca¬
non of Bangor, and was born in 1713, the year before
his father was called to the honour of the bench. He
received the first rudiments of his education at Eton,
and afterwards removed to King’s college Cambridge!
Of Ins early life at both places there is little known,
other than that at college he was found to be remarkably
diligent and studious, and particularly so in the history
and constitution of this country. By some he was
thought to be a little too tenacious of the rights and pri¬
vileges of the college he belonged to j but perhaps it was
to this early tendency that we are indebted for those
noble struggles in defence of liberty, which, whether in
or out of office, he displayed through the whole course
of his political life. After remaining the usual time at
college, and taking his master’s degree, in 1739 he en¬
tered himself a student of the Inner Temple, and was in
due time admitted by the honourable society as a barri¬
ster at law. And here a circumstance developes itself
in the history of this great man, which shows how much
chance governs in the affairs of this world, and that the
most considerable talent and indisputable integrity will
sometimes require the introduction of this mistress of
the ceremonies, in order to obtain that which they ought
to possess from their own intrinsic qualifications. °
Mr 1 ratt, after his being called to the bar, notwith¬
standing his family introduction, and his own personal
character, was very near nine years in the profession,
without ever getting in any degree farward. Whether
this arose from a natural timidity of constitution, ill-
luck, or perhaps a mixture of despondence growing out
of the two circumstances, it is now difficult to tell; but
the fact was so ; and he was so dispirited by it, that he
had some thoughts of relinquishing the profession of the
law, and retiring to his college, where, in rotation, he
might be sure of a church living, that would give him
a small but honourable independence. With these me¬
lancholy ideas he went as usual the western circuit, to
make one more experiment, and then to take bis final
determination. Mr Henley, afterwards Lord North-
ington and chancellor of England, was in the same cir¬
cuit : he was Mr Pratt’s most intimate friend $ and he
now availed himself of that friendship, and told him his
situation, and his intentions of retiring to the university
and going into the church. He opposed his intention
with strong raillery, and got him engaged in a cause
along with himself; and Mr Henley being ill, Mr
Pratt took the lead, and displayed a professional know¬
ledge and elocution that excited the admiration of his
brother barristers as much as that of the whole court.
He gained his cause ; and besides, he acquired the repu¬
tation of an eloquent, profound, and constitutional law¬
yer. It was this circumstance, together with the con¬
tinued good offices of his friend Henley, which led to
his future greatness; for with all bis abilities and all his
knowledge, he might otherwise in all probability have
passed his life in obscurity, unnoticed and unknown.
He became now one of the most successful pleaders at
the bar, and honours and emoluments flowed thick upon
K k him.
Piatique,
Pratt.
P R A [
him. He was chosen to represent the borough of Down-
ton, Wilts, after the general elect,on in i
"f !„ tn^r^rhi z
"ree^of serje’ant at law, appointed chief-justice of the
common pleas, and knighted. His lufdslnp prided
in that court with a dignity, weight, and ^
never exceeded by any of Ins predecessors , and when
John Wilkes, Esq. was seized and committed to the
Tower on an illegal general warrant, Ins lordship, wit
the intrepidity of a British magistrate, and the becoming
fort tu lePof an Englishman, granted him an habeas cor-
^ and on his being brought before the court of com¬
mon pleas, discharged him from his confinement m
Tower, May 6. 1763, ^ * sPeec l wluch ^ h‘m ^
nour. His wise and spirited behaviour on this remark,
able occasion, so interesting to every true-horn But on
and in the consequent judicial proceedings c ween
printers of The North Briton and the messengers and
others, was so acceptable to the nation, that the city of
London presented him with the freedom ot their corpo¬
ration in a gold box, and desired his picture, which was
put up in Guildhall, with this inscription :
58 ] p n a
dared himself against it, and strongly opposing it, was
removed from his station in i'j’jo- #
Upon the fall of Lord North he was again taken in¬
to the administration, and on the 27th ot March 1782
appointed president of the council j an office which he
resigned in March 1783. On the 13th ot May 1786,
be was created Viscount Baybam of Bayham Abbey,
Kent, and Earl Camden.
Whether we consider Earl Camden as a statesman^
called to that high situation by his talents ; as a lawyer,
defending, supporting, and enlarging the constitution 5
or as a man, sustaining both by his firmness and unsha¬
ken integrity—in all he excites our general praise *, amt
when we contemplate his high and exalted virtue, we
must allow him to have been an honour to his country.
He died on the 18th of April 1794 at his house in Hill-
street, Berkeley-square, being at that time president ot
his majesty’s most honourable privy-council, a goveinoi
of the charter-house, recorder ol the city ot Lath, and
E R S
'lie married Elizabeth, daughter and coheir of Ni¬
cholas Jeffery, Esq. son and heir of Sir Jeffery Jefferys
of Brecknock Priory, knight, who died m December
. . 1 1 _ 1 1 In TpHpws rratt
Pratlt
HANG 1CONEM
CAROLI PRATT, Ed.
SUMMI JUDICIS, C. B.
IN HONOREM TANTI VIRI,
ANGLICiE LIBERTAT1S LEGE.
ASSERTOR1S,
S. P. d. L.
IN CURIA MUNICIPAL!
PONI JVSSERVNT
NONO KAL. MART. A. D. MDCCLXIV.
gulielmo bridgen, AR. PR-E. vrb.
This portrait, painted by Reynolds, was engraved by
Basire. The corporations of Dublin, Bath, Exeter, and
Norwich, paid him the like compliment ; and in a pe¬
tition, entered in the journals ol the city 0 u ) in, 1
was declared, that no man appeared to have acquitted
himself in his high station with such becoming zeal tor
the honour and dignity of the crown, and the fulfilling
his majesty’s most gracious intentions for preserving the
freedom and happiness of Ins subjects, and such invincible
fortitude in administering justice and law, as the Right
Honourable Sir Charles Pratt, knight, the present lord-
chief-iustice of his majesty’s court of common pleas in
England, has shown in some late judicial determina¬
tions, which must be remembered to his lordship s ho¬
nour while and wherever British liberties are held sacred.
Higher honours, however, than the breath of popu¬
lar applause awaited Sir Charles Pratt On the 16th
of July 1763 he was created a peer ol Great Lntain,
by the style and title of Lord Camden, Baron Camden,
in the county of Kent 5 and, July 30. 1766, on the re-
sianation of Robert earl of Nortlnngton, he was ap¬
pointed lord high-chancellor of Great Britain j in which
capacity he, in a speech of two hours, declared, upon
the first decision of the suit against the messengers who
arrested Mr Wilkes, that “ it was the unanimous opi¬
nion of the whole court, that general warrants, except
in cases of high treason, were illegal, oppressive, and un¬
warrantable. He conducted himself in this high office
so as to obtain the love and esteem of all parties •, but
when the taxation of America was in agitation, he de-
1770, and by whom he had issue John Jefterys xratt
(now Lord Camden), born 1759, and several daughters.
His seat at CamdenPlace, Chiselhurst, was the residence
of the great William Camden ; on whose death it came
by several intermediate owners to Weston, Spencer,
and Pratt, and was much improved by his lordship.
PRAXAGORAS, a native of Athens, at 19 years
of age composed the History of the Kings ot Athens,
in two books ; and at 22 the Life of Constantine the
Great, in which, though a pagan, he speaks very ad¬
vantageously of that prince. He also wrote the His¬
tory of Alexander the Great. He lived under Con¬
stantins, about the year 345* , , ,
PRAXITELES, a very famous Greek sculptor,
who lived 330 years before Christ, at the time ot the
reign of Alexander the Great. All the ancient writers
mention his statues with a high commendation, espe¬
cially a Venus executed by him for the city of Cmdos,
which was so admirable a piece, that King Nicomedes
offered to release the inhabitants from their tribute as
the purchase of it; but they refused to part with it.
The inhabitants of the isle of Cos requested of I raxi-
teles a statue of Venus ; and in consequence of this ap¬
plication the artist gave them their choice of two j one
of which represented the goddess entirely naked, and
the other covered with drapery. Both ot these weie
of exquisite workmanship. Although the former was
esteemed the most beautiful, nevertheless the inhabi¬
tants of Cos had the wisdom to give the preference to
the latter, from a conviction that no motive wnatever
could justify their introducing into their city any inde¬
cent statues or paintings, which are so likely to inhame
the passions of young people, and lead them to immora¬
lity and vice. What a reproach will this be to many
Christians !—He was one of the gallants of Phryne the
celebrated courtesan.
PRAYER, a solemn address to God, which, when it
is of any considerable length, consists ot adoration, con¬
fession, supplication, intercession, and thanksgiving. _
By adoration we express our sense of God’s infinite
perfections, his power, wisdom, goodness, and mercy}
and acknowledge that our constant dependence is upon
P R A
Me
Him by whom the universe was created and has been
hitherto preserved. By confession is meant our acknow¬
ledgment of our manifold transgressions of the divine
Jaws, and our consequent unworthiness of all the good
things which we enjoy at present or expect to be con¬
ferred upon us hereafter. In supplication we intreat our
omnipotent Creator and merciful Judge, not to deal
with us after our iniquities, but to pardon our trans¬
gressions, and by his grace to enable us to live hence¬
forth righteously, soberly, and godly, in this present
world; and by Christians this intreaty is always made
in the name and through the mediation of Jesus Christ,
because to them it is known that there is none other
name under heaven given unto men whereby they may
be saved. To these supplications for mercy we may
likewise add our prayers for the necessaries of life ;
because if we seek first the kingdom of God, and his
righteousness, we are assured that such things shall be
added unto us. Intercession signifies those petitions which
we offer up for others, for friends, for enemies, for all
men, especially for our lawful governors, whether su¬
preme or subordinate. And thanksgiving is the expres¬
sion of our gratitude to God, the giver of every good
and perfect gift, for all the benefits enjoyed by us and
others, for the means of grace, and for the hope of glo¬
ry. Such are the component parts of a regular and so¬
lemn prayer, adapted either for the church or for the
closet. But an ejaculation to God, conceived on any
emergency, is likewise a prayer, whether it be uttered
by the voice or suffered to remain a mere affection of
the mind ; because the being to whom it is addressed
discerneth the thoughts of the heart.
That prayer is a duty which all men ought to per¬
form with humility and reverence, has been generally
acknowledged as well by the untaught barbarian as by
the enlightened Christian ; and yet to this duty objec¬
tions have been made by which the understanding has
been bewildered in sophistry and affronted with jargon.
“ If God be independent, omnipotent, and possessed of
every other perfection, what pleasure, it has been ask¬
ed, can he take in our acknowledgment of these perfec¬
tions ? If he know's all things past, present, and future,
where is the propriety of our confessing our sins unto
him ? If he is a benevolent and merciful Being, he will
pardon our sins, and grant us what is needful for us
without our supplications and intreaties ; and if he be
likewise possessed of infinite wisdom, it is certain that
no importunities of ours will prevail upon him to grant
us what is improper, or for our sakes to change the
equal and steady laws by which the world is governed.
“ Shall burning iEtna, if a sage requires,
“ Forget to thunder, and recal her fires ?
“ On air or sea new motions be imprest,
“ O blameless Bethel! to relieve thy breast ?
u When the loose mountain trembles from on high,
“ Shall gravitation cease, if you go by ?
“ Or some old temple, nodding to its fall,
oj/ on “ For Chartres’ head reserve the hanging wall *?”
Such are the most plausible objections which are
usually made to the practice of prayer; and though
they have been set off’ with all the art of the metaphy¬
sical wrangler, and embellished with all the graces of
the poetry of Pope, they appear to us such gross so¬
phisms as can operate only on a very unthinking head,
[ 259 ]
P R A
or on a very corrupt heart. For if God certainly ex¬
ists, and there is not a mathematical theorem capable of
more rigid demonstration, it is obvious that no man can
think of such a being without having his mind strongly
impressed with the conviction of his own constant de¬
pendence upon him ; nor can he “contemplate the hea¬
vens, the work of God’s hands, the moon and the stars
which he has ordained,” without forming the most sub¬
lime conceptions that he can of the Divine power, wis¬
dom, and goodness, &c. But such conviction, and such
conceptions, whether clothed in words or not, are to all
intents and purposes what is meant by adoration ; and
are as well known to the Deity while they remain the
silent affections of the heart, as after they are spoken in
the beginning of a prayer. Our adoration, therefore,
is not expressed for the purpose of giving information to
God, who understandeth our thoughts afar off’; but
merely, when the prayer is private, because we cannot
think any more than speak without words, and because
the very sound of words that are well chosen affects the
heart, and helps to fix our attention : and as the Being
who sees at once the past, present, and to come, and to
whom a thousand years are but as one day, stands not
in need of our information ; so neither was it ever sup¬
posed by a man of rational piety, that he takes pleasure
on his own account in hearing hisperfectionsenumerated
by creatures of yesterday ; for being independent, he
has no passions to be gratified, and being self-sufficient,
he was as happy when existing alone as at that moment
“ when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons
of God shouted for joy.” Adoration is therefore pro¬
per only as it tends to preserve in our minds just notions
of the Creator and Governor of the world, and of our
own constant dependence upon him ; and if such no¬
tions be useful to ourselves, who have a part to act in
the scale of existence, upon which our happiness de¬
pends (a proposition which no theist will controvert),
adoration must be acceptable to that benevolent God’
who, when creating the world, could have no other end
in view than to propagate happiness. See Metaphy¬
sics, N° 312.
By the same mode of reasoning, it will be easy to show
the duty of confession and supplication. We are not re¬
quired to confess our sins unto God, because he is igno¬
rant of them ; for he is ignorant of nothing. If he
were, no reason could be assigned for our divulging to
our judge actions deserving of punishment. Neither
are we required to cry for mercy, in order to move him
in whom there is no variableness, neither shadow of turn¬
ing. The Being that made the world, governs it by
laws that are inflexible, because they are the best ; and
to suppose that he can be induced by prayers, oblations,
or sacrifices, to vary this plan of government, is an im¬
pious thought, which degrades the Deity to a level with
man. One of these inflexible laws is the connection
established between certain dispositions of mind and hu¬
man happiness. We are enjoined to pursue a particular
course of conduct under the denomination of virtue, not
because our virtuous actions can in any degree be of ad¬
vantage to him by whom we are created, but because
they necessarily generate in our own minds those dispo¬
sitions which are essential to our ultimate happiness. A
man of a malignant, arrogant, or sensual disposition,
would have no enjoyment in that heaven, where all are
actuated by a spirit of love and purity; and it is doubt-
^ k 2 • less
Pnver.
Prayer.
P It A [ 260
less for this reason among others, that the Christian reh-
Kion prohibits malice, arrogance, and sensuality, among
her votaries, and requires the cultivation of the opposite
virtues. But a person who has deviated far from h s
duty cannot think of returning, unless he be previously
convinced that he has gone astray. Such conviction,
whenever he obtains it, will necessarily impress upon 11
mind a sense of his own danger, and fill his heart wit
sorrow and remorse for having transgressed the laws esta¬
blished by the most benevolent of all Beings for the pro¬
pagation of universal felicity. This conviction of error,
this sense of danger, and this compunction tor having
transgressed, are all perceived by the Deity as soon as
they take place in the mind of the sinner ", and he is ic-
auired to confess his sins, only because the act ot contes-
sion tends to imprint more deeply on his mind his own
unwortbiness, and the necessity of returning immediate¬
ly into the paths of that virtue of which all the ways
are pleasantness and all the paths are peace.
In the obiection, it is taken for granted, that it Ood
be a benevolent and merciful Being, he will pardon our
sins, and grant us what is needful for us, whether we
supplicate him or not: but this is a gross and palpable
mistake, arising from the objector’s ignorance ot the end
of virtue and the nature of man. Until a man be sen¬
sible of his sins and his danger, he is lor the reason al¬
ready assigned incapable of pardon, because his disposi¬
tion is incompatible with the happiness of the blessed.
But whenever he acquires this conviction, it is impossi¬
ble for him not to form a mental wish that he may be
pardoned j and this wish being perceptible to the all-
seeing eye of his Judge, forms the sum and substance ot
a supplication for mercy. If he clothe it in words, it is
only for a reason similar to that which makes him adore
his Creator and confess his sins in words, that just no¬
tions may be more deeply imprinted on his own mind.
The same reasoning holds good with respect to those
prayers which we put up for temporal blessings, for
protection and support in our journey through life. W e
are told by high authority, that “ the Lord is nigh unto
all them that call upon him, to all that call upon him
in truth.” This, however, is not because he is attracted
or delighted by their prayers and intreaties, but because
those prayers and intreaties fit such as offer them for re¬
ceiving those benefits which he is at all times ready to
pour upon all mankind. In his essence God is equally
present with the righteous and with the wicked, with
’ . . .• 1 ... for “ the
]
P It A
those who pray, and with those who pray not
eyes of the Lord are in every place, beholding the evil
and the good.” But as the atmosphere equally sur¬
rounds every person upon this globe, and yet in its state
of greatest purity does not affect the asthmatic as it afi
/» .1 i    L^ fVwi Tlivinf* nrpcpnr.p.
fects those who are whole ", so the Divine presence,
though essentially the same everywhere, yet does not
protect the impious as it protects the devout, because
the impious are not in a state capable of the Divine pro¬
tection. The end for which God requires the exercise
of prayer as a duty, is not his benefit, but ours ; because
it is a mean to generate in the petitioner such a disposi¬
tion of mind as must render him a special object of that
love and that providential care which extend over the
whole creation.
That part of the objection which results from the
consideration of the fixed laws of nature, and which the
poet has so finely illustrated, presents, it must be confes¬
sed, considerable difficulties 5 but none which to us ap- ^
pear insurmountable. If, indeed, we suppose that in the
original constitution of things, when the laws of nature
were established, a determinate duration was given to
the top of the mountain and the nodding temple, with¬
out any regard to foreseen consequences, it would un¬
doubtedly be absurd and perhaps impious to expect the
law of gravitation to be suspended by the prayers of a
good man, who should happen to be passing at the in¬
stant decreed for the fall of these objects. But of such
a constitution there is so far from being evidence, that
it appears not to be consistent with the wisdom and
goodness of the Author of nature. This world was
undoubtedly formed for the habitation of man and of
other animals. If so, we must necessarily suppose, that
in the establishing of the laws of nature, God adjusted
them in such a manner as he saw would best serve the
accommodation of those sentient beings for whose accom¬
modation alone they were to be established. Let it then
be admitted, that all the human beings who were ever
to exist upon this globe, with all their thoughts, words,
and actions, were at that important moment present to
the divine intellect, and it will surely not be impossible
to conceive that in consequence of the foreseen danger
and prayers of a good man, the determinate duration of
the mountain and the tower might be either lengthened
or shortened to let him escape. I his idea of piovidence,
and of the efficacy of prayer, is thus illustrated by Mr
Wollaston *. “ Suppose M (some man) certainly to ^
foreknow, by some means or other, that, when he should
come to be upon his death-bed, L would petition for
some particular legacy, in a manner so earnest and hum¬
ble, and with such a good disposition, as would render
it proper to grant his request: and upon this, M makes
his last will, by which he devises to L that which was
to be asked, and then locks up the will; and all this
many years before the death of M, and whilst L had
yet no expectation or thought of any such thing. When
the time comes, the petition is made and granted ; not
by making any new will, but by the old one already
made, and without alteration: which legacy had, not¬
withstanding that, never been left, had the petition ne¬
ver been preferred. The grant may be called the effect
of a future act, and depends as much upon it as if it had
been made after the act. So, if it had been foreseen,
that L would not so much as ask, and he had been there¬
fore left out of the will, this preeteritian vtouM have been
caused by his carriage, though much later than the date
of the will. In all this nothing is hard to be admitted,
if M be allowed to foreknow the case. And thus the
prayers which good men offer to the all-knowing God,
and the neglect of prayers by others, may find fitting
effects already forecasted in the course of nature.”
This solution of the difficulty presents indeed to the
mind a prodigious scheme, in which all things to come
are, as it were, comprehended under one view, and es¬
timated and compared together. But when it is consi¬
dered what a mass of wonders the universe is in other
respects •, what an incomprehensibly great and perfect
being God is •, that he cannot be ignorant ot any
thing, no not of the future wants and deportments of
particular men ; and that all things which derive their
existence from him must be consistent with one another
—it
p R A l 261 ] P R E
rayer. —it must surely be confessed that such an adjustment of
physical causes to moral volitions is within the compass
of infinite power and perfect wisdom.
To that part of a prayer which we have termed in¬
tercession, it has been objected, that “ to intercede for
others is to presume that we possess an interest with the
Deity upon which their happiness and even the prospe¬
rity of whole communities depends.” In answer to
this objection, it has been observed by an ingenious and
* lrr Pa- usefu| writer *, that “ how unequal soever our know¬
ledge of the divine economy may be to a complete so¬
lution of this difficulty, which may require a compre¬
hension of the entire plan, and of all the ends of God’s
moral government, to explain it satisfactorily, we can
yet understand one thing concerning it, that it is, after
all, nothing more than the making of one man the in¬
strument of happiness and misery to another ; which is
perfectly of a piece with the course and order that ob¬
tain, and which we must believe were intended to obtain,
in human affairs. Why may we not be assisted by the
prayers of other men, as well as we are beholden for our
support to their labour? Why may notour happiness be
made in some cases to depend upon tbe intercession as
it certainly does in many upon the good offices of our
neighbours ? I he happiness and misery of great numbers
we see oftentimes at the disposal of one man’s choice, or
liable to be much affected by his conduct: what greater
difficulty is there in supposing, that the prayers of an in¬
dividual may avert a calamity from multitudes, or be ac—
fr cepted to the benefit of whole communities.”
These observations may perhaps be sufficient to re¬
move the force of the objection, but much more may
be said for the practice of mutual, intercession. If it be
one man’s duty to intercede for another, it is the duty
of that other to intercede for him j and if we set aside
the particular relations which arise from blood, and from
particular stations in society, mutual intercession must
be equally the duty of all mankind. But there is no¬
thing (we speak from our own experience, and appeal
to the experience of our readers) which has so power¬
ful a tendency to generate in the heart of any person
good-will towards another as the constant practice of
praying to God for his happiness. Let a man regularly
pray for his enemy with all that seriousness which devo¬
tion requires, and he will not long harbour resentment
against him. Let him pray for his friend with that ar¬
dour which friendship naturally inspires, and he will per¬
ceive his attachment to grow daily and daily stronger.
If, then, universal benevolence, or charity, be a disposi¬
tion which we ought to cultivate in ourselves, mutual
intercession is undeniably a duty, because nothing con¬
tributes so effectually to the acquisition of that spirit
which an apostle terms the end of the commandment.
When it is said, that by interceding for kings, and
all in authority, we seem to consider the prosperity of
communities as depending upon our interest with God,
the objector mistakes the nature and end of these inter¬
cessions. In the prosperity of any community consists
great part of the happiness of its individual members 5
but that prosperity depends much upon the conduct of
its governors. When, therefore, individuals intercede
for their governors, the ultimate object of their prayers
must be conceived to be their own good. As it is
equally the duty ol all the members of the community
to pray for their governors, such intercessions are the
prayers of the whole community for itself, and of every Prayer
individual for himself. So that in this view of the case 11
the most just, we apprehend, that can be taken of it, it Preada-
is not true that supplications and intercessions for kings . nii^s'
and all in authority are the prayers of one individual for
another, but the prayers of many individuals for that
body of which each of them knows himself to be a
member.
Having evinced the duty of adoration, confession,
supplication, and intercession, we need not surely waste
our readers time witli a formal and laboured vindication
of thanksgiving. Gratitude for benefits received is so
universally acknowledged to be a virtue, and ingrati¬
tude is so detestable a vice, that no man who lays claim
to a moral character will dare to affirm that we ought
not to have a just sense of the goodness of God in pre¬
serving us from the numberless dangers to which w'e
are. exposed, and “ in giving us rain from heaven, and
fruitful seasons, filling our hearts with food and glad¬
ness.” But if w'e have this sense, whether we express
it in words or not, we offer to God thanksgiving; be¬
cause every movement of the heart is open and exposed
to his all-seeing eye.
In this article we have treated of prayer in general,
and as the private duty of every individual j but there
ought to be public as well as private prayer, which shall
be considered alterwards. (See Worship). We have
likewise observed, that the prayers of every Christian
ought to be offered in the name and through the medi¬
ation of Jesus Christ, for which the reason will be seen
in the article Theology. We shall conclude our re¬
flections on the general duty, with observing, that no¬
thing so forcibly restrains from ill as the remembrance
of a recent address to heaven for protection and assist¬
ance. After having petitioned for power to resist temp¬
tation, there is so great an incongruity in not continu¬
ing the struggle, that we blush at the thought, and
persevere lest wre lose all reverence for ourselves. After
fervently devoting our souls to God, we start with
horror at immediate apostasy : every act of deliberate
wickedness is then complicated with hypocrisy and in¬
gratitude : it is a mockery of the Father of Mercies, the
forfeiture of that peace in which we closed our address,
and a renunciation of the hope which that address in¬
spired. But if prayer and immorality be thus incom¬
patible, surely the former should not be neglected by
those who contend that moral virtue is the summit of
human perfection.
PREACHING. See Declamation, Art. I.—The
word is derived from the Hebrewparasch, exposuit, “ he
expounded.”
PREADAMITE, a denomination given to the in¬
habitants of the earth, conceived, by some people, to
have lived before Adam.
Isaac de la Pereyra, in 1655, published a book to
evince the reality of Preadamites, by which he gained a
considerable number of proselytes to the opinion : but
the answer of Demarets, professor of theology at Gro¬
ningen, published the year following, put a stop to its
progress 5 though Pereyra made a reply.
His system was this : The Jews he calls Adamites,
and supposes them to have issued from Adam; and
gives the title Preadamites to the Gentiles, whom he
supposes to have been a long time before Adam. But
this being expressly contrary to the first words of Genesis,
Pereyra
Preada-
niite
Percyra bad recourse to the fabulous antiquities ot the
Egyptians and Chaldeans, and to some idle rabbins who
11 imagined that there had been another world before that
precentor de3cr;j,ed by Moses. He was apprehended by the in-
' v ' qnisition in Flanders, and very roughly used though in
the service of the dauphin. But he appealed from their
sentence to Rome 5 whither he went m the time of
Alexander VII. and where he printed a retraction of
his book of Prcadamites. See PRE-EXISTENCE.
PREAMBLE, in Law, the beginning of an act of
parliament, &c. which serves to open the intent of the
act and the mischiefs intended to be remedied by it.
PREBEND, the maintenance a prebendary receives
out of the estate of a cathedral or collegiate church.
Prebends are distinguished into simple and dignitary a
simple prebend has no more than the revenue for its
support •, but a prebend with dignity has always a juris¬
diction annexed to it. ...
PREBENDARY, an ecclesiastic who enjoys a pre-
16 The difference between a prebendary and a canon is,
that the former receives bis prebend in consideration o
his officiating in the church, but the latter merely by
his being received into the cathedral or college.
PRECARIUM, in Scots Laiv. bee Law, iN
clxxxill. 0. •
PRECEDENCE, a place of honour to which a
person is entitled. This is either of courtesy or of right.
The former is that which is due to age, estate, &c.
which is regulated by custom and civility : the latter is
settled by authority j and when broken in upon, gives
an action at law. .
In Great Britain, the order of precedency is as fol¬
lows : The king •, the princes of the blood •, the arch¬
bishop of Canterbury ; the lord high chancellor *, the
archbishop of York-, the lord treasurer of England
the lord president of the council *, the lord privy seal *,
dukes 5 the eldest sons of dukes of the blood royal ; mar¬
quises j dukes eldest sons; earls; marquises eldest
sons ; dukes younger sons ; viscounts ; earls eldest sons ;
marquises younger sons ; bishops ; barons ; speaker of
the house of commons; lord commissioner of the great
seal; viscounts eldest sons ; earls younger sons ; barons
eldest sons ; privy counsellors not peers; chancellor of
the exchequer; chancellor of the duchy ; knights of the
Garter not peers ; lord chief justice of the king’s bench ;
master of the rolls; lord chief justice of the common
pleas ; lord chief baron of the exchequer ; puisne judges
and barons ; knights banneret, if made in the field ;
masters in chancery; viscounts younger sons ; barons
younger sons ; baronets ; knight banneret ; knights of
the Bath; knights bachelors ; baronets eldest sons ;
knights eldest sons; baronets younger sons; knights
younger sons ; field and flag officers ; doctors graduate ;
Serjeants at law ; esquires ; gentlemen hearing coat ar¬
mour ; yeomen; tradesmen; artificers; labourers.—
Note, The ladies, except those of archbishops, bishops,
and judges, take place according to the degree of qua¬
lity of their husbands ; and unmarried ladies take place
according to that of their fathers.
PRECEDENT, in Law, a ease which has been de¬
termined, and which serves as a rule for all of the same
nature.
PRECENTOR, a dignity in cathedrals, popularly
called the chanter, or master of the choir.
PRECEPT, in Laiv, a command in writing sent by prec^
a chief justice or justice of the peace, for bringing a ||
person, record, or other matter before him. frfcesj
P11ECEPT of Clave Constat, in Scots Law. See Law,
Part III. N° clxxx. 28.
Precept of Seisin, in Scots Law. See Law, 1 art
III. N° clxiv. 16.
PRECEPTIVE, any thing which gives or contains
precepts.
Preceptive Poetry* See 1^'oetry, In 146? j
PRECESSION of the Equinoxes. The mostDiumd
obvious of all the celestial motions is the diurnal revo-
lution of the starry heavens. The whole appears tojieaJ
turn round an imaginary axis, which passes through
two opposite points of the heavens, called the 'poles. One
of these is in our sight, being very near the star « in
the tail of the Little Bear. The great circle which is
equidistant from both poles divides the heavens into the
northern and southern hemispheres, which are equal.
It is called the eepilator, and it cuts the horizon, in the
east and west points, and every star in it is 12 sidereal
hours above and as many below the horizon, in each
revolution. f ^ i
The sun’s motions determine the length of day Obsem
and night, and the vicissitudes of the seasons. Byations of
long series of observations, the shepherds of Asia were™'
able to mark out the sun’s path in the heavens ; he
being always in the opposite point to that which comes
to the meridian at midnight, with equal but opposite
dedication. Thus they could tell the stars among
which the sun then was, although they could not see
them. They discovered that his path was a great circle
of the heavens, afterwards called the Ecliptic ; which
cuts the equator in two opposite points, dividing it, and
being divided by it, into two equal parts. rlhey far¬
ther observed, that when the sun was in either of these
points of intersection, his circle of diurnal revolution
coincided with the equator, and therefore the days and
nights were equal. Hence the equator came to be cal¬
led the Equinoctial line, and the points in which it
cuts the ecliptic were called the Equinoctial points,
and the sun was then said to be in the equinoxes. One
of these was called the Vernal and the other the Au¬
tumnal Equinox. . • irr J31
It was evidently an important problem m piactica
astronomy to determine the exact moment of the sun
occupying these stations; for it was natural to computeglin-s0
the course of the year from that moment. According-pying|
ly this has been the leading problem in the astronomy equino
of all nations. It is susceptible of considerable preci-P01
sion, without any apparatus of instruments. It is only
necessary to observe the sun’s declination on the noon
of two or three days before and after the equinoctial
day. On two consecutive days of this number, his de¬
clination must have changed from north to south, or
from south to north. If his declination on one day was
observed to be 2i' north, and on the next 5' south, it
follows that his declination was nothing, or that he was
in the equinoctial point about 23' after seven in the
morning of the second day. Knowing the precise mo¬
ments, and knowing the rate of the sun’s motion H the
ecliptic, it is easy to ascertain the precise point of the
ecliptic in which the equator intersected it.
font
cn me equator .... . Hi
By a series of such observations made at Alexandria ^us,s,
J     % t’UUO*
between the years 161 and 127 before Christ, Hippar-coven
chus,
P: p 'ssion.
P E, E [ 263
elms, the fiither of our astronomy, found that the point
of the autumnal equinox was about six degrees to the
eastward of the star called Spica virginis. Eager to
determine every thing by multiplied observations, he
ransacked all the Chaldean, Egyptian, and other records,
to which his travels could procure him access, for obser¬
vations of the same kind ; but he does not mention his
having found any. He found, however, some observa¬
tions ofAristillus andTimochares, made about 150 years
before. From these it appeared evident that the point
of the autumnal equinox was then about eight degrees
east of the same star. He discusses these observations
with great sagacity and rigour •, and, on their authority,
he asserts that the equinoctial points are not fixed in
the heavens, but move to the westward about a degree
I I- in 75 years or somewhat less.
■\\ called This motion is called the PRECESSION OF THE Equi-
tji <jec^s' noxes, because by it the time and place of the sun’s
SK ^ 16 equinoctial station precedes the usual calculations: it is
fully confirmed by all subsequent observations. In 1750
the autumnal equinox was observed to be 20° 2i' west¬
ward 01 Spica \ irginis. Supposing the motion to have
been uniform during this period of ages, it follows that
the annual precession is about j that is, if the ce¬
lestial equator cuts the ecliptic in a particular point on
any day of this year, it will on the same day of the fol¬
lowing year cut it in a point ^ to the west of it,
and the sun will come to the equinox 20' 23" before he
has completed his round of the heavens. Thus the
equinoctial or tropical year, or true year of seasons, is,
so much shorter than the revolution of the sun or the
sidereal year.
Ira |tance It is this discovery that has chiefly immortalized the
]
P R E
or acci
,3! P%
db- name of Hipparchus, though it must be acknowledged
that all his astronomical researches have been conducted
With the same sagacity and intelligence. It was natural
therefore for him to value himself highly for this disco¬
very 5 for it must be admitted to be one of the most
singular that has been made, that the revolution of the
whole heavens should not be stable, but its axis conti¬
nually changing. For it must be observed, that since
the equator changes its position, and the equator is only
an imaginary circle, equidistant from the two poles or
extremities of the axis ; these poles and this axis must
equally-change their positions. The equinoctial points
make a complete revolution in about 25,749 years, the
equator being all the while inclined to the ecliptic in
nearly the same angle. Therefore the poles of this diurnal
revolution must describe a circle round the poles of the
ecliptic at the distance of about 234 degrees in 25,745
years ; and in the time of Timochares, the north pole
et the heavens must have been 3c degrees eastward of
the place where it now is.
Hus Hipparchus has been accused of plagiarism and in-
11 sincerity in this matter. It is now very certain that
the precession of the equinoxes was known to the astro¬
nomers of India many ages before the time of Hippar¬
chus. It appears also that the Chaldeans had a pret¬
ty accurate knowledge of the year of seasons. From
their saros we deduce their measure of this year to be
365 days 5 hours 49 minutes and 11 seconds, exceeding
the truth only by 26,,, and much more exact than the
year of Hipparchus. They had also a sidereal year of
365 clays 6 hours 11 minutes. Now what could occa¬
sion au attention to two years, if they did not suppose
equinoxes moveable ? The Egyptians also had a
knowledge of something equivalent to this 5 for they precessiolI.
had discovered that the dog-star was no longer the faith- > ^
ful forewarner of the overflowing of the Nile 5 and they* See Du-
combined him with the star Fomelhaset * in their mysti-p,n!? sur
cal kalendar. This knowledge is also involved in theq^1^1116
precepts of the Chinese astronomy, of much older date tiens,Mm.
than the time of Hipparchus. de PAcad.
But all these acknowledged facts are not sufficient^* ^mcrW'
for depriving Hipparchus of the honour of the disco-r, f8,
very, or fixing on him the charge of plagiarism. This '
the
motion was a thing unknown to the astronomers of the
Alexandrian school, and it was pointed out to them
by Hipparchus in the way in which he ascertained
every other position in astronomy, namely, as the ma¬
thematical result of actual observations, and not as a
thing deducible from any opinions on other subjects re¬
lated to it. We see him on all other occasions, eager to
confirm his own observations, and his deductions from
them, by every thing he could pick up from other astro¬
nomers j and he even adduced the above-mentioned
practice of the Egyptians in corroboration of his doc¬
trine. It is more than probable then that he did not
know any thing more. Had he known the Indian
precession of 54" annually, he had no temptation what¬
ever to withhold him from using it in preference to one
which he acknowledges to be inaccurate, because de¬
duced from the very short period of 150 years, and from
the observations of Timochares, in which he had no
great confidence.
I his motion of the starry heavens was long a matter Heavenly
of discussion, as a thing for which no physical reason motions ac-*
could be assigned. But the establishmrnt of the Co-counted for'
pernican system reduced it to a very simple affair 5 theby thc Co"
motion which was thought to affect all the heavenly system!11
bodies, is now acknowledged to be a deception, or a
false judgment from the appearances. The earth turns
round its own axis while it revolves round the sun, in
the same manner as we may cause a child’s top to spin
on the brim of a millstone, while the stone is turning
slowly round its axis. It the top spin steadily, with¬
out any wavering, its axis will always point to the ze¬
nith of the heavens 5 but we frequently sec, that while
it spins briskly round its axis, the axis itself has a slow
conical motion round the vertical line, so that, if pro¬
duced, it would slowly describe a circle in the heavens
round the zenith point. The flat surface of the top may
represent the terrestrial equator, gradually turning itself
round on all sides. If this top were formed like a ball,
with an equatorial circle on it, it would represent the
whole motion very prettily, the only difference being,
that the spinning motion and this wavering motion are
in the same direction ; whereas the diurnal rotation and
the motion of the equinoctial points are in contrary di¬
rections. Even this dissimilarity may be removed, by
making the top turn on a cap, like the card of a mari¬
ner’s compass. Tc
It is now a matter fully established, that while the And the
earth revolves round the sun from west to east, in theearth’*\
plane of the ecliptic in the course of a year, it turns
round its own axis from west to east in 23I1 56' 4",
which axis is inclined to this plane in au angle of nearly
230 28'j and that this axis turns round a line perpen¬
dicular to the ecliptic in 25,745 years from east to west,
keeping nearly the same inclination to the ecliptic.—
By this means, its pole in the sphere of the starry hea¬
vens describes a circle round the pole of the ecliptic at
the
[
P It E
• the distance of 23° 28' nearly. The consequence of
Preccpon. mugt be? that the terrestrial equator, "’hen produ¬
ced to the sphere of the starry heavens, will cut t
ecliptic in two opposite points, throug 1 " J ^
must pass when he makes the day and night equa , and
that these points must shift to the westward, at the rate
of co4- seconds annually, which is the precession of the
equinoxes. Accordingly this has been the received
doctrine among astronomers for nearly three centuries,
and it was thought perfectly conformable to appear-
“ , an<Rni Dr Bradley, the most sagacious of modern astro-
StpL't. nosers, hope,l to Love, the parallax of the eart^or-
dUcover i,y observations of the actual position f , .
the parallax b ^lest;al revolution. Dr Hooke had attempted tins
of the
P R E
r
earth’s
or- before, but with very imperfect instruments.
The art
bit.
Difficulties
in the at¬
tempt eb-
viated by
accident.
before, out wun vcy T>raa
of observing being now prodigiously improved, Dr Brad¬
ley resumed this investigation. It will easily appeal,
that if the earth’s axis keeps parallel to itself, its extre¬
mity must describe in the sphere ol the starry heavens
a figure equal and parallel to its orbit round the sun j
and°if the stars be so near that this figure is a visi 1 e 0 >-
iect the pole of diurnal revolution will be in different
distinguishable points of this figure. Consequently, it
the axis describes the cone already mentioned, the pole
will not describe a circle round the pole of the ecliptic,
but will have a looped motion along this circumference,
similar to the absolute motion of one of Jupiter s satel¬
lites, describing an epicycle whose centre describes the
circle round the pole of the ecliptic. _
He accordingly observed such an epicyclical motion,
and thought that he had now overcome the only diltx-
_ ^ _ i_  . rviO I’ll
13
subject.
Plate
264 ] . . - « ■
Let E (fig. I.), be the pole of the ecliptic, and SPQprec€S!
a circle distant from it 230 28', representing the circle' y*
described by the pole of the equator during one revolu-
tion of the equinoctial points. Let P be the place otccc^x
this last mentioned pole at some given time. Round P ^
describe a circle ABCD, whose diameter AC is 18". Matheu
The real situation of the pole will be in the circum-ticaltlw
ference of this circle; and its place, in this circum-^l*
ference, depends 011 the place of the moon s ascendingror ^ ^
node. Draw EPF and GPL perpendicular to it; letposedtf
GL be the colure of the equinoxes, and EF the colure scribe*,
of the solstices. Dr Bradley’s observations showed thatcle<
the pole was in A when the node was in L, the vernal
equinox. If the node recede to H, the winter solstice,
the pole is in B. When the node is in the autumnal
equinox at G, the pole is at C; and when the node is
in F, the summer solstice, the pole is in D. In all in¬
termediate situations of the moon’s ascending node, the
pole is in a point of the circumference ABCD, three
signs or 90° more advanced. Ic
Dr Bradley, by comparing together a great number Morel
of observations, found that the mathematical theory, and it'an eE
the calculation depending on it, would correspond much
better with the observations, if an ellipse were substitut-circle
ed for the circle ABCD, making the longer axis AC
18", and the shorter, BD, 16". Mr d’Alembert deter¬
mined, by the physical theory of gravitation, the axes to
be 18" and 13".4. n?
These observations, and this mathematical theory, These,
must be considered as so many facts in astronomy, andsemtk
we must deduce from them the methods of computing““1
and thought that lie •>Vbut° o’n maturely 'con-
“ir/u.im” ^ T, by z ^a„d d.
. > ...uu rb. ^nnspmiences of the annual clmation. , . . .. f
It is evident, in the first place, that this equation olobhqii
the pole’s motion makes a change in the obliquity of of the
the ecliptic. The inclination of the equator to the eclip-'W'1
tic is measured by the arch of a great circle intercep¬
ted between their poles. Now, if the pole be in O in¬
stead of P, it is plain that the obliquity is measured by
EO instead of EP. If EP be considered as the mean
obliquity of the ecliptic, it is augmented by 9" when
the moon’s ascending node is in the vernal equinox, and
consequently the pole in A. It is, on the contrary, di¬
minished 9" when the node is in the autumnal equinox,
and the pole in C ; and it is equal to the mean when
the node is in the colure of the solstices. Ihis change
of the inclination of the earth’s axis to the plane of the
ecliptic was called the nutation of the axis by Sir Isaac
Newton ; who shewed, that a change of nearly a second
must obtain in a year by the action of the sun on the
prominent parts of the terrestrial spheroid. But he did
not attend to the change which would be made in tins
motion by the variation which obtains in the disturbing
force of the MOON, in consequence of the different obli¬
quity of her action on the equator, arising from the mo¬
tion of her own oblique orbit. It is this change which
now goes by the name nutation, and we owe its dis¬
covery entirely to Dr Bradley. The general change
of the position of the earth’s axis has been termed DE¬
VIATION by modern astronomers. . _ 1 ,
The quantity of this change of obliquity is easily as-Qaan]
certained. It is evident, from what has been already
said, that when the pole is in O, the arch ADCO is^
equal to the node’s longitude from the vernal equinox.
iiodill ^
j
1!
tap- p
e
:fa
JliilOf
talif
11
quite inconsistent with the consequences of the annual
parallax, and it puzzled him exceedingly. One day,
while taking the amusement of sailing about on the
Thames, he observed, that every time the boat tacked,
the direction of the wind, estimated by the direction of
the vane, seemed to chaqge. This immediately sug¬
gested to him the cause of his observed epicycle, and
he found it an optical illusion, occasioned by a combi¬
nation of the motion of light with the motion of Ins
telescope while observing the polar stars. 1 bus he un¬
wittingly established an incontrovertible argument tor
the truth of the Copernican system, and immortalized
his name by his discovery of the Aberration of the
Hh further He now engaged in a series of observations foi as-
iuvestiga- certaining all the circumstances of this discovery. n
tion of the course of these, which were continued for 28 years,
LUC   7 - _ . , IP
he discovered another epicyclical motion ot the pole oi
the heavens, which was equally curious and unexpected.
He found that the pole described an epicycle, whose
diameter was about 18", having for its centre that point
of the circle round the pole of the ecliptic in which the
pole would have' been found independent of this new
motion. He also observed, that the period of this epi¬
cyclical motion was 18 years and seven months. It
struck him, that this was precisely the period of the re¬
volution of the nodes of the moon’s orbit. He gave a
brief account of these results to Lord Macclesfield, then
president of the Royal Society, in 1747. Mr Machin,
to whom he also communicated the observations,. gave
ccccxsxviiibim in return a very neat mathematical hypothesis, by
fig. 1. which the raotiou might be calculated.
3 ‘
11
s<4i.
P R E
we <5f
-qui-
tial
iU>
[ 265 ]
cession, ami that PM is its cosine ; and (on account of the small- theirs.
! SI, ness of AP in comparison of EP) PM may be taken for
the change of the obliquity of the ecliptic. This is there¬
fore = 9" X cos. long, node, and is additive to the
mean obliquity, while O is in the semicircle BAD, that
is, while the longitude of the node is from 9 signs to 3
signs j but subtractive while the longitude of the node
changes from 3 to 9 signs.
But the nutation changes also the longitudes and right
ascensions of the stars and planets, by changing the equi¬
noctial points, and thus occasioning an equation in the
precession of the equinoctial points. It was this circum¬
stance which made it necessary for us to consider it in
this place, while expressly treating of this precession.
Let us attend to this derangement of the equinoctial
points.
The great circle or meridian which passes through
the poles of the ecliptic and equator is always the solsti¬
tial colure, and the equinoctial colure is at right angles
to it: therefore when the pole is in P or in O, F.P or
EO is the solstitial colure. Let S be any fixed star or
planet, and let SE be a meridian or circle of longitude ;
draw the circles of declination PS, OS, and the circles
M'EM", niE.m', perpendicular to PE, OE.
If the pole were in its mean place P, the equinoctial
points would be in the ecliptic meridian M'EM", or that
meridian would pass through the intersections of the
'
20
S ation
<0 lit' sol -
slid and
ei noctial
C res.
41
motion
olingi-
tu from
® ii tlon of
id*®
ti sarUi s e4naror an(1 ecliptic, and the angle M'ES would mea-
of*
of Hi
sure the longitude of the star S. But when the pole is
in O, the ecliptic meridian mEm' will pass through
the equinoctial points. The equinoctial points must
therefore be to the westward of their mean place, and
the equation of the precession must be additive to that
precession : and the longitude of the star S will now be
measured by the angle m ES, which, in the case here
represented, is greater than its mean lonaitude. The
difference or the equation of longitude, arising from the
nutation of the earth’s axis, is the angle OEP, or^J.
• O .fcj
OM is the sine of the angle CPO, which, by what has
been already observed, is equal to tbe longitude of the
node : Therefore OM is equal to 9" X long, node, and
OM . . o" x sin. long, node ^ .
This equation is
UM . , o'
is equal to —
sin. obliqy. eclip.
additive to the mean longitude of the star when O is in
tbe semicircle CBA, or while the ascending node is pas¬
sing backwards from the vernal to tbe autumnal equi¬
nox \ but it is subtractive from it while O is in the semi¬
circle ADC, or while the node is passing backwards
from the autumnal to the vernal equinox j or, to express
it more briefly, the equation is subtractive from the mean
longitude of the star, while the ascending node is in the
first six signs, and additive to it while the node is in the
last six signs.
This equation of longitude is the same for all the stars,
for the longitude is reckoned on the ecliptic (which is
here supposed invariable) ; and therefore is affected only
by the variation of the point from which the longitude
is computed.
1 he right ascension, being computed on the equator,
‘ *01 suf. suffers a double change. It is computed from, or be-
1/U~ ?J"ns at» a different point of tbe equator, and it termi-
s. ‘ nates at a different point j because the equator having
changed its position, the circles of declination also change
Vol. XVII. Part I. f
w
P R E
When the pole is at P, the right ascension of Precession.
S from the solstitial colure is measured by the ancle ——-y ->
SPE, contained between that colure and the star’s circle
of declination. But when the pole is at O, the right
ascension is measured by the angle SOE, and the dif¬
ference of SPE and SOE is the equation of right as¬
cension. The angle SOE consists of two parts, GOE
and GOS ; GOE remains the same wherever the star S
is placed, but GOS varies with the place of the star.—
We must first find the variation by which GPE becomes
GOE, which variation is common to all the stars. The
triangles G1JE, GOE, have a constant side GE, and a
constant angle G 5 the variation PO of the side GP is
extremely small, and therefore the variation of the angles
may be computed by Mr Cotes’s Fluxionary Theorems.
See Simpson’s Fluxions, § 253, &c. As the tangent of
the side EP, opposite to the constant angle G, is to the
Sine of the angle EPG, opposite to ihc constant side
EG, so is PO the variation of the side GP, adjacent to
the constant angle, to the variation x ot the angle
GPO, opposite to the constant side EG. This gives
X sin. long, node
9
x~ —
This is subtractive from the
tang. obi. eclip.
mean right ascension for the first six signs of the node’s
longitude, and additive for the last six signs. This equa¬
tion is common to all the stars. ?
The variation of the other part SOG of tbe angle, Other va-
which depends on the different position of the hour r',!tions.
circles PS and OS, which causes them to cut tbe eqiia-^0’
tion in different points, where tbe arches of right ascen¬
sion terminate, may be discovered as follows : The tri¬
angles SPG, SOG, have a constant sidi SG, and a
constant angle G. Therefore, by the same Cotesian
theorem, tan. SP sin. SPG = PO : y, ami y, or tbe
second part ot the nutation in right ascension, ~
9" X sin. dill. R. A of star and node
cotan, declin. star
The nutation also affects the declination of tbe stars : Nutation
ForSP, the mean codeclination, is changed into SO. affet-t' the
Suppose a circle described round S, with tbe distai
dfclina-
SO cutting SP in f; then it is evident that the equa- ^
tion of declin. is P/’= PO x cosine OP/ — 9'' x sign
ion of the
r. ascen. of star—long ol node.
Such are the calculations in constant use in our astro-A more
nomical researches, founded on Machin’s Theory. When ’T101 ni0<^c
still greater accuracy is required, the elliptical theory |j01C1alcula'
must be substituted, by taking (as is expressed by tbe
dotted lines) O in that point of the ellipse described on
the transverse axis AC, where it is cut by OM, drawn
according to Machin’s Theory. All the change made
here is the diminution of OM in the ratio of 18 to 1 3.4,
and a corresponding diminution of the angle CPO The
detail of it may be seen in De la Lande’s Astronomy,
art. 2874 5 but is rather foreign to our present purpose
of explaining the precession of tbe equinoxes. The cal¬
culations being in every case tedious, and liable to mis¬
takes, on account of the changes of tbe signs of the dif-
ferentequations, tbe zealous promoters of astronomy have
calculated and published tables of all these equations,
both on the circular and elliptical hypothesis. And still
more to abridge calculations, which occur in reducing
every astronomical observation, when the place of a phe¬
nomenon is deduced from a comparison with known stars,
there have been published tables of nutation and preces-
L f sion.
P It E
[ 266 ]
P Pt E
Frefcssion.
16
Precession
of the equi
noctial
points, See.
27
Observa¬
tions of
Jfewton
and others
on tins sub
ject.
2 3
Sketch of
PI ewton’s
investiga¬
tion of it.
iig. 2.
sion, for some hundreds of the principal stars, for every
position of the moon’s node and of the sun.
It now remains to consider the precession of the equi¬
noctial points, with its equations, arising from the nuta¬
tion of the earth’s axis as a physical phenomenon, am
to endeavour to account for it upon those mechanical
principles which have so happily explained all the other
phenomena of the celestial motions.
This did not escape the penetrating eye of bir Isaac
Newton j and he quickly found it to be a consequence,
and the most beautiful proof, of the universal gravitation
of all matter to all matter j and there is no part of his
immortal work where his sagacity and fertility of re¬
source shine more conspicuously than in this investiga¬
tion. ' It must be acknowledged, however, that ISew-
ton’s investigation is only a shrewd guess, founded on as¬
sumptions, of which it would be extremely difficult to
demonstrate either the truth or falsity, and which requi¬
red the genius of a Newton to pick out in such a com¬
plication of abstruse circumstances. rl he subject has oc¬
cupied the attention of the first mathematicians of Eu¬
rope since his time 5 and is still considered as the most
curious and difficult of all mechanical problems. Hie
most elaborate and accurate dissertations on the preces¬
sion of the equinoxes are those of Sylvabella and W alme-
5,1 y, in the Philosophical Transactions, published about
the year 1754 J that of Thomas Simpson, published in
his Miscellaneous Tracts ; that of Father Frisius, in the
Memoirs of the Berlin Academy, and afterwards with
great improvements, in his Cosmographia •, that of Eu-
fer in the Memoirs of Berlin *, that of D’Alembert in
a separate dissertation j and that of De la Orange on
the Libration of the Moon, which obtained the prize in
the Academy of Paris in 1769. We think the disserta¬
tion of Father Frisius the most perspicuous of them all,
being conducted in the method of geometrical analysis*,
whereas most of the others proceed in the fluxionary
and symbolic method, which is frequently deficient in
distinct notions of the quantities under consideration,
and therefore does not give us the same perspicuous
conviction of the truth of the results. In a work like
ours, it is impossible to do justice to the problem, with¬
out entering into a detail which would be thought ex¬
tremely disproportioned to the subject by the genera¬
lity of our readers. Yet those who have the necessary
preparation of mathematical knowledge, and wish to un¬
derstand the subject fully, will find enough here to give
them a very distinct notion of it; and in the article Ro¬
tation, they will find the fundamental theorems, which
will enable them to carry on the investigation. We
shall first give a short sketch of Newton’s investigation,
which is of the most palpable and popular kind, and is
highly valuable, not only for its ingenuity, but also be¬
cause it will give our unlearned readers distinct and sa¬
tisfactory conceptions of the chief circumstances of the
whole phenomena.
Let S (fig. 2.) be the sun, F the earth, and M the
moon, moving in the orbit NMCD n, which cuts the
plane of the ecliptic in the line of the nodes N n, and
has one half raised above it, as represented in the figure,
the other half being hid below the ecliptic. Sup¬
pose this orbit folded down ; it will coincide with the
ecliptic in the circle ~N ?n c dn. Let EX represent the
axis of this orbit, perpendicular to its plane, and there¬
fore inclined to the ecliptic. Since the mccn gravi¬
tates to the sun in the direction MS, which is all above prems
the ecliptic, it is plain that this gravitation lias a ten-^
dency to draw the moon towards the ecliptic. Sup¬
pose this force to he such that it would draw the moon
down from M to i in the time that she would have mo¬
ved from M to t, in the tangent to her orbit. By the
combination of these motions, the moon will desert her
orbit, and describe the line M r, which makes the dia¬
gonal of the parallelogram 5 and if no farther action of
the sun be supposed, she will describe another orbit
M 'bn\ lying between the orbit MCD n and the eclip¬
tic, and she will come to the ecliptic, and pass through
it in a point n\ nearer to M than n is, which was the
former place of her descending node. By tins change
of orbit, the line EX will no longer be perpendicular to
it 5 but there will be another line E .r, which will now
be perpendicular to the new orbit. Also the moon,
moving from M to r, does not move as if she had come
from the ascending node N, hut from a point N lying
beyond itand the line of the nodes of the orbit in this
new position is N' ?/. Also the angle MN'm is less
than the angle MN/».
Thus the nodes shift their places in a direction op¬
posite to that of her motion, or move to the westward ;
the axis of the orbit changes its position, and the orbit
itself changes its inclination to the ecliptic. These
momentary changes are diflerent in different parts of
the orbit, according to the position of the line of the
nodes. Sometimes the inclination of the orbit is in¬
creased, and sometimes the nodes move to the eastward.
But, in general, the inclination increases from the time
that the nodes are in the line of syzigee, till they get into
quadrature, after which it diminishes till the nodes are
again in syzigee. The nodes advance only while they
are in the octants after the quadratures, and while the
moon passes from quadrature to the node, and they re¬
cede in all other situations. Therefore the recess ex¬
ceeds the advance in every revolution of the moon round
the earth, and, on the whole, they recede.
What has been said of one moon, would be true of
each of a continued ring of moons surrounding the
earth, and they would thus compose a flexible ring,
which would never be flat but waved, according to the
difference (both in kind and degree) of the disturbing
forces acting on its different parts. But suppose these
moons to cohere, and to form a rigid and flat ring, no¬
thing would remain in this ring hut the excess of the con¬
trary tendencies of its different parts. Its axis would be
perpendicular to its plane, and its position in any moment
will be the mean position of all the axes of the orbits of
each part of the flexible ring 5 therefore the nodes of
this rigid ring will continually recede, except when the
plane of the ring passes through the sun, that is, when
the nodes are in syzigee ; and (says Newton) the mor
tion of these nodes will be the same with the mean mo¬
tion of the nodes of the orbit of one moon. The incli¬
nation of this ring to the ecliptic will be equal to the
mean inclination of the moon’s orbit during any one
revolution which has the same situation of the nodes.
It will therefore be least of all when the nodes are in
quadrature, and will increase till they are in syzigee,
and then diminish till they are again in quadrature.
Suppose this ring to contract in dimensions, the dis¬
turbing forces will diminish in the same proportion, and
in this proportion will all their effects diminish. Sup-
■ pose
r R E f 267 ] P R E
pose its motion of revolution to accelerate, or the time
of a revolution to diminish ; the linear effects of the dis¬
turbing forces being as the squares of the times of their
action, and their angular effects as the times, those er¬
rors must diminish also on this account $ and we can
compute what those errors will be for any diameter of
the ring, and for any period of its revolution. We can
tell, therefore, what would be the motion of the nodes,
the change of inclination, and deviation of the axis, of a
ring which would touch the surface of the earth, and
revolve in 24 hours •, nay, we can tell what these mo¬
tions would be, should this ring adhere to the earth.
They must be much less than if the ring were detached ;
for the disturbing forces of the ring must drag along
with it the whole globe of the earth. The quantity
of motion which the disturbing forces would have pro¬
duced in the ring alone, will now (says Newton) be
produced in the whole mass 5 and therefore the velocity
must be as much less as the quantity of matter is greater :
But still all this can be computed.
Now there is such a ring on the earth : for the earth
is not a sphere, but an elliptical spheroid. Sir Isaac
Newton therefore engaged in a computation of the effects
of the disturbing force, and has exhibited a most beautiful
example of mathematical investigation. He first asserts,
that the earth must be an elliptical spheroid, whose po¬
lar axis is to its equatorial diameter as 229 to 230.
Then he demonstrates, that if the sine of the inclina¬
tion of the equator be called w, and if t be the num¬
ber of days (sidereal) in a year, the annual motion of
2 \/ x 
a detached ring will be 360°
4t
He then
shows that the effect of the disturbing force on this
ring is to its effect on the matter of the same ring, dis¬
tributed in the form of an elliptical stratum (but still
detached) as 3 to 2 5 therefore the motion of the nodes
will be 36o°x^—or I6' 16" 24'" annually. He
then proceeds to show, that the quantity of motion in
the sphere is to that in an equatorial ring revolving
in the same time, as the matter in the sphere to the mat¬
ter in the ring, and as three times the square of a qua-
drantral arch to two squares of a diameter, jointly :
Then he shows, that the quantity of matter in the ter¬
restrial sphere is to that in the protuberant matter of
the spheroid, as 52900 to 461 (supposing all homo¬
geneous). From these premises it follows, that the mo¬
tion of 16' 24,,/, must be diminished in the ratio of
X0717 to 100, which reduces it to 9'/ 07"' annually.
And this (he says) is the precession of the equinoxes,
occasioned by the action of the sun ; and the rest of the
which is the observed precession, is owing to the
action of the moon, nearly five times greater than that
of the sun. This appeared a great difficulty j for the
phenomena of the tides show that it cannot much exceed
twice the sun’s force.
,r Nothing can exceed the ingenuity of this process.
, Justly does his celebrated and candid commentator, Da-
amniel Bernoulli, say (in his Dissertation on the Tides,
^ which shared the prize of the French Academy with
l lc M‘Laurin and Euler,), that Newton saw through a veil
^jlmted w^at ot^ers could hardly discover with a microscope
V'Lau- in the light of the meridian sun. His determination
of the form and dimensions of the earth, which is the
foundation of the whole process, is not offered as any preoesdo*.
thing better than a probable guess, in re (lijficillima; and —~ y—
it has since been demonstrated with geometrical rigour
by MfLanrin.
His next principle, that the motion of the nodes of
the rigid ring is equal to the mean motion of the nodes
of the moon, has been most critically discussed by the
first mathematicians, as a thing which could neither be
proved nor refuted. Frisius has at least shown it to be a
mistake, and that the motion of the nodes of the ring is
double the mean motion of the nodes of a single moon :
and that Newton’s own principles should have produced
a precession of 18^ seconds annually, which removes the
difficulty formerly mentioned.
His third assumption, that the quantity of motion
of the ring must be shared with the included sphere,
was acquiesced in by all Ins'commentators, till D’Alem¬
bert and Euler, in 1749, showed that it was not the
quantity of motion round an axis of rotation which re¬
mained the same, but the quantity of momentum or ro¬
tatory eflort. The quantity of motion is the product
of every particle by its velocity ; that is, by its distance
from the axis ; while its momentum, or power of pro¬
ducing rotation, is as the square of that distance, and is
to be had by taking the sum of each particle multiplied
by the square of its distance from the axis. Since the
earth differs so little from a perfect sphere, this makes
no sensible difference in the result. It will increase
Newton’s precession about three-fourths of a second. ^
We proceed now to the examination of this pheno-Examjni%.
menon upon the fundamental principles of mechanics, tion oft e
Because the mutual gravitation of the particles ofpbenome-
matter in the solar system is in the inverse ratio of the
squares of the distance, it follows, that the gravitations
of the different parts of the earth to the sun or to the principle*
moon are unequal. The nearer particles gravitate more
than those that are more remote.
Let PQ/?E (fig. 3.) be a meridional section of the Fi^. ji
terrestrial sphere, and VOpy the section of the inscribed
sphere. Let CS be a line in the plane of the ecliptic
passing through the sun, so that the angle ECS is the
sun’s declination. Let NCM be a plane passing through
the centre of the earth at right angles to the plane of
the meridian PQpE j NCM will therefore be the plane
of illumination.
In consequence of the unequal gravitation of the mat¬
ter of the earth to the sun, every particle, such as B, ia
acted on by a disturbing force parallel to CS, and pro¬
portional to BD, the distance of the particle from the
plane of illumination 5 and this force is to the gravita¬
tion of the central particle to the sun, as three times
BD to CS, the distance of the earth from the sun.
Let ABa be a plane passing through the particle B,
parallel to the plane EQ of the equator. This section
of the earth will be a circle, of which An is a diameter,
and Qy will be the diameter of its section with the inscri¬
bed sphere. These will be two concentric circles, and
the ring by which the section of the spheroid exceeds
the section of the sphere, will have AQ for its breadth:
Vp is the axis of figure.
Let EC be represented by the symbol - a
~~ b
d
CL
UC or r\j
EO their difference, —
a'—b*
aJpb
LI 2
precession.
P R E
CL
QL -
The periphery of a circle to radius I
The disturbing force at the distance I
from the plane NCM
The sine of declination ECS
The cosine of ECS
n
268 ] P It E
of an arch, and the sum of its square and the square of precessi*
its corresponding cosine is equal to the square of the
radius. Therefore the sum of all the squares of the
sines, together with the sum of all the squares of the
cosines, is equal to the sum of the same number of
/
vi
It is evident, that with respect to the inscribed sphere,
the disturbing forces are completely compensated, for
every particle has a corresponding particle in the ad¬
joining quadrant, which is acted on by an equal and op¬
posite force. But this is not the case with the protube¬
rant matter which makes up the spheroid. The seg¬
ments NS sn and MT tm are more acted on than the
segments NT t n and MS s m ; and thus there is produ¬
ced a tendency to a conversion of the whole earth, round
an axis passing through the centre C, perpendicular to
the plane PQ p E. We shall distinguish this motion
from all others to which the spheroid may be subject,
bv the name Libration. The axis of this libration
is always perpendicular to that diameter of the equa¬
tor over which the sun is, or to that meridian in which
he is.
Prob I. To determine the momentum of libration
corresponding to any position of the earth respecting
the sun, that is, to determine the accumulated energy
of the disturbing forces on all the protuberant matter of
the spheroid.
Let B and b he two particles in the ring formed by
the revolution of AQ, and so situated that they are at
equal distances from the plane NM •, but on opposite
sides of it. Draw BD, b d, perpendicular to NM, and
ELG perpendicular to LT.
Then, because the momentum, or power of produ¬
cing rotation, is as the force and as the distance of its
line of direction from the axis of rotation, jointly, the
combined momentum of the particles B and b will be
jf.BD.DC—(for the particles B and b are
squares of the radius j and the sum of the squares of
the sines is equal to the sum of the squares of the cor¬
responding cosines : therefore the sum of the squares of
the radius is double of either sum. Therefore^*II . Q L
.BL*—In.QL.QL*. In like manner the sum of the
number 17.QL of CL*s' will he —II.QL.CL*. These
sums, taken for the semicircle, are -Jn.QL.QL3, and
^n.QL.CL*, or n.QL.^QL1, and II.QL.4CL3: there¬
fore the momentum of the whole ring will be 2 m n f
.AQ.QL.n(4QL2—^CL1) : for the momentum of the
ring is the combined momentum of a number of pairs,
and this number is ^n.QL.
By the ellipse we have OC : QL~EO : AQ, and
AQ—QL^-^, rrQL^; therefore the momentum of
OC
4
the rings is 2 ni nf-^ QLJn
QLln (4QL2—CL*):
4QL2—CL*=:£ b*—
4CL*), =m nfj
but QL*=£*—x1 y therefore
, - b1—3 x7,
r.,2   X A*  * V2   •
 X ,  TC/  ,   *
therefore the momentum of the ring is m nf —a?*)
d
2b
(£4—4&\i*_|_3,r4). If we now suppose another paral¬
lel extremely near to A «, as represented by the dotted
line, the distance L l between them being x, we shall
have the fluxion of the momentum of the spheroid
m n ff-Yl (b+x—4/2V.V -j- 3^), of which the fluent is
^ 2 0
J.UU.Ljyj -J.UU.Ul) V/U1 ll,C SJ Ciuu or d ( Xs
urged in contrary directions). But the momentum of mnf — IT ( b*x—46* )• This expresses the
B is/.BF.DC -f/.FD.DC, and that of b is fbQ.dQj— 26 V 3 5/
J.dG.dCy and the combined momentum is /iBF.Df/—
/.FD.DC^pC, = 2/.BF.LF—2/LT.TC.
Because m and n are the sine and cosine of the angle
ECS or LCT, we have LT—m.CL, and CTzrw.CL,
and LF=r?w.BL, and BFrrw.BL. This gives the mo-
mentum — 2 /'m n BL2—CL*.
The breadth AQ of the protuberant ring being very
small, we may suppose, without any sensible error, that
all the matter of the line AQ is collected in the point
Q ; and, in like manner, that the matter of the whole
ring is collected in the circumference of its inner circle,
and that B and b now represent, not single particles,
hut the collected matter of lines such as AQ, which
terminate at B and b. The combined momentum of two
such lines will therefore be 2 ni w/iAQ.BL*—CL2.
Let the circumference of each parallel of latitude he
divided into a great number of indefinitely small and
equal parts. The number of such parts in the circum¬
ference of which Q q is the diameter, will be n-QL.
To each pair of these there b< longs a momentum tmnf
.AQ BL*—CL2. The sum of all the squares of BL>
which can be taken round the circle, is one half of as
many squares of the radius CL: for BL is the sine
momentum of the zone EA a Q, contained between the
equator and the parallel of latitude A a. Now let x
become =3, and we shall obtain the momentum of the
hemispheroid 11 (^5—ant^
the spheroid —in nf +
n b\
This formula does not express any motion, but only
a pressure tending to produce motion, and particularly
tending to produce a libration by its action on the co¬
hering matter of the earth, which is aflected as a num¬
ber of levers. It is similar to the common mechanical
formula w.d, where w means a weight, and d its di¬
stance from the fulcrum of the lever.
It is worthy of remark, that the momentum of this
protuberant matter is just one fifth of what it yvould be
if it were all collected at the point O of the equator :
for the matter in the spheroid is to that in the inscribed
sphere as «* to Z>2, and the contents of the inscribed
Therefore o* : o2—5*iz:4n53 :
sphere
a2—Id
is ^n/>3.
which is
the quantity of protuberant matter.
P R E
t 269 ]
P R E
, t * f-l? * ■ ■
feetssio"- may} without sensible error, suppose =2 d;
then the protuberant matter will be If all
this were placed at O, the momentum would be 4 n
^OH.HC, =4W nfdb*, because QH.IlC—mnb*;
now 4 is 5 times r%-.
Also, because the sum of all the rectangles OII.HC
round the equator is half of as many squares of OC, it
follows that the momentum of the protuberant matter
placed in a ring round the equator of the sphere or
spheroid is one half of what it would be if collected in
the point O or E j whence it follows that the momentum
of the protuberant matter in its natural place is two-
fifths of what it would be if it were disposed in an equa¬
torial ring. It was in this manner that Sir Isaac New¬
ton was enabled to compare the effect of the sun’s ac¬
tion on the protuberant matter of the earth, with his
effect on a rigid ring of moons. The preceding inves¬
tigation of the momentum is nearly the same with Ins,
and appears to us greatly preferable in point of perspi¬
cuity to the fluxionary solutions given by later authors.
These indeed have the appearance of greater accuracy,
because they do not suppose all the protuberant matter
to he condensed on the surface of the inscribed sphere :
nor were we under the necessity of doing this, only it
would have led to very complicated expressions had we
supposed the matter in each line AQ collected in its
centre of oscillation or gyration. We made a compen¬
sation for the error introduced by this, which may
amount to T4r °f ^ie "hole, and should not be neglect¬
ed, by taking d as equal to instead of   
’ J b * 2a a+b
The consequence is, that our formula is the same with
that of the later authors.
Thus far Sir Isaac Newton proceeded with mathema¬
tical rigour j but in the application he made two as¬
sumptions, or, as he calls them, hypotheses, which have
been found to be unwarranted. The first was, that when
the ring of protuberant matter is connected with the
inscribed sphere, and subjected to the action of the dis¬
turbing force, the same quantity of motion is produ¬
ced in the whole mass as in the ring alone. The se¬
cond was, that the motion of the nodes of a rigid ring
of moons is the same with the mean motion of the nodes
of a solitary moon. But we are now able to demon¬
strate, tbat it is not the quantity of motion, but of mo¬
mentum, which remains the same, and that the nodes
of a rigid ring move twice as fast as those of a single
particle. We proceed therefore to
Prob. 2. To determine the deviation of the axis, and
the retrograde motion of the nodes which result from this
libratory momentum of the earth’s protuberant matter.
But here we must refer our readers to some funda¬
mental propositions of rotatory motions which are de-
311 tatter, monstrated in the article Rotation.
If a rigid body is turning round an axis A, passing
through its centre of gravity with the angular velocity
«, and receives an impulse which alone would cause it
to turn round an axis B, also passing through its centre
of gravity, with the angular velocity b, the body will
now turn round a third axis C, passing through its centre
of gravity, and lying in the plane of the axes A and B,
and the sine of the inclination of this third axis to the
axis A will be to the sine of inclination to the axis B
as the velocity b to the velocity a.
it
fcts of
tli ib ra¬
te mo¬
rn nun of
arth’s
pr ber
32
33
When a rigid body is made to turn round any axis Precession,
by the action of an external force, the quantity of mo- —v—*—'
mentum produced (that is, the sum of the products of
every particle by its velocity and by its distance from
the axis) is equal to the momentum or similar product
of the moving force or forces.
If an oblate spheroid, whose equatorial diameter is a
and polar diameter 6, be made to librate round an equa¬
torial diameter, and the velocity of that point of the
equator which is farthest from the axis of Jibration be v,
the momentum of the spheroid is —Ua'l/v.
The two last are to be found in every elementary
book of mechanics.
Let AN an (fig 4.) be the plane of the earth’s equa-Fig.
tor, cutting the ecliptic CNKra in the line of the nodes
or equinoctial points N n. Let OAS be the section of
the earth by a meridian passing through the sun, so
that the line OCS is in the ecliptic, and CA is an arch
of an hour-circle or meridian, measuring the sun’s de¬
clination. The sun not being in the plane of the equa¬
tor, there is, by prop. 1. a force tending to produce a
libration round an axis ZO a at right angles to the dia¬
meter A a of that meridian in which the sun is situat¬
ed, and the momentum of all the disturbing forces is
T3-w n f d FI b4. The product of any force by the mo¬
ment £ of its action expresses the momentary increment
of velocity j therefore the momentary velocity, or the
velocity of libration generated in the time t, is 74rm nf
d nb4t. This is the absolute velocity of a point at the
distance 1 from the axis, or it is the space which would
be uniformly described in the moment \y with the velo¬
city which the point has acquired at the end of that
moment. It is double the space actually described by
the libration during that moment \ because this has been
an uniformly accelerated motion, in consequence of the
continued and uniform action of the momentum during
this time. This must be carefully attended to, and the
neglect of it has occasioned very faulty solutions of this
problem.
Let v be the velocity produced in the point A, the
most remote fx-om the axis of libration. The momen¬
tum excited or produced in the spheroid *s tt W. ax bx v
(as above), and this must be equal to the momentum of
the moving force, ov to ^Tm nf d n b4 t; therefore we
obtain
f^mn f dub4 t A . r , . bx
-~^U^x~br~i that 1S> v=:m nfdt — or
IP
very nearly mn f dt, because ~=l very nearly. Also,
because the product of the velocity and time gives the
space uniformly described in that time, the space de¬
scribed by A in its libration round Z s ismnf dtx, and
the angular velocity is
Let r be the momentary angle of diurnal rotation.
The ai’ch A r, described by the point A of the equa¬
tor in this moment t will therefore hew, that is, ax?*,
and the velocity of the point A is —, and the angular
velocity of rotation is —•
t
Here then is a body (fig. 5.) turning round an axis
OR, Fl*
P R E
C 27° 1
P R E
Precession. perpendicular to the plane of the equator z oz, ami
’ v—— therefore situated in the plane ZP z; and it turns round
ns 4.
It has received
this axis with the angular velocity — •
an impulse, by which alone it would lihrate round the
m nfd t
axis Z 3, with the angular velocity
It will
therefore turn round neither axis (N° 31.)? round
a third axis OP', passing through O, and lying in the
plane ZPz, in which the other two are situated, and
the sine P'lT of its inclination to the axis of libration
Z $$ will be to the sine P p of its inclination to the axis
m nfd t
OP of rotation as - to
t a
Now A, in fig. 4. is the summit of the equator both
of libiation and rotation j m nfdi1 is the space de¬
scribed by its libration in the time /; and </r is the
space or arch A r (fig. 4O described in the same time
by its rotation : therefore, taking A r to A c (perpen¬
dicular to the plane of the equator of rotation, and ly*
ing in the equator of libration,) as a r to m nfd/*, and
completing the parallelogram A rmc. Am will be the
compound motion of A (N° 3I0> ant^ a r '• m nf ^ 1
m nf d t1
which will be the tangent of the angle
tn A r, or of the change of position ol the equatoi.
But the axes of rotation aro perpendicular to their
equator 5 and therefore the angle of deviation w is
equal to this angle r A m. I his appears from fig. $• j
for n P" : P'p=OP ; P'/j,=OP : tan. POP j and it is
• * T* t m •
evident that a r : m nfd — mnfd- , as is requir¬
ed by the composition of rotations.
In consequence of this change of position, the plane
of the equator no longer cuts the plane of tne ecliptic
in the line N n. The plane of the new equator cuts the
former equator in the line AO, and the part AN of the
former equator lies between the ecliptic and the new
equator AN', while the part A n of the former equator
is above the new one A «'; therefore the new node N',
from which the point A was moving, is removed to
the westward, Or farther from A; and the new nodew',
to which A is approaching, is also moved westward, or
nearer to A j and this happens in every position of A.
The nodes, therefore, or equinoctial points, continually
shift to the westward, or in a contrary direction to the
rotation of the earth ", and the axis of rotation always
deviates to the east side of the meridian which passes
through the sun.
This account of the motions is extremely different
from what a person should naturally expect. If the
earth were placed in the summer solstice, with respect
to us who inhabit its northern hemisphere, and had no
rotation round its axis, the equator would begin to ap¬
proach the ecliptic, and the axis would become more
upright j and this would go on with a motion conti¬
nually accelerating, till the equator coincided with the
ecliptic. It would not stop here, hut go as far on the
other side, till its motion were extinguished by the oppo¬
sing forces ", and it would return to its former position,
and again begin to approach the ecliptic, playing up
and down like the arm of a balance. On this account Prrrcss!
this motion is very properly termed Ubration ; hut this
very slow lihration, compounded with the incomparably
swifter motion of diurnal rotation, produces a third mo¬
tion extremely different from both. At first the north
pole of the earth inclines forward toward the sun ", after
a long course of years it will incline to the left hand, as
viewed from the sun, and he much more inclined to the
ecliptic, and the plane of the equator will pass through
the sun. Then the south pole will come into view,
and the north pole w’ill begin to decline from the sun •,
and this will go on (the inclination ol the equator dimi¬
nishing all the while) till, after a course of years, the
north pole will he turned quite away from the sun, and
the inclination of the equator will be restored to its ori¬
ginal quantity. After this the phenomena will have
another period similar to the former, hut the axis will
now deviate to the right hand. And thus, although
both the earth and sun should not move from their
places, the inhabitants of the earth would have a com¬
plete succession of the seasons accomplished in a period
of many centuries. This would be prettily illustrated
by an iron ring poised very nicely on a cap like the card
of a mariner’s compass, having its centre of gravity co¬
inciding with the point of the cap, so that it may whirl
round in any position. As this is extremely difficult
to execute, the cap may he pierced a little deeper,
which will cause the ring to maintain a horizontal posi¬
tion with a very small force. When the ring is whirl¬
ing very steadily, and pretty briskly, in the direction.
of°the hours of a watch-dial, hold a strong magnet above
the middle of the nearer semicircle (above the 6 bout
point) at the distance of three or four inches. e
shall immediately observe the ring rise from the 9 hour
point, and sink at the 3 hour point, and gradually ac¬
quire a motion of precession and nutation, such as has
been described.
If tlie earth be now put in motion round the sun, or
the sun round the earth, motions of hhratioi^and devia¬
tion will still obtain, and the succession of their different
phases, if we may so call them, will be perfectly analo¬
gous to the above statement. But the quantity of de¬
viation, and change of inclination, will now be prodigi¬
ously diminished, because the rapid change of the sun’s
position quickly diminishes the disturbing forces, annihi¬
lates them by bringing the siqi into the plane of the
equator and brings opposite forces into action.
We see in general that the deviation of the axis is
always at right angles to the plane passing through the
sun, and that the axis, instead of being raised from the
ecliptic, or brought nearer to it, as the libration would
occasion, deviates sidewise j and the equator, instead ox
being raised or depressed round its east and west points,
is twisted sidewise round the north and south points j
or at least things have this appearance ; but we must
now attend to this circumstance more minutely.
The composition of rotation shows us that this
change of the axis of diurnal rotation is by no means a
translation of the former axis (which we may suppose
to be the axis of figure) into a new position, in which
it again becomes the axis of diurnal motion j nor does
the equator of figure, that is, the most prominent sec¬
tion of the terrestrial spheroid, change its position, and
in this new position continue to be the equator r0'
tation. This was indeed supposed by Sir Isaac New¬
ton }
it 1
Patioj
l;
Mltj.
t«!
fill
P R K [2
(•cession, ton; fintl this supposition naturally resulted from the
^ train of reasoning which he adopted. It was strictly
true of a single moon, or of the imaginary orbit attach¬
ed to it ■, and therefore Newton supposed that the whole
earth did in this manner deviate from its former posi¬
tion, still, however, turning round its axis of figure.
In this he has been followed by Walmesly, Simpson, and
most of his commentators. D’Alembert was the first
who entertained any suspicion that this might not be
certain ; and both he and Euler at last showed that the
new axis of rotation was really a new line in the body
of the earth, and that its axis and equator of figure did
not remain the axis and equator of rotation. They as¬
certained the position of the real axis by means of a most
intricate analysis, which obscured the connection of the
different positions of the axis with each other, and gave
us only a kind of momentary information. Father Fri-
sius turned his thoughts to this problem, and fortunate¬
ly discovered the composition of rotations as a general
principle of mechanical philosophy. Few things of this
kind have escaped the penetrating eye of Sir Isaac
Newton. Even this principle had been glanced at by
him. He affirms it in express terms with respect to
a body that is perfectly spherical (cor. 22. prop. 66.
JB. I.). But it was reserved for Frisius to demonstrate
it to be true of bodies of any figure, and thus to enrich
mechanical science with a principle which gives simple
and elegant solutions of the most difficult problems.
But here a very formidable objection naturally offers
itself. If the axis of the diurnal motion of the heavens
is not the axis of the earth’s spheroidal figure, but an
imaginary line in it, round which even the axis of figure
must revolve \ and if this axis of diurnal rotation has so
greatly changed its position, that it now points at a
star at least 12 degrees distant from the pole observed
by Timochares, how comes it that the equator has the
very same situation on the surface of the earth that it
had in ancient times ? No sensible change has been ob¬
served in the latitude of places.
The answer is very simple and satisfactory : Suppose
that in 12 hours the axis of rotation has changed from
Til). fIie position PR (fig. 6.) to pr, so that the north pole,
instead of being at P, which we may suppose to be a
particular mountain, is now at p. In this 12 hours the
mountain P, by its rotation round p r, has acquired the
position tt. At the end of the next 12 hours, the axis
of rotation has got the position and the axis of figure
lias got the position p r, and the mountain P is now at
p. Ihus, on the noon of the following day, the axis of
figure PR is in the situation which the real axis of ro¬
tation occupied at the intervening midnight. This goes
on continually, and the axis of figure follows the posi¬
tion of the axis of rotation, and is never further re¬
moved from it than the deviation of 12 hours, which
does not exceed T^g-th part of one second, a quantity
altogether imperceptible. Therefore the axis of figure
will always sensibly coincide with the axis of rotation,
and no change can be produced in the latitudes of places
^ on the surface of the earth.
Ap| ation We have hitherto considered this problem in the most
, general manner ; let us now apply the knowledge we
on ^ave gotten of the deviation of the axis or of the mo-
eces-menfary action of the disturbing force to the explanation
of the phenomena: that is, let us see what precession and
71 1 P R E
waat nutation will be accumulated after any given time Precessfa*
of action. -v- 1
For this purpose we must ascertain the precise devia¬
tion which the disturbing forces are competent to pro¬
duce. This we can do by comparing the momentum of
libration with the gravitation of the earth to the sun,
and this with the force which would retain a body on
the equator while the earth turns round its axis.
The gravitation of the earth to the sun is in the pro¬
portion of the sun’s quantity of matter M directly, and to
the square of the distance A inversely, and may therefore
he expressed by the symbol The disturbing force
at the distance 1 from the plane of illumination is to
tne gravitation of the earth’s centre to the sun as 3 to
A, (A being measured on the same scale which mea¬
sures the distance from the plane of illuminatioiO.
3 M .
---- will be the disturbing force f of our
Therefore
formula.
Let p be the centrifugal force of a particle at the
distance x from the axis of rotation ; and let t and T
be the times of rotation and of annual revolution, viz.
sidereal day and year. Then p : : A Hence
tx
But since r was the angu-
, ■ 3 M
we derive —rz3 p
A*
T1
lar velocity of rotation, and consequently 1 X the
i X r
space described, and —— the velocity ; and since the
centrifugal force is as the square of the velocity divided
by the radius (this being the measure of the generated
velocity, which is the proper measure of any accele •,
i2 X /'2 r* . r_ 3 r
rating force), we havep=
t t
Xtp- Now the formula f m ~ expressed the sine
of the angle. This being extremely small, the sine may
be considered as equal to the arc which measures the
angle. Now, substitute for it the value now found, viz.
3 r* .
^r-Xrp, and we obtain an angle of deviation te=:
* 3 t* d
r -7p“ m n —, and this is the simplest form in which it
can appear. But it is convenient, for other reasons, to
o*—b*
2 a*
express it a little differently: d is nearly equal to
• • 3 ci* 
therefore wz=:r K-—mu —, and this is the form
in which we shall now employ it.
3 1
The small angle r
a*—b*.
,^pmn—-—is the angle in winch
21 <r 0
the new equator cuts the former one. It is different at
different times, as appears from the variable part m n,
the product of the sine and cosine of the sun’s declina¬
tion. It will be a maximum when the declination is in
the solstice, for mn increases all the way to 450, and the
declination never exceeds 23^-. It increases, therefore*
from the equinox to the solstice, and then diminishes.
Let
P R E
[ 272 ]
P R E
.35
Various
modes of
application
let ESL (fig. 7.) be the ecliptic, £ AC the equa¬
tor, BAD the new position which it acquires by the
momentary action of the sun, cutting the tormei m t e
angle Let S be the sun’s
place in the ecliptic, and AS the sun’s declination, the
meridian A S being perpendicular to the equator, l^et
a'—b\ be kt The angle B A E is then=r|rp-^ ™ n- In
the spherical triangle B AE we have sin. B : sin. AE=
sin. A : sin. BE, or = A B : B E, because very small
angles and arches are as their sines. Therefore 15
which is the momentary precession of the equinoctial
point E, is equal to A ^ , = r X m n'
sin. R. ascen.
sin. old. eel. . . -n a ™
The equator EAC, by taking the position BAD,
recedes from the ecliptic in the colure of the solstices
CL, and CD is the change of obliquity 01 the nutation.
For let CL be the solstitial colure of B AD, and c l tlm
solstitial colure of EAC. Then we have sin. B : sin. E
= sin. LD: sill. Ic; and therefore the difference of
the arches LD and Ic will be the measure of the differ¬
ence of the angles B and E. But when BE is indefi¬
nitely small, C D may be taken for the difference of L D
and Ic, they being ultimately in the ratio of equality.
Therefore CD measures the change of the obliquity of
the ecliptic, or the nutation of the axis with respect to
the ecliptic. . .
The real deviation of the axis is the same with the
change in the position of the equator, P p being the
measure of the angle E A B. But this not being always
made in a plane perpendicular to the ecliptic, the change
/» , »•  n_. fUo rliiiim-r in the nnsi-
the momentary nutation tvill be r ” kp x y. In
this
value
is a constant quality, and the momentary
2 T
nutation is proportional to .ry, or to the product of the
sine and cosine of the sun’s longitude, or to the sine of
twice the sun’s longitude ; for xy is equal to half the
sine of twice .
If therefore we multiply this fraction by the sun s
momentary angular motion, which we may suppose, with
abundant accuracy, proportional to we obtain the
fluxion of the nutation, the fluent of which will ex¬
press the whole nutation while the sun describes the
arch ss of the ecliptic, beginning at the vernal equi¬
nox. Therefore in place of y put^/l—and in place
of 2; put
and we have the fluxion of the nu-
maiie in a puiuc pci   i
of obliquity generally differs from the change in the posi- result; from this
tion of the axis. Thus when the sun is in the solstice,
>/1 —x%
tation for the moment when the sun’s longitude is S,
and the fluent will be tbe whole nutation. The fluxion
3 t kp
process is ~2"ry
xx. of which the
the momentary change of the position of the equator is
the greatest possible j but being made at right angles to
the plane in which the obliquity of the ecliptic is com¬
puted, it makes no change whatever in the obliquity,
but the greatest possible change in the precession.
In order to find C D the change of obliquity, observe
that in the triangle CAD, R : sin. AC, or R : cos.
AE=sin. A : sin. CD,=A : CD (because A and CD
are exceedingly small). Therefore the change of ob¬
liquity (which is the thing commonly meant by nuta-
„ • 3fkp 2
fluent is   qr-tf
4 *-
This is the whole change produ-
37
'3«
yt x sin. declin. X cos. declin. X cos, R. ascens.
But it is more convenient for the purposes of astro¬
nomical computation to make use of the sun’s longitude
SE. Therefore make
The sun’s longitude EB - - =
Sine of sun’s long. “ ' " :=
Cosine - - " V^1 x*—
Bine obliq. eclipt. - - - 23^=
Cosine obliq. - - —
In tbe spherical triangle EAS, right-angled at A
(because AS is the sun’s declination perpendicular to
the equator), we have R : sin. ES=sin. E : sin. AS,
and sin. AS=jya’. Also R : cos. ASrzcos. AE : cos.
1
2 T
-m n.
35
ES, and cos. ES or y— cos. AS X cos. AE. Therefore Precesd®
pxy~ sin. AS x cos. AS X cos. AE,^:/« n X ccs. AE. j~~
Therefore the momentary nutation CD=r X~7^kpxy.
We must recollect that this angle is a certain frac¬
tion of the momentary diurnal rotation. It is more
convenient to consider it as a fraction of the sun’s an¬
nual motion, that so we may directly compare his mo¬
tion on the ecliptic with the precession and nutation
corresponding to his situation in the heavens, ^hi*
change is easily made, by augmenting the fraction in
the ratio of the sun’s angular motion lo the motion of
rotation, or multiplying the fraction by — ? therefore
4G
ced on the obliquity of the eclipfic while the sun moves
along the arch 25 ecliptic, reckoned from the vernal
equinox. When this arch is 90°, is 1, and there-
jfore is the nutation produced while the sun moves
4 T
from the equinox to the solstice.
The momentary change of the axis and plane of the
, equator (which is the measure of the changing force) is
lion) CD=A X cos.AE,=r^2 k m n, cos. A E'rrr 3^
3 t%
The momentary change of the obliquity of the eclip-The re
, and me
3^-
tic IS
2 T
3 tkp
nuntu
change
greater
the mh
2
X
V
P
<1
The whole change of obliquity is ^
Hence we see that the force and the real momentary the p(|u
change of position are greatest at the solstices, and di-”^
minish to nothing in the equinoxes.
The momentary change of obliquity is greatest at the
octants, being proportional to x x or to xy. .
The whole accumulated change of obliquity is great¬
est at the solstices, the obliquity itself being then
smallest.
We must iu like manner find the accumulated quan¬
tity
pum coccmr/n.
i>ki:ci:ssio.'w m., liyiixoxics.
PUB ^ 273
,.ecession. tity of the precession after a given time, that is, the
'arch BE for a finite time.
We have ER : CDzrsin. EA : sin. CA (or cos.
42
iiantity
preces-
>n in a
ven time
EA)=:tan. EA : 1, and EB : ER—1
fore EB : CD—tan. EA
cos. E X tan- ES, = cos. E x
sm. B. There¬
sia. B. Bat tan. EA—
sin. long. qx
cos. long.-^/TZ^T-
Therefore EB : CD =
sin. obliq. eclip.
qx
-p} and CD EB
tan. long. ©
v/1—x*
If we now substitute for CD its
value found in N° 40. viz. —^xx.
2'V
we obtain EBrz
2 # kq x1 x
the fluxion of the precession of the
equinoxes occasioned by the action of the sun. The
fluent of the variable part
— xy, of which the
1—a
fluent is evidently a segment of a circle whose arch
1 • ,, . z—x^J 1—x~
is s and sine x, that is, zr  >  and the
2
whole precession, while the sun describes the arch
*s Z|V X —x\/1—This is the precession of
the equinoxes while the sun moves from the vernal
equinox along the arch « of the ecliptic.
In this expression, which consists of two parts,
4T
*, and —xs/1 —^^, the first is incomparably
greater than the second, which never exceeds 1", and is
always compensated in the succeeding quadrant. The
precession occasioned by the sun will be - ^ anj
4T
from this expression we see that the precession increases
uniformly, or at least increases at the same rate with
$tkq
T
is con-
43
■le of
illlifi.
the sun’s longitude because the quantity
. . i 4
stant.
In order to make use of these formulae, which are
now reduced to very great simplicity, it is necessary to
determine the values of the two constant quantities
3tkp 3 tkq
—jTp-, which we shall call N and P, as factors of
the nutation and precession. Now t is one sidereal day,
and 1 is 3665. k is ^—, which according to
Sir Isaac Newton is — --12.. =
23i
are the sine and cosine of 23'
O.91729.
5 P
and
1 lS
28', viz. 0.39822 and
These data give N
and P —
T4I03° ^61224’
which the logarithms are 4.85069 and 5.21308, viz.
the arithmetical complements of 5.14931 and 4.78692.
Ne of Let us, for an example of the use of this investiga-
'in- t110n’ comI)Ute the precession of the equinoxes when
ationl16 Slm ^.as movcd from the vernal equinox to the sum¬
mer solstice, so that 2; is oo°, or 224000".
^ OL. XVII. Part. I. +
1
Log 324000'=^
Log P
Log $".292
P li E
^51055
5.21308
Preceswo*.
0.72363
The precession therefore in a quarter of a year is
5.292 seconds j and, since it increases uniformly, it is
2i".i68 annually. J
must now recollect the assumptions on which Assump-
this computation proceeds. 'I he earth is supposed to tions on
be homogeneous, and the ratio of its equatorial diame-wllich the
tei to its polar axis is supposed to be that of 231 to^^^*
230. If the earth be more or less protuberant at the ceeds.10"
equator, the precession will be greater or less in the ra¬
tio ol this protuberance. The measures which have
been taken of the degrees of the meridian are very in¬
consistent among themselves 5 and although a compari¬
son of them all indicates a smaller protuberancy, nearly
-j-T-g- instead ol ^-^T, their differences are too great to
leave much confidence in this method. But "if this
figure be thought more probable, the precession will be
reduced to about 17" annually. But even though the
figure of the earth were accurately determined, we have
no authority to say that it is homogeneous. If it be
denser towards the centre, the momentum of the protu¬
berant matter will not be so great as if it were equally
dense with the inferior parts, and the precession will be
diminished on this account. Did we know the propor¬
tion of the matter in the moon to that in the sun, we
could easily determine the proportion of the whole*ob¬
served annual precession of yoj" which is produced by
the sun’s action. But we have no unexceptionable data
for determining this ; and we are rather obliged to in¬
fer it from the effect which she produces in disturbing
the regularity of the precession, as will be considered
immediately. So far, therefore, as we have yet pro¬
ceeded in this investigation, the result is very uncertain.
We have only ascertained unquestionably the law w hich
is observed in the solar precession. It is probable, how¬
ever, that this precession is not very different from 20"
annually j for the phenomena of the tides show the di¬
sturbing force of the sun to be very nearly J- of the di¬
sturbing force of the moon. Now 20" is J- of
But let us now proceed to consider the effect of the 0f
moon’s action on the protuberant matter of the earth ; tile n oon’s
and as w'e are ignorant of her quantity of matter, and action on
consequently of her influence in similar circumstances the P,otl1-
with the sun, we shall suppose that the disturbing force '
of the moon is to that of the sun as ??i to 1. Then earth, *
(eceteris paribus) the precession w'ill be to the solar pre¬
cession %■ in the ratio of the force and of the time of its
action jointly. Let t and 1 therefore represent a pe¬
riodical month and year, and the lunar precession will
,   miet .
be — rp • I his precession must be reckoned on the
plane of the lunar orbit, in the same manner as the so¬
lar precession is reckoned on the ecliptic. We must
rrmt
of also observe, that Tp- represents the lunar precession
T
only on the supposition that the earth’s equator is in¬
clined to the lunar orbit in an angle of 23^ degrees.
This is indeed the mean inclination j but it is sometimes
increased to above 28°, and sometimes reduced to x8°.
Now in the value of the solar precession the cosine of
the obliquity tvas employed. Therefore whatever is
M m the
P R E
[ 274 ]
P R E
Precession
' 47
Fig. 8.
the angle E contained between the equator and the lu-
1 m 7C t L/OS. i ‘
nar orbit, the precession will be = Cos>
and it must be reckoned on the lunar orbit.
Now let ^ B (fig. 8.) be the immoveab e plane oi
the eclintic ‘Y' ED^kF the equator in its first situation,
before it has been deranged by the action ot tbe niooo
AGIIDBH the equator in its new ?r7 ®
momentary action ot the moon. Let EGN
moon’s orbit, of which N is the ascending node, and
the angle 8' 46".
z
x
y
a
b
c
d
e
in
■x
t
T
n
48
Lunar pre¬
cession in
a month
reduced to
the eclip¬
tic.
Let N<Y> the long, of the node be
Sine N^
Cosine Nfy
Sine<Y' = 234-
Cosine <Y> - -
Sine N= 5.8.46
Cosine N - t ^ ~
Circumference to radius i,r=6.2o
Force of the moon • - "
Solar precession (supposed =I4^,/ by observa¬
tion)
Revolution of J = 27df
Revolution of ©=
Revolution of N = 18 years 7 months
In order to reduce the lunar precession to the ecliptic,
we must recollect that tbe equator will have the same
inclination at the end of every half revolution of the
sun or of the moon, that is, when they pass through the
equator, because the sum of all the momentary changes
of its position begins again each revolution, .therefore
if we neglect the motion of the node during one month,
which is only degrees, and can produce hut an insen¬
sible change, it is plain that the moon produces 111 one
half revolution, that is, while she moves from H to G,
the greatest difference that she can in the position ot the
equator. The point D, therefore, hall-way Irom G to
H, is that in which the moveable equator cuts the pn-
mitive equator, and DE and DF are each 90 . But S
being the solstitial point, vS is also 9° • Therfore
DSrr'Y'E. Therefore, in the triangle DGE, we have
sin. ED : sin. G=sin. EG : sin. D, =EG : D. there¬
fore D=EG X sin. G, =EG X sin. E. nearly. Again,
in the triangle D A we have sin. A : sin. •T (or
cos. TE) = sin. D : sin. lyi A, =D : V A. llierefore
D • cos. _ EG • sin. E • cos. <vE,
TA:
the angle N, which may he considered as constant dur- preccS;
ing the month, and tbe longitude OfN, which is also near-l—
ly constant, by observing that sih. E : sin. qpNzrsin. JN .
mxt sin.N * sin.'Y'N • cos.L
sin. •Y’E. TheAifore RS—-tjt- X co8> <y,
But we must exterminate the angle E, because it changes
by the change of the position ol N. Now, in the tri¬
angle TEN we have cos. E=cos.r^N * sin.N * sin. v —
cos. N • cos. <V,=yc a—db. And because the angle E
is necessarily obtuse, the perpendicular will tail without
the triangle, the cosine of E will be negative, and we
shall have cos. E=& d—a c y. Therefore the nutation
mxt^cx {b d—a c y)
for one month will be =: -X
the
T " b
node being supposed all the while in N. <
These two expressions of the monthly precession and may te
nutation may he considered as momentary parts of the ^
moon’s action, corresponding to a certain position of tary pi
the node and inclination of the equator, or as the ot the
fluxions of the whole variable precession and nutation,moon
while the node continually changes its place, and m the
space of 18 years makes a complete tour of the hea¬
vens. . . , . J5
We must, therefore, take the motion of the node asPreeed
the fluent of comparison, or we must compare the fluxions and n.
of the node’s motion with the fluxions ot the precession
and nutation j therefore, let the longitude ot the node
he z, aud its monthly change rza ; we shall thenha\e
. n x n x t * rr   
( : B=3 I f, Md <=—. -77^ Let 1 be- >
in order that 11 may he 18.6, and substitute for t its va-
lue in the fluxion of the nutation, by putting
in place of y.
(d b x x
By this substitution we obtain m v
■acx x^.
The flueat of this is m x n-
m it t sin
sin. A
E * cos.
E • cos. onE
sin. 23^
^ (l  x* a <—^j. {Vide Simpson’s Fluxions,
^ 77.). But when x is —0, the nutation must he r=o,
because it is from the position in the equinoctial points
that all our deviations are reckoned, and it is horn this
point that the period of the lunar action recommences.
But if we make x — O in this expression, the term
__aC*2 vanishes, and the term —dbji—x' becomes
2 ,
——d b ; therefore our fluent has a constant part -f-rfft;
and the complete fluent is m Trn-^J^db—dbJ i—x1—
49
T sin. <Y» * cos. T ,
This is the lunar precession produced in the course ot
one month, estimated on the ecliptic, not constant like
the solar precession, but varying with the inclination or
the angle E or E, which varies both by a change in the
angle N, and also by a change in the position of N ou
the ecliptic* ot>
We must find in like manner the nutation bit pro-
diced in the same time, reckoned on the colnre of the
.ame time, solstices HE. We have R : sin. DS=D : RS, and
RS=D • sin.DS,=D • sin. tE. But D=LG • sin. L.
mx t cos. L
Therefore RS=EG • sin. E * sin. CY’E> = T . cos.
X sin.E X sin.^E. In this expression we must substitute
a c
2
sine
r>
Now this is equal to
m x n—{d b X versed
e u
8ine J«cX versed sine 22) : For the versed sine
of s’is equal to (1—cos. z) *, and the square ot the sms
of an arch is £ the versed sine of twice that arch. ^
This then, is the whole nutation while the moon s
ascending node moves from the vernal equinox to the
longitude orNrzs. It is the expression ot a certain,
number of seconds, because x, one of its factors, is the
solar precession in seconds \ and ail the other factors aie
numbers, or fractions of the radius 1 ; even e is expres-
sed in terms ot the rndius I*
The fluxion of the precession, or the monthly preces-
sion,
P k E [27
gion, Is to that of the nutation as the cotangent of cy* E
is to the sine of ‘y. This also appears by considering
fig. 7. Pp measures the angle A, or change of position
of the equator j but the precession itself, reckoned on the
ecliptic, is measured by Po, and the nutation byp 0; and
the fluxion of the precession is equal to the fluxion of
nutation X ^ut ^ there-
rerssion
55
5r
P R E
fore
cot
y E a d-\-b OtJi —,r*
sine y
c x
the fluxion of the nutation, gives
’ h abe\
: This, multiplied into
a b d%
-x x
(b*—a*) dc—abc2.^ 1—x for the monthly pre¬
cession. The fluent of this -----^ a d*b z -[-(b* a2)
dcx—\abc%z—^abc%x Vi—x1^, or it is equal
mv/i
to —7—^ (J*—ic*) « i 25 -f (^*—a1) d c 2;—^ a b
).
s^ne 2Z
Let us now express this in numbers : When the node
has made a half revolution, sve have 25=180°, whose
versed sine is 2, and the versed sine of 22, or 360°, is
~0 j therefore, after half a revolution of the node, the
nutation (N° 52.) becomes —2bd. If, in this ex¬
ec*
pression, we suppose m=2^, and we shall
find the nutation to be ipf".
Now the observed nutation is about 18". This re¬
quires m to be 2rV, and But it is evident
that no astronomer can pretend to warrant the accura¬
cy of his observations of the nutation within i".
Te find the lunar precession during half a revolution
of the node, observe that then z becomes = and the
2
sine of ss and of 22; vanish, cP becomes 1—c% and the pre-
. , mien
cession becomes ~(d*-
2 v
mien
(1—4 0,
and the precession in 18 years vs mien x —^ c*.
We see, by comparing the nutation and precession
for nine years, that they are as to 1—c*, nearly
as 1 to 1 This gives 313" of precession, correspond¬
ing to 18", the observed nutation, which is about 33"
of precession annually produced by the moon.
And thus we see, that the inequality produced by
the moon in the precession of the equinoxes, and, more
particularly, the nutation occasioned by the variable ob¬
liquity of her orbit, enables us to judge of her share in
the whole phenomenon j and therefore informs us of her
disturbing force, and therefore of her quantity of mat¬
ter. This phenomenon, and those of the tides, are the
only facts which enable us to judge of this matter: and
this is one of the circumstances which has caused this
problem to occupy so much attention. Dr Bradley,
by a nice comparison of his observations with the ma¬
thematical theory, as it is called, furnished him by Mr
Machin, found that the equation of precession compu¬
ted by that theory was too great, and that the theory
5 ]
would agree better with the observations, if an ellipse Precession
were substituted for Mr Machin’s little circle. He Precise,
thought that the shortei’ axis of this ellipse, lying in the 1 J
colure of the solstices, should not exceed 16". Nothing
can more clearly show the astonishing accuracy of
Bradley’s observations than this remark: for it results
from the theory, that the pole must really describe an
ellipse, having its shorter axis in the solstitial colure, and
the ratio of the axis must he that of 18 to 16.8 • for
the mean precession during a half revolution of the
, . mien, ^
node is C d1
2 v
■“) > and therefore, for the longi-
,1 .... zmirn, ,
tude z, it will be ( rp
c-
m~) i when this is taken
from the true precession for that longitude (N° 54.),
it leaves the equation of precession — (b* cjc
a be \ K J
sine 55 —\abc sine 22;^ j therefore, when the node is
in the solstice, and the equation greatest, we have itzr
viiencd
\y—a=)’ here neglect the second term
a b 1
as insignificant,
. _ S9
This greatest equation of precession is to —T” c equation of
c precession.
the nutation of 18", as b'—a' to 20b { that is, as ra¬
dius to the tangent of twice the obliquity of the eclip-
t.c ibis gives the greatest equation of precession
16 .8,. not diflenng half a second from Bradley’s ob¬
servations. J
llms have we attempted to give some account of this
curious and important phenomenon. It is curious, be¬
cause it affects the whole celestial motions in a very in¬
tricate manner, and received no explanation from the
more obvious application of mechanical principles, which
so happily accounted for all the other appearances. It
is one of the most illustrious proofs of Sir Isaac New¬
ton s sagacity and penetration, which catched at a very
remote analogy between this phenomenon and the li-
bration of the moon’s orbit. It is highly important to
t ie progress of practical and useful astronomy, because
it has enabled us to compute tables of such accuracy,
that they can be used with confidence for determining
the longitude of a ship at sea. This alone fixes its im¬
portance : but it is still more important to the philoso¬
pher, affording the most incontestable proof of the uni¬
versal and mutual gravitation of all matter to all matter.
It left nothing in the solar system unexplained from
the theory of gravity but the acceleration of the moon’s
mean motion ; and this has at last been added to the
list of our acquisitions by M. de la Place.
Quae toties animos veterum torsere Sophorum,
Quaeque scholas frustra rauco certamine vexant,
Obvia conspicimus, nube pellente Mathesi,
Jam dubios nulla caligine praegravat eiTor
Queis superum penetrare domos, atque ardua cceli
Scandere sublimis genii concessit acumen.
Nec fas est propius mortali attingere divos.
Halley.
PRECISE (precius, « early”), the name of the
21 st order in Linnaeus’s fragments ef a natural method •
consisting of primrose, an early flowering plant, and a
Mm2 few
Precise
II .
-Pmiestina
tion.
The doc¬
trine stated
Not pecu
liar to
t hiistia-
aity.
P R S [
few genera which agree with it in habit anil sti ucture,
though not always in the character or circumstance ex¬
press'd in the title. See Botany, Natural Orders.
PRECIPITANT, in Chemistry, is applied to any
liquor, which, when poured on a solution, separates what
is dissolved, and makes it precipitate, or fall to the bot¬
tom of the vessel. ,
PRECIPITATE, in Chemistry, a substance wlucn
having been dissolved in a proper menstruum, is again
separated from its solvent, and thrown down to the bot¬
tom of the vessel by pouring some other liquor upon
PRECIPITATION, the process by which a preci¬
pitate is formed. c r t> <-
PRECOGNITION, in Scots Law. See Law, iait
III. N° CLXXXVI. 43.
PRECORDIA, in Anatomy, a general name tor Uie
parts situated about the heart, in the forepart ot the tho¬
rax •, as the diaphragm, pericardium, and even the heart
itself, with the spleen, lungs, &c.
PREDECESSOR, properly signifies a person who
has preceded or gone before another in the same oitice
or employment; in which sense it is distinguished trom
ancestor. - „ , ,
PREDESTINATION, the decree of God where¬
by he hath from all eternity unchangeably appointed
whatsoever comes to pass } and hath more especially
fore ordained certain individuals of the human race to
everlasting happiness, and hath passed by the rest, anil
fore-ordained them to everlasting misery. Ihe ormer
of these are called the elect, and the latter are called the
1 This doctrine is the subject of one of the most perplex¬
ing controversies that has occurred among mankind.' But
it is not altogether peculiar to the Christian faito. Ihe
opinion, that whatever occurs in the world at large, or
in the lot of private individuals, is the result ol a previ¬
ous and unalterable arrangement by that Supreme Power
which presides over nature, lias always been a favourite
opinion among the vulgar, and has been believed by
many speculative men. Thus, in that beautiful scene in
the sixth book of the Iliad, Hector, taking leave of his
wife and his child, speaks thus .
Andromache ! my soul’s far better part,
Why with untimely sorrows heaves thy heart .
No hostile hand can antedate my doom,
Till fate condemns me to the silent tomb.
Fix’d is the term to all the race of earth,
And such the hard condition of our birth.
No force can then resist, no flight can save }
All sink alike, the fearful and the brave. 1. 624.
The ancient Stoics, Zeno and Chrysippus, whom the
Jewish Essenes seem to have followed, asserted the ex¬
istence of a Deity, that, acting wisely, but necessarily,
contrived the general system of the world *, from which,
by a series of causes, whatever is now done in it una¬
voidably results. This series, or concatenation of causes,
they held to be necessary in every part •, and that God
himself is so much the servant of necessity, and of his
own decrees, that he could not have made the smallest
object in the world otherwise than it now is, much less
is he able to alter any thing.
According to the words of Seneca, Eaclem necessi-
tns et Deos alligat. Jrrevocabilis clivina pariter atque
5
276 ] P R E
humana cursus vclut. Ille ipse omnium conditor ac rec- Prcclcstin,
torscripsit quidemfata sed sequitur. Semper par et,semel ^ tion
jussit.” “ The same chain of necessity constrains both r
gods and men. Its unalterable course regulates divine
as well as human things. Even he who wrote the Fates,
the Maker and Governor of all things, submits to them.
He did but once command, but he always obeys.” The
stoical fate, however, differs from the Christian predesti¬
nation in several points. They regarded the divine na¬
ture and will as a necessary part of a necessary chain of
causes; whereas the Christians consider the Deity as
the Lord and Ruler of the Universe, omnipotent and
free, appointing all things according to his pleasure.
Being doubtful of the immortality of the soul, the Stoics
could have no idea of the doctrine of election and re¬
probation ; nor did they ever doubt their own freedom
of will, or power of doing good as well as evil, as we
shall presently see the Christian predestinarians have
done.
Mahomet introduced into his Koran the doctrine of
an absolute predestination of the course of human af¬
fairs. He represented life and death, prosperity and
adversity, and every event that befals a man in this
world, as the result of a previous determination of the
one God who rules over all ; and he found this opinion
the best engine for inspiring his followers with that con¬
tempt of danger, which, united to their zeal, has ex¬
tended the empire of their faith over the fairest portion
of the habitable globe. . _ 3
The controversy concerning predestination first made When firs
its appearance in the Christian church about the ^,eSin‘l^e c|jHrc
ning of the fifth century *. Pelagius a British, and Coe- * Moshea
lestius an Irish monk, both lived at Rome during that7^. a
period, and possessed great celebrity on account of their Eccl.
piety and learning. They taught that the opinion is
false, which asserts, that human nature is necessarily cor¬
rupted by a depravity derived from our first parents.—
They contended, that men are born at present in a
state as pure as that in which Adam was originally cre¬
ated ; and that they are not less qualified than he was
for fulfilling all righteousness, and foy reaching the
most sublime eminence ol piety and virtue : that the
external grace ot God, which is given unto all, and at¬
tends the preaching of the gospel, is necessary to call
forth the attention and exertions of men ; but that we
do not want the assistance of any internal grace to pu¬
rify the heart, and to give it the first impulse towards
what is good. Having fled into Africa on account of
the Goths, who at that time invaded Italy, A. D. 410,
Coelestius remained at Carthage as a presbyter; but Pe¬
lagius went into the East, where he settled, and pro¬
spered under the patronage of John bishop ol Jerusa¬
lem, to whom his sentiments were agreeable. On the ^ugustinj
contrary, the celebrated Augustine, bishop of Hippo, a predest,
strenuously asserted the depravity of human nature since nariafl,
the fall of the first man, the necessity of a special inter¬
position of divine grace to enable us to do any one good
action ; and consequently, that none could obtain salva-
action excepting those whom God has thought fit to
elect, and upon whom he bestows this grace. The dis¬
pute was carried on with great zeal. Zozimus bishop
of Rome decided at first in favour of Pelagius and
Coelestius, whose followers were called Pelagians ; but
he afterwards altered his opinion ; and by the ac¬
tivity of Augustine, the council of Ephesus was called,
at
P R' E
p Utina-at which the opinion of his antagonists was formally
-,n- condemned.
In the course of the same century, these opinions as¬
sumed a variety of forms and modifications. One par¬
ty, called Predestinariuns, carried Augustine’s doctrine
fully farther than he himself had ventured to do in ex¬
press words ; and asserted, that God had not only pre¬
destinated the wicked to punishment, but also that he
had decreed that they should commit those very sins on
account of which they are hereafter to be punished.—
Another party moderated the doctrine of Pelagius, and
were called Semipelagians. Their peculiar opinion is
expressed in a different manner by different writers j
but all the accounts sufficiently agree. Thus, some re¬
present them as maintaining that inward grace is not
necessary to the first beginning of repentance, but only
to our progress in virtue. Others say, that they ac¬
knowledged the power of grace, but said that faith de¬
pends upon ourselves, and good works upon God 5 and
it is agreed upon all hands, that these Semipelagians
held that predestination is made upon the foresight of
good works. The assistance of Augustine, though then
far advanced in life, was called in to combat these te¬
nets, and he wrote several treatises upon the subject.
In all these he strenuously maintained, that the pre¬
destination of the elect was independent of any foresight
of their good works, but wras according to the good
pleasure of God only ; and that perseverance comes from
God, and not from man. Thereafter the doctrine of
Augustine, or St Austin as he is often called, became
general. He was the oracle of the schoolmen. They
never ventured to differ from him in sentiment ; they
only pretended to dispute about the true sense of his
writings.
find the The whole of the earliest reformers maintained these
earlh. re- opinions of Augustine. They assumed under Luther a
fornjs, but more regular and systematic form than they had ever
cialKad" f°rmeIly exhibited. But as the Lutherans afterwards
via. abandoned them, they are now known by the name
of Calvinistic Doctrines, from John Calvin of Geneva.
He asserted, that the everlasting condition of mankind
in a future world was determined from all eternity by
t 277 1
P It E
ence of Maurice prince of Orange, the Arminians Were predestlna-
condemned as heretics ; for by this time ambitious and tion.
powerful men found themselves politically interested in v——■»
this religious contest. The Arminians presented to this
synod a remonstrance, containing a statement of their
faith upon the subjects in dispute.; and from this they
derived the appellation of Remonstrants. This statement
contained the following five articles: 1. That God from
all eternity predestinated those to everlasting salva¬
tion whom he foresaw would believe in Christ unto
the end of their lives; and predestinated obstinate un¬
believers to everlasting punishment. 2. Jesus Christ
died for the whole human race, and for every individual
of it, but believers alone reap the benefit of his death.
3. No man can produce faith in his mind by his own
free will, but it is necessary that man, who is by nature
wicked and unfit for acting or thinking aright, should
be regenerated by the grace of the Holy Spirit, impart¬
ed by God for Christ’s sake. 4. This divine grace
constitutes the source, the progress, and the fulfilment,
of all that is good in man ; but it is not irresistible in its
operation. 5. Believers, by the assistance of the Holy
Spirit, are abundantly fitted for every good work ;
but whether it is possible for those who have once been
truly such to fall away, and to perish finally, is not
clear, and must be better inquired into by searching the
sacred scriptures.
In opposition to these, a counter-remonstrance was
presented, containing the opinions of the Calvinists,
which was approved of by the synod. The substance
of it was afterwards adopted, and in nearly the same ex¬
pressions, into the Confession of Faith compiled by the
assembly of divines which met at Westminster, A. I>.
1643, and which every clergyman and probationer for
the ministry in Scotland is at present required to sub- 7 ’
scribe previous to his admission. rJ o give as clear and Calvinistic
as fair an idea as possible of the Calvinistic doctrine up-doctrin.e of
on this head, we transcribe the following passage from j)rcdeEtina~
that Confession: “God from all eternity did, by the 10n'
most wise and holy counsel of his own will, freely and
unchangeably ordain whatsoever comes to pass; yet so, as
thereby neither is God the author of sin, nor is violence
the unchangeable decree of the Deity, arising from offered'to the will of the creatures, nor is the liberty or
his sole good pleasure or free will. Being a man of contingency of second causes taken away, but rather
great ability, industry, and eloquence, Geneva, where
he taught, and which was a free state, soon became the
resort of all the men of letters belonging to the reform¬
ed churches, and was a kind of seminary from which
misssionaries issued to propagate the Protestant doc¬
trines through Europe. Their success was such, that,
excepting a part of Germany, the principles of all the
reformed churches are professedly Calvinistic or Pre-
destinarian.
The opponents of the doctrine of predestination a-
mong the Protestants usually receive the appellation of
Arminians or Remonstrants. They derive the first of
tip, ne ^iese spoliations from James Arminius, who was A. D.
Co Z1^02’ appointed* professor of theology at Leyden. He
■ i~ Rise
t»i» Ami
g-* Re
Histo.
su
die
iins.
no
a
and
e- died A. D. 1609. After his death, the controversy
p°was conducted with great eagerness on both sides.
Calvinists, however, gradually prevailed. A synod
__ ja Was called at Dort, A. D. 1618, to which the most
Limb< f,. celebrated divines ol different countries were invited.
^here, in a great measure, by the authority and influ-
vay,
established. Although God knows whatsoever may or
can come to pass upon all supposed conditions; yet
hath he not decreed any thing because he foresaw it as
future, or that which would come to pass upon such
conditions. By the decree of God, for the manifesta¬
tion of his glory, some men and angels are predestina¬
ted unto everlasting life, and others are fore-ordained
to everlasting death. These angels and men, thus pre¬
destinated and fore-ordained, are particularly and un¬
changeably designed ; and their number is so certain
and definite, that it cannot be either increased or dimi¬
nished. 1 hose ot mankind that are predestinated unto
life, God, before the foundation of the world was laid,
according to his eternal and immutable purpose, and the
secret counsel and good pleasure of his will, hath cho¬
sen, in Christ, unto everlasting glory, out of his mere
free grace and love, without any foresight of faith, or
good works, or perseverance in either of them, or any
other thing in the creature, as conditions or causes mo¬
ving him thereunto ; and all to the praise of his glori¬
ous grace. As God hath appointed the elect unto glo-
I
9 *7
^ /
P R E [
p....fi-stina-ry, so liatli lie, by tlie eternal and most free purpose oi
tion his will, fore-ordained all the means tbereunto. iere
 ' fore, they who are elected, being fallen in Adam, are
redeemed by Christ, are effectually called unto faith in
Christ, by his spirit working in due season ; are ’
adopted, sanctified, and kept, by his power through faith
unto salvation. Neither are any other redeemed by
Christ effectually called, justified, adopted, sanctified,
and saved, but the elect only. The rest of mankini,
God was pleased, according to the unsearchable counsel
of his own will, whereby he extendeth or withholdeth
mercy as he pleaseth for the glory of his sovereign
power over his creatures, to pass by, and to ordain them
to dishonour and wrath for their sin, to the praise of
g his glorious justice.” ^ .
iSfapralap- There are two kinds of Calvinists or P^ede9t,"ar,a!lS’
saiians and vjz t^e Supralapsarians, who maintained that t iod did
Sublapsari- • ;naiiy and expressly decree the fall of Adam, as a
^ foundation for the display of his justice and mercy-,
while those who maintain that God only permitted the
fall of Adam, are called Siiblapsarians, their system ot
decrees concerning election and reprobation, being as it
were, subsequent to that event. But as Dr Priestley
justly remarks, if we admit the divine precience there
is not, in fact, any difference between the two schemes }
and accordingly that distinction is now seldom men-
9 • Nor was the church of Rome less agitated by the
tlfe^church contest about predestination than the first Protestants
2 Rome on were. The council of Trent was much perplexed how
the subject. settle the matter without giving offence to the Do¬
minicans, who were much attached to the doctrine of
Augustine, and possessed great influence in the council.
After much dispute, the great object came to be, how
to contrive such a decree as might give offence to no¬
body, although it should decide nothing. Upon the
whole, however, they seem to have favoured the bemi-
pelagian scheme. Among other things, it was deter¬
mined, that good works are of themselves meritorious to
eternal life ; but it is added, by way of softening, that
it is through the goodness of God, that he makes his
own gifts to be merits in us. Catarin revived at that
council an opinion of some of the schoolmen that God
chose a small number of persons, such as the blessed
virgin, the apostles, &c. whom he was determined to
save without any foresight of their good works ; and
that he also wills that all the rest should be saved, pro¬
viding for them all necessary means, but they are at li¬
berty to use them or not. This is called the Baxtcnan
scheme in England, from one of its promoters there.
But at all events, the council of Trent seems to have
been extremely anxious that any opinions entertained
among them concerning predestination might have as
little influence as possible upon practical morality. Let
no man (say they), while he remains in this mortal state,
presume that he is among the number of the elect, and
S ]
P It E
that therefore he cannot sin, or sin without repentance; pr^(.rt^
for it cannot be known who are elected without a spe- tion.
cial revelation from God.” Sect. 6. c. 13.
The Jesuits at first followed the opinion of Augus¬
tine ; but they afterwards,, forsook it. Molina, one of
their order, was the author of what is called the middle
scheme, or the doctrine of a grace sufficient for all menr
but subject to the freedom ot the human will. Jan~
senius, a doctor of Louvain, opposetl the Je.suits, with
great vigour, and supported the doctrine of Augustine.
He wrote in a very artful manner. He declared, that
he did not presume to state his own sentiments upon
the subject. He pretended only to explain and publish
the sentiments ot that great father of the church bt
Augustine. But the Jesuits, in consequence of that in¬
violable submission to the authority of the pope, which
they always maintained, had sufficient interest at Rome
to procure the opinion of Jansenius to be condemned
there : but with this addition subjoined, that nothing
was thereby intended to be done in prejudice of the
doctrine of St Augustine. This produced an absurd
dispute about the pope’s infallibility in matters of fact.
The Jansenists affirmed, that the pope had made a mis¬
take in condemning the opinion ot Jansenius as difier-
ent from those of Augustine ; whereas in truth they
are the same, and the one cannot be condemned without
the other. But the Jesuits affirmed, that the pope is no
less infallible in points of fact than he is in questions of
faith ; and he having decided, that the opinions of Jan¬
senius are different from those of St Augustine, every
good catholic is bound to believe accordingly that they
are different. These disputes have never been fully set¬
tled, and still divide the Roman catholic churches.
Some of the ablest supporters of predestination have ap¬
peared among the Jansenists, and particularly among
the gentlemen of Port-Royal.
With regard to Great Britain, the earliest English
reformers were in general Sublapsarians, although somej™
of them were Supralapsarians. But the rigid Predesti-pre(jeai
narians have been gradually declining in number in thatriaw.
church, although they still subscribe the 39 articles of
their faith, which are unquestionably Calvinistic. The
celebrated Scotch reformer John Knox having been edu¬
cated at Geneva, established in this country the doctrine
of predestination in its strictest form : and it has proba¬
bly been adhered to with more closeness in Scotland
than in any country in Europe.
Of late years, however, the dispute concerning pre¬
destination has assumed a form considerably different
from that which it formerly possessed. Instead of being
considered as a point to be determined almost entirely
by the sacred scriptures, in the hands of a number of
able writers, it has in a great measure resolved itself
into a question of natural religion, under the head of the
philosophical liberty or necessity of the will (a) ; or,
whether all human actions are or are not necessarily de¬
termined
10
(A-) Dr Priestley, the most celebrated Necessarian of the age, has written a whole section of bts lllustjatwn',
with a view to show, that between “ the two schemes of Cal.imstic predestination and phdosoph.eal necessity,
there is no sort of resemblance, except that the future happiness or misery of all men is “rta,nly,f“*”™“ “
aunointed by God. In all other respects (says he) they are most essentially different; and even where they a rf«
J the end, file difference in the manner by which that end is accomplished is so very great, that the influence ot the
P R E [ 279 ]
P R E
ijestina-termined by motives arising from the character which
lion. God has impressed on our minds, and the train of cir-
'-v””"' cumstances amidst which his providence has placed us ?
We have already discussed this point (see Metaphy¬
sics) by giving a candid statement of the arguments
on both sides of the question. We shall treat the sub¬
ject of predestination in the same manner, avoiding as
far as possible any recapitulation of what has been ad-
„ vanced under the head of Necessity and Liberty.
3 ats at From what has been already said, it will appear that
j '3 be- the points chiefly at issue between the parties are the
1 destina : First, With what views and purposes did
J ^and " C1'eate the world and frame his decrees concerning
t ir oppo mankind P Did he contrive a great unalterable scheme
r ts. of creation and providence only for the sake of mani¬
festing his own glory and perfections ? Or did he first
consider the free motions of those rational agents whom
he intended to create, and frame his decrees upon the
consideration of what they might choose or do in all
the various circumstances in which he intended to
place them ?—The second and following questions are
branches of this leading one. Did Christ die for a par¬
ticular portion of the human race, who shall therefore
certainly be saved ? or was his death intended as a bene¬
fit to all, from which none are excluded excepting those
who willingly reject it ? Is the divine grace certainly
and irresistibly efficacious in all those minds to which it
is given P or does its effect depend upon the good use
which men may or may not make of it? Can any good
action be done without it ? Do those who have once
received it certainly persevere and obtain eternal-salva¬
tion ? or is it possible for any of them to fall away and
perish finally ?
'meats
1 le doc
We shall begin by stating the argument on the side
of the predestinarians, and in the language which they
commonly use. But it is necessary to make this pre-
ini vious remark, that the general * objections to their doc-
w. trine are, that it is hostile to all our ideas ot the justice
God, representing him as a partial being, rewarding
]ib without merit, and punishing without sin j that it ren¬
ders him the author of evil, destroys moral distinctions,
makes useless every effort on our part, makes every
prayer absurd, and even the preaching of the gospel pre(ieStina
vain ; seeing that all things are immutably fixed, and lion,
none can believe or be saved excepting the elect, and —y-—'
they must certainly and at all events be safe. Against
all this they reason thus.
The great and everlasting Author of all things ex¬
isted from eternity alone, independent and essentially
perfect. As there was no other, he could only consider
himself and his own glory. He must therefore have
designed all things in and for himself. To make him
stay his determinations till he should see what free crea¬
tures would do, is to make him decree with uncertain¬
ty, and dependency upon them, which falls short of
infinite perfection. He existed alone, and his counsels
could have no object excepting himself j he could only
then consider the display of his own attributes and per¬
fection. In doing this, as the end is more important
than the means, Divine Wisdom must begin its designs
with that which is to come last in the execution of
them 5 but the conclusion of all things at the last judge¬
ment will be the complete manifestation of the wisdom,
the goodness, and justice ot God : we must therefore
suppose, that in the order of things, he decreed that
first, although with him, in the order of time, there is
no first nor second, but all is from eternity. When
this great design was laid, the means were next design¬
ed. Creation, and its inhabitants of every order, form
the means by which the author and disposer of all things
accomplishes his will. But creatures in his sight are
nothing, and are figuratively said to be less than nothing.
We may entertain proud and elevated conceptions of
our own dignity if we please $ but if we in our designs
regard not the dust on which we tread, or the lives of
ants and insects, the omnipotent Lord ot all, from whom
wre are more infinitely distant, must regard us as at least
equally inconsiderable, and only valuable as we serve tbe
accomplishment of his great and mysterious purposes,
which cannot be us or our aggrandisement, but himself
and his own glory.
It is only by this view of the divine conduct thatasneces-
some or the attributes of God can be explained, or theii Sill'y to ex¬
existence rendered possible. In the scriptures he claims S?,!lthe
the attribute of prescience as his distinguishing prero-tr/|J^s at"
gativej
two systems on the minds of those that adopt and act upon them is the reverse of one another. The Calvinistic
doctrine of predestination, according to a very authentic statement of the doctrine* is, that “God, for his own* s/iorfer
glory, hath foreordained whatsoever comes to pass''1 The scheme of philosophical necessity, as stated bv an in- Catechism
tunate friend and warm admirer of Dr Priestley’s, is, “ That every thing is predetermined by the Divine"Bt-inu" fft,u'
that whatever lias been, must have been j and that whatever will be, must be ; that all events are pre-ordained by sei7}bty of
infinite wisdom and unlimited goodness j that the will, in all its determinations, is governed by the state of mind; Westmxn-
that this state of mind is in every instance determined by the Deity; and that there is a continued chain oUter.
causes and effects, of motives and actions, inseparably connected, and originating from the condition in which we
aie brought into existence by the Author ol our being.” The author ox compiler of the same book affirms, “ That
all motion indeed originates in the Deity; that the Deity is self-moved ; that he possesses the singular attribute
underived of moving himself.” But it is added, in the very same paragraph from which this last sentence is
quoted, that “ the very argument we employ to prove one underived source of motion and existence, is a gross
solecism in logic; and that the ascription of this power to the Divine Being is in fact nothing else than tbe less
of two palpable absurdities, or rather impossibilities, if these could admit of degrees f." f Essay on
The piety of these assertions will be obvious, we are persuaded, to every one of our readers; but to some it Js Ptiilosophi-
possible that their consistency may not he apparent. We would advise all such “ to peruse once and again j)vca^eccssi-
Pnestley’s Illustrations,” which we have the best authority to say, will remove from their minds all libertarian ^nder^^'
prejudices, convince them “that the hypothesis of necessity is incontrovertibiy true,” and show them that all the Crombie,
defenders of that hypothesis are in perfect harmony with themselves and with one another! A. Ai.
P R £
[
rrcdcs.ha-gative; but tliere can be no prescience ol future con-
tion. tingencies ; for it involves a contradiction to say, t la
  things which are not certainly to be should be certain y
foreseen. If they are certainly foreseen, they must cer¬
tainly be, and can therefore be no longer contingent.
An uncertain foresight is also an imperfect act, as it
may be a mistake, and is therefore inconsistent with di¬
vine perfection. On the other side the difficulty 1S ea"
*ily explained. When God decrees that an event shall
take place, its existence thenceforth becomes certain,
and as such is certainly foreseen. For it is an obvious
absurdity to say, that a thing happens freely, that is to
say, that it may be or may not be, and yet t.iat it is cer¬
tainly foreseen by God. He cannot foresee things ut
as he decrees them, and consequently gives them a fu¬
ture certainty of existence 5 and therefore any prescience
antecedent to his decree must be rejected as impossible.
Conditional decrees are farther absurd, inasmuch as they
subject the purposes of God to the will and the actions
of his creatures. Does he will or wish that‘all man¬
kind should be saved, and shall they not all be saved .
Infinite perfection can wish nothing but what it can
execute : and if it is fit to wish, it is also fit to execute
its wishes. We are indeed certainly informed by the
scriptures, that all shall not be saved j and we therefore
as certainly conclude, that God never intended that they
should be so } for the counsel of the Lord statideth fast,
I4 and the thoughts of his heart,'to all generations
Christ died We conclude, upon the same principles, that al-
only for the though the blessings resulting from the death of Christ
*lect• are offered to all, yet that intentionally and actually he
only died for those whom the Father had chosen and
given to him to be saved by him. That Christ should
have died in vain is represented by the apostle Paul as a
oreat absurdity (Gal. ii. 21.) : but it he died for all,
fie must have died in vain with regard to the gi-eater
part of mankind who are not to be saved by him. In
so far as some inferior blessings are concerned, which
through him are communicated, if not to all men, at
least to all Christians, he may perhaps justly be said to
have died for all : but with regard to eternal salvation,
his design, to avoid rendering it fruitless, could go no
farther than the secret purpose and election of God.
This is implied in these words, all that are given me of
my Father, thine they were, and thou gavest them me.
To these his intercession is limited •, 1 pray not for the
world, butfor those that thou hast given me, for they are
thine, and all thine are mine, and mine arethinefio.xFu.
o, io.). Universal words are indeed used with regard
to the death of Christ: but the reason is obvious, the
Jewish religion was confined to the family and descen¬
dants of Abraham. In contradiction to this, the gos¬
pel is said to be preached to every creature, and to all
the world; because it is not limited to any one race or
nation, and because the apostle received a general com¬
mission to teach it unto all who should be willing to
receive it. These extensive expressions can only be un¬
derstood in this manner, because in their strict accepta¬
tion they have never been verified. Nor can their mean¬
ing be carried farther without an imputation upon the
justice of God: for if he has received a sufficient satis¬
faction for the sins of the whole world, it is not just that
all should not be saved by it, or at least have the offer
of salvation made to them, that they may accept of it if
they please.
280 ] PR E
But to return to the divine purposes and attributes £'rejest.
in general: it is in vain to assert that God is partial and iiCI1
unjust while he prefers without merit, and predestinates
to punishment those who have not yet offended. The
same error misleads men here that has so often seduced
them from the true path of scientific research. Instead
of submitting to the patient and humble observation of
nature, they boldly form some plausible hypothesis of
their own, and vainly attempt to reconcile every appear¬
ance to their favourite system. This mode of procedure
never has proved, and never will prove, successful in any
branch of true philosophy. We are not entitled to
frame to ourselves certain notions of the justice of God,
and from these to decide that thus he must act, and in
no other manner. He takes no counsel from us concern¬
ing his conduct, and we have no right to rejudge his
judgments. What he regards as just or unjust between
himself and his creatures, is a question of fact not to be
known by ingenious conjectures, but by the cautious
observation of the manner in which he acts in the course
of his providence, and by attending to what he has de¬
clared concerning himself in the sacred scriptures. If
from these it shall appear that he does prefer where there
is no merit, and reject where there is no crime 5 it will
be in vain thereafter to assert that such conduct is un¬
just: the fact will be on our side of the question, and we
shall leave those to account for it, who insist that their
limited reason is capable of comprehending all the mys¬
terious ways ot an Infinite Being. I?
In the course of providence, then, we see the great-Great:
est inequalities take place, and such as appear alto-qualitie;
gether contradictory to our ideas of justice. We see^^l
die sins of the fathers punished in the persons of the
children, who often derive debilitated bodies from the1
intemperance of their parents, and corrupted manners
from the example of their vices. God frequently afflicts
good men in this life for a great length of time, as in
the case of Job, only for the manifestation of his own
glory, that their faith and patience may be made mani¬
fest." Some sins are punished with other sins, and often
with a course of severe miseries in the persons ot those
who never committed them. We may transfer this
from time to eternity *, for if God may do for a little
time what is inconsistent with our notions, and with
our rules of justice, he may do it fora longer duration:
since it is as impossible that he can be unjust for a day
as for all eternity: and the same inequality ot manage¬
ment appears in the great as in the private affairs ot this
world. During many ages almost the whole human
race were lost in the darkness of idolatry: even since the
Christian religion came into the world, how few nations
have received it ; and of these few, the number is still
smaller of those who have enjoyed it in tolerable purity.
I f we consider how many great nations remain under
the delusion contrived by Mahomet •, it we reflect upon
the idolatrv of the Indies and of China, and the su¬
perstition of the Greek church, and of the church of
]{ome—we shall find that very few nations have possessed
the most ordinary means of grace. Even the blessings
of civilization, of science, and of liberty, are so rarely
scattered ever the face of the earth, that it is to be re¬
garded as a melancholy truth, that with a very few fa¬
voured exceptions the whole human race have hitherto
been sunk in the depth of barbarism, ignorance, slavery,
and idolatry. When the Arnunians think lit to assert,
then,
P R E
tion.
Jalvini
'<t 2
•destina- then, that the doctrine of absolute decrees is contrary
to their ideas of the impartiality and justice of God, Ave
can only answer that we are sorry for them if they have
formed ideas of the character of God which are contrary
to the truth. We presume not * like them to call his
act. de attributes before the tribunal of our understandings ; we
observe the ways of his providence, and declare
V ' that thus stands the fact. If he leave whole nations in
darkness and corruption, and freely chooses others to
communicate the knowledge of himself to them, we
need not be surprised if he act in the same manner with
individuals. For surely the rejecting immense empires
for so many ages is much more unaccountable than the
selection ot a few individuals, and the leaving others in
ignorance and depravity. It is in vain to allege that
he extends his mercy to those who make the best use of
the dim light which they have. This does not remove
the difficulty of a choice and a preference ; as it cannot
be denied that their condition is very deplorable, and
that the condition of others is much more hopeful: so
that the mysterious doctrine of election and reprobation
is an unquestionable truth under the government of God,
seeing that great numbers of men are born in such cir¬
cumstances that it is morally impossible they should not
perish in them ; whereas others are more happily situ¬
ated and enlightened.
Nor are we left to common observation upon this
point. The language of the sacred scriptures is positive
p lestina an^ c'eai'* The whole reasoning in the ninth chapter
^' ' to the Romans resolves all the acts of God’s justice and
mercy, his hardening as well as \uspardoning, into an ab¬
solute freedom and an unsearchable depth. More point¬
ed expressions for this purpose can scarcely be conceived
than those actually made use of. For the children being
not yet born, neither having done any good or evil, that
the purpose of God according to election might stand, not
of works, but of him that collet h, it was said, The elder
shall serve the younger. As it is written, Jacob have I
loved, but Esau have I hated. What shall ive say then 9
Is there unrighteousness with God? God forbid. For he
saith to Moses, I will have mercy on whom I will have
mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I tvill have
compassion. So then it is not of him that willeth, nor of
him that runneth, but of God that showeth mercy ; for
the scripture saith unto Pharaoh, Even for this same
purpose have I raised thee up, that I might show my
power in thee, and that my name might be declared
throughout all the earth. Therefore hath he mercy on
,7 whom he will have mercy, and whom he will he har-
bjec- deneth- If any man shall still be sufficiently bold to de-
ta- c^ar^ that all this is contrary to what he is pleased to
d' _ consider as just and impartial, we can only reply to him
'wpra, in the words of the celebrated John Calvin of Genevaf.
hbimolestum est ac odiosum, Tdeum plus posse et facere,
(juam mens tua capiat; cequah autem tuo interdum con¬
cedes, ut suo judiciofruatur. Et tu in tanto furore, Dei
mentionem ullam facere audes? “ Is it painful to thee
that the power and the works of God exceed thy limit¬
ed capacity ? Thou sometimes sufferest thine equal to
judge of his own conduct for himself, and darest thou in
thy folly to censure the ways of God ?” Or rather we
may reply in those words of the apostle Paul which im¬
mediately follow the passage already quoted. Thou wilt
say then to me, Why doth he yet find fault ? for who hath
resisted his will? Nay but, Oman, who art thou that re-
Vol. XVII. Part I. f
81 ] P R E
pUest against God? Shall the thing formed say to him Pretatina.
that firmed it, Why hast thou made me thus ? Hath not tion
the potter power over the clay ; of the same lump to make ’ v '
one vessel unto honour, and another unto dishonour? Let
these passages, and even the whole of the chapter now
alluded to, be explained in any manner that is judged
proper, still their import with regard to the present ar¬
gument will remain the same. If God loved Jacob so
as to choose his posterity to be his people, and rejected or
hated Esau and his posterity, and this without regard to
t lem or their future conduct, but merely in consequence
of the purpose and design of his election ; if by the same
purpose the Gentiles were to be grafted upon that stock
from which the once favoured Jews were cut off, it will
follow, not only that the great and mysterious decree of
final election is unsearchably free and absolute, but also
that all the means of grace are granted or withheld in
the same unlimited and free manner according to the
sovereign will and good pleasure of God, independent
ol any foresight of merit on our part. The words of
our Saviour express this : I thank thee, O Father, Lord
oj heaven and earth, because thou hast hid these things
from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto
babes: The reason of which is given in the following
words, Even so, Father, fir so it seemed good in thy sight,
(Mat. xi. 26.). 1 he passage immediately preceding this,
shows clearly that the means of grace are not bestowed
upon those who, it is foreseen, will make a good use of
them ; nor denied to those who will make a bad use of
them. Wo unto thee ChoraMn, wo unto thee Bethsaida :
for if tlie mighty works which were done in you had been
done in lyre and Sidon, they would have repented long
ago in sackcloth and ashes. But the passages in scrip¬
ture are innumerable, which declare that the whole char
racter and destiny of every man is the result of the coun¬
sel and uncontrouled determination of God. The ex¬
pression is often repeated in the book of Exodus 5 God
hardened the heart of Pharaoh, so that he would not let
his people go, (Exod. iv. 21.), &c. It is said, that God
has made the wicked man for the day of evil, (Prov. xvi.
4.). On the other hand, it is said, as many believed the
gospel as were appointed to eternal life, (Acts. i. 48.).
Some are said to be written in the book of life, of the
Lamb slain from the foundation of the world (Rev. xiii.
8.). Every prayer that is used, or directed to be used,
in scripture, is for a grace that opens our eyes, that
turns the heart, that makes us to go, that leads us not
into temptation, but delivers us from evil. All these
expressions denote that ive desire more than a power
or capacity to act, such as is given to all men. In¬
deed we do not, and we cannot, pray earnestly for that
which we know all men as well as ourselves possess at
all times.
The grace of God is the medium by which his sove- SuiPeffi-
reign will and absolute degrees are accomplished. Ac-cacy of
cordingly, it is set forth in scripture by such expressions 8race.
as clearly denote its sure efficacy j and that it does not
depend upon us to use it or not at our pleasure. It is
said to be a creation ; we are created unto good works,
and ive become new creatures : It is called a regenera¬
tion, or a new birth; it is called a quickening and a re¬
surrection, as our former state is compared to a feeble¬
ness, a blindness, and a death. God is said to work in
us both to will and to do : His people shall be willing in
the day of his power: He will write his laws in their
N n heai'ts%
t.ion.
19
Perseve¬
rance of
tkc saints.
P R li [ 28
Picdesliua- hearts, and make them to walk in them. In a passage
already quoted, the human race are compared to a mass
' of da;/ in the hands of the potter, who of the same lump
makes at his pleasure vessels of honour and dishonour.
These passages, and tins last more particularly, prove
that there is an absolute and a conquering power in di¬
vine grace-, and that the love of God constrains us, as
St Paul expresses himself. Our Saviour compares the
union and influence that he communicates to believers
to the union of an head with the members, and ot a
root with the branches, which imparts an internal, a
vital, and an efficacious influence. The outward means
m .y indeed he rejected, but this overcoming grace ne¬
ver returns empty : these outward means coming liom
God, the resisting of them is said to he the resisting ot
God, the grieving or quenching of his spirit; and in
that sense we may resist the grace or favour oi God ;
but we can never withstand him when he intends to
overcome us ; For the foundation of God standeth sure,
having this seal. The Lord knoweth them that are his,
(2 Tim ii 19 )• Having predestinated us unto the adop¬
tion 0/children by Jesus Christ himself, according to
the good pleasure oj his will, (Epb. i. 5.).
That the saints shall certainly persevere unto the end
is a necessary consequence of absolute decrees and ot ef¬
ficacious grace : all depends on God. He of his own
will begat us and with him there is no variableness nor
shadow of turning: whom he loves, he loves to the end:
and he lias promised that he will never leave^ nor for¬
sake those to whom he becomes a God. Our Lord
hath said, 1 give unto them eternal life, and they .shall
never perish; neither shall any pluck them out of my
hand, (Jo. x. 28.). Hence we must conclude, that Me
purpose and calling of God is without repentance, (He .
xiii. 5.). And therefore, although good men may tall
into great sins, yet of all those who are given by the
Father to the Son to be saved by him, none are lost :
The conclusion from the whole is, that God did in him¬
self, and for his own glory, foreknow a determinate
number in whom he would be both sanctified and glori¬
fied. These he predestinated to be holy, conformable to
the image of his Son : they are to he called, not by a
general calling in the sense of these words, many are
called, but few are chosen ; but to he called according
to his purpose. He justified them upon their obeying
that calling, and in the conclusion he will glorify them j
for nothing can separate us from the love ot God in
Christ, (Rom. ix. 19.). And he is not less absolute in
his decree of reprobation than he is in his election : for
ungodly men are said to be of old ordained to condem¬
nation, and to be given up by God unto vile affections,
and to be given over by him to a reprobate mind.
Arguments Thus far we have defended the doctrine of predesti-
against the nation: we proceed next to state the arguments usually
doctrine adduced in favour of the Arminian systtm.
God is ju.t, holy, and mtrciful. In speaking of
himself in scripture, he is pleased to make appeats to the
human understanding, and to call upon men to reason
with him concerning his ways. The meaning ot this
is, that men may examine his actions and his attri¬
butes with that measure of intelligence which they
possess, and they will he forced to approve ot them 5
nay, he proposes himself to us as a pattern tor our imi¬
tation. We are required to be holy as he is holy, and
2 ] P R E
merciful as he is merciful ; which is a proof that he r>rec|cst;n
accounts us not incapable ot forming just notions at ^ u-
least of these attributes. What then can we think ot1
a justice that shall condemn us tor a fact that we ne¬
ver committed ? that designs first of all to be glorified
by our being eternally miserable, and which afterwards
decrees that we shall commit sius lo justiiy this previous
decree of our reprobation ? l or ii God originahy de¬
signs and determines all things, and if ail his decrees
are certainly effected, it is inconceivable how there
should he a justice in punishing that which he himself,
b) an antecedent and irreversible decree, appointed to
be done. Or, setting justice aside, is it possible that
a being of infinite holiness, and who is of purer eyes than
to behold iniquity, would by an antecedent decree fix our
committing so many sius, in such a manner that it is
not possible to avoid them ? He represents himself in
the scriptures as gracious, merciful, slow to anger, and
abundant in goodness and truth. It is often said, that he
desires that no man should perish, but that all should
come to the knowledge of the truth : this is even said
with the solemnity of an oath, As L live, salth the Lord,
I take no pleasure in the death of sinners. \\ hat sense
can these words bear if we believe that God did by an
absolute decree doom so many of them to everlasting
frotn the
attributes
of Coil.
misery t If all things that happen arise out of the ab¬
solute decree of God as their first cause, then we must
believe that God takes pleasure both in his own decrees
and in the execution of them, consequently that he doth
take pleasure in the death of sinners; and this in ex¬
press contradiction to the most positive language ot
scripture. Besides all this, what are we to think ot
the truth of God, and of the sincerity of those ofters oi
grace and mercy, with the exhortations and expostu¬
lations upon them that occur so frequently in scrip¬
ture, if we can imagine that by antecedent acts he e-
termined that all these should be ineffectual i . In one
word, are we to regard our existence as a blessing, and
to look up with gratitude to that paternal goodness
which has placed us in a land of hope, which lormed
our nature, weak indeed and exposed to many imper¬
fections, but capable of rising by virtuous eftorts and
by a patient continuance in well-doing to excellence
and to high and immortal felicity ? or, are we to curse
the hour in which we were born under the dominion ot
a master, who is not only severe, but absurd, and even
adds insult to cruelty who, after placing us in a good¬
ly habitation, binds us hand and foot, locks the door,
blocks up the windows, sets fire to the fabric, and
then very mercifully calls upon us to come forth lest
we perish ? . .
It is not true that rational beings are nothing in
the sight of their Maker. Compared to his Almighty
streno-th and uncreated existence, our powers do indeed
diminish into weakness, and our years into a moment:
yet although our interests may be unimportant in them¬
selves, the attributes of God with which they are con¬
nected are far from being so. There was no necessity
for his calling us into existence but the instant he be¬
stowed upon us that gift, and conferred upon us facul¬
ties capable 0! rising to happiness by the contempla¬
tion of himself and of his works, he became our parent,
and granted to us a right to look up to him tor protec¬
tion and mercy, and to hope that our existence an
our faculties were not bestowed in yam. Willie
P k' e
lorrcs-
. ndence
tween
•ice and
ieitiey
edestiiia-trample upon tliejust and reasonable hopes of the mean-
tion est of his creatures. He is watchful over our interests;
he hath sent his Son to die for us ; his providence has
been exerted for no other purpose but to promote our
welfare ; and there is joy in heaven even over one sin¬
ner that repenteth. Let it be allowed, that the universe
was formed for no other purpose but to promote the
glory of God ; that glory can surely be little promoted
by the exertion of undistinguishing and blind acts of
power, in the arbitrary appointment to eternal repro¬
bation of millions of unresisting and undeserving wretch¬
es*. Is it not more honourable to the Deity to con¬
ceive of him as the parent, ouide, governor, and judge
of free beings, formed after the likeness of himself, with
powers of reason and self-determination, than to con¬
ceive of him as the former and conductor of a system
of conscious machinery, or the mover and controuler
of an universe of puppets, many of whom he is pleased
to make completely miserable ? The most important
and fundamental point of religion considered as a spe¬
culative science, consists in our forming high and just
ideas of God and of his attributes, that from them we
may understand the maxims of true and perfect mora¬
lity. But were we to attempt to form our own natures
upon the idea of the divine character that is given us
by the doctrine of absolute decrees, we would certainly
become imperious, partial and cruel ; at least we should
not readily learn the virtues of kindness, mercy, and
compassion.
It is true that, setting aside predestination, it is
not easy to show how future contingencies should be
certainly foreseen ; but it is ohvious that such foresight
involves no contradiction, (see Metaphysics, N° 308);
and if the actions of men be free, we know from the
train of prophecies, which in the sacred scriptures ap¬
pear to have been made in one a<re and fulfilled in ano¬
ther, that contingencies are foreseen by that infinite
Being who inhabiteth eternity, and to whom a thou¬
sand years are but as one day. The prophecies concern¬
ing the death and sufferings of Christ were fulfilled by
the free acts of the Jewish priests and people : These
men sinned in accomplishing that event, which proves
that they acted with their natural liberty. From these
and all the other prophecies both in the Old and New
Testament, it must he confessed that future contingen¬
cies were certainly foreknown, but where to found that
certainty cannot lie easily resolved We doubt not,
however, that w'e may safely refer it to the infinite per¬
fection of the Divine mind. And it ought to be ob¬
served that tins difficulty is of a very different nature
from that to which our antagonists are reduced on their
side of the argument. They are compelled to confess
that they cannot reconcile their doctrine with the justice
of God, an attribute the nature of which we clearly
understand, and which is held forth to our imitation ;
whereas we ai-e only at a los.-. how to explain the mode
in which the divine prescience is exerted ; an attribute
which God claims as peculiarly his own, and which it
is not to he expected that we should be able in the smal¬
lest degree to comprehend. We can go farther than
this. Heaven hath given to man two revelations of it¬
self. The one consists in the knowledge which we pro¬
cure by the right use of our rational faculties ; and the
other is bestowed by means of the sacred scriptures.
’VYithout intending to derogate from the authority of
[ 283 ]
P R E
ai
)e diffi-
ty of
science
red.
inspiration, it is fair to assert, that we are more certain Predestina-
that God is the author and bestower of our reason, tion.
than that he is the author of the scriptures ; at leastv~““J
it is certain that the last cannot contradict the first, be¬
cause God cannot contradict himself. By the primary
revelation from heaven then, that is, by our reason, we
are informed that God is true, and just, and good. If
an angel from heaven should preach a doctrine contrary 22
to this, we are entitled to say with the apostle, let him Sc,'iPtllre
be accursed. If our antagonists then should succeed in the*
proving that the doctrine of absolute decrees, which clear dic-
represents the Deity as cruel and unjust, is contained in t.ites of
scripture, the consequence would be, not that we wouldieason'
believe it, for that is impossible, but that we should be
reduced to the necessity of rejecting the authority of
the scriptures, because they contradict the previous sure
revelation of God, our reason. We believe that the
doctrines contained in the scriptures are certainly true,
because they were taught by those who wrought mi¬
racles and foretold future events in proof of their be¬
ing inspired by the God of truth. But miracles and
prophecy are direct evidences of nothing but the power
and wisdom of their Author; and unless we know by
other evidence, that this powerful and wise Being is
likewise the father of truth and justice, we cannot be
sure that the scriptures, notwithstanding their source, are
any thing better than a tissue of falsehoods. The very
arguments therefore by which predestination is support¬
ed, tend to sap the foundation of that revelation from
which its advocates pretend to draw them. The case
is very different when no doctrine is asserted that is not
contradictory to our reason, but only above it. For
example, when we are told that God can create rational
beings, that he attends without distraction to the mi¬
nutest affairs that pass in a thousand worlds, that he
knows all things, the past, the present, and the future,
w’e do not presume that we comprehend how he can do
all this: but there is nothing in it that contradicts our
reason ; we ourielves possess a certain degree of power,
can attend at once to a certain number of objects, can
in some cases form very sure conjectures about futurity,
and we resolve all the rest into the infinite nature and
perfections of God.
It is farther to be observed, that prescience does
not make efiects certain because they are foreseen ; but
they are foreseen because they are to be : so that the
certainty of the prescience is not the cause, hut the
consequence of the certainty of the event. The Bo-
man republic has fallen; but our knowledge or igno¬
rance of that event does not render it more nr less true
and certain. 1 hat it was to fall, was as surely true be¬
fore it happened as it is now ; and had we known it
beforehand, as many men of sense probably did, it
would neither have fallen sooner nor later on that ac¬
count. This shows that the knowledge which an in¬
telligent being has of a past or future event need not
have any influence upon the circumstances that produce
that event.
On some occasions the scripture takes notice of a con- Conditional
ditional prescience*. God answered David, that Saul prescience,
would come to Kedah, and that the men of Keilah * Sam*
would deliver him up; yet both the one and the otherxxili 1I’
rested upon the condition of his staying there ; and he12’
going from thence, neither of them ever happened.
Such also was the f prophecy of Jonah, at the failure ^ ^kap. iik
N n a of
24
Christ died
for the
whole
world.
. 25
freedom
essential
moral
agents.
and Gomorrah, would have turned to him, 11 the) had
seen the miracles that he wrought in the towns ot Ga¬
lilee. Since, then, tins prescience may he so certain
that it can never err or mislead the exertions ol provi¬
dence, and since by this, both the attributes of God aie
vindicated, and the due freedom ol man is asseited, all
difficulties seem to be thus easily removed.
With regard to the purpose of Christ’s death, he is
said to be the propitiation for the sms of the whole
world; and the wicked are said to deny the Lord that
bought them. His death, as to its extent, is set m op¬
position to the sins of Adam ; so that as by the offence of
one judgment came upon all men to condemnation, so
hy the righteousness ol one the free gift came upon all
men to justification of lile, (Rom. v. 18.). Ihe all o\\
the one side must be as extensive as the all on the other :
so, since all are concerned in Adam s sin, all must like¬
wise be concerned in the death ot Christ, lo this we
may add, that all men are commanded and required to
believe that Christ died for their sins 5 but no man can
he obliged to believe what is not tiue . he must theie-
fore have died for all. The following passages express
clearly the universality of the object of Christ’s death.
Lf any man sm, we have an advocate with the I'athci,
Jesus Christ the righteous : and he is the propitiation
for our sins: and not for ours only, but also for the sms
'of the whole world (1 Jo. ii. 1, 2.). The love of Christ
constraineth us; because we thus judge, that if one died
for all, then were all dead: and that he died for all,
that they which live should not henceforthlive unto them¬
selves, (2 Cor. v. 14.). God so loved the world that he
gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in
him might not perish, but might have everlasting life.
(Jo. iii. 16.).
But a proper attention to the nature of man will set
to the justice of our argument in a still stronger point of
view. It is obvious, that such an inward freedom as ren¬
ders a man the master of his own conduct, and able to do
or not do what he pleases, is so necessary to the morality
of our actions, that without it they are neither good nor
evil, neither capable of rewards nor punishments. Mad¬
men, or men asleep, are not to be charged with the good
or evil of what they do ) therefore at least some small
degree of liberty must be left us, otherwise why are we
praised or blamed for our conduct P All virtue and reli¬
gion, all discipline and industry, arise out of this as their
first principle, that there is a power in us to govern our
own thoughts and actions, and to raise and improve our
faculties. If this be denied, all efforts, all education, all
attention bestowed upon ourselves or others, become iruit-
less and vain. If a man account himself under an inevi¬
table decree, as he will have little remorse for the evil
he does while he imputes it to that inevitable force that
constrains him, so he will naturally conclude that it is to
no purpose for him to struggle with impossibilities. Men
are sufficiently inclined to throw all censure off from
themselves, and to indulge in indolence ) and upon the
doctrine of absolute predestination who can blame them,
seeing that their efforts can be of no value?
Matter is inactive of itself, and only moves in conse¬
quence of its being acted upon by some other being. Man
is possessed of a power to begin motion, and to determine
it in any direction that he may judge proper. This power
P It E [ 284 ] P It E
of which he was so absurdly offended : and such was and this intelligence constitute his liberty, and form that Prelestin
Christ’s saying, That those of Tyre and Sidon, Sodom image of God that is stamped upon his nature. \X hether non.
- — J ° >’1 1--— -r  n.wi man possesses this power of acting originally and 01 lum- *
self, or whether he is incapable of forming any resolu-
l ion, or making any effort, without being acted upon by neceSH:ty,,
a foreign cause, is not a point to be reasoned on or dis-question-
puted about: it is a question of fact, which, as far as it'11^
can possibly be known, every man has it in his power to
determine by the evidence of his own consciousness. We
do aver, then, that every man is conscious that he is a free
agent, and that it is not possible for the most staunch
predestinarian that has ever yet appeared seriously and
practically to convince himself of the contrary. It is not
possible for a man in his senses to believe, that in all those
crimes which men charge themselves with, and reproach
themselves for, God is the agent j and that, properly
speaking, they are no more agents than a sword is when
employed to commit murder. We do indeed, on some
occasions, feel ourselves hurried on so impetuously by vio¬
lent passions, that we seem for an instant to have lost our
freedom ) but on cool reflection we find, that we both
might and ought to have restrained that heat in its first
commencement. We feel that we can divert our
thoughts, and overcome ourselves in most instances, if
we set seriously about it. We feel that knowledge, re¬
flection, and proper society, improve the temper and
disposition) and that ignorance, negligence, and the so¬
ciety of the worthless and abandoned, corrupt and de¬
grade the mind. From all this we conclude, that man
is free, and not under inevitable fate, or irresistible mo¬
tions to good or evil. This conclusion is confirmed by
the whole style of scripture, which upon any other sup¬
position becomes a solemn and unworthy mockery. It is
full of persuasions, exhortations, reproofs, expostulations,
encouragements, and terrors. But to what purpose is it
to speak to dead men, to persuade the blind to see, or
the lame to run ? If we are under impotence till the ir¬
resistible grace comes, and if, when itcomes, nothing can
withstand it, what occasion is there for these solemn dis¬
courses which can have no effect ? They cannot render
us inexcusable, unless it were in our power to be im¬
proved by them ; and to imagine that God gives light
and blessings, which can do no good, to those whom he
before intended to damn, only to make them more in¬
excusable, and for the purpose of aggravating their
condemnation, gives so strange an idea of his character
as it is not fit to express in the language that naturally
arises out of it. 27
Our antagonists seem to have formed ideas of the (
divine perfection and sovereignty that are altogether Go(1 ^
false. There is no imperfection implied in the suppo-j)end on
sition that some of the acts of God may depend upon the condt
the conduct of his creatures. Perfection consists inof 1116 cre|
forming the wisest designs, and in executing them by U1
the most suitable means. The Author of Nature con¬
ducts the planets in their orbits with immutable preci¬
sion according to fixed rules : but it would he absurd
to pretend to manage free agents, or their affairs, in
the same manner by mathematical or mechanical prin¬
ciples. The providence that is exerted over material
objects is fixed and steady in its operations, because it
is fit that material objects which cannot move of them¬
selves should be moved in a regular manner : but free
and intelligent beings enjoy a wider range, and ought
  O O J J '
not to be confined to a prescribed tram of exertions
may
:S
T in?-
qi ities of
l'i idence
ac :antcd
fo\
P R k [2
may therefore be necessary that the providence which
superintends them should accommodate itself to circum¬
stances. This, however, is not injurious to the divine
sovereignty ; for God himself is the author of that free¬
dom of agency which he is pleased to watch over. He
is not less the Lord of the universe ; and surely his
wisdom and benevolence are more conspicuous when he
brings good out of evil, and renders the perverse wan¬
derings of the human heart subservient to purposes of
mercy, than when he burls into the immensity of space
the most enormous mass of dead and passive matter sub¬
jected to unerring laws.
As for the inequalities of moral situation that are to
be observed in the world, and the giving to some na¬
tions and persons the means of improvement, and. the
denying them to others, the Scriptures do indeed a-
scribe these wholly to the riches and freedom of God’s
grace. And we confess, that the ways of Providence
are often dark and mysterious. In this world there are
many things which are hard to be understood, and many
which appear altogether unaccountable : we see the
wicked man prospering in his wickedness, though it
impose misery upon thousands ; we see truth hiding its
head, and the world governed by fraud and absurdity.
Still, however, we can venture to assert, that God be¬
stows upon all what is necessary to enable them to ful¬
fil the obligations expected from the state in which they
are placed ; and it is elsewhere shown, that physical evil
is among men the parent of moral good. (See Pro¬
vidence). God winketh at the times of ignorance j
much is required of them to whom much is given ; and
it shall be more tolerable in the day of judgment for the
inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah than for the en¬
lightened cities of Galilee. Thus God will be just
when be judges; none will meet with condemnation ex¬
cepting those who are inexcusable. For although he
grants more to some than may be absolutely necessary,
yet he grants less to none ; and where he grants little,
he will suit his judgments to the little which he gave.
There is no injustice in this. If it was the intention
of the great Creator, that his creation should contain
within its ample bosom every possible variety of intelli¬
gent natures, it was necessary that there should be some¬
where such a being as man; and, in forming all possible
varieties of human minds and situations, it was necessary
that every particular individual should exist. Hence a
man may as well complain that he was not formed one
of the flaming seraphims that surround the throne of the
Eternal, as that he is not placed in other circumstances
in life than those which he now occupies j for if little
is given, little will he required from him. Thus the
designs of Providence go on according to the goodness
and mercy of God. None can complain, though some
have more cause for joy than others. What happens
to individuals may happen to nations in a body ; some
may have higher privileges, and be placed in happier
circumstances than others 5 but none can complain of
the wise and just disposer of all, who has given enough,
85 ] P R E
although we may have good reason to complain of our-preck»tina-
selves, for not using what was suflicient. tion.
As to the case of those who are not blessed with the '
light of the gospel, we may consider, that if they have
fewer and less advantages than others, their nature and
capacities must likewise be inferior j to which their fu¬
ture state may be proportioned. God is not obliged to
make all men equally perfect in the next world any
more than in this ; and if their capacity be rendered
less than that of an ordinary Christum, a lower degree
of happiness may fill it. However, we need not be ex¬
tremely solicitous about their state, much less cast any
ungrateful imputations on the Governor of the world for
not having dealt so bountifully with them as he has
with ourselves 5 since we know that Christ died for the
whole race of mankind ; that everyone will at length
be ‘ accepted according to that he lias, and not accord¬
ing to that he has not ; and that to whomsoever much
is given, oi him shall much be required’ (b). 29
l pon these principles, we can easily explain all the ^cr'Ptural
passages in the New Testament concerning the purpose, exPress*on*
the election, the foreknowledge, and the predestination 0pexPlalncd-
God. They relate to the design of calling the Gentile
world to the knowledge of the Messias : This was kept
secret, though hints had been given of it by several of
the prophets, so that it was a mystery ; but it was re¬
vealed when the apostles, in consequence of Christ’s
commission, to go and teach all nations, w'ent about
preaching the gospel to the Gentiles. This was a
stumbling block to the Jews, and it was the chief sub¬
ject of dispute betwixt them and the apostles at the
time when the Epistles were written; so that it was
necessary for them to clear up this point very fully,
and to mention it frequently. Eut in the beginning of
Christianity there was no need of amusing men with
high and unsearchable speculations concerning the de¬
crees of God } the apostles therefore take up the point
in dispute, the calling of the Gentiles, in a general man¬
ner. They show, that Abraham at first, and Isaac
and Jacob afterwards, were chosen by a discriminating
favour, that they and their posterity should he in cove¬
nant with God ; but that, nevertheless, it always was
the intention of Providence to call in the Gentiles,
though it was not executed till these later times.
With this key we can explain coherently the whole
of St Paul’s discourses upon this subject, without assert¬
ing antecedent and special decrees as to particular per¬
sons. 1 hings that happen under a permissive and direct¬
ing Providence, may, by a largeness of expression, be a-
scribed to the will and counsel of God ; for a permissive
will is really a will, though it is not the agent or cause
of the effect. The hardening of Pharao/ds heart may he
ascribed to God, though it is said that his heart har¬
dened itself, because he took advantage of the respites
which God granted him from the plagues, to encou¬
rage himself to longer resistance. Besides this, he was
a cruel and bloody tyrant, and deserved such judgments
for his other sins j so that he may be considered as at that
time
(b) See Bishop Law’s Considerations on the Theory of Religion, where this question is treated in a very mas¬
terly manner. rIfie work, though less known than it ought to be, has great merit, and of the author we have
given a biographical sketch.
P R E
[ 286 ]
P R E
. , r 1 1 „ n,-,,! m.lv nrrserved from that he hath done shall not be mentioned; in his sin that Predes
3°
the first plagues, to afford a striking instance of the
avenging justice of God. I hat this is the meaning o
the passage, appears extremely probable from the man¬
ner in which Exod. ix. 16. is rendered in the Vatican
and Aldus’s edit, of the LXX. Instead of saying, as m
our translation, “ And in very deed for tins cause have
I raised thee up, for to show in thee my power, &c.
God is represented in that version as saying, “ And in
very deed for this cause have I kept thee alive till now,
foi 'to show.” Stc. tFhom he will he hardeneth, is an ex-
pres-ion that can only be applied to such persons as
this tyrant was. It is obvious that the woids of our
Sav our concerning those whom his Father hadpiven
him, are only meant of a dispensation oi 1 rovidence,
and not oi a decree ; since he adds, And 1 have lost
none of them except the son of perdition: for it cannot be
said that Judas Iscariot was in the decree, and yet
was lost. And in the same passage in which God is said
to work in us both to will and to do, we are required to
work out our own salvation with fear and trembling.
The word ordained to eternal life also signifies fitted and
disposed to eternal life. The question, Who made thee
to differ? (1 Cor. iv. 7.) refers to those extraordinary
gifts which, in different degrees and measures, were be¬
stowed upon the first Christians, in which they weie un¬
questionably passive.
Grace not If the decrees of God are not absolute, neither can
irresistible, his grace be so efficacious as absolutely and necessanly
to determine our conduct, else why are we required
not to grieve God's spirit? why is it said, ye do always
resist the Holy Ghost; as your fathers did, so do ye? Hoiv
often would 1 have gathered you under my wings, and ye
would not? What could I have done in my vineyard that
has not been done in it? These expressions indicate a
power in us, by which we not only can, but often do,
resist the motions of grace. But if the determining
efficacy of grace be not acknowledged, it will be much
harder to believe that we are efficaciously determined to
sin. This supposition is so contrary both to the holi¬
ness of God, and to the whole style of the sacred wri¬
tings, that it is unnecessary to accumulate proofs of it.
O Israel, thou hast destroyed thyself, but in me is thy
help : ye will not come unto me that ye may have life:
3I Why will you die, O house of Israel?
The great- As for perseverance, we may remark, that the ma-
cst saint on ny promises made in the sacred scriptures to them
earth may ^ overcome, tirat continue stedfast and faithful to the
,a ‘ death, do certainly insinuate that a man may fall from
a good state. The words of the apostle to the Hebrews
are very clear and pointed: I oi'it is impossible for those
who were once enligh tened, and have tasted of the heaven¬
ly gift, and were made partakers of the Holy Ghost, and
have tasted the good word of God, and the powers of the
world to come, if they shall fall away, to renew them again
unto repentance {Heb. vi.^-) It isalsosaid, Fhejust shall
live by faith : but if he draw (c) back, my soul shall have
no pleasure in him, (Heb x. 38.). And it is said by the
prophet, When the righteousturneth away fromhis righ¬
teousness, and committeth iniquity, all his righteousness
sages, with many others, give us every reason to believe
that a good man may fall from a good state, as well as
that a wicked man may turn from a had one. ^
We conclude the whole by observing, that the only All dift;
difficulty which attends the question arises from the cutties
mysterious, and apparently partial and unequal, course
of the divine government in our present state j 'm^judgmc:
there is an important day approaching, when God will
condescend to remove these obscurities, and to vindicate
the ways of his providence to man. On that great day,
we are well assured, that the question will he decided
in our favour j for we know that judgment will be gi¬
ven, not according to any absolute decree, but accord¬
ing to the deeds which avc ourselves shall have freely
done in the body, whether they have been good, or whe¬
ther they have been evil.
Thus have we stated, we hope with fairness and im¬
partiality, a summary of the arguments on both sides of
this long-agitated question. We need hardly add, that
it is a question involved in considerable difficulties.—
Milton, who was an eminent philosopher and divine,
as well as the first of poets, when he wished to exhibit
the fallen angels themselves as perplexed by questions
above their comprehension, set them to dispute about
predestination.
They reason’d high, of knowledge, will, and fate,
Fix’d fate, free-will, fore-knowledge absolute
And found no end, in wand’ring mazes lost.
Paradise Lost.
The weak side of the Calvinistic doctrine consists inT]je Vi:
the impossibility of reconciling tbe absolute and uncon-sideofp
ditional decree of reprobation with our ideas of thedoctri)
justice and goodness of God I he weak side of the
rminian scheme consists in the difficulty of account¬
ing for the certainty of the divine fore-knowledge, upon
the supposition of a contingency of events, or an abso¬
lute freedom of will in man.
To elude the former of these difficulties, some of the
late writers upon philosophical necessity, and Dr Priest¬
ly is among the number, have given up the doctrine of
reprobation, and asserted, that this world is only a state
of preparation for another, in which all men, of every
description and character, shall attain to final and ever¬
lasting happiness, when God shall be all, and in all.
On the other side, some of the supporters of free agen¬
cy, and Montesquieu* is among the number, have*^
been disposed to deny the divine attribute of presci- Pen.
ence.
Whatever may be thought of the practical tendency
of the trvo opinions, there is one remark Avliich avc think
ourselves bound in justice to make, although it ap¬
pears to us to be someAvhat singular. It is this, that
from the earliest ages down to our own days, if Ave con¬
sider the character of the ancient Stoics, the JeAvish Ls-
senes, the modern Calvinists, and Jansenists, Avhen com¬
pared Avith that of their antagonists the Epicureans, the
Sadducees, Arminians, and the Jesuits, we shall find that
they
(c) In our translation we r. ad, “ if any man draw back,” &e.; but the words any man are not in the original:,
and if they do not make nonsense of the text, they must at least be acknowledged to obscure its meaning.
re-n-
m led
th
■la
the
of Hi
H»Ci
p R E [ 2S7 ] P R E
• Mtina- they hare excelled m no small degree in the practice of articles Creation and Earth. See also the n v. -.
linm the most rigid and respectable virtues, and have been the phical Essays of Dr Isaac Watts, and the Principles of ‘encT^
lugoest honour 01 their own ages, and the best models mihtraland reveuiedReligion, by (he CiievalicrEam' -iv ^
for imitation to every age succeeding. At the same time, where the subject, of the world’s cternitv is discussed
Mi h ume7s speculations also, on tins abstruse and ardu-
ous subject, had a greater tendency to dissipate its
gloom tnau that philosopher himself could imagine. i
lb.- pie-existence of the human soul to its corporeal Pre-exist-
vehicle had been from time immemorial a prevailing ence of
opinion among the Asiatic sages, and from them was j5011'
perhaps transferred by Pythagoras to the philosophy of Sa,.es.^10
the Greeks ; but his metempsychosis, or transmigration
of souls, is too trivial either to he seriously proposed or
refuted.. Nevertheless, from the sentiments of Socrates
concerning the immortality of the soul, delivered in his
last interview with his friends, it is obvious that the tenet
of pre-existence was a doctrine of the Platonic school. If
at any period of life, say these philosophers, you should
examine a boy, of bow many ideas, of what a number of
principles, of what an extent of knowledge will you
find him possessed : these without doubt could neither be
self derived nor recently acquired. With what avidity
ami promptitude does he attain the knowledge of arts
and sciences, which appear entirely new to him ! these
rapid and successful advances in knowledge can only be
the effects of reminiscence, or of a fainter and more indi- 3 .
stmet species of recollection. Butin all the other opera- SoL‘raUc
tions of memory, we find retrospective impressions at-
tendingevery object or idea whic Ire merges to her viewjistence re*
nor does she ever suggest any thought, word, or action,luted-
without informing us, in a manner equally clear and evi¬
dent that those impressions had been made upon our
senses, mind, or intellect, on some former occasion.
VV hoever contemplates her progress, will easily disco¬
ver, that association is her most faithful and efficacious
auxiliary ; and that by joining impression with impres¬
sion, idea with idea, circumstance with circumstance, in
the order of time, of place, of similarity or dissimilarity,
she is capacitated to accumulate her treasures and en¬
large her province even to an indefinite extent. But
when intuitive principles, or simple conclusions, are eli¬
cited from the puerile understanding by a train of easy
questions properly arranged, where is the retrospective
act of memory, by which the boy recognises those
truths as having formerly been perceived in his mind ?
I
•exist
 it must be confessed, that their virtues have in general
been rendered unamiable by a tinge of gloomy and se¬
vere austerity.
So far as the speculative foundation of their princi¬
ples is considered, however, neither party seems liable to
censure in a moral point of view. Each of them wishes
to support, though in a different manner from the other,
the honour of the divine character. The Calvinists be¬
gin their argument with the notion of infinite perfection,
independency, and absolute sovereignty, and thence de-
34 duce their opinions; making every difficulty yield to
jilaal for-these first and leading ideas. Their opponents are more
trance jealous of the respect due to the divine attributes of jus-
r*1- tice, truth, holiness, and mercy, and deduce their senti¬
ments from the idea which they have formed of these.
Each party lays down general maxims that are admitted
by the other, and both argue plausibly from their first
principles. I)i Burnet, whom we have here followed
tv:st m verv closely, justly observes*, that “ these are great
-fXrticles.grounds for mutual charity and forbearance.”
PKEDE TE RMINATION, in Philosophy and The¬
ology, is that concurrence of God which makes men act,
and determines them in all their actions, both good and
evil, and is called by the schoolmen physical predeter¬
mination ox premotion. See Metaphysics, Part III.
chap. v. and Predestination.
PREDIAL slaves. See Predial Slaves.
Predial Tithes, are those that are paid of things
arising and growing from the ground only ; as corn,
hay, fruit, &e. J ’ >
PREDICABLE, among logicians,denotes a general
quality which may be predicated or asserted of,several
things: thus, animal is predicable of mankind, beasts,
birds, fishes, &.c.
PREDICAMENT, among logicians, the same with
category. See Category and Philosophy.
. I^EDICAl E, in Logic, that which, in a propo¬
sition,.is affirmed or denied of the subject. In these
propositions, snow is white, ink is not white; white¬
ness is the predicate which is affirmed of snow, and de¬
nied of ink.
# Tposi-
tic 7>f the
PRF FMPTIfYM • -i • i „ , , *3 naviug rormeriy Been perceived in his mind ?
r . a Pnv'le?e a”c,entty allowed the Where are the crowds of the concomitant, antecedent,
~ g_P„U„rie7.Lr,_° ‘ i!6 c^oice and first buying or subsequent ideas, with which those recollections
r -y J ' , r>  — — M.ivi XXI ou UUJIUI'
ol corn and other provisions for the king’s house :' but
taken away by the statute 19 Car. II.
PREENING, in Natural Histoiy, the action of birds
cleaning, composing, and dressing their feathers, to en¬
able them to glide more easily through the air. For this
purpose they have two peculiar glands on their rump,
wind) secrete an unc tuous matter into a bag that is per¬
forated, out ol which the bird occasionally draws it with
its bill. J
PRE EXISTENCE, a priority of being, or tbe
being of one thing before another. Thus a cause, if
not in time, is yet in nature pre-existent to its effect.
Anus God is pre existent to the universe. Thus a hu¬
man father is pre existent to his son. The Peripate-
tlCS’ t,U'U^ t!it7 maintained the eternity of the world,
nit) Were l^ewi;se dogmatical in their opinion, that the uni-
Vl.Ise "as formed, actuated, and governed, by a sove¬
reign intelligence. See Aristotle on the Soul, and our
ought naturally to have been attended ? In a word,
where is the sense of personal identity, which seems ab¬
solutely inseparable from every act of memory? This
hypothesis, therefore, will not support pre-existence.
After the Christian religion had been considerably dif¬
fused, and warmly combated by its philosophical anta¬
gonists, the same doctrine was resumed and taught at
Alexandria, by Platonic proselytes, not only as a topic 4,
constituent of their master’s philosophy, but as an an- f>re'eflsV
swer to those formidable objections which had been de- bycliristfan
duced from the doctrine of original sin, and from the rlatonists.
vices which stain, and from the calamities which dis¬
turb, human life: hence they strenuously asserted, that
all the human race were either introduced to being
prior to Adam, or pre-existent in his person ; that they
were not, therefore, represented by our first parents, but
actually concurred in their crime, and participated their
ruin.
The
P R E
[
p„ „js. The followers of Oiigen, and such as entertained .he
cnee. notion of Pre-adamites *, might argue from the doc-
'   ' trine of pre-existence with some degree ot plausibility.
* See. Pre- For ti)e iiuman beings introduced by them to the theatre
adamites' 0f probation had already attained the capacity or dig¬
ital no so- nity of moral agents*, as their crime therefore was so¬
lution of luntary, their punishment might be just. -But those woo
original sin. believe the whole human race created in Adam to be
only pre-existent in their germs or stamina, were even
deprived of this miserable subteriuge j for in these ho¬
munculi we can neither suppose the moral nor rational
constitution unfolded. Since, therefore, their degene¬
racy was not spontaneous, neither could their sutler mgs
be equitable. Should it be said that the evil of original
sin was penal, as it extended to our first parents alone
and merely consequential as felt by their posterity, it will
be admitted that the distinction between penal and con¬
sequential evil may be intelligible in human affairs, where
other laws, assortments, and combinations than those
which are simply and purely moral, take place. But
that a moral government, at one et the most cardinal
periods of its administration, should admit gratuitous or
consequential evil, seems to us irreconcileable with the
attributes and conduct of a wise and just legislator. Con¬
sequential evil taken as such, is misery sustained without
demerit *, and cannot result from the procedure of wis¬
dom, benignity, and justice 5 but must flow from neces¬
sity, from ignorance, from cruelty, or from caprice, as
its only possible sources. But even upon the supposition
of those who pretend that man was mature in all his fa¬
culties before the commission of original sin, the objec¬
tions against it will still remain in full force: for it is
admitted by all except the Samian sage, that the con¬
sciousness of personal identity which was felt in pre¬
existence, is obliterated in a subsequent state of being.
Now' it may be demanded, whether agents thus resus¬
citated for punishment have not the same right to mur¬
mur and complain as if they had been perfectly innocent,
and only created for that dreadful catastrophe ? It is
upon this principle alone that the effects of punishment
can be either exemplary or disciplinary *, for how is it
possible, that the punishment of beings unconscious of a
crime should ever be reconciled either to the justice or
beneficence of that intention with which their suflerings
are inflicted ? Or how can others be supposed to become
wise and virtuous by the example of those who are nei¬
ther acquainted with the origin nor the tendency of
their miseries, but have every reason to think themselves
afflicted merely for the sake of afflicting? lo us it
seems clear, that the nature and rationale of original sin
lie inscrutably retired in the bosom of Providence} nor
can we, without unpardonable presumption and arro-
-gance, form the most simple conclusion, or attempt the
minutest discovery, either different from or extraneous
to the clear and obvious sense of revelation. This sense
indeed may with propriety be extracted from the whole,
or from one passage collated with another; but inde¬
pendent of it, as reason has no premisses, she can form
no deductions. The boldness and temerity of philoso¬
phy, not satisfied with contemplating pre-existence as
merely relative to human nature, has dared to try how
far it was compatible with the glorious Persons of the
sacred Trinity. The Arians, who allowed the subor-
-dinate divinity of our Saviour, believed him pre-existent
to all time, and before all worlds j but the Socinians,
288 ] PRE
who esteemed his nature as well as his person merely prc
Iiuman, insisted, that before bis incarnation he was only c
pre-existent in the divine idea, not in nature or person.
But when it is considered, that children do not begin rrefu
to deduce instructions from nature and expeiience, at a
period so late as we are apt to imagine 5 when it is ad¬
mitted, that their progress, though insensible, may be
much more rapid than we apprehend j when the op¬
portunities of sense, the ardour of curiosity, the avidity
of memory, and the activity of understanding, are re¬
marked—we need not have recourse to a pre-existent
state for our account of the knowledge which young
minds discover. It may likewise be added, that moral
agents can only be improved and cultivated by moral
discipline. Such effects therefore of any state, whether
happy or miserable, as are merely mechanical, may be
noxious or salutary to the patient, but can never enter
into anv moral economy as parts of its own administra¬
tion. Pre-existence, therefore, whether rewarded or
punished, without the continued impression of personal
identity, affords no solution of original sin.
PREFACE, something introductory to a hook, to
inform the reader ot the design, method, &c. obser\ed
therein, and generally whatever is necessary to the un¬
derstanding of a book.
PREFECT, in ancient Rome, one of the chief ma¬
gistrates who governed in the absence of the kings, con¬
suls, and emperors.
This power was greatest under the emperors. His
chief care was the government of the city, taking cog¬
nizance of all crimes committed therein and within
100 miles. He judged capitally and finally, and even
presided in the senate. He had the superintendence of
the provisions, building, and navigation.
The prefect of modern Rome differs little from the
ancient prcefectns, his authority only extending to 40
miles round the city.
Prefect of the Prcetorium, the leader of the preto-
rian bands destined for the emperor’s guard, consisting,
according to JDion, of 10,000 men. This officer, ac¬
cording to Suetonius, was instituted by Augustus, and
usually taken from among the knights.
By the favour of the emperors his power grew very
considerable \ to reduce which, Constantine divided the
prefecture of the prsetorium into four prefectures, and
each of these he subdivided again into civil and military
departments, though the name was only reserved to him
who was invested with the civil authority, and that of
comes A?///given him who commanded the cohorts.
PREGAD I, in History, a denomination given to the
senate of Venice, in which resides the whole authority
of the republic. At its first institution, it was compo¬
sed of 60 senators, to whom 60 more have been added.
See Venice.
PREGNANCY, the state of a woman who has con¬
ceived, or is with child. See Midwifery.
PREHNITE, a mineral first brought by Colonel
Prehn from the Cape of Good Hope, whose name it
bears. See Mineralogy Index. j
PREJUDICE, or Prejudgment, from pree and Dean
judicium, means a judgment formed beforehand, with¬
out examination j the preposition pree expressing an an¬
ticipation, not so much of time as of knowledge and due
attention : and hence the schoolmen have called it an¬
ticipation and a preconceived opinion.
Prejudice
oin of
‘udice.
P II fe r 2
•judice. Prejudice arises fi om the associating principle, wliich
! we have explained at large in another article (see Me¬
taphysics, Part 1. chap. 5.), and it is a weakness
from which no human mind can be wholly free. Some
are indeed much more than others under its influence j
but there is no man who does not occasionally act upon
principles, the propriety of which he never investigated ;
or who does not hold speculative opinions, into the
truth of which he never seriously inquired. Our pa¬
rents and tutors, yea, our very nurses, determine a mul¬
titude of our sentiments : our friends, our neighbours,
the custom of the country where we dwell, and the esta¬
blished opinions of mankind, form our belief; the great,
the pious, the learned, and the ancient, the king, the
priest, and the philosopher, are characters of mighty
efficacy to persuade us to regulate our conduct by their
practice, and to receive as truth whatever they may
dictate.
The case cannot indeed be otherwise. The occa¬
sions of acting are so frequent, and the principles of ac¬
tion are so various, that were a man to investigate accu¬
rately the value of every single motive which presents
itself to his mind, and to balance them fairly against
each other, the time of acting would in most instances
pass away long before lie could determine what ought
to be done ; and life would be wasted in useless specula¬
tion. I he great laws ol religion and morality, which
ought to be the general and leading principles of action,
no man of science will take upon trust ; but in the
course of a busy Hie a thousand circumstances will oc¬
cur in which rve must act with such rapidity, that, after
being satisfied of the lawfulness of what we are about
to do, we must, for the prudence of it, confide entirely
in the general customs of our country, or in the practice
of other individuals placed in circumstances similar to
ours. In all such cases, though we may act properly,
we act from prejudice.
But the dominion of prejudice is not confined to the
actions of the man of business : it extends over the spe¬
culations of the philosopher himself, one half of whose
knowledge rests upon no other foundation. All hu¬
man sciences are related to each other (see Philo¬
sophy, jN° 2.), and there is hardly one of them in
which a man can become eminent unless he has some
general acquaintance with the whole circle; but no man
could ever yet investigate for himself all those proposi¬
tions which constitute the circle of the sciences, or even
comprehend the evidence upon which they rest, though
he admits them perhaps as truths incontrovertible. He
must therefore receive many of them upon the autho¬
rity of others, or, whie.h the same thing, admit them
by 'prejudice.
To this reasoning it may he objected, that when a
man admits as true abstract propositions, which, though
not sell-evident, he cannot demonstrate, he admits them
not by prejudice, but upon testimony, which has been
elsewhere shown to be a sufficient foundation for human
belief (see Metaphysics, N° 138.). The objection is
plausible, but it is not solid ; for testimony commands
belief only concerning events which, falling under the
cognizance of the senses, preclude all possibility of mis¬
take ; whereas abstract propositions, not self-evident,
can be proved true only by a process of reasoning or by
& series of experiments ; and in conducting both these,
the most vigorous mind is liable to mistake. When Sir
Vol. XVII. Part I. f
3
xten-
donri-
89 ] P ft E
Isaac Newton told the world that it was the fall of an Prejudice.
apple which first suggested to him the general law of ‘ ~v~—'
gi avitation, he bore testimony to a lact concerning
which he could not be mistaken ; and we receive las
testimony for the reasons assigned in the article referred
to. . When he lays down the method of obtaining the
fluxion or momentum of the rectangle or product of two
indeterminate quantities, which is the main point in his
doctrine of fluxions, he labours to establish that method
on the basis of demonstration ; and whoever makes use
ol it in piactice, without understanding that demonstra¬
tion, receives the whole doctrine ol the modern geome¬
trical analysis, not as a matter of fact upon the credit
of Sir Isaac’s testimony, but as a system of abstract truth
on the credit of his understanding ; in other words, he
is a fluxionist by prejudice.
In vain will it be said, that in mathematical demon¬
stration there is no room for mistake ; and that there¬
fore the man who implicitly adopts the method of
fluxions may be considered as relying upon the veracity
of its author, who had no inducement to deceive him,
and whose comprehension was confessedly greater than
his. In fluxionary mathematics, which treat of matters
of which it is extremely difficult, if not impossible, to
have adequate and steady conceptions, the most compre¬
hensive mind is liable to mistake; and it is well known
that the celebrated bishop ot Cloyne wrote his Analist
to prove that the incomparable author of the method of
fluxions had committed two mistakes in his fundamental
proposition, which balancing one another, produced a
ti ue conclusion by false reasoning. One or other of
these great men, of whom the least was an eminent ma¬
thematician, must have been bewildered in liis reasoning,
and have fallen into error; and therefore whoever fol¬
lows either of them implicitly without perceiving the
error of the other, is unquestionably under the influence
of prejudice. 'Ibis is the case with the writer of the
present article. He perceives not the error of Bishop
Berkeley’s reasoning, and yet he admits the doctrine of
fluxions on the authority of bir Isaac’s demonstration,
rl hat demonstration, however, he pretends not to un¬
derstand ; and therefore he admits the doctrine through
prejudice.
M e have made these observations, to point out the Impossib’e
absurdity of the fashionable cry against the harbouringt0 eradicate
of any prejudices. rIo eradicate all prejudices fromPrej'idi-
the human mind is impossible ; and il it were possible, itCiCS
would be very unwise 5 for we see that prejudice may thC
exist on the side of truth as well as on that of falsehood ;
and that principles professed and believed by any indi¬
vidual may be useful and true, though he was brought
to them not by a train of fair and candid reasoning,
but through the medium of prepossession or authority.
Indeed such is our nature, and such are the laws of as¬
sociation, that many of our best principles, and our ob¬
ligation to perform many of the most amiable of our
duties in common life, must evidently be acquired in
this way. From endearing associations and authorita¬
tive instruction, we acquire a knowledge of our duty to
our parents, and a facility in performing it, together
with the first principles of religion, without a single ef¬
fort of our own reason. Even when reason has begun
to assert its power, and shows us the propriety of such
duties, we are wonderfully assisted in performing them
by the amiable prejudices which we had before acquired,
O 0 and
2£0
Prejudice.
_ S
which
would not
be wise if
it were
possible.
6
Good ef¬
fects of
some preju
dices.
P It E t
anti which now appear to be natural to us. He who
has never had the advantage of such associations, and
who acquires a knowledge of the duties suggested by
them after he has come to the years of discretion, and
chiefly by the efforts of his own reason, will seldom cce-
leris paribus, perform these duties with an energy and
delight equal to that of the person who has. This re¬
mark appears to be confirmed by experience ; for it is
often found that the children of the great, who have
been given out to nurse in their infancy, and who have
seldom been in the company of their parents till their
reasoning faculties have been far advanced, are much
less dutiful and affectionate than those in the middle or
lower stations of life, who have scarcely ever been out
of their parents company.
Would it then be wise, even if it were practicable, to
dissolve all those associations which tend so powerfully
to increase the mutual affections of parents and chil¬
dren ? We cannot think that it would j as we believe it
might be easily shown that public spirit springs out of
private affection. Plato indeed held an opinion very
different from ours 5 for in order to extend that affec¬
tion which is usually lavished at home to the whole
state, he proposed that children should be educated at
the public expence, and never be permitted to know
the authors of their being. But this is only one ol
the many visionary projects of that great man, of which
daily experience shows the absurdity. In modern times,
we are certain that less dependence is to be had upon
the patriotism of the man who, for the love which he
pretends to his country, can overlook or forget his own
partial connections in it, than on him who, at the same
time that he wishes his country well, is feelingly alive
to all the endearments of kindred affection.
Such affection may be called partial, and very pro¬
bably has its foundation in that which is the source of all
our prejudices : but if it be properly trained in early
life, it will gradually extend from our nearest rela¬
tions to the persons with whom we associate, and to
the place which not only gave us birth, but also fur¬
nished our youthful and most innocent enjoyments. It
is th us that the amor patrice is generated (see Passion
and Patriotism), which in minds unseduced by false
principles is exceedingly strong \ and, though a partial
affection, is of the most general utility. It is this pre¬
judice which reconciles the Laplander to his freezing
snows, and the African to his burning sun j which at¬
taches the native of the Highlands or of W ales as much
to his mountains and rocks, as the apparently happier
inhabitant of the southern counties of England is to
the more fertile and delightful spot where he drew his
first breath. And we find in fact, that when a native
of Kent and a Scotch Highlander have in some distant
corner of the world gained a competent fortune without
being coirnpted by luxury, they return, the one to his
hop-gardens, and the other to his mountains. ^\eie
this prejudice, for such it surely is, wholly eradicated
from the human mind, it is obvious that large tiacts of
country which are now full of inhabitants would be to¬
tally deserted ; and that the hungry barbarians, to make
room for themselves, would exterminate the proprietors
of more favourable climes. From an affection to our
friends and to our country, we naturally contract an af¬
fection for that mode of government under which we
live j and unless it be particularly oppressive to our-
4
]
P R E
selves or any order of citizens, we come as naturally to prCjUjj
prefer it to all other modes, whether it deserve that pre¬
ference or not. This no doubt is prejudice, but it is a
beneficial prejudice j for were the multitude, who are
wholly incapable of estimating the excellencies and de¬
fects of the various modes of government, to become
dissatisfied with their own, and rise in a mass to change
it for the better, the most horrible consequences might
justly be dreaded. Of this truth the present state of
Europe affords too melancholy and convincing a proof.
The man therefore who, under the pretence of enlight¬
ening the public mind and extirpating prejudices, paints
to the illiterate vulgar in aggravated colours the abuse
of that government which has hitherto protected them
from the ferocity of each other, is one of the greatest
criminals if his view’s be selfish, and one of the worst
reasoners if they be disinterested, that human imagina¬
tion can easily conceive. 7
With the selfish patriot we have at present no con-Danger
cern 5 but we may with propriety ask the disinterested improper
lover of truth, whether he thinks it possible, that in a^tanpu
large community, of which nine-tenths of the members^
ar<Tnecessarily incapable of taking comprehensive views
of things, or feeling the force of political reasonings, any
form of government can be acceptable to the people at
large, which does not gain their affections through the
medium of prejudice ? It has been shown by Mr Hume
with great strength of argument, that government is
founded on opinion, which is of two kinds, viz. opinion
of interest, and opinion of right. By opinion of interest,
he understands the sense of the general advantage
which is reaped from government, together with the
persuasion that the particular government which is
established is equally advantageous with any other that
could easily be settled. The opinion entertained of the
rio fit of any government is always founded in its antiqi-
tjTj and. hence arises the passionate regard which un¬
der ancient monarchies the people have for the true
heir of their royal family. These opinions, as held by
the philosopher conversant with the history of nations,
are founded upon reasoning more or less conclusive 5 but
it is obvious, that in the minds of the multitude they
can have no other foundation than prejudice. An illi¬
terate clown or mechanic does not see how one form of
government promotes the general interest more than
another \ but he may believe that it does, upon no other
evidence than the declamation of a demagogue, who, for
selfish purposes, contrives to flatter his pride. I be same
is the case with respect to the rights of hereditary monar¬
chy. The anatomist finds nothing more in the greatest
monarch than in the meanest peasant, and the moralist
may perhaps frequently find less j but the true philosopher
acknowledges his right to the sovereignty : and though
he be weak in understanding, or infirm in years, would,
for the sake of public peace, and the stability of govern¬
ment, maintain him in his throne against every compe¬
titor of the most shining talents. The vulgar, however,
who would act with this philosopher, are influenced by
no such view’s, but merely by their prejudices in favour
of birth and family ; and therefore it is ridiculous to
think of changing the public mind with respect to any
form of government by pure reasoning. In Irance a
total change in the minds of the people has indeed been
effected, and from the most violent prejudices in favour
of royalty, they have now become more violently preju-
diced
iki
>
P H E [ ;
•judice. (licerl in favoilr of republicanism. Bad as their govern-
"v ' meat unquestionably was, the change that has now taken
place is not the effect of calm reasoning and accurate in¬
quiry (for of that the bulk of mankind appears to be in¬
capable), nor are their prejudices less violent than they
were before. They are changed indeed; but no one will
deny that prejudice, and that of the most violent kind,
leads them on at present; nor can any one assert that
their new prejudices have rendered them more happy,
or their country more flourishing, than their former ones,
which made them cry Vive le Roi under the tyrannic
government of Louis XIV.
The influence of prejudice is not more powerful in
fixing the political opinions of men, than in dictating
their religious creed. Every child of a religious father
receives his faith by inheritance long before he be ca¬
pable of judging w hether it be agreeable or disagreeable
to the word of God and the light of reason. This ex¬
perience shows to be the fact; and sound philosophy de¬
clares that it cannot be otherwise. Parents are appoint¬
ed to judge for their children in their younger years,
and to instruct them in what they should believe, and
what they should practise in the civil and religious life.
This is a dictate of nature, and doubtless would have
been so in a state of perfect innocence. It is impossible
that children should be capable of judging for them¬
selves before their minds are furnished with a compe¬
tent number of ideas, and before they are acquainted
with any principles and rules of just reasoning ; and
therefore they can do nothing better than run to their
parents, and receive their directions what they should
believe and what they should practise.
This mode of tutoring the infant mind, and giving
to our instructions the force of prejudice, before reason
can operate with much effect, will, we know, be high¬
ly displeasing to many who challenge to themselves alone
the epithet of liberal. With them it will be cramping
the genius and perverting the judgment: but wre cannot
help thinking, that such an objection, if it should be
made, would be the offspring of ignorance ; for it re¬
quires but very little knowledge of human nature to be
able to see, that if children be not restrained by autho¬
rity, and if we do not insinuate a love of good principles
into their minds, bad ones will insinuate themselves,
and a little time will give them the force of inveterate
Abpdity
of! ping
chi .211 ig.
nor ; of
tel hi
frofflhe
dre of
prej ice.
Origi
BlgOtl
prejudice, which all the future efforts of reason and pL
losophy will find it difficult to eradicate. The idea of
keeping a child ignorant of the being of a God, and the
grand duties of morality and religion, till he shall come
to years of discretion, and then allowing him to reason
them out For himself, is an absurd chimera ; it is an ex¬
periment which never has been tried, which to us it ap¬
pears impossible to try, and which, if it could be tried,
could not possibly produce any good effect. For sup¬
pose we had a youth just arrived at years of discretion,
totally ignorant of all these things, and unbiassed to
any system of opinions, or rather possessed of no opi¬
nions at all—it would, in the first place, we suspect, be
absolutely necessary to direct his thoughts into a parti¬
cular train, and for some person to lead him on from
one idea to another, till he should arrive at some con¬
clusion : but in all this there is the influence of autho-
nty, association, and of prejudice.
It being therefore absolutely necessary that sentiments
of religion be instilled into the minds of children before
.91 ] P It E
tiiey be capable of discovering by the use of their reason Pti jn-tire.
whether those sentiments be just or not, it need net —
excite wonder, nor is it any reflection upon religion,
that most men adhere with bigotry to the creed of
their fathers, and support that creed by arguments
which could carry conviction to no minds but their
own. The love and veneration which they bear to the
memory of those from whom they imbibed their earliest
opinions, do not permit them to perceive either the
falsehood of those opinions, or their little importance,
supposing them true. Hence the many frivolous dis¬
putes winch have been carried on among Christians ;
and hence the zeal with which some of them maintain
tenets which are at once contrary to scripture, to reason,
and to common sense. A due reflection, however, 0.1
the source of all prejudices ought to moderate this zeal;
for no man is wholly free from that bias which he
is so ready to condemn in others : and indeed a man
totally free from prejudice, would he a more unhappy
being than the most violent bigot 011 earth. In science,
he would aftlmit nothing which he could not himself
( emonstrate ; in business, he would be perpetually at a
stand for want of motives to influence his conduct : he
could have no attachment to a particular country ; and
therefore must be without patriotism, and without the
solaces of fiiendship ; and his religion, we are afraid,
would be cold and lifeless.
TV hat, it will be said, are the authors of a work °bjec-
wlnch professes to enlighten the public mind by layingtion uu_
before it a general view of science and literature, be-SWeled*
come at last the advocates ofprejudice, which is the bane
of science, and the prop oi‘superstition9 No, we are ad¬
vocates for no prejudice which is either inimical to sci¬
ence or friendly to absurdity; but we do not think that
the moralist would act wisely who should desert his pro¬
per business to make himself master of the higher ma¬
thematics, merely that he might not he obliged to trust
occasionally to the demonstrations of others. The wri¬
ters of this article is not skilled in trade; but it is not
his opinion that the merchant would soon grow rich,
who should never make a bargain till he had'previously
calculated with mathematical exactness all the probabi¬
lities of his gain or loss. That to dissolve all the associ¬
ations which are the source of partial attachments of
kindred, aflection, and private friendship, would tend to
promote the public happiness, we cannot possibly believe.
And we think, that the experience of the present event¬
ful day abundantly confirms Mr Hume’s opinion, that
far from endeavouring to extirpate the people’s prejudi¬
ces in favour of birth or family, we should cherish such
sentiments, as being absolutely requisite to preserve a
due subordination in society. That men would be
better Christians if they were to receive no religious in¬
struction till they should be able by their own reason to
judge of its truth, daily observation does not warrant us
to conclude ; for we see those who have seldom heard
of God when children, “ live without him in the world”
when they are men.
Pernicious prejudices we have traced to their source
elsewhere, and shown how they may be best prevented
by proper attention in the education of children (See
Metaphysics, N° 98.). We shall only add here, that
the earlier such attention is paid, the more effectual it
will be found ; and that it is much easier to keep pre¬
judices out of the mind than to remove them after
0 0 2 they
Prejudice.
Proper me¬
thods of
removing
prejudices.
P' R E [29
they have been admitted. This however must be some¬
times attempted j and where prejudices are strong, se¬
veral methods have been recommended tor rendering
the attempt successful. The following are taken mostly
from Dr Watts’s Improvement of the Mind.
1. Never attack the prejudice directly, but lead the
person who is under its influence step by step to the truth.
Perhaps your neighbour is under the influence of super¬
stition and bigotry in the simplicity of his soul; you must
not immediately run upon him with violence, and show
him the absurdity or folly of his own opinions, though
you might be able to set them in a glaring light; but
you must rather begin at a distance, and establish his
assent to some familiar and easy propositions, which
Pave a tendency to refute his mistakes, and to confirm
the truth ; and then silently observe what impression
this makes upon him, and proceed by slow degrees as
he is able to bear, and you must carry on the work per¬
haps at distant seasons of conversation. The tender or
diseased eye cannot bear a deluge of light at once.
Overhastiness and vehemence in arguing is often¬
times the effect of pride ; it blunts the poignancy of the
argument, breaks its force, and disappoints the end. It
you were to convince a person of the falsehood ol the
“doctrine of transubstantiution, and you take up the con¬
secrated bread before him and say, “ You may see, and
taste, and feel, this is nothing but bread; therefore
whilst you assert that God commands you to believe it
is not bread, you most wickedly accuse God of com¬
manding you to' tell a lie.” This sort of language would
only raise the indignation of the person against you, in¬
stead of making any impressions upon him. He will
not so much as think at all on the argument you have
brought, but he rages at yon as a profane wretch, siting
up your own sense and reason above sacred authority j
so that though what you affirm is a truth of great evi¬
dence, yet you lose 'the benefit of your whole argu¬
ment by an ill management, and the unreasonable use
of it.
2. Where the prejudices of mankind cannot be con¬
quered at once, but will rise up in arms against the
evidence of truth, there we must make some allow¬
ances, and yield to them for the present, as far as
we can safely do it without real injury to truth ; and
if we would have any success in our endeavours to
convince the world, we must practise this complaisance
for the benefit of mankind. Take a student who has
deeply imbibed the principles of the Peripatetics, and
imagines certain immaterial beings, called substantial
forms, to inhabit every herb, flower, mineral, metal, fire,
water, &c. and to be the spring of all its properties and
operations 5 or take a Platonist, who believes an anima
mundi, “ an universal soul of the world,” to pervade all
bodies, to act in and by them according to their nature,
and indeed to give them their nature and their special
powers ; perhaps it may be very hard to convince these
persons by arguments, and constrain them to yield up
those fancies. Well then, let the one believe his uni¬
versal sold, and the other go on with his notion of sub¬
stantial forms, and at the same time teach them how by
certain 'original laws of motion, and tue various sizes,
shapes, and situations of the parts of matter, allowing
a continued divine concourse in and with all, the sever¬
al appearances in nature may be solved, and the varie¬
ty of effects produced, according to the corpuscular
2 ] P R E
philosophy, improved by Descartes, Mr Boyle, and Sir Prejudic<;
Isaac Newton; and when they have attained a degree'—
of skill in this science, they will see these airy notions
of theirs, these imaginary powers, to be so useless and
unnecessary, that they will drop them of then own ac¬
cord. The Peripatetic forms will vanish from the mind
like a dream, and the Platonic soul of the world will
expire.
We may give another instance of the same practice,
where there is a prejudicate fondness of particular words
and phrases. Suppose a man is educated in an un¬
happy form of speech, whereby he explains some great
doctrine of the gospel, and by the means of this phrase
he has imbibed a very false idea of that doctrine ; yet
he is so bigotted to his form of words, that he imagines
if those words are omitted the form is lost. Now, if we
cannot possibly persuade him to part with his improper
terms, we will indulge them a little, and try to explain
them in a scriptural sense, rather than let him go on in
his mistaken ideas. A person wdio has been bred a Pa¬
pist, knows but little of religion, yet he resolves never
to part from the Roman Catholic faith, and is obstinate¬
ly bent against a change. Now it cannot be unlawful
to teach such an one the true Christian, i. e. the 1 rote-
stunt religion out of the Epistle to the Romans, and show
him that the same doctrine is contained in the Catholic
Epistles of St Peter, James, and Jude; and thus let
him live and die a good Christian in the belief of the
religion taught him out of the New Testament, while he
imagines he is a Roman Catholic still, because he finds
the doctrine he is taught in the Catholic Epistles and
in that to the Romans. Sometimes we may make, use
of the very prejudices under which a person labours,
in order to convince him of some particular truth, and
argue with him upon his own professed principles as
though they were true. Suppose a Jew lies sick of a
fever, and is forbidden flesh by his physician ; but hear¬
ing that rabbits were provided for the dinner of the fa¬
mily, desired earnestly to eat of them *, and suppose he
became impatient, because his physician did not permit ,
him, and he insisted upon it that it could do him no
hurt surely rather than let him persist in that fancy
and that desire, to the danger of his life, we might tell
him that these animals were strangled, a sort of food
forbidden by the Jewish law, though we ourselves might
believe that law to be abolished.
Where we find any person obstinately persisting in
a mistake in opposition to all reason, especially if the
mistake be very injurious or pernicious, and we know
this person will hearken to the sentiment or authority
of some favourite name ; it is needful sometimes to urge
the opinion and authority of that favourite person, since
that is likely to be regarded much more than mwo/i.
We are almost ashamed indeed to speak of using any
influence of authority in reasoning or argument ; but in
some cases it is better that poor, silly, perverse, obsti¬
nate creatures, should be persuaded to judge and act
right, by a veneration for the sense of others, than to
be left to wander in pernicious errors, and continue deaf
to all argument, and blind to all evidence, i hey are
but children of a larger size •, and since they persist all
their lives in their minority, and reject all true reason¬
ing, surely we may try to persuade them to practise
what is for their own interest by such childish reasons
as they will hearken to. We may overawe them from
p R E [ 293 ] . P R E
judice pursuing their own ruin by the terrors of a, solemn sha¬
ll dow, or allure them by a sugar plum to their own happi-
emon- jieSs. But after all, we must conclude, that whereso-
antes', ever it can be done, it is best to remove and root out
those prejudices which obstruct the entrance of truth
into the mind, rather than to palliate, humour, or in¬
dulge them ; and sometimes this must necessarily he
done, before you can make a person part with seme be-
lI2 loved error, and lead him into better sentiments,
raal On the whole, we would recommend more mutual
f.^arance forbearance and less acrimony than is commonly found
r among writers on disputed subjects, as the only means
by which our differences in religion, politics, and science,
ever can be healed, and truth certainly discovered. If
men were less violent in defending their particular
opinions, they would always gain a more patient hear¬
ing, they would be less suspected of, and less liable to,
prejudice, and of course more apt either to convince
or to be convinced. They would likewise by so doing
show, in the most unequivocal manner, their attention
to sound philosophy, and above all to genuine Chri-
stianity; which, though it is far from encouraging scep¬
ticism, or a temporizing spirit, recommends in the
strongest, terms, among all its professors, universal cha¬
rity and mutual forbearance. See Probability,
Truth, and Superstition.
PRELATE, an ecclesiastic raised to some eminent
and superior dignity in the church j as bishops, archbi¬
shops, patriarchs, &c.
PRELIMINARY, in general, denotes something
to be examined and determined before an affair can be
treated of to the purpose.
PRELUDE, in Music, is usually a flourish or irre¬
gular air, which a musician plays off-hand, to trv if his
instrument be in tune, and to lead him into the piece to
be played.
PREMISES, in Logic, an appellation given to the
two first propositions of a syllogism. See Logic.
Premises, in Law, properly signifies the land, &c.
mentioned in the beginning of a deed.
PREMIUM, or Premium, properly signifies a re¬
ward or recompense: but it is chiefly used in a mer¬
cantile sense for the sum of money given to an insurer,
whether of ships, houses, lives, &c. See Insurance.
PREMNA, a genus of plants belonging to the didy-
namia class. See Botany Index.
PREMQNSTRANTES, or Pr/emonstratenses,
a religious order of regular canons instituted in 1120,
by S. Norbert 5 and thence also called Norbertines.
The first monastery of this order was built by Nor¬
bert in the Isle of France, three leagues to the west of
Laon 5 which lie called Prcemonstre, Prcemonstratum,
and hence the order itself derived its name 5 though as
to the occasion of that name, the writers of that order are
divided. At first the religious of this order were so very
poor, that they had only a single ass, which served to
carry the wood they cut tlown every morning, and sent
to Laon in oi'dtr to purchase bread. But they soon re¬
ceived so many donations, and built so many monaste-
I'ies, that in 30 years after the foundation of the order,
they had above IOO abbeys in France and Germany :
and in process of time the order so increased, that it had
monasteries in all parts of Christendom, amounting to
1000 abbeys, 300 provostships, a vast number of prio-
nes, and 500 nunneries. But they are now greatly di¬
minished. The rule they followed was that of St An- Premon.
gustine, with some slight alterations, and an addition of ft mutes
certain severe laws, whose authority did not Ion')- survive II
their founder. . ^ repara-
The order was approved by Honorius II. in 1126, » l<>, ~
and again by several succeeding popes. At first the
abstinence from flesh was rigidly observed. In 1 24 9
Innocent IV. complained of its being neglected to a
general chapter. In 1 288, their general, William, pro¬
cured leave of Pope Nicholas IV. for those of the order
to eat flesh on journeys. In 1460, Pius II. granted
them a general permission to eat meat, excepting from
Septuagesima to Easter. The dress of the religious
of this order is white, with a scapulary before the cas¬
sock. Out of doors they wear a white cloak and
white hat •, within, a little camail ; and at church, a
surplice, &c. ,
In the first monasteries built by Norbert, there was.
one for men and another for women, only separated by
a wall. In 1137, by a decree of a general chapter,
this practice was prohibited, and the women removed
out of those already built, to a greater distance from
those of the men.
The Pracmonstratenses, or monks of Premontre, vul¬
garly called white canons, came first into England,
A. D. 1146. Their first monastery, called New-house,
w'as erected in Lincolnshire, by Peter de Sanlia, and
dedicated to St Martial. In the reign of Edward I.
this order had 27 monasteries in England.
PRENANTHES, a genus of plants belonging to
the syngenesia class} and in the natural method ranking
under the 49th order, Composite. See Botany Index.
PRENOMEN, Prjenomen, among the ancient
Romans, a name prefixed to their family name, and an¬
swering to our Christian name : such as Cains, Lucius,
Marcus, &c.
PRENOTION, PrjENotio, or Prcecognitio, is a
notice or piece of knowledge preceding some other in
respect of time. Such is the knowledge of the antece¬
dent, which must precede that of the conclusion. It is
used by Lord Bacon for breaking off’ an endless search,
which he observes to be one of the principal parts of
the art of memory. For when one endeavours to call
any thing to mind, without some previous notion or
perception of what is sought for, the mind exerts itself
and strives in an endless manner: but if it hath any
short notion before-hand, the infinity of the search is
presently cut off, and the mind hunts nearer home, as
in an enclosure. Thus verse is easier remembered than
prose ; because if we stick at any w'ord in a verse, we
have a previous notion that it is such a word as must
stand in a verse. Hence also, order is a manifest help
to memory} for here is a previous notion, that the thing
sought for must be agreeable to order. Bacon’s Works
Abr. vol. i. p. 136. and vol. ii. p. 473.
PEEPARATION, in a general sense, the act of
disposing things in such a manner as to render any fore¬
seen event more advantageous or less hurtful according
to its nature.
Preparation of Dissonances, in Music, is their dis¬
position in harmony in such a manner, that, by some¬
thing congenial to what precedes, they may be ren¬
dered less harsh to the ear than they would be without
that precaution: according to this definition, every
discord ought to be prepared. But when, in order to
prepare
P li E
[ 294. ]
P R E
prepare a dissonance, it is exacted that the sound which
forms it should before have formed a consonance, then
there is fundamentally but one single dissonance which
is prepared, viz. the seventh. Nor is even this prepa¬
ration necessary in the chord which contains the sensible
note, because then the dissonance being charactenstical,
both in its chord and in its mode, the ear has sufticient
reason to expect it : it accordingly does expect it, and
recognise it : nor is either deceived with respect to its
chord nor its natural progress. But when the seventh
is heard upon a fundamental sound which is not essential
to the mode, it ought then to be prepared, in order to
prevent all ambiguity •, to prevent the ear, whilst list¬
ening to this note, from losing its train: and as this
chord of the seventh may be inverted and combined m
several different manners, from this arise likewise a
number of different ways by which it may seem to be
prepared, which, in the main, always issue however in
the same thing.
In making use of dissonances, three things are to be
considered j°viz. the chord which precedes the disso¬
nance, that in which it is found, and that which is im¬
mediately subsequent to it. Preparation only respects
the two first j for the third, see Resolution.
When we would regularly prepare a discord in or¬
der to arrive at its chord, we must choose such a ca¬
reer of the fundamental bass, that the sound which
forms the dissonance may be a protraction into the
perfect time of the same note which formed a conso¬
nance formerly struck in the imperfect in the preceding
chord ; this is what we call sincopation. See SlNCOPA-
TION.
From this preparation two advantages result j viz.
1. That there is necessarily an harmonical connection
between the two chords, since that connection is formed
by the dissonance itself; and, 2. That this dissonance, as
it is nothing else but the continuation of the same sound
which had formed a consonance, becomes much less
harsh to the ear than it would have been with any sound
recently struck. Now this is all that we expect to gain
by preparation. See Cadence, Discord, and Har¬
mony.
By what has been just said, it will appear that there
is no other part peculiarly destined for preparing the
dissonance, except that in which it is heard ; so that it
the treble shall exhibit a dissonance, that must be sin-
copated ; but if the dissonance is in the bass, the bass
must be sincopated. Though there is nothing here but
what is quite simple, yet have masters of music miserably
embroiled the whole matter.
Some dissonances may be found which are never pre¬
pared : such is the sixth superadded : some which are
very unfrequently prepared; such is the diminished se¬
venth.
Preparations, in Pharmaaj, the medicines when
mixed together in such a manner as to be fit for the use
of the patient. See Pharmacy, under Materia
Medica.
Preparations, in Anatomy, the parts of animal
bodies prepared and preserved for anatomical uses.
ftdin. Med. ^^ie nranner of preserving anatomical preparations.
Essays, is either by drying them thoroughly in the air, or put-
vol. ii. p. 8. ting them into a proper liquor.
In drying parts which are thick, when the wTeather
is warm, care must be taken to prevent putrefaction, Prepay
fly-blows, insects, &c. This is easily done by the use Lon.
of a solution of corrosive sublimate in spirit of wine, ^
in the proportion of two drams ot sublimate to a
pound of spirit: the part should be moistened with
this liquor as it dries, and by this method the body of
a child may be kept safe even in summer. Dried pre¬
parations are apt to crack and moulder away in keep¬
ing ; to prevent this, their surface should be covered
with a thick varnish, repeated as often as occasion re¬
quires.
Though several parts prepared dry are useful, yet
others must be so managed as to be always flexible,
and nearer a natural state. The difficulty has been to
find a proper liquor for this purpose. Dr Monro says,
the best he knows is a well rectified colourless spirit of
wine, to which is added a small quantity of the spirit
of vitriol or nitre. When these are properly mixed,
they neither change their colour nor the consistence of
the parts, except where there are serous or mucous
liquors contained in them. The brain, even of a
young child, in this mixture grows so firm as to admit
of gentle handling, as do also the vitreous and cry¬
stalline humours of the eye. The liquor of the seba¬
ceous glands and the semen are coagulated by this
spirituous mixture ; and it heightens the red colour of
the injection of the blood-vessels, so that after the part
has been in it a little time, several vessels appear which
were before invisible. If you will compare these ef¬
fects with what Ruysch has said of his balsam, you will
find the liquor above mentioned to come very near
to it.
The proportion of the two spirits must be changed
according to the part prepared. For the brain and
humours of the eye, you must put two drams of spirit
of nitre to one pound of spirit of wine. In preserving
other parts which are harder, 30 or 40 drops of the
acid will be sufficient ; a larger quantity will make
bones flexible, and even dissolve them. The part thus
preserved should always be kept covered with the
liquor: therefore great care should be taken to stop
the mouth of the glass with a waxed cork and a blad¬
der tied over it, to prevent the evaporation of the
spirit ; some of which, notwithstanding all this care,
will fly off; therefore fresh must be added as there is
occasion. When the spirits change to a dark tincture,
which will sometimes happen, they should be poured off,
and fresh put in their room; but with somewhat less
acid that at first.
The glasses which contain the preparations should
be of the finest sort, and pretty thick for through
such the parts may be seen very distinctly, and of a
true colour, and the object will be so magnified as to
show vessels in the glass which out of it were not be
seen.
As the glass when filled with the liquor has a cer¬
tain focus, it is necessary to keep the preparation at a
proper distance from the sides of it, which is easily
done by little sticks suitably placed, or by suspending it
by a thread in a proper situation. The operator should
be cautious of putting his finger in this liquor oftener
than is absolutely necessary ; because it brings on a
numbness on the skin, which makes the fingers unfit lor
any nice operation. The best remedy for this is to wash
them
■para
ion
II
■roga-
■ruy
ve.
P R E [295
them in water mixed with a few drops of oil of tartar
per deliquium.
Dr Christ. Jac. Trew prefers the rectified spirit of
grain for preserving anatomical preparations to spirit of
wine, or to compositions of alcohol, amber, camphor,
&c. because these soon change int~ a brown colour
whereas the spirit from malt preserves its limpid ap¬
pearance. When any part is to be preserved wet, wash
it with water till it is no more tinctured. The water is
next to be washed aw'ay with spirits, and then the pre¬
paration is to be put among spirits in a glass, the mouth
of which is to be closely covered with a glass head, ever
which a wet bladder and leaf-tin are to be tied. Com.
Lit. Norimb. 173 r, semest. 1. specim. 9. See also Pole's
Anatomical Instructor, and American Transactions,
vol. ii. p. 366.
PKEPENSED, in Law, denotes fore-thought. In
which sense we say prepensed malice, &c. If, when a
man is slain upon a sudden quarrel, there were malice
prepensed formerly between them, it makes it mur¬
der; and, as it is called in some statutes, prepensed
murther.
PREPOSITION, in Grammar, one of the parts of
speech, being an indeclinable particle which yet serves
to govern the nouns that follow it; such as per, pro,
propter ; and through, for, with, &c.
I. Buffier allows it to be only a modificative of a
part of speech, serving to circumstantiate a noun.
PREPUCE, in Anatomy, the loreskin, being a pro¬
longation of the cutis of the penis, covering the glans.
See Penis, Anatomy Index.
PREROGATIVE, an exclusive or peculiar privi¬
lege.
RoyalPREROGATIVE, that special pre-eminence which
the king hath over and above all other persons, and out
of the ordinary course of the common law, in right of
his regal dignity. It signifies in its etymology (from
pree and rogo) something that is required or demanded
before, or in preference to, all others. And hence it
follows, that it must be in its nature singular and eccen¬
trical; that it can only be applied to those rights and ca¬
pacities which the king enjoys alone in contradistinction
to others, and not to those which he enjoys in common
with any of his subjects : for if once any one prerogative
of the crown could be held in common with the subject,
it would cease to be prerogative any longer. And there¬
fore I inch lays it down as a maxim, that the preroga-
tive is that law in case of the king, which is law in no
case of the subject.
Prerogatives are either direct or incidental. The di¬
rect are such positive substantial parts of the royal cha¬
racter and authority, as are rooted in, and spring from,
the king’s political person, considered merely by itself,
without reference to any other extrinsic circumstance;
as, the right of sending ambassadors, of creating peers,
and of making war or peace. But such prerogatives
as are incidental bear always a relation to something
else, distinct from the king’s person ; and are indeed
only exceptions, in favour of the crown, to those gene-
ia rules that are established for the rest of the commu-
nity-.such as> that no costs shall be recovered against
the king; that the king can never be a joint tenant;
and that his debt shall be preferred before a debt to
any of his subjects..
J P R E
These substantive or direct prerogatives may again Preroca-
be divided into three kinds : being such as regard, tiveg
iirst, the king s royal character or dignity ; secondly 1——
his Toy A authority or power; and, lastly, his royal in-
come. I hese are necessary, to secure reverence to his
person, obedience to his commands, and an affluent
supply for the ordinary expences of government; with¬
out all of which it is impossible to maintain the execu¬
tive power in due independence and vigour. Yet, in
every branch of this large and extensive dominion, our
tree constitution has interposed such seasonable checks
and restrictions, as may curb it from trampling on those
liberties which it was meant to secure and establish.
1 lie enormous weight of prerogative, if left to itself,
(as in arbitrary governments it is), spreads havock and
destruction among all the inferior movements : but
when balanced and bridled (as with us) by its propel
counterpoise, timely and judiciously applied, its opera¬
tions are then equable and regular; it invigorates the
whole machine, and enables every part to answer the
end of its construction.
E Of the royal dignity. Under every monarchical
establishment, it is necessary to distinguish the prince
from his subjects, not only by the outward pomp and
1 ecorations of majesty, but also by ascribing to him
ceitain qualities as inherent in his royal capacity, di¬
stinct from, and superior to, those of any other indivi-
( ual in the nation. lor though a philosophical mind
will (says Sir William Blackstone) consider the loyal
person merely as one man appointed by mutual consent
to preside over many others, and will pay him that re¬
verence and duty which the principles of society de¬
mand ; yet the mass of mankind will be apt to grow in¬
solent and refractory, if taught to consider their prince
as a man of no greater perfection than themselves. The
law therefore ascribes to the king, in his high politi¬
cal character, not only large powers and emoluments,
which form his prerogative and revenue, but likewise
certain attributes of a great and transcendent nature ;
by which the people are led to consider him in the light
of a superior being, and to pay him that awful respect
which may enable him with greater ease to carry on the
business of government. This is what we understand
by the royal dignity; the several branches of which we
shall now proceed to enumerate.
1. And, first, the law ascribes to the king the attri¬
bute of sovereignty, or pre-eminency. See Sovereign¬
ty. ■
2. “ The law also (according to-Sir William Black-
stone) ascribes to the king, in his political capacity, ab¬
solute perfection. ‘ The king can do no wrong.’ Which
ancient and fundamental maxim (says he) is not to be
understood as if every thing transacted by the govern¬
ment was of course just and lawful; but means only
two things. First, that whatever is exceptionable in
the conduct of public affairs, is not to be imputed to
the king, nor is he answerable for it personally to his
people : for this doctrine would totally destroy that con¬
stitutional independence of the crown, which is neces¬
sary for the balance of power, in our free and active
and therefore compounded, constitution. And, second¬
ly, it means that the prerogative of the crown extends
not to do any injury; it is created for the benefit of
the people, and therefore cannot be exerted to their
prejudice..
P R E [ 296
prejudice.—“ The king, moreover, (be ohserveO, i»
live" not'only incapable of doing wrong, but even o. :h’n.
  v ' ing wrong •, he can never mean to do an improper thing .
in him is no folly or weakness. And, thereiore, it the
crown should be induced to grant any franchise or pn-
vilege to a subject contrary to reason, or in anywise pi e-
iudicial to the commonwealth or a private person, ie
law will not suppose the king to have meant cr, im an
unwise or an injurious action, but declares that the king
was deceived in his grant ; and thereupon such grant is
rendered void, merely upon the foundation of frauu amt
deception, either by or upon those agents whom the
crown has thought proper to employ, i or the law
will not cast an imputation on that magistrate whom
it entrusts with the executive power, as if he was ca¬
pable of intentionally disregarding bis trust: but attri¬
butes to mere imposition (to which the most perfect
of sublunary beings must still continue liable) those
little inadvertencies, which, if charged on the will
of the prince, might lessen him in the eyes of Ins sub-
j But this doctrine has been exposed as ridiculous
and absurd, by Lord Abingdon, in his Dedication to
the collective Body of the People oj England. “ Let us
see (says he) how these maxims and their comments
agree with the constitution, with nature, with reason,
with common sense, with experience, with fact, with
precedent, and with Sir William Blackstone himself j
and whether by the application of these rules of evi¬
dence thereto, it will not be found, that (from the
want of attention to that important line of distinction
which the constitution has drawn between the king of
England and the crown of England) what was attri¬
buted to the monarchy has not been given to the wo«orc«,
what meant for the kingship conveyed to the king, what
designed for the thing transferred to the person, what in¬
tended for theory applied to practice ; and so in conse¬
quence, that whilst the premises (of the perfection of
the monarchy) he true, the conclusion (that the king
can do no wrong) be not false.
“ And, first, in reference to the constitution: to which
if this matter be applied (meaning what it expresses, and
if it do not it is unworthy of notice), it is subversive of
a principle in the constitution, upon which the preser¬
vation of the constitution depends j I mean the prin¬
ciple of resistance; a principle which, whilst no man will
now venture to gainsay, Sir William Blackstone him¬
self admits, ‘ is "justifiable to the person of the prince;
when the being of the state is endangered, and the
public voice proclaims such resistance necessary j and
thus, by such admission, both disproves the maxim,
and oversets his own comment thereupon *, for to say
that ‘ the king can do no wrong,’ and that 4 he is
incapable even of thinking wrong,’ and then to admit
that ‘ resistance to his person is justifiable,’ are such
jarring contradictions in themselves, that, until reconci¬
led, the necessity of argument is suspended.
“ With respect then, in the next place, to the agree¬
ment of this maxim, and its comment, with nature, with
reason, and with common sense, I should have thought
myself sufficiently justified in appealing to every man’s
own reflection for decision, if 1 had not been made
to understand that nature, reason, and common sense,
bad had nothing to do with either. Sir William Black¬
stone says, ‘ That though a philosophical mind will con-
2
] ? R E ' ,
suer the royal person merely as one man appointed fr.ro,
bv mutual consent to preside over others, and will pay
.Inm that reverence and duty which the principles of so¬
ciety demand, yet the mass ol mankind will be apt to
grow insolent and refractory if taught to considei then
prince as a man of no greater perfection than themselves j
and therefore the law ascribes to the king, in his high
political character, certain attributes of a great anii
transcendent nature, by which the people aie led to
consider him in the light of a superior being, and to pay
him that awful respect which may enable him with
greater ease to carry on the business of government.’ So
that, in order to govern with greater ease (winch by
the bye is mere assertion without any prooi), it is neces¬
sary to deceive the mass of mankind, by making them
believe not only what a philosophical mind cannot be¬
lieve, but what it is impossible for any mind to believe*
and therefore, in the investigation of this subject, ac¬
cording to Sir Vv illiam, neither nature, icason, no. com¬
mon sense, can have any concern.——
“ It remains to examine in how much this maxim and
its comment agree with experience, with fact, with pre¬
cedent, and with Sir William Blackstone himseli. And
here it is matter of most curious speculation, to observe
a maxim laid down, and which is intended foi a iiue
of government, not only without a single case in sup¬
port of it, but with a string of cases, that maj- be car¬
ried back to Egbert the first monarch of England, in
direct opposition to the doctrine. Who is the man,
that, reading the past history of this country, will show
us any king that has done no wrong ? Who is the read¬
er that will not find that all the wrongs and injuries
which the free constitution of this country has hitherto
suffered, have been solely derived from the arbitrary
measures of our kings ? And yet the mass of mankind
are to look upon the king as a superior being * and the
maxim, that ‘ the king can do no wrong,’ is to remain as
an article of belief. But, without pushing this inquiry
any farther, let us see what encouragement Sir William
Blackstone himself has given for our credulity. Af¬
ter stating the maxim, and presenting us with a most
lively picture, ‘ of our sovereign lord thus all perfect and
immortal,' what does he make this all-perfection and
immortality in the end to come to ? His words are
these 4 For when Eintj Charles’s deluded brother at¬
tempted to enslave the nation,’ {no wrong tins, to be
sure), 4 he found it was beyond his power : the people
both could, and did, resist him * and in consequence of
such resistance, obliged him to quit his enterprise and Ins
throne together *Con,
The sum of all is this : That the crown of England voU
and the king of England are distinguishable, and notp. 43j
synonymous terms: that allegiance is due to the crown,
and through the crown to the king: that the attributes
of the crown are sovereignty, perfection, and perpetuity;
but that it does not therefore follow that the king can
do no wrong. It is indeed to be admitted, that in high
respect for the crown, high respect is also due to the
wearer of that crown; that is, to the king : hut the
crown is to be preferred to the king, for the first vene¬
ration is due to the constitution. It is likewise to be
supposed that the king will do no wrong: and as, to
prevent this, a privy council is appointed by the consti¬
tution to assist the king in the execution of the go¬
vernment; so if any wrong be done, ‘these men, as
Montesquieu
P R TS
} ckst.
i i/ncnt.
Montesquieu expresses it, ‘may be examined and pu¬
nished (a).’
“ But if any future king shall think to screen these
evil counsellors from the just vengeance of the people,
by becoming d/s own minister ; and in so doing, shall
take for his sanction the attribute of perfection, shall trust
to the deception of bis being a superior being, and cloak
•himself under the maxim that the king can do no wrong;
I say, in such a case, let the appeal already made to
the constitution, to nature, to reason, to common sense,
to experience, to fact, to precedent, and to Sir William
Blackstone himself, suffice ; and preclude the necessity
®f any further remarks from me (b).”
To proceed now to other particulars : The law de¬
termines, tnat in the king can be no negligence or
LACHES j and therefore no delay will bar his right.
Nullum tempus occurrit regi, is the standing maxim upon
all occasions : for the law intends that the king is al¬
ways busied for the public good, and therefore has not
leisure to assert bis right within the times limited to
subjects. In the king also can be no stain or corruption
of blood : for if the heir to the crown were attainted of
treason or felony, and afterwards the crown should des¬
cend to him, this would purge the attainder ipso facto.
And therefore, when Henry VII. who as earl of Rich¬
mond stood attainted, came to the crown, it was not
thought necessary to pass an act of parliament to reverse
this attainder; because, as Lord Bacon in bis history of
that prince informs us, it was agreed that the assumption
of the crown had at once purged all attainders. Nei¬
ther can the king, in judgment of law, as king, ever
be a minor or under age; and therefore his royal grants
and assents to acts of parliament are good, though he has
not in his natural capacity attained the legal age ef 21.
By a statute, indeed, 28 Hen. VIII. c. 17. power w'as
given to future kings to rescind and revoke all acts of
parliament that should be made while they were under
the age of 24 : but this was repealed by the statute
1 Edw. VI. c. 11. so far as related to that prince, and
both statutes are declared to be determined by 24
Geo. II. c. 24. It hath also been usually thought pru¬
dent, when the heir apparent has been very young, to
appoint a protector, guardian, or regent, for a limited
time : but the very necessity of such extraordinary pro¬
vision is sufficient to demonstrate the truth of that
maxim of common law, that in the king is no mino-
1 297 1
PEE
rity ; and therefore he hath no legal guardian. See Re¬
gent.
3. A third attribute of the king’s majesty is \nsper-
petuitij. The law ascribes to him, in bis political, capa¬
city, an absolute immortality. The king never dies.
Henry, Edward, or George, may die; but the king sur¬
vives them all. For, immediately upon the decease of
the reigning prince in his natural capacity, his kingship
or imperial dignity, by act of law, without any interreg-
vum or interval, is vested at once in his heir ; who is co
vnstanti, king to all intents and purposes. And so ten¬
der is the law of supposing even a possibility of bis death,
that his natural dissolution is generally called bis demise;
dimissio regis vel coroner: an expression which signifies
merely a transfer oi property; for, as is observed in Plow-
den, when we say the demise of the crown, we mean
only, that, in consequence of the disunion of llic king’s
body-natural from his body-politic, the kingdom is trans¬
ferred or demised to his successor, and so the royal dig¬
nity" remains perpetual. Thus, too, when Edward IV.
in the tenth year of bis reign, was driven from his
throne for a few months by the house of Lancaster, this
temporary transfer of bis dignity was denominated his
demise; and all process was held to be discontinued, as
upon a natural death of the king.
II. We are next to consider those branches of the
royal prerogative which invest this our sovereign lord
W'lth a number of authorities -.wispowers; in the exertion
whereof consists the executive part of government. This
is wisely placed in a single hand by the British constitu¬
tion, for the sake of unanimity, strength, and despatch.
W ere it placed in many hands, it would be subject to
many wills: many wills, if disunited and draw'ing dif¬
ferent ways, create weakness in a government; and to
unite those several wills, and reduce them to one, is a
work of more time and delay than the exigencies of state
will afford. The king of England is therefore not only
the chief, but properly the sole, magistrate of the na¬
tion; all others acting by commission from, and in due
subordination to, him: in like manner as, upon the
great revolution in the Roman state, all the powers of
the ancient magistracy of the commonwealth were con¬
centered in the new emperor; so that, as Gravina ex¬
presses it, m ejus unius persona veteris reipublico: vis
atque majestas per cumulates magistratuum potestates ex*-
primebutur.
(a) Except the parliament, which is the great council of the nation, the judges, and the peers, who, beinr the
hereditary counsellors of the crown, have not only a right, hut are hound in faro conscienliee to advise the kino- for
the public good, the constitution knows of no other counsel than the privy council. Any other counsel, like Clif¬
ford, Arlington, Buckingham, Ashley, Lauderdale, and, as the initial letters of these names express, is a CAB AL
and as such should be suppressed. Nat. Bacon, speaking of the loss of power in the grand council of lords, says’
llie sense of state once contracted into a privy-council, is soon recontracted into a cabinet-council, and last of all
into a favourite or two; which many times brings damage to the public, and both themselves and kings into ex-
tremeprecipices; partly for want of maturity, hut principally through the providence of God overruling irreo-ular
courses to the hurt of such as walk in them.” Pol. Dis. part ii. p. 201.
(n) For experience, fact, and precedent, see the reigns of King John, Henry III. Edward II. Richard II.
Charles I. and James II. ^ See also Mirror of Justice; where it is said, “ that this grand assembly (meaning
the now parliament, or then W’ittena-gemotte) is to confer the government of God’s people, how they may
he kept from sin, live in quiet, and have right done them, according to the customs and laws; and more
especially of wrong done by the king, quicn, or their children : to which Nat. Bacon adds this note : “At this
time Vic king might do wrong, &c. and so say Bracton and Fleta of the kings in their time.” Disc, part i. p. 37.
Vql. XML Part I. -f p p jn
P H E
[ 298 1
P R E
BlacksL
Comment.
Tn tlie exertion of lawful prerogative the king is held
to be absolute 5 that is, so far absolute, that there is no
' legal authority that can either delay or resist him. He
mav reject what bills, may make what treaties, may com
what money, may create what peers, may pardon what
offences, he pleases: unless where the constitution hath
expressly, or by evident consequence, laid down some
exception or boundary j declaring, that thus far the pre¬
rogative shall go and no farther. For otherwise the
power of the crown would indeed be but a name and a
shadow, insufficient for the ends of government, it,
where its jurisdiction is clearly established and allowed,
anv man or body of men were permitted to disobey it,
in the ordinary course of law: we do not now speak ot
those extraordinary recourses to the first principles, which
are necessary when the contracts of society are in danger
of dissolution, and the law proves too weak a defence
against the violence of fraud or oppression. And yet
the want of attending to this obvious distinction has oc¬
casioned these doctrines, of absolute power in the prince
and of national resistance by the people, to be much
misunderstood and perverted, by the advocates lor
slavery on the one hand, and the demagogues ot taction
on the other. The former, observing the absolute so¬
vereignty and transcendent dominion of the crown laid
down (as it certainly is) most strongly and emphatically
in our law-books as well as our homilies, have denied
that any case can be excepted from so general and posi¬
tive a rule ; forgetting how impossible it is, in any prac¬
tical system of laws, to point out beforehand those ec¬
centrical remedies, which the sudden emergence ot na¬
tional distress may dictate, and which that alone can jus¬
tify. On the other hand, over-zealous republicans, teel-
ing the absurdity of unlimited passive obedience, have
fancifully (or sometimes factiously) gone over to the
other extreme : and, because resistance is justifiable to
the person of the prince when the being ot the state is
endangered, and the public voice proclaims such resist¬
ance necessary, they have therefore allowed to every in¬
dividual the right of determining this expedience, and
of employing private force to resist even private oppres¬
sion. A doctrine productive of anarchy, and (in con¬
sequence) equally fatal to civil liberty as tyranny itself.
For civil liberty, rightly understood, consists in protect¬
ing the rights of individuals by the united force of so-
eietv : society cannot he maintained, and ot course can
exert no protection, without obedience to some sove¬
reign power j and obedience is an empty name, if every
individual has a right to decide how far he himselt shall
obey. . ...
In the exertion, therefore, of those prerogatives winch
the law has given him, the king is irresistible and abso¬
lute, according to the forms of the constitution. And
yet,’if the consequence of that exertion be manifestly to
the grievance or dishonour of the kingdom, the parlia¬
ment will call his advisers to a just and severe account.
F'or prerogative consisting (as Mr Locke has well de¬
fined it) in the discretionary power of acting for the
public good where the positive laws are silent, if that
discretionary power be abused to the public detnment,
such prerogative is exerted in an unconstitutional man¬
ner. Thus the king may make a treaty with a foreign
state, which shall irrevocably bind the nation j and
yet, when such treaties have been judged pernicious,
impeachments have pursued those ministers by whose Preroga
agency or advice they were concluded. ^ tive.
The prerogatives of the crown (in the sense under iT*
which we are now considering them) respect either this
nation’s intercourse with foreign nations, or its own do¬
mestic government and civil polity.
With regard to foreign concerns, the king is the de¬
legate or representative of his people. It is impossible
that the individuals of a state, in their collective capa¬
city, can transact the affairs of that state with another
community equally numerous as themselves. Unanimity
must be wanting to their measures, and strength to the
execution of their counsels. In the king, therefore, as
in a centre, all the rays of his people are united, and
form by that union a consistency, splendour, and power*
that make him feared and respected by foreign poten¬
tates > who would scruple to enter into any engagement,
that must afterwards be revised and ratified by a popular
assembly. What is done by the royal authority, with
regard to foreign powers, is the act of the whole na¬
tion : what is done without the king’s concurrence, is
the act only of private men. And so far is this point
carried by our law, that it hath been held, that should
all the subjects of England make war with a king in
league with the king ot England, without the royal as¬
sent, such war is no breach ot the league. And, by the
statute 2 Hen. V. c. 6. any subject committing acts of
hostility upon any nation in league with the king, was
declared to be guilty of high treason : and, though that
act was repealed by the statute 20 Hen. VI. c. it. so
far as relates to the making this offence high treason,
yet still it remains a very great offence against the law
of nations, and punishable by our laws, either capitally
or otherwise, according to the circumstances of the
case.
1. The king, therefore, considered as the representa¬
tive of his people, has the sole power of sending am¬
bassadors to foreign states, and receiving ambassadors
at home.
2. It is also the king’s prerogative to make treaties,
leagues, and alliances, with foreign states and princes.
For it is, by the law of nations, essential to the goodness
of a league, that it he made by the sovereign power 5
and then it is binding upon the whole community : and
in Britain the sovereign power, quoad hoc, is vested in
the person of the king. Whatever contracts, therefore,
he engages in, no other power in the kingdom can le¬
gally delay, resist, or annul. And yet, lest this pleni¬
tude of authority should be abused to the detriment of
the public, the constitution (as was hinted before) hath
here interposed a check, by the means of parliamentary
impeachment, for the punishment of such ministers as
from criminal motives advise or conclude any treaty,
which shall afterwards be judged to derogate from the
honour and interest of the nation.
3. Upon the same principle the king has also the sole
prerogative of making war and peace. For it is held
by all the writers on the law of nature and nations, that
the riirht of making war, which by nature subsisted in
every individual, is given up by all private persons that
enter into society, and is vested in the sovereign power :
and this right is given up, not only by individuals, but
even by the entire body of people that are under the do¬
minion of a sovereign. It would indeed be extremely
improper,
P R E
improper, that any number of subjects should have the
power of binding the supreme magistrate, and putting
him against his will in a state of war. Whatever hosti¬
lities, therefore, may be committed by private citizens,
the state ought not to be affected thereby ; unless that
should justify their proceedings, and thereby become
partner in the guilt. And the reason which is given by
Grotius, why, according to the law of nations, a de¬
nunciation of war ought always to precede the actual
commencement of hostilities, is not so much that the
enemy may be put upon his guard (which is matter ra¬
ther of magnanimity than right), but that it may be
certainly clear that the war is not undertaken by pri¬
vate persons, but by the will of the whole community;
whose right of willing is in this case transferred to the
supreme magistrate by the fundamental laws of society.
So that, in order to make a war completely effectual,
it is necessary with us in Britain that it be publicly de¬
clared and duly proclaimed by the king’s authority j and
then, all parts of both the contending nations, from the
highest to the lowest, are bound by it. And where-
over the right resides of beginning a national war, there
also must reside the right of ending it, or the power of
making peace. And the same check of parliamentary
impeachment, for improper or inglorious conduct, in
beginning, conducting, or concluding a national war, is
in general sufficient to restrain the ministers of the
crown from a wanton or injurious exertion of this great
prerogative.
4. But, as the delay of making war may sometimes
"be detrimental to individuals who have suffered by de¬
predations from foreign potentates, our laws have in
some respects armed the subject with powers to impel
the prerogative j by directing the ministers of the crown
to issue letters of marque and reprisal upon due demand:
the prerogative of granting which is nearly related to,
>and plainly derived from, that other of making war;
this being indeed only an incomplete state of hostilities,
and generally ending in a formal denunciation of war.
These letters are grantable, by the law of nations, when¬
ever the subjects of one state are oppressed and injured
by those of another, and justice is denied by that state
to which the oppressor belongs. In this case, letters of
marque and reprisal (words in themselves synonymous,
and signifying a taking in return) may be obtained, in
order to seize the bodies or goods of the subjects of the
offending state, until satisfaction be made, wherever they
happen to be found. And indeed this custom of repri¬
sals seems dictated by nature herself; for which reason
'We find in the most ancient times very notable instances
of it. But here the necessity is obvious of calling in the
Sovereign power, to determine when reprisals may be
made; else every private sufferer would be a judge in
his own cause. In pursuance of which principle, it is
with us declared by the statute 4 Hen. V. c. 7. that if
«ny subjects of the realm are oppressed in time of truce
by any foreigners, the king will grant marque in due
form to all that; feel themselves grieved. See Marque.
5- Upon exactly the same reason stands the preroga¬
tive of granting safe-conducts; without which, by the
Jaw of nations, no member of one society has a right to
intrude into another. And therefore Puffendorf very
justly resolves, that it is left in the power of all states
to take such measures about the admission of strangers as
they think convenient; those being ever excepted wlto
[ 299 1
P R E
are driven on the coasts by necessity, or by any cause
that deserves pity or compassion. Great tenderness is
shown by our laws, not only to foreigners in distress ’
(see Mrkck), hut with regard also to the admission of
strangers who come spontaneously : for so long as their
nation continues at peace with ours, and they them¬
selves behave peaceably, they are under the king’s pro¬
tection ; though liable to he sent home whenever the
king sees occasion. But no subject ot a nation at war
with us can, by the law of nations, come into the realm,
nor can travel himself upon the high seas, or send his
goods and merchandise from one place to another, with¬
out danger of being seized by our subjects, unless he has
letters of safe-conduct; which, by divers ancient sta¬
tutes, must he granted under the king’s great seal and
inrolled in chancery, or else they are of no effect ; the
king being supposed the best judge of such emergencies,
as may deserve exception from the general law of arms.-
But passports under the king’s sign-manual, or licenses-’
from his ambassadors abroad, are now more usually ob«
tamed, and are allowed to be of equal validity
Ihese are the principal prerogatives of the king re¬
specting this nation’s intercourse with foreign nations;
in all of which he is considered as the delegate or re¬
presentative of his people. But in domestic affairs, he
is considered in a great variety of character-, and from
thence there arises an abundant number of other prero¬
gatives.
I. lie is a constituent part of the supreme legislative
power; and, as such, has the prerogative of rejecting
such provisions in parliament as he judges improper to
he passed. The expediency of which constitution has
before been evinced at large under the article Parlia¬
ment. W e shall only farther remark, that the king is
not bound by any act of parliament, unless he be named
therein by special and particular words. The most ge-
neial words that can be devised (any person or persons,
bodies politic, or corporate, &c.) affect not him in the
least, if they may tend to restrain or diminish any of his
rights or interests. For it would be of most mischievous
consequence to the public, if the strength of the execu¬
tive power were liable to be curtailed, without its own
express consent, by constructions and implications of the
subject. Yet, where an act of parliament is expressly
made for the preservation of public rights and the sup¬
pression of public wrongs, and does not interfere with
the established rights of the crown, it is said to he bind¬
ing as well upon the king as upon the subject: and,
likewise, the king may take the benefit of any particular
act, though he be not especially named.
2. The king is considered, in the next place, as the
generalissimo, or the first in military command, within
the kingdom. The great end of society is to protect
the weakness of individuals by the united strength of the
community; and the principal use of government is to
direct that united strength in the best and most effectual
manner, to answer the end proposed. Monarchical go¬
vernment is allowed to be the fittest of any for this pur¬
pose : it follows therefore, from the very end of its in¬
stitution, that in a monarchy the military power must
be trusted in the hands of the prince.
In this capacity, therefore, of general of the king¬
dom, the king has the sole power of raising and regulat¬
ing fleets and armies. The manner in which they are
raised and regulated w explained under the article Mi-
P 3 JS/TMIX
Preroga¬
tive.
p n e
[ 3°° ]
P H E
LIT ary State. We are now only to consider the pre¬
rogative of enlisting and governing them : which in¬
deed was disputed and claimed, contrary to all reason
and precedent, by the long parliament ol iving Ghas. 1. 5
but, upon the restoration ot his son, was solemnly de¬
clared by the statute 13 Charles II. c. 6. to be in the
king alone : for that the sole supreme government and
command of the militia within all his majesty s realms
and dominions, and of all forces by sea and land, and
of all forts and places of strength, ever was and is the
undoubted right of his majesty, and his royal predeces¬
sors, kings and queens ot England J and that both or
either house of parliament cannot, nor ought to, pretend
to the same.
, This statute, it is obvious to observe, extends not
only to fleets and armies, hut also to forts and other
places of strength within the realm ; the sole preroga¬
tive, as well of erecting, as manning and governing of
which, belongs to the king in his capacity of general
of the kingdom j and all lands were formerly subject to
a tax, for building of castles wherever the king thought
proper. This was one of the three things, from contri¬
buting to the performance of which no lands were ex¬
empted, and therefore called by the Anglo-Saxons the
trim da necessitas ; so. pontis reparatio, arris const rue tio,
et expeditio contra hostem. And this they were called
upon to do so often, that, as Sir Edward Coke from
M. Paris assures us, there was in the time of Henry IE
1115 castles subsisting in England. The inconvenien-
cies of which, when granted out to private subjects, the
lordly barons of those times, were severely felt by the
whole kingdom ; for, as William of Newburgh remarks
in the reign of King Stephen, erant in Anglia quodam-
modo tot reges, velpotius tyranni, quot domini castello-
rum ; but it was felt by none more sensibly than by two
succeeding princes, King John and King Henry HI.
And therefore, the greatest part of them being demo¬
lished in the barons wars, the kings of after times have
been very cautious of suffering them to be rebuilt in a
fortified manner: and Sir Edward Coke lays it down,
that no subject can build a castle, or house of strength
imbattled, or other fortress defensible, without the li¬
cense of the king ; for the danger which might ensue,
if every man at his pleasure might do it.
It is partly upon the same, and partly upon a fiscal
foundation, to secure his marine revenue, that the king
has the prerogative of appointing ports and havens, or
such places only, for persons and merchandise to pass
into and out of the realm, as he in his wisdom sees pro¬
per. By the feodal law, all navigable rivers and ha¬
vens were computed among the regalia, and were sub¬
ject to the sovereign of the State. And in England it
hath always been held, that the king is lord of the
whole shore, and particularly is the guardian of the
ports and havens, which are the inlets and gates of the
realm-, and therefore, so early as the reign of King John,
we find ships seized by the king’s officers for putting in
at a place that was not a legal port. These legal ports
were undoubtedly at first assigned by the crown ; since
to each of them a court of portmote is incident, the ju¬
risdiction of which must flow from the royal authority:
the great ports of the sea are also referred to, as Well
known and established, by statute 4 Hen. IV. c. 20.
which prohibits the landing elsewhere under pain of con¬
fiscation : and the statute 1 Eliz. c, 1 K.recites, that
■ • -s *• * 5
the franchise of lading and discharging had been ire- ireroja.
quently granted by the crown. tive.
But though the king had a power of granting the v; v-'
franchise of havens and ports, yet he had not the power
of resumption, or of narrowing and confining their li¬
mits when once established 5 but any person had a right
to load or discharge his merchandise in any part ol the
haven : whereby the revenue ot the custom was much
impaired and diminished, by fraudulent landings in ob¬
scure and private corners. 1 his occasioned the statutes
of 1 Eliz. c. 11. and 13 and 14 Car. II. c. 11. § 14.
which enable the crown by commission, to ascertain the
limits of all ports, and to assign proper wharfs and quays
in each port, for the exclusive landing and loading of
merchandise.
'1 he erection of beacons, light houses, and sea-marks,
is also a branch of the royal prerogative : whereof the
first was anciently used in order to alarm the country in
case of the approach of an enemy •, and all of them are
signally useful in guiding and preserving vessels at sea
by night as well as by day. See Beacon.
3. Another capacity in which the king is considered
in domestic affairs, is as the fountain of justice and ge¬
neral conservator of the peace of the kingdom. See the
article fountain of Justice.
4. The king is likewise the fountain of honour, of of¬
fice, and of privilege : and this in a different sense from
that wherein he is styled thefountain of justice ; for herb
he is really the parent of them. See the articles Foun¬
tain of Justice and Fountain of Honour.
g. Another light, in which the laws of England con¬
sider the king with regard to domestic concerns, is ai
the arbiter of commerce. By commerce, we at present
mean domestic commerce only j for the king’s preroga¬
tive with regard to which, see ^Regulation of If EIGHTS
and Measures, Money, &c.
6. The king is, lastly, considered by the laws of Eng¬
land as the head "and supreme governor of the national
church. # i
To enter into the reasons upon which this prerogative
is founded is matter rather of divinity than of law. We
shall therefore only observe, that by statute 26 Hen.
VIII. c. 1. (reciting that the king’s majesty justly and
rightfully is and ought to be the supreme head of the
church of England ; and so had been recognised by the
clergy of that kingdom in their convocation) it is enact¬
ed, that the king shall be reputed the only supreme
head on earth of the church of England; and shall have,
annexed to the imperial crown of this realm, as well the
title and style thereof, as all jurisdictions, authorities,
and commodities, to the said dignity of supreme head of
the church appertaining. And another statute to the
same purport was made, I Eliz. c. 1.
In virtue of this authority the king convenes, pro¬
rogues, restrains, regulates, and dissolves, all ecclesiasti¬
cal synods or convocations. This was an inherent prero¬
gative of the crown long before the time of‘Henry S III.
as appears by the statute 8 Hen. VI. c. 1. and the many
authors, both lawyers and historians, vouched by Sip
Edward Coke. So that the statute 25 lien. VIII. c. 19.
which restrains the convocation from making or putting
in execution any canons repugnant to the king’s prero-
eative, or the laws, customs, and statutes of the realm,
was merely declaratory of the old common law: that
part of it only being.new, "rthicljhmakes The king’s royal
assent
P B, E
[
:oi
]
P H E
•oga-
V<J
; sbytsfi
assent actually necessary to the validity of eves'y canon.
The convocation or ecclesiastical synod, in England,
ditlers considerably in its constitution from the synods
of other Christian kingdoms: these consisting p holly of
bishops; whereas in England the convocation is the mi¬
niature of a parliament, wherein the archbishop presides
with regal state ; the upper house of bishops represents
the house of lords ; and the lower house, composed of
representatives of the several dioceses at large, and of
eacli particular chapter therein, resembles the house of
commons with its knights of the shire and burgesses.
This constitution is said to he owing to the policy of
Edward I. who thereby at one and the same time let in
the inferior clergy to the privileges of forming ecclesias¬
tical canons (which before they had not), and also in¬
troduced a method of taxing ecclesiastical benefices, by
consent of convocation.
From this prerogative also, of being the head of the
church, arises the king’s right of nomination to vacant
bishoprics, and certain other ecclesiastical preferments.
As head of the church, the king is likewise the der¬
nier resort in all ecclesiastical causes; an appeal lying
ultimately to him in chancery from the sentence of every
ecclesiastical judge : which right was restored to the
crown by statute 2> Hen. VIII. c. 9.
III. The king’s fiscal prerogatives, or such as regard
his revenue. See the article Revenue.
pREROGATiVE-Court, an English court established
for the trial of all testamentary causes, where the deceas¬
ed hath left bona notabilia within two different dioceses.
In which case the probate of wills belongs to the arch¬
bishop of the province, by way of special prerogative.
And all causes relating to the wills, administrations, or
legacies of such persons, are originally cognizable here¬
in, before a judge appointed by the archbishop, called
the judge of the prerogative court; from whom an appeal
lies by statute 25 Hen. VIII. c. 19. to the king in chan¬
cery, instead of the pope as formerly.
PRESAGE, in Antiquity, denotes an augury, or sign
of some future event; which was chiefly taken from the
flight of birds, the entrails of victims, &c. See Augu¬
ry and Aruspices.
PRESBURG, the capital of the kingdom of Lower
Hungary, called by the inhabitants Posony and Prespo-
ren, situated on the Danube, about 46 miles east from
Vienna, and 75 from Buda. The castle, in which the
regalia are kept, stands on a hill above the town. Here
the states assemble; and in the cathedral, dedicated to
St Martin, the king is crowned. The town is not very
large, or well buifi; but is very ancient, pleasantly situ¬
ated, and enjoys a good air. The population is com¬
puted at 27,000. Its fortifications are only a double
wall and ditch. In the lower suburbs is a hill, where
the king, after his coronation, goes on horseback, and
brandishes St Stephen’s sword towards the four cardinal
points, intimating, that he will defend his country against
all its enemies. Besides the cathedral, there are several
other Popish and one Lutheran church, with a Jesuits
college, three convents, and two hospitals. It gives name
to a county, and is the residence of the archbishop of
Gran, who is primate, chief secretary, and chancellor of
the kingdom, legatus natus of the Papal see, and prince
ot the holy Roman empire. E. Long. 17. 30. N. Lat.
48. £0. t ^'
PRRSBYT2E, persons whose eyes are too flat to re¬
fract tire rays sufficiently, so.that unless the object is at fretbyt®
some distance, the rays coming from it will pass through fl
the retina before their union, consequently vision is con- Pr^byte-
fusetl; old people are usually the subjects of this disease. , mns- ^
In order to remedy, or at least to palliate, this defect,
the person should firstu.se glasses which do not magnify,
and From them pass gradually to more convex spectacles,
which shorten the focus.
PRES BA TER,in the primitive Christian church, an
elder, one of the second order of ecclesiastics ; the other
two being bishops and deacons. ; See the article Bishop
and Deacon.
Presbyter, or elder, is a word borrowed from the
Greek tran lation of the Old Testament, where it com¬
monly signifies ruler or governor; it being a note of of¬
fice and dignity, not of age ; and in this sense bishops
are sometimes called presbyters in the New Testament.
The presbyters might baptize, preach, consecrate, and
administer the euebarist in the bishop’s absence, or in his
presence if he authorised and deputed them; and the
bishops did scarce any thing in the government of the j
church without their advice, consent, and amicable con¬
currence.
The grand dispute between the followers of the Ge¬
neva and Roman discipline, is about the sameness and
difference of presbyters and bishops at the time of the
apostles. See Episcopacy, Independents, and the
following article. ' ' _ .
PRESBYTERIANS, Protestants so called from Disciimi-
their maintaining that the government of the churchnapng
appointed in the New Testament was by Presbyteries,
that is, by associations of ministers, and ruling elders, lcr;ansl ^
possessed all of equal powers, without any superiority
among them either in office or in order.
The Presbyterians believe, that the authority of their
ministers to preach the gospel, to administer the sacra¬
ments of baptism and the Lord’s supper, and to feed the
flock of Christ, is derived from the Holy Ghost by the
imposition of the hands of the presbytery ; amj they op¬
pose the independent scheme of the common rights of
Christians by the same arguments which are used for that
purpose by the Episcopalians, (see Episcopacy). They
affirm, however, that there is no order in the church as
established by Christ and his apostles superior to that of
presbyters; that all ministers being ambassadorsofChrist,
are equal hytheir commission ; ih&tprdsbyteran&bishop,
though different words, are of the same import; and
that prelacy was gradually established upon the primi¬
tive practice of making the moderator or speaker of the
presbytery a permanent officer. 2
These positions they maintain against the EpisCopa- Scriptural
lians by the following scriptural arguments. They ob- arguments
serve, that the apostles 'planted churches by ordaining aFainst
bishops and deacons in every city ; that the ministers1 1
which in one verse are called bishops, are in the next
perhaps denominated presbyters; that we nowhere read
in the New Testament of bishops, presbyters, and dea¬
cons, in any one church; and that therefore we are un¬
der the necessity of concluding bishop andpresbytep to
be two names for the. same church officer. This is ap¬
parent from Peter’s exhortation to the elders or presby¬
ters who were among the Jewish Christians. “ The
elders (presbyters) which are among you I exhort, who
am also an elder, and a witness of the sufferings of
Christ, and also a partaker of the glory that shall be re¬
vealed L. :
P It £
[ 3°2 3
P R E
* i Peter
*• i, a, 3-
3
Reasons
for suppos¬
ing bishops
and presy
ters of tlie
came order,
f Cliap.
I4*
sealed : Feed the flock of God which is among you,
taking the oversight thereot (jTria-KOTceviiii^ acting as n-
shops thereof), not by constraint, but willingly; not for
filthy lucre, but of a ready mind ; neither as being
lords over God’s heritage, but being ensamples to the
flocks*.” From this passage it is evident, that the pres¬
byters not only fed the flock of God, but also govern¬
ed that flock with episcopal powers ; and that the
apostle himself, as a church officer, was nothing more
than a presbyter or elder. The identity of the office oi
bishop and presbyter is still more apparent from Tleb.
xiii. 7. 17. and 1 Thess. v. 12.', for the bishops are there
represented as governing the flock, speaking to them
the word of God, watching for their souls, and dischar¬
ging various offices, which it is impossible for any man
to perform to more than one congregation.
From the last cited text it is evident, that the bishops
(7rg$icflxgt*ivf^ of the Thessalonian churches had the pas¬
toral care of no more souls than they could hold perso¬
nal communion with in God’s worship ; tor they weie
such as all the people were to know, esteem, and love,
' as those that not only were over them, but also “ closely
laboured among them, and admonished them.” But
diocesan bishops, whom ordinarily the hundredth part
of their flock never hear nor see, cannot be tho-.e bishops
by whom that flock is admoni-hed, nor can they lie, what
Feter requires the bishops of the Jewish converts to be,
ensamples to the flock. It is the opinion of Dr Ham¬
mond, who was a very learned divine, and a zealot for
episcopacy, that the elders whom the apostle James de¬
sires + the sick to call for, were of the highest perma¬
nent order of ecclesiastical officers j but it is self-evident
that those elders cannot have been diocesan bishops,
otherwise the sick must have been often without the
reach of the remedy proposed to them.
There is nothing in Scripture upon which the Epis¬
copalian is more ready to rest his cause than the alleged
episcopacy of Timothy and Titus j ol whom the former
is said to have been bishop of Ephesus, and the latter
bishop of Crete •, yet the Presbyterian thinks it as clear
as the noon day sun, that the presbyters of Ephesus were
supreme governors, under Christ of the Ephesian church¬
es, at the very time that Timothy is pretended to have
been their proper diocesan.
In Acts xx. 17, &c. we read, that “ from Miletus
Paul sent to Ephesus, and called the elders (presbyters)
of the church. And when they were come to him, he
said unto them, Ye know, from the first day that I
came into Asia, after what manner I have been with
you, at all seasons. And now I know that ye all, among
whom I have gone preaching the kingdom of God, shall
see my face no more. Wherefore, I take you to record
this day, that I am pure from the blood of all men. For
I have not shunned to declare unto you all the counsel
of God. Take heed therefore unto yourselves, and to
all the flock over which the Holy Ghost hath made you
overseers (ime-KOTtvs, bishopsf) to feed the church of
God, which he hath purchased with his own blood.
For I know this, that after my departure shall grievous
wolves enter in among you, not sparing the flock. Al¬
so of your ownselves shall men arise, speaking perverse
things, to draw away disciples after them. Therefore
watch, and remember, that by the space of three years,
^ ceased not to warn every one night and day with tears.
And now, brethren, I recommend you to God, and to Presbv
the word of his grace,” &c. _ nans
From this passage, it is evident that there was in the v
city of Ephesus a plurality of pastors of equal authority ,^4
without any superior pastor or bishop over them; for the0f
apostle directs his discourse to them all in common, and of equal
gives them equal powrer over the whole flock. Dr Ham-authorii
mond indeed imagines, that the elders whom Paul called
to Miletus were the bishops ojAsia, and that he sent
for them to Ephesus, because that city was the metro¬
polis of the province. But were this opinion well-
founded, it is not conceivable that the sacred writer
would have called them the elders of the church of
Ephesus, but the elders of the church in general, or the
elders of the churches in Asia. Besides, it is to be re¬
membered, that the apostle was in such haste to be at
Jerusalem, that the sacred historian measures his time
by days; whereas it must have required several months
to call together the bishops or elders of all the cities of
Asia ; and he might certainly have gone to meet them
at Ephesus in less time than would be requisite for their
meeting in that city and proceeding thence to him at
Miletus. They must therefor* have been either the
joint pastors of one congregation, or the pastors of dif¬
ferent congregations in one city ; and as it was thus in
Ephesus, so was it in Philippi; for we find the apostle
addressing his epistle “ to all the saints in Christ Jesus
which are at Philippi, with the bishops and deacons.”
From the passage before us it is likewise plain, that the
presbyters of Ephesus had not only the name but the
whole power of bishops given to them by the Holy.
Ghost ; for they are enjoined to do the whole work of
bishops—•xeip.xiwi r»» rav 0jav.—which signi¬
fies, to rule as well as feed the church of God. W hence
we see, that the apostle makes the power of governing
inseparable from that of preaching and watching j and
that according to him, all who are preachers of God s
word, and watchmen of souls, are necessarily rulers or
governors of the church, without being accountable for
their management to any prelate, but only to their
Lord Christ from whom their power is derived. . j :
It appears, therefore, that the apostle Paul left in theTimota
church of Ephesus, which he had planted, no other suc-nobisli
cessors to himself th&npresbyter-bishops, or Presbyterian
ministers, and that he did not devolve his power upon
any prelate, Timothy, whom the Episcopalians allege
to have been the first bishop of Ephesus, was piesent
when this settlement was made*; and it is surely not to#Acts
be supposed, that, had he been their bishop, the apostle 5.
would have devolved the whole episcopal power upon
the presbyters before his face. If ever there was a sea¬
son fitter than another for pointing out the duty of this
supposed bishop to his diocese, and his presbyters duty to
him, it was surely when Paul was taking his final leave
of them, and discoursing so pathetically concerning the
duty of overseers, the coming of ravenous wolves, and
the consequent hazard of the flock. In this farewel
discourse, he tells them that “ he had not shunned to
declare unto them all the counsel of God.” But with
what truth could this have been said, if obedience to a
diocesan bishop had been any part of their duty either
at the time of the apostle’s speaking or at any future
period ? He foresaw that ravenous wolves would enter
in among them, and that even some of themselves should
arise -
jUl.
11A 1
i:Iii C
:ki a;
p n e
shyte. arise speaking perverse things-, and if, as the Episcopa-
ians. Hans allege, diocesan episcopacy was the remedy pro¬
vided for those evils, is it not strange, passing strange,
that the inspired preacher did not foresee that Timothy,
who was standing beside him, was destined to fill that
important office } or if he did foresee it, that he omitted
to recommend him to his future charge, and to give him
proper instructions for the discharge of his duty ?
m e- But if Timothy was not bishop of Ephesus, what, it
rielist. may be asked, was his office in that city ? for that he
resided there for some time, and was by the apostle in¬
vested with authority to ordain and rebuke presbyters*
are facts about which all parties are agreed, and which
indeed cannot he controverted by any reader of Paul’s
epistles. rlo this the Presbyterian replies with confi¬
dence, that the power which Timothy exercised in the
* Tim. church of Ephesus was that of an evangelist *, and not
i' ■ a fixed prelate. But, according to Eusebius, the work
of an evangelist was, “ to lay the foundations of the
faith in barbarous nations, and to constitute among
them pastors 5 after which he passed on to other coun¬
tries.” Accordingly we find, that Timothy was resi-
t ’il.ii. dent for a time at Philippi and Corinth t as well as
T' at Ephesus, and that he had as much authority over
those churches as over that of which he is said to have
t 3°3 T
F R E
1 r, iv.
i' ,vi. 10,
been the fixed bishop. “ Now, if Timotheus come,
see that he may be with you without fear, for he work-
eth the work of the Lord, as I also do. Let no man
therefore despise him.” This text might lead us to sup¬
pose, that I imothy was bishop of Corinth as well as of
Ephesus ; for it is stronger than that upon which his
episcopacy of the latter church is chiefly built. The
t apostle says, “ I besought thee $ to abide'still at Ephe-
3'
Vn
rat(
trig’
mar,
fice
elm
sus, when I went into Macedonia, that thou mightest
charge some that they teach no other doctrine.”" But
had Timothy been the fixed bishop of that city, there
would surely have been no necessity for beseeching him
to abide with his flock. It is to be observed, too, that
the first epistle to Timothy, which alone was written to
him during his residence at Ephesus, was of a date prior
to Paul’s meeting with the elders of that church at Mi¬
letus ; for in the epistle he hopes to come to him shortly,
whereas he tells the elders at Miletus, that they should
see his face no more. This being the case, it is evident
that Timothy was left by the apostle at Ephesus only to
supply his place during his temporary absence at Mace¬
donia, and that he could not possibly have been consti¬
tuted fixed bishop of that church, since the episcopal
powers were afterwards committed to the presbyters by
the Holy Ghost in his presence,
yte- . ihe identity of the office of bishop and presbyter be-
|c ing thus ciearly established, it follows, that the presby-
»u£ terate ^ie highest permanent office in the church,
the ani^ every faithful pastor of a flock is successor to
. the apostles in every thing in which they were to have
any successors. In the apostolic office there wTere in¬
deed some things peculiar and extraordinary, such as
their immediate call by Christ, their infallibility, their
being witnesses of our Lord’s resurrection, and their
unlimited jurisdiction over the whole world. These
powers and privileges could not be conveyed by imposi¬
tion of hands to any successors, whether called presby¬
ters or bishops 5 but as rulers or office-bearers in parti¬
cular churches, we have the confession of “ the very
thiefest apostles,” Peter and John, that they were no¬
thing more than presbysters or parish ministers. This PresW-
being the case, the dispute, which in the early part of nans,
the passing century was so warmly agitated concerning 1 ■"" y■1
the validity of Presbyterian ordination, may he soon de^
cided ; for if the ceremony of ordination he at all essen¬
tial, it is obvious that such a ceremony performed bv
presbyters must be valid, as there is no higher order of
ecclesiastics in the church by whom it can be performed.
Accordingly we find that Timothy himself, though
said to he a bishop, was ordained by the laying on of
the bands of a presbytery. At that ordination indeed
St I aul presided, but he could preside only as pri¬
mus m paribus ; for we have seen that, as permanent
officers in the church of Christ, the apostles themselves
were no more than presbyters. If the apostles hands
were imposed for any other purpose, it. must have been
to communicate those charismata or miraculous gifts
of the Holy Spirit, which were then so frequent; but
which no modern presbyter or bishop will pretend to
give, unless his understanding be clouded by the grossest
ignorance, or perverted by the most frantic entbusi-
8
But if the office of bishop and presbyter was origi-Rise of E-
nally the same, how, it will be asked, came diocesan e-piscoPacy*
piscopacy to prevail so universally as it is confessed to
have done before the conversion of Constantine and the
civil establishment of Christianity in the Konian em¬
pire ? To give a satisfactory answer to this question is
certainly the most arduous task which the advocate for
presbytery has to perform : but it is a task not insur¬
mountable.
From many passages in the New Testament *, it is* Acts xT.
evident, that when the apostles planted churches in dif- 29- *ui. t.
ferent cities, they generally settled more than one pa-12;.^'.xv*
stor in the same church, to feed and govern it with1*1'*’5'
joint authority. The propriety of this constitution is
obvious. In those days, when the disciples of Christ
were persecuted for their religion, and often obliged to
meet in the “ night for fear of the Jews,” they could
not with any degree of prudence assemble in large num¬
bers j and therefore, had there been no more than one
pastor in a city, the Christian converts, though, when
assembled, they might have amounted to but a small
congregation, could not all have enjoyed the benefit
of public worship on the same day; at least it is obvious
that they could not possibly have assembled for this pur¬
pose so often as their want of instruction, and the duty
ol “ breaking ol bread and of prayer,” required them
to meet. It was therefore with great wisdom that the
apostles ordained several presbyters in the same church;
hut as these presbyters would have occasion to meet fre¬
quently, and to deliberate on the state of the flock which
it was their duty to feed, and over which they had all
equal authority, they would he under the necessity of
electing one of their own number to be president or mo¬
derator of the presbytery, that order might be preserved,
and all things done with decency. At first there is rea¬
son to believe that those presidents held their office no
longer than while the presbyteries sat in which they were
elected. Among the apostles themselves there was no
fixed president. Peter indeed appears to have been most
frequently admitted to that honour ; hut there is one
very memorable occasion on record f, when James the f Acts xy.
Lord’s brother presided in an assembly of apostles, elders,
and brethren, held at Jerusalem, to determine the ques¬
tion
P R E
[ 3°4 I
P R- Er
Pn-sbytc-
ri.ms.
According-
to Jeisomc.
tlon concerning the necessity of circumcising the Gen¬
tiles, and commanding them to keep the law o i loses.
Upon this model were the primitive presbyteries
formed. They consisted of several presbyters possessed
of equal powers, who at their meetings appointee one
of their own number to discharge the ofhee ot modern-
tor or temporary president} but to this presi ent tney
gave no prelatical powers or negative voice over the c,e-
liberations of his brethren-, for, as Jerome informs us,
the church was then governed communi presbyterorum
concilia, “ by a common council of presbyters.” it ap¬
pears, however, that when an apostle, an apostolical man,
or an evangelist, fixed his residence in any city, and took
upon himself the pastoral care of part of the flock, Ins
co-presbyters, from respect to his singular gifts, made
him their constant and fixed moderator. Hence iimo-
thv during his abode at Ephesus, was moderator of t ie
presbytery ; and hence too Mark the evangelist, who
resided many years in Alexandria, has been called the
first bishop of'that church, though he appears to have
been nothing more than permanent moderator. We
both written by Mr Willison some time minister in Dun-
dee, and both evincing considerable learning and great rians,
ingenuity in their pious author. # 'Hf
Of the churches at present formed upon this model,
we believe, that without incurring the imputation ofoCS(J|
national prejudice, we may safely affirm the church of
Scotland to' be by much the most respectable. Her
mode of worship is simple and solemn ; her established
faith agreeable to the confessions of most other Pro¬
testant churches her judicatories are calculated to
maintain the rights of the people j and her pastors are
confessedly men of liberal and enlightened mindo. On
these accounts it appears to us, that we cannot more
properly conclude this article than with a short view of
her constitution, as being that in which our Presbyte¬
rian readers are undoubtedly most interested.
No one is ignorant, that from the first dawn of refor¬
mation among us, till the era of the revolution, uieie
was a perpetual struggle between the court and the peo¬
ple for the establishment of an Episcopal or a Presby¬
terian form of church government: The former model of
been nothing more than permanent nioaeraror ^ ^ j u ^ patronised by the house of Stu-
<7? t!;e,:rurreaenr.irlP Sy ougTt Wcause it iXy' are nrhced ,ilh the clergy in church
in the episcopal chan, without drean g X f hidiratories and the two orders, which under episco-
^ •  .* L 4- Ao iU\c n! makincr
turn episcopum nominubcnt. As this practice Or making
the moderator of the presbytery ot Alexandria a per¬
manent officer, was thought a good expedient to guard
the infant churches against schisms and divisions, those
churches gradually adopted it. lor, as Jerome tells us,
Postquamunusquisquecosquoshaptizaverat, suosputabet
esse,non Christ i, in toto or be decretumest, itt umtsdcpres¬
byter is electus, superponcretvr cceteris, adqucmommsec-
elesice cura perlineret, el schismatum seminct tollerentur.
The advantages which, in displaying his talents and
authority, the perpetual president nr speaker of any as¬
sembly has over his colleagues in office, are so obvious,
that when the practice of electing their moderators for
life became universal among the presbyteries of the pri¬
mitive church, it is easy to conceive how ambitious men
m'mht so magnify the difficulties and importance of their
station, as to'introduce the custom of filling it by a new
consecration of the bishop elect. But when this was
done, diocesan episcopacy, with all its powers and pre¬
rogatives, would follow as a thing ol course, until by
little and little (as Jerome expresses himself) the whole
pastoral care of the flock was devolved upon one man.”
Our limits will not permit us to trace more minutely
the rise and progress of this ecclesiastical usurpation,
as the Presbyterian calls it; but the reader who wishes
for fuller information, after studying the remains of the
four first centuries of the Christian church, may consult
An Inquiry into the Constitution, Discipline,and Worship
0f the Primitive Church, said to have been written by Sir
Peter King, afterwards lord chancellor of England.
As an impartial lover of truth, he will do well to con-
salt also a book entitled, An original Draught of the
Primitive Church, which was published as an answer to
the Inquiry, and he may read with much advantage to
himself A Letter from a parochial bishop to a prelatical
jrentleman, with An apology for the Church of Scotland,
one body. In the Scottish church, every regulation ot
public worship, every act ot discipline, and every eccle- n
siastical censure, which in other churches flows from thegoverna
authority of a diocesan bishop, or from a convocation ol ^ J
the clergy, is the joint work of a certain number iajmeii.
clergymen and laymen acting together with equal au-
thorilv, and deciding every question by a plurality of
voices. The laymen who thus form an essential part of
the ecclesiastical courts of Scotland, are called ruling
elders; and hold the same office, as well as the same
name, with those brethren * who joined with the apes-* Acts
ties and elders at Jerusalem in determining the impor¬
tant question concerning the necessity of imposing upon
the Gentile converts the ritual observances of the law ot
Moses. These lay-elders Paul enjoined Timothy t tof i Tin
account worthy of double honour, if they should rule well, 17-
and discharge the duties for which they were separated
from the multitude of their brethren. In the church of
Scotland every parish has two or three ot these lay-e -
ders, who are grave and serious persons, chosen from
among the heads of families, of known orthodoxy and
steady adherence to the worship, discipline, and govern¬
ment of the church. Being solemnly engaged to use
their utmost endeavours for the suppression ot vice and
the cherishing of piety and virtue, and to exercise dis¬
cipline faithfully and diligently, the minister, in the pre¬
sence of the congregation, sets them apart to their office
by solemn prayer ; and concludes the ceremony, which
is sometimes called ordination, with exhorting both el- j
ders and people to their respective duties. ’
The kirk-session, which is the lowest ecclesiastical ju-AS
dicatory, consists of the minister and those elders ot the
congregation. The minister is cat officio moderator, but
has^no negative voice over the decision ot the session 7
nor indeed has he a right to vote at all, unless when
the voices of the elders are equal and opposite. J
may
PEE
■3
ie pres-
.ery.
may indeed enter his protest against their* sentence, if he
think it improper, and appeal to the judgment of the
presbytery; but this privilege belongs equally to every
elder, as well as to every person who may believe him¬
self aggrieved by the proceedings of the session. The
deacons, whose proper office it is to take care of the poor,
may be present in every session, and offer their counsel
on all questions that come before it ^ but except in what
relates to the distribution of alms, they have no decisive
vote with the minister and elders.
The next judicatory is the presbi/tery, which consists
of all the pastors within a certain district, and one ruling
elder from each parish, commissioned by his brethren to
represent, in conjunction with the minister, the session
of that parish. The presbytery treats of such matters
as concern the particular churches within its limits ; as
the examination, admission, ordination, and censuring of
ministers j the licensing of probationers, rebuking of
gross or contumacious sinners, the directing of the sen¬
tence of excommunication, the deciding upon references
and appeals from kirk-sessions, resolving cases of con¬
science, explaining difficulties in doctrine or discipline ;
and censuring, according to the word of God, any he¬
resy or erroneous doctrine which hath either been pub¬
licly or privately maintained within the bounds of its
jurisdiction. Partial as we may be thought to our own
church, we frankly acknowledge that we cannot alto¬
gether approve of that part of her constitution which
gives an equal vote, in questions of heresy, to an illite¬
rate mechanic and his enlightened pastor. W e are per¬
suaded that it has been the source of much trouble to
many a pious clergyman 5 who, from the laudable de¬
sire of explaining the scriptures and declaring to his
flock all the counsel of God, has employed a variety of
expressions of the same import, to illustrate those articles
of faith which may be obscurely expressed in the esta¬
blished standards. The fact however is, that, in pres¬
byteries, the only prerogatives which the pastors have
over the ruling elders, are the power of ordination by
imposition of hands, and the privilege of having the mo¬
derator chosen from their body.
From the judgment of the presbytery there lies an
appeal to the provincial synod, which ordinarily meets
twice in the year, and exercises over the presbyteries
within the province a jurisdiction similar to that which
is vested in each presbytery over the several kirk-ses¬
sions within the bounds. Of these synods there are in
the church of Scotland fifteen, which are composed of
the members of the several presbyteries within the re¬
spective provinces which give names to the synods.
The highest authority in the church of Scotland is
the general assembly, which consists of a certain number
of ministers and ruling elders delegated from each pres¬
bytery, and of commissioners from the universities and
royal boroughs. A presbytery in which there are fewer
than twelve parishes, sends to the general assembly two
ministers and one ruling elder: if it contain between
12 and 18 ministers, it sends three of these, and one ru¬
ling elder : if it contains between 18 and 24 ministers,
it sends four ministers and two ruling elders : and of 24
ministers, when it contains so many, it sends five with
two rilling elders. Every royal borough sends one ruling
rider, and Edinburgh two : whose election must be at¬
tested by the kirk-sessions of their respective boioughs.
Fvery university sends one commissioner from its own
Vol. XVII. Part I. -f,
[ 305 ]
P R E
body. The commissioners are chosen annually six weeks Presbyie-
btloie the meeting of the assembly ; and the ruling elders riaus
are often men of the first eminence in the kingdom for II
rank and talents. In this assembly, which meets once Pre!!cHP*
a-year, the king presides by his commissioner, who is al- . Il0n' ■
ways a nobleman ; but he has no voice in their delibera- V
tions. The order of their proceedings is regular, though
sometimes the number of members creates a confusion,
which the moderator, who is chosen from among the
ministers, to be, as it were, the speaker of the house,
has not sufficient authority to prevent. Appeals are
brought from all the other ecclesiastical courts in Scot¬
land to the general assembly $ and in questions purely
religious no appeal lies from its determinations.—In the
subordination of these assemblies, parochial, presbyte-
rial, provincial, and national, the less unto the greater
consists the external order, strength, and stedfastness of
the church of Scotland.
PHESC1ENCE, in Theology, prevision or fore¬
knowledge ; that knowledge which God has ot things
to come.—The doctrine of predestination is founded on
the prescience of God, and on the supposition of all fu¬
turity’s being present to him. See Predestination.
PRESCRIPTION, in Law, is a title acquired by
use and time, and allowed by law ; as when a man
claims any thing, because he, his ancestors, or they
whose estate he hath, have had or used it all the time
whereof no memory is to the contrary : or it is where
for continuance of time, ultra mernoriam hominis, a par¬
ticular person hath a particular right against another.
"There is a diflerence between prescription, custom,
and usage. Prescription hath respect to a certain person’
who by intendment may have continuance forever ; as
for instance, he and all they whose estate he hath in such
a thing j this is a prescription: hut custom is local, and
always applied to a certain place j as, time out oj mind
there has been such a custom in su- h a place, &.c. And
prescription belongeth to one or a jew only , hut cus¬
tom is common to all. Usage differs from both, for it
may be either to persons or places ; as to inhabitants of
a toivn to have a way, &tc.
A custom and prescription are in the right; usage is
in the possession; and a prescription that is good for the
matter and substance, may he bad by the manner of set¬
ting it forth : but where that which is claimed as a cus¬
tom, in or for many, will be good, that regularly will be
so when claimed by prescription for one. Prescription
is to be time out of mind; though it is not the length of
time that begets the right of prescription, nothing being
done by time, although every thing is done in time >
but it is a presumption in law, that a thing cannot con¬
tinue so long quiet, if it was against right, or injurious
to another.
Prescription, in Scots Law. See Law, p. 67 c.
and 702.
Prescription, in Theology, was a kind of argument
pleaded by Tertullian and others in the 3d century
against erroneous doctors. This mode of arguing has
been despised by some, both because it has been used by
Papists, and because they think that truth has no need
of such a support. But surely in disputed points, if it
can be shown that any particular doctrine of Christia¬
nity was held in the earliest ages, even approaching the
apostolic, it must have very considerable weight; anti
indeed that it has so, appears from the universal appeals
Q ^
]
P R E
p t? f r 3°^ j ~ «
r ^ , nf tiieir such a man shall find any doctrine or interpretation to p
preScrip- of all parties to those early times in support ottner ^ been universauy believed in the first ages, or as tion,
tion. particular opinions. Besides, the thing is in i ,, Yincentius Lirinensis words it, semper ubique et ab om-' 
1 . ' ral; for if a man finds a variety of opinions m the won ^ he wlu unque8ti0nably he disposed to think such
upon important passages in scripture, where slia . early antl universal consent, or such prescription, of very
so apt to get the true sense as from cotemporary considerable weight in determining his opinion,
or others who lived very near the apostolic age ? and it consideia b
PRESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS.
Nature of
a medical
prescrip¬
tion.
A Prescription, in a medical sense, signifies much
A the same with what in common language is called
1 a receipt, being “ a form of direction for the preparation
and administration of some compound medicine. 1 he
medical receipts are commonly called/ormw^e by phy -
clans; and the term prescriptions applied _to what is
written by a physician on seeing his patient, instructing
the apothecary what medicines are to be prepared, how
they are to be composed, and how administered to the
patient. In this sense, a prescription may contain two
or more formula!. .
These prescriptions are almost always written in
Latin, and are expressed in a peculiar style, which,
though well known to physicians and apothecaries, may
require the illustration of an example. The following
is a specimen of a modern prescription, as it would be
written by an Edinburgh and a London physician, ac¬
cording to the nomenclature of their respective college
Pharmacopoeias.
Edinburgh Prescription.
will be examined hereafter ; and the numbers employed j'
are usually the Ftoman numerals. After the ingredients tion I
have been enumerated, and their quantities specified,' r
there follows the title of the medicine, as Potto m the
present instance, signifying poftirn or purging draught,
with M f. prefixed to it, which stand for miscefat, or
miscc ut fiat, mix to make *, and lastly the direction how
the medicine is to be taken or administered *, sumnw
mane sumenda; to be taken early in the morning. In
England, these directions are always written in Latin,
but in Scotland it is, we believe, more common to write
For Mr
Examples.
^ Pulv. Bad. Ehei palmati gr. xxv.
Tartritis Potassse 5ij.
Tincturae Sennse compositse,
Syrupi Rosge centilolice aa
Aquae Mentbse piperitae Jiss.
M.f. Polio summo mane sumenda.
Jan. 31. 1809.
London Prescription.
Pp Pulv. Rhei gr. xxv._
Kali Tartarisati 3ij.
Tincturse Senae_ __
Syrupi Rosse aa oij.
Aquae Menthae piperitidis Jiss.
M. &c.
Parts of a
prescrip¬
tion.
4
Parts of a
formula.
From the above examples, it will be seen that a pre¬
scription, properly so called, contains several circum¬
stances beside the formula or receipts, os the name of
the patient, for whom the prescription is written-, the
signature of the physician, as G. F. for George f ordyce,
&c. and the date of prescribing; none of which should
be omitted, as the prescriptions are carefully preserved
by the apothecary, for future reference.
It may be proper to explain some circumstances re¬
specting the formula given in the above prescription.
The 13o with which it commences signifies recipe or take;
and is prefixed to all medical receipts. Then follow the
several ingredients of which the medicine is to be com¬
posed, with the quantities of each. These quantities are
usually marked by peculiar characters or symbols, which
4
DUl III   7
them in English. We shall consider the propriety of
this latter mode in a future part of this article.
The ingredients of which a formula is composed have
been by writers on medical prescriptions, arranged un¬
der four heads : 1. The basis of the formula, which in
the present instance is the rhubarb, constituting the prin¬
cipal ingredient, on whose action, modified where neces¬
sary the chief success of the medicine, in fulfilling there-
quired indication, is to depend. 2. The adjuvant or
auxiliary, added to the basis, for the purpose ot increas¬
ing its power, expediting its action, or rendering it more
easily soluble in the juices of the stomach j in the above
formula the tartrate of potash is the principal adjuvant.
3 The corrector, added to the basis, when we wish to
moderate or delay its action, to correct some unpleasant
or injurious property ot it, such as its odour, taste, acri-
monv, &c. or to prevent it from acting on the body in a
different manner from that which the indication requires: j;
thus, in the present formula, the warm tincture of senna
is added, rather to correct the griping quality of the
rhubarb, than to increase its action, and the syrup of
roses to correct the unpleasant taste of the medicine-,
and the essential oil in the peppermint-water contributes
to both these purposes: these, therefore, are to be con¬
sidered as the correctors. 4. The constituent, or that in¬
gredient which serves to reduce the rest into the form
which is considered as most convenient for the exhibi¬
tion of the medicine -, in the present case the pepper¬
mint-water is the constituent, serving to reduce die me¬
dicine to the form of a potion or draught. <
Medical formula are either officinal, or cxtcmporam- pwisiot
ous; the former being such as are directed by authority formula
of some public medical college to be kept in the shops
of apothecaries, and the preparation ot which is de¬
scribed in their pharmacopoeias or dispensatories -, the
latter such as are prescribed by the physician or sur¬
geon as occasion may require. . f
Having explained the nature of a prescription, and Divisw'
enumerated the several circumstances which are usually the*
comprised in it, we propose, in the present article, to
consider the importance of acquiring the habit of writing
prescriptions with ease, elegance, and scientific accura.
tftln
Siljectj
iioffl®-
f
1 i
fit si
1
PRESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS.
3°7
ortatice cy J the previous information required by a physician, ploma, it is supposed that he is fully qualified to enter Importance
»* 1. Iii rvi im 4-  1 ______ 1*      !aI_ _ _ 1 i •.! ..1
7
i'anta-
if the to enable him to prescribe properly in the several cases
ibject which come under his care ; the general rules which we
''v deem it necessary to lay down for attaining the art of
prescribing with neatness and accuracy ; and lastly, wre
propose to give a brief historical view of the progress of
pharmacy from the revival of literature to the present
time, with a critical examination of some of the best
writings on this subject.
I. Before considering the importance of learning the
of com- arf 0f prescribing, it may be proper to explain why such
t1011' an art is required, or to point out the advantages to
be expected from the composition of several simples in
the same medicine. There are indeed a few drugs,
which cannot be more efficacious in the generality of
cases than when in their most simple state. Thus,
crude opium in a pill, cinchona bark or ipecacuan in
powder, mixed with some ordinary liquid, aft’ord the most
effectual, as well as the most simple remedies. The
same may be remarked of mustard seeds, white pepper,
and garlic swallowed whole, and so of a few others. In
general, however, it is much more convenient, and in
many cases it is absolutely necessary, to have recourse to
composition. Many remedies cannot be taken or ap¬
plied in their simple state, especially such as are used ex¬
ternally ; while others are rendered more certain, safe,
-or expeditious, by being combined with others. Thus
opium and tartrate of antimony and potash are both dia¬
phoretics, or sweating medicines ; but when combined,
their effect in this way, is considerably increased. (See
Kirby’s Tables, 27. and 28.). So oijalap and
ca/ow/e/as purgatives (Ibid. yor/?z. 49.). Opium with
many patients produces headach ; but if citric acid (le¬
mon juice) be added, this unpleasant symptom seldom
takes place. (Tables,yorwzz/a 137.). Chemical me¬
dicines ax-e for the most part compound from their very
nature; but even such of these as are contained in the
catalogues of the materia medica can seldom be em¬
ployed except in composition. Mercurv in its native
state is nearly inert, and yet how many valuable and
powerful remedies are formed by its union with other
bodies. Sulphuric acid and alcohol form cethcr, but aether
cannot be swallowed except in combination. Thus we
see, that independently of neatness and convenience,
which, though they ought to have their weight, are se¬
condary considerations, there are many positive argu¬
ments to prove the utility of composition : and if com¬
position be of use, it must surely be of some consequence
to know the scientific principles on which this is to be
founded.
Inlrtance f'he importance of acquiring a readiness at writing a
neat and scientific prescription, seems not to be genei’ally
understood. Indeed few parts of a medical education
have been more neglected than this department of phar¬
macy, especially in Britain. In many of the continental
medical schools, there is a professor appointed to give
lectures on the art of writing prescriptions, while in our
colleges this subject is at most confined to a single lec¬
ture from the professor of materia medica, and the stu¬
dent is left to learn the ai t as he can, by copying the
prescriptions of the physicians whose clinical practice he
*iiae has an opportunity of witnessing, or by attendance in
j.ns c*ent an apothecary’s shop.
When a gentleman has passed through the usual course
of education at a medical school, and has received a di-
Gdlral
coi e
ae¬
on his career with confidence, and proceed with success, of ti;o
Let us for a moment consider what are his usual qualifi- Subject,
cations. He has, we shall suppose, acquired a tolerably
acurate knowledge of the structure and functions of the
human body } he has been made acquainted with the na¬
ture, properties, and, so far as known, the mode of action
of the various simple and compound bodies, which, as me¬
dicines, food, and poisons, exert an influence on the ani¬
mal economy } he has been instructed in the general na¬
ture of disease, the various symptoms or appearances by
which its presence is indicated, and the general means
to be employed for their removal. He has more particu¬
larly taken a view of many of the maladies to which the
human frame is subject; has seen them exerting their
influence on patients, and has frequently witnessed the
effects of remedies in expelling them from the system, or
in alleviating the distress which they occasioned. Here,
it will be said, is a complete physician, and such, to a su¬
perficial observer, he may appear. With all this know¬
ledge, however, (and without all this no man is quali¬
fied for the active duties of the profession) many gentle¬
men are still deficient in a most important point, the ca¬
pacity of applying this knowledge to actual practice. A
physician may be able to distinguish a disease at a glance j
he may be prompt and accurate in forming his indications
of cure, and may be well acquainted with the general
nature of the remedies by which these indications are to
he fulfilled, and still, if he be not master of the form and
method in which these are to be exhibited 5 if he be not
familiar with the practice of writing prescriptions, he
will often be placed in a most unpleasant predicament,
and will not unfrequently expose himself to the ridicule
of those who are far his inferiors in knowledge and abi¬
lities, by writing prescriptions which, though they con¬
tain the essential means of cure, yet wanting the mode
and fashion of the day, will be read with a smile, or per¬
haps be imperfectly understood, by the apothecary or
the druggist to whom they are presented. Jo
This, however, is an inconvenience which, as it may Necessity
not be attended with serious effects, is trifling in com- of acquiring
parison of some which he will encounter. a ot
From a want of habit in prescribing, or from a want
of some medical or chemical information, which we shall tions.
presently explain, he will be often liable to jumble toge¬
ther substances which, though when single, they are pos¬
sessed of similar medical properties, may, when combin¬
ed, exert an action greater or less than he had intended
to produce, or even altogether of an opposite nature. Ir
By way of illustration let us suppose a young practi-illustration,
tioner, at his first outset, called to a patient labouring
under tetanus, or that disease of which a locked jaw is
one of the most obvious symptoms. The patient is in
the most distressing situation, and it is expected that
every renewal of the spasm will end in those convulsions
which most frequently bring on the fatal termination of
this formidable disease. How is he to act ? The reme¬
dies to be employed are evidently antispasmodics, and
of these he has heard opium and mercury highly recom¬
mended in this disease. Which of these is he to employ,
or is he to make a trial of both ? He determines to give
opium : in what form is he to order its administration ?
That of pill is the most obvious ; but perhaps the patient
cannot, in the ordinary state of his health, swallow pills,
and every effort of the muscles of deglutition, increases
Q q 2 the
338
PRESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS.
12
Attendance
in a shop
necessary,
hut not a-
lone sufli-
ei«nt.
Importance the disease. He must then prescribe it in a liquid form,
of the Shall he order it in the form of laudanum to be given by
Subject. t!ie attendants, or shall he prescribe draughts or a. mix-
v ' ture, with a certain proportion of tmctura opu ? W hat is
the dose of the opium ? He knows that a person affected
with this disease can bear a large dose. Is he to give this
large dose at once, or is he gradually to increase it ? In
a short time the patient can perhaps no longer swallow
even liquids. Can he administer opium in any other
form P He has heard of opiate clysters. What is the
best formula for them ? Is the same quantity of opium
as when taken by the mouth, sufficient for a clyster ?
Again, if the patient cannot swallow, how is he to be
supported ? By nutritive injections. How is the phy¬
sician to prescribe a nutritive injection ? Should it be
large or small in quantity ? and is there any mode of
making the bowels retain it for a sufficient time, to draw
from it the proper nourishment ? We might carry this
illustration, simple as it is, to a much greater length j
but we forbear, that we may not be thought tedious.
We need say little to persuade those who are at all ac¬
quainted with the practice of physic, that it is the duty
of every physician who values the comfort and safety of
his patient, or who has any regard for his own reputa¬
tion and respectability, to spare no pains in enabling
himself to write a prescription with facility, perspicui¬
ty, and neatness.
To those who, previous to their attending medical
lectures, have been for some time in an apothecary’s
shop, instructions for the writing of prescriptions may
be thought useless or impertinent. In the daily habit of
perusing and copying formulae from the hands of various
physicians, it may be thought “ custom hath made it in
them a property of easiness.” Certainly, with respect to
form and method, doses and proportions, they can re¬
quire but little information. But after all, this know¬
ledge is merely imitative •, they have learned to write
prescriptions as a parrot learns to speak, and unless they
have added considerable chemical knowledge to their
practical information, they can only copy what they have
seen, and will often find themselves very much at a loss.
This is considering the matter in the fairest point of
view, taking it for granted that they have been under
a master who had abilities, leisure, and inclination to
give them all the necessary information j to point out
to them how particular formal* were suited to particu¬
lar indications *, to shew them why one is preferable to
another, and how they should distinguish a scientific
from an empirical prescription.
How seldom this is the case, and how easy it is for
a young man to be several years in an apothecary’s
shop, and learn but little, we leave to the judgment of
others to decide. We trust it would not be difficult to
show, that many of the formulae which they have wit¬
nessed, may be simplified or improved j that many of
them are unscientific, and not a few absurd.
We would, however, by no means be understood to
consider attendance on a shop as an unnecessary part of
a medical education j far from it. We are of opinion
that every one who intends to practise medicine, whether
it be as surgeon, apothecary, or physician, should for
some time accustom himself to the preparing of medi¬
cines, and the keeping of an apothecary’s day-book:
ami vve conceive that a young practitioner without this
experience, will commence practice under considerable
disadvantages. By perusing, copying, and preparing Previo*
the formulae of various practitioners, the student cer- Requwit*
tainly acquires a readiness at prescription, which he
cannot so easily and imperceptibly attain in any other
way. To those who have had little opportunity ol pro¬
fiting in this way, and their number is by no means
small, the instruction intended to he conveyed in the
following observations will be peculiarly adapted ; and
probably such as have passed some time behind a
compter, will learn something which had before escap¬
ed their notice, or will at least be convinced that the
subject admits of considerable improvement by the ap¬
plication of recent chemical discoveries. 13
It may be thought, that such as have, during their 1IosPlta|
residence at college, given diligent attention to hospi-™^*^
tal practice, will there have received all the informa-for prj,a
tion on the subject of prescription which is necessarypractiee
to qualify them for private practice. But those who
are familiar with both will readily agree, that what is
sufficient for the one, is by no means calculated for the
other. The unexperienced physician, accustomed to
the hospital routine, thinks it sufficient if he prescribe
the proper quantities of the proper medicines in the most
simple form. Is an emetic required ? He will order
gr. xv. or 't} i of powdered ipecacuanha. Is a gentle di¬
aphoretic indicated ? He would prescribe 3>j °f fm-
slura salina to be taken every four hours. Were his
future practice to be confined to any infirmary, to the
negroes of a West India plantation, or the crew of a
man of war, this might be sufficient •, but if he aim at
extensive or genteel practice, he will find it necessary
to take a much wider range.
II. The subject of extemporaneous prescription may 4
be considered as constituting the finishing part of a phy¬
sician’s education j so far, at least, as we can say, that
the study of a profession, for the perfect attainment of
•which the father of medicine has declared life too short,
may admit of a completion. This is truly the practi¬
cal part of a physician’s dutyj it is this for which all his
previous studies are intended to prepare him. Having
acquired a knowledge ot diseases and their remedies, he
is, when entering on the active duties of his profession,
to apply that knowledge to the best advantage, so as to
cure or relieve his patient in the easiest, safest, and most
expeditious manner. It is not merely the mechanical
business of penning a medical receipt, which he might
copy from his memory or his vade mecum^ that we are
here considering as the practical duty of a physician.
It is the adapting of the means which he possesses to the
peculiar case that is under his care 3 the modifying his
prescription according to the circumstances of the pa¬
tient; the age, sex, temperament, peculiarity oi con¬
stitution, season, climate, and many other circumstan¬
ces ; the choice of remedies, and the necessary varia¬
tion of them 3 it is these which constitute the duty ol a
practical physician, so far as relates to the business of
prescription. } _
Before a physician can attempt to prescribe for his Prpv'oUl
patient, it is requisite that he possess much previous (lul>llt;S■
information. jg
In the first place, he must be well acquainted with the j^now!eii!
nature and seat of the disease, the cure or alleviation ol 0
which he is about to attempt 3 with the symptoms which
usually appear in similar cases, and the variations which
are likely to take place, with the causes, so far as
known,
W7 #
V19US
isites
:17
Wiria
t ica.
PRESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS. ?0
views are daily bec oming more fasbiomible, and are now Previous
applied to almost every branch of science. It was with Requisites,
the intention of assisting the youngpractitioner in writing v—V—-»
prescriptions, that Dr Kirby, a few years ago, published TT .,.lS
Ins tables of the Materia Medica, containing a concise Sir°f
view of the most material circumstances respecting the view,
various simple and compound medicines admitted into
the catalogues of the London, Edinburgh, and Dublin
Phaimacopoeias. In this volume the articles are ar¬
ranged under 18 classes ; the titles and order of which
are much the same with those given in our article Ma¬
teria Medica j and of each article are given the
systematic name, the synonymous pharmaceutical name
the country in which it is produced, or from which it is
brought ; the part employed in medicine; the form in
which it is commonly administered, and the usual doses
of the simple, and of the several officinal compounds.
In the original draught of these tables, the circumstan¬
ces above mentioned were arranged in columns j but it
was found, that the difficulty and consequent expence of
printing the work in that form would be so great, as
nearly to counterbalance the advantage which might
be derived from it. We are, however, of opinion that
the arrangement in columns is better adapted to strike
the eye, and we shall here give a specimen of such an
arrangement, taken from one of the shortest classes in
the above work (a).
   —7
known, which predispose to the disease,or which remote¬
ly or immediately have a tendency to produce it j with
the probable termination of such a case, and the gene¬
ral indications of cuie. I his knowledge presupposes
an acquaintance with anatomy, physiology, and pathology,
without a competent share of which a physician can^no
more effect a cure of a disease, than an algebraist can
accomplish the solution of an equation, while he is igno¬
rant of its terms.
# The prescriber must also be familiar with the Mate¬
ria Medica and pharmacy, from which he learns the
natural history, the chemical and medical properties
of the various simple substances employed in medicine j
their usual doses and their officinal compounds, as con¬
tained in the pharmacopoeia of the country in which he
resides ^ as it is these articles that are to form the ingre¬
dients of which the medicines he prescribes are to he
composed. As without considerable practical experi¬
ence few men are able to retain all the requisite in¬
formation respecting each article of the INIatena IVIedica,
it would he of great advantage to the young prescriber
to have by him a tabular sketch, which might, within
a small compass, contain the information more immedi¬
ately necessary for writing a prescription. Nothing is
found to assist the memory, or to facilitate the attainment
of knowledge, more than these tabular views ; and so
much is the learned world convinced of this, that such
Table of EXPECTORANTS.
r
SIMPLES.
I. VEGETABLES.
tphaelis Ipecacuanha
Ipecacuanha. Ed. Loml
Dub.
6 JlCOTIANATABACUM.Ed
Nicotiana. Lond. Dub.
5CILLA MARITIMA. Ed
Scillu. Lond. Dub.
Vllium Sativum. Ed
Al/ium. Lond. Dub.
•.MMONIACUM. Ed. Lond,
Dub.
sRUM Maculatum. Ed.
Arum. Lond.
OLCHICUM AutUMNALE.
Colchicum. Lond.
Country.
E. Indies
& Brazil.
America.
Part.
South of
Europe.
Do.
India.
Britain.
Britain.
Root.
Leaves.
Root fresh
or dried.
Form.
Powder.
Dose.
OFFICINAL PREPARATIONS.
Smoke and
extract.
Fresh root.
Gumresin
Fresh root.
Freshroot.
Conserve,
powder,
pill, &c.
Substance.
gr.j. every
3 or 4 '
hours.
Vinum Ipecacuanhce.Ed.Lond
Dub.
Grs. i
to 2.
Dr. i to 2
Pill, mix¬
ture.
Grs. io to
20.
a. Acetum Scillae Maritimae.
Ed.
Acetum Scillce. Lond. Dub.
b. Syrupus Scillae Maritimae.
Ed.
c. Oxymel Scillae. Lond. Dub.
d. Conserva Scillae. Lond.
e. Tinctura Scillae. Lond.
f. Pilulae Scilliticae. Ed.
Pilulce Scillae. Lond. Dub.
Syrupus Allii. Dub.
Dose.
Dr. i. or 2.
D. 2 to 4.
In comp 0-
sition.
Gts. 30 to 40.
Lac Ammoniaci. Lond.
Conserva Ari. Lond.
a. Syrupus Colchici autumnalis.
Ed.
b. Oxymel Colchici. Lond.
Dub.
Gts. 10 to dr.
I.
Gr. 10 to 15
About a tabk-
spoonful.
Oz. 1 to 2.
Cases.
P eripneumo
nia and asth
ma.
Consump¬
tion.
Dr \ to 1.
Dr 2 to 1 oz,
Do.
Peripneu¬
monia,
asthma.
!n-tlle firSt rlaT of abore tab,e have “‘"''h6" «o them. ToexpWn why these do
are in t 0t'r at' “ ir.ser'es» 11 1S neC( ssary to mention, that the articles marked 5, 6, 8, if. and 12
♦ m the tables of Materia Medica from which this specimen is altered, inserted in a former class, viz. emetics!
310
PRESCRIPTIONS, extemporaneous.
Table continued.
I. VEGETABLES.
17. Ferula Asafoetida.EcI
Asafatida. Lond. Dub.
x8. Hyssopus Officinalis.
Hijssopus. Dub.
19. Marrubium Vulgare.
L°nd.
20. Myrrha. Ed. Lond. Dub
21. FimpInella Anisum. Ed
Anisum. Lond. Dub.
22. Folygala Senega. Ed.
Seneka. Lond. Dub.
23. Styrax Benzoin. Ed
Benzoinum. Dub. Ben-
<z,oe. Lond.
24. Alcohol. Ed.
Spt. Vinosus Bectincatus
Lond. Dub.
II MINERAL froduc
tions.
I. SuLPHURETUM AnTIMONU
Ed. Dub.
Antimonium. Lond
2 r. Sulphur Sublimatum.
Ed. Dub. ,
Flores Sulphuns. Lond.
12. Zxncum. Ed. Lond. Dub
Lac Asse foetidse. Lond. 1 oz. to 2.
Hooping
cough.
Gt. 2 to 6.
1 oz. to i|-oz
Grs. 1 to 2.
Oleum Volatile Fimpinellse
Anisi. Ed.
Ol.EssentialeAmsu Lond.
Dub.
Decoctum Folygalue Senegae,
Ed.
a. Acidum Benzoicum. Ed.
ScdBcn%oini. Dub. Flor-
res Ben'zoes. Lond.
b. Tinctura Benzoes Composi- Gt. 15 to 30
ta. Lond.
/Ether Sulphuricus. Ed. Dub. Vapour mhal
JEther Vitriolicus. Lond. ^ ecb
Tartris Antimonii. Ed. Gr. 4 to 4 re
Tartarum Antimoniatum. peated.
Dub. Antimonium Tar
tarisatum. Lond.
b. Vinum Tartritis Antimonii. Dr. 1 to 2.
Ed.
Vinum Antimonii Tartan- Dr. T to 1.
sati. Lond.
c. Sulphuretum Antimonii Fre- Gr. 3—5
cipitatum. Ed.
Sulphur Antimonii Precipi-
tatum. Lond. Sulph.Ant
Fuscum. Dub.
a. Sulphur Sublimatum Lotum.
Ed. Dub.
Flores Sulphuris. . Lond.
b. Trochisci Sulphuris. Lond.
c. Oleum Sulphuratum. Ed
Lond. Dub.
Sulphas Zinci. Ed. Dub
Zincum Vitriolatum. Lond.
Croup and
pneumou
Catarrh.
Asthma.
Gr. 15 0
dr. 4.
Ad libitum.
Gt. 10—20.
Gr. 4 to I
three times
a day.
. Asthm
j
Consump
and hoof |
cough
19
Explana¬
tion.
The above table contains eight columns. In the first
are written the scientific and corresponding pharmaceu¬
tical names of the several simple substances, distributed
into departments, according as they are taken from
the vegetable or the mineral kingdom, and arranged
alnhabetically ; in the second is written the name of the
country where the article is found, or from which it is
procured ; in the third the part of the simple usua y ^ ^ ^ ^ remeuiC3 lutlk    
articles as are best salted to the particuiar ease rn
t0 the class of expectorants, and named according to the
nomenclature of the Edinburgh H^m»c»P«‘7
the corresponding synonymous * „a, doses of
rnllep-es • in the seventh are given the usual doses 0
Ihese compound medicines, and in the eighth are noted
the diseases to which the simple or its compound is more
^The1 use^of such tables is pretty obvions. Havingtl«.
before him all the remedies ftat are -ted to an™
•ASB,
22
t smistry.
drevious or which can be most easily procured ; and he has at
quisites. once before him the circumstances respecting it which
it is most necessary he should know.
u It is next required of a prescriber, that he be thorough-
! ly acquainted with therapeutics, a part of the institu¬
tions or principles of medicine which instructs him in
the nature and effects of the various classes of medicines
as suited to different indications of cure.
An extensive acquaintance with the elementary parts
of chemistry is also necessary, as the subject of extem¬
poraneous prescription forms a part of pharmacy, which
is essentially a chemical art. It is therefore as impos¬
sible for a physician to be a scientific prescriber without
a competent share of chemical knowledge, as for the
captain of a ship to be a scientific sailor, without a
knowledge of astronomy and navigation. It is cer¬
tainly possible for a physician to write a prescription
without having studied chemistry, and for a sailor to
conduct a vessel to the West Indies without being ac¬
quainted with the mathematical principles of naviga¬
tion : but these men are both empirics j they have a cer¬
tain mechanical way of proceeding, which they have
learned by long experience, and much more severe labour
than it would have cost them to acquire a knowledge of
the scientific principles of the arts which they profess.
It is of the utmost importance that a physician should
PRESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS.
23
F ;onal
1. . J.1. 10 Hit UIU1U31 unite LllclL miVblClHIl SlUMIll
jtofr p motion, , , , .
d nds °e assign a reason for every article which he 111-
clifly on serts in his prescriptions ; that he should, as correctly as
ci ucal possible, know what part each will act in the composi-
p ciples tjon 0f (j,e me(]icine) anc| wbat effect the whole com¬
pound will produce on his patient; in short, that he
should not prescribe a certain formula merely because he
has seen it prescribed by others in similar cases, but
should form his prescription on scientific principles, and
from the result of reason and reflection. In the present
improved state of chemistry this is more peculiarly ne¬
cessary, and it is also become much more easy. Not
many years ago physicians had scarcely a clue to guide
them in their prescriptions, except that of experience ;
they saw certain results take place, and certain effects
produced, but why these results took place, or how these
effects were brought about, they were almost entirely
ignorant. The reasoning employed by old writers on
pharmacy concerning the preparation and operation of
compound medicines, is to a modern chemist highly en¬
tertaining. We shall not swell this article by speci¬
mens of such reasonings, but shall refer those who wish
to amuse themselves in this way, to Strother’s Lectures
on the Rationale of Medicine ; Quincy's Complete Dis¬
pensatory: Fuller’s Pharmacopoeia Extcmporanca, and
the Pharmaceutical works of .Dr Willis.
When a physician sits down to write a prescription,
he should imagine the preparation going on under his
eye, and should know whether or not the materials
which he is ordering will act chemically on each other;
and if they do, what changes will be produced. It
very frequently happens that from the union of two or
more substances there arises a compound possessed of
very different properties, and which is likely to produce
very different effects from any of the component articles.
[Ihe result will sometimes be advantageous, sometimes
inert, and sometimes injurious. It is the business of the
prescriber to be acquainted with the advantages and
disadvantages of these combinations, that he may avail
liimself of the former, and avoid the latter. This de¬
sirable object is to be attained only by a correct and ex- Previous
tensive knowledge of chemical affinity. This will teach Requisites,
what substances are capable of combining together, or v
of decomposing what are already united ; and will in¬
form us whether we can derive any advantage from their
action.
For want of this chemical knowledge many of the Common
formulae prescribed by some of our best practical writers,eiTors in
are much less simple and scientific than they might bethis point*
made by an attention to chemical principles! The fa¬
mous tonic remedy, commonly called Grijfit/i’s myrrh
mixture, so much, and we believe, so justly extolled in
cases of general debility, was originally composed in the
following manner.
3$> Myrrhae dr. j. Solve terendo in mortario cum
Aquae Alexeteriae simp. unc. vi. ss.
•   cujuslibet Spirituosae dr. vi. vel unc. j.
Dein adde
Salis Absynthii, dr. ss.
 Martis, gr. xii.
Syrupi simplicis, dr. ij. m *.
26
Griffith’s
myrrh mix¬
ture.
* Griffith
From the gravity with which the author speaks oiFelllf*
this composition, and the various proportions he allows of
the salt of wormwood and the salt of steel, together with
the different methods of mixing the ingredients, it is
pietty clear that he had no idea that any of them were
superfluous or unnecessary, nor probably was he aware
that the two salts act on each other, and undergo a mu¬
tual decomposition. It seems therefore to be quite an
empirical prescription. Analysing it according to our
present chemical knowledge, we know that the prin¬
cipal part of it consists of an emulsion of myrrh, contain¬
ing in suspension a quantity of carbonate of iron, and
having dissolved in it a small quantity of sulphate of
potash, and perhaps a little subcarbonate of potash.
Now, as there is no reason to believe that the two last
are of any consequence in the medicine, it would surely
be much more scientific to form a medicine of myrrh
and carbonate of iron, with the addition of such cordials
and syrups as may add to its tonic power, and render it
palatable. A medicine of this kind is the following.
Ijo Pulv. Myrrh, dr. i.
Carbonat. Ferri prtecip. dr.
Syrup. Citri Aurant. unc. -J. Simul terc, et adde
Aquae Menth. piper, unc. 6.
Tinctur. Cinchon. compos, unc. i. M f. \ Kiiby's
In Dr Strother’s 19th lecture there is noticed a me-mal. xotf. V
dicine which was then considered as a valuable nostrum 27
in the cure of smallpox. The principal ingredients are,
spirit of salt {muriatic acid), and salt ol hartshorn {im-
pure carbonate of ammonia). A tyro in modern che¬
mistry need not be told that this medicine contains mu¬
riate of ammonia, produced by the combination of the
acid with the alkali. If, therefore, such a medicine is
useful in smallpox, it would surely be much less labo¬
rious, and much more scientific, to employ the muriate
of ammonia, commox\\y cviWtA. sal ammoniac, which we
have prepared to our hands.
As the secondary salts form a class of bodies which
constitutes a considerable part of the materia medica, it
is proper for the physician to be intimately acquainted
with their nature and chemical properties. Here he
will again find the advantage of systematic tables, con¬
taining
38
PRESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS.
. . , „4.:n(r tV.p com- view, only divided, for the sake of convenience, into prev;ff
Previous taining the principal circumstances respe ^ ^ are two tabieS) the first containing the composition of the Ucqu,»
Requisites position and decomposition of such of , printed salts, and the second the substances employed in medi- r
«»,;by which they may he decompose...
TABLE I.
Salt.
1 SuPERSULPATE of ALUMINA and POTASH.
2. Sulphate of Magnesia.
3. Sulphate of Potash.
4. Sulphate of Soda.
5. Sulphate of Copper.
6. Green Sulphate of Iron.
‘7. Sulphate of Zinc.
8. Subsulphate of Mercury.
9. Nitrate of Potash.
10. Nitrate of Silver.
11. Muriate of Barytes.
12. Muriate of Lime.
13. Muriate of Soda.
14. Muriate of Ammonia.
15. Mild Muriate of Mercury, or Calomel.
16. Corrosive Muriate of Mercury.
17. Muriate of Antimony.
18. Phosphate of Lime.
19. Phosphate of Soda.
20. Carbonate of Barytes.
21. Carbonate of Lime.
Solubility.
At 6o° 20.
2120, 1.
6o°, 1.
•75
Composition.
Base.
Cryst. 1 2.
h>ry 63, 75'
17-
Acid.
17.66
36-25
Water.
6o°, 16
212° 4-5
6o°, 2.6
212° .8
Efflorescent.
Cryst. 18.48
Dry 44.
6o°, 4-
21 2°, 2.
6o°, 2.
212°, .75
29-35
54'8
32-
28.
6o°, 2.5
6o°, 2000
6o°, 7.
212°, 1.
6o°, 1.
6o°, 5.
Cryst. 57
Deliquescent.
6o°, 5
6o°, 2 8
6o°, 3.
212°, I.
Insoluble.
6o°, 20.
212°, 2.
Deliquescent
Insoluble.
6o°, 4-
212°, 2.
20.
87.
51.8
45-2
23-52
56-
33-
26.
40.
10.
44-
Red hot,
5°-
Dried 53.
Sublimed.
25-
88.5
82.
49.
Insoluble.
Insoluble.
19.
32-
42.
38.88
42-75
”•5
18.
51,
15-
22.
55-
78.
45-
70.24
o.
53-65
o.
58.
o.
35-
46.
40.
4.2
11.
8.
8.12
32.25
o.
66.
PR ESC Pil PTIONS, EXTE M PORANEOU S.
■cvious
uisitcs.
Ex na-
tioi
Salt.
22. Carbonate of Magnesia.
23. Carbonate of Potash.
24. Subcarbonate of Potash.
25. Carbonate of Soda.
SOLUBIL TY.
Composition.
Base.
Insoluble.
6d°, 4.
21 2°, 1.5
Ileliquescent.
Efflorescent.
26. Carbonate of Ammonia.
27. Carbonate of Iron.
28. Carbonate of Zinc.
29. Acetate of Potash.
30. Acetate of Lead. Ph. Ed.
31. Subborate of Soda.
6o°, 2.
Insoluble.
Insoluble.
Deliquescent.
45-
40.
Dry 64.
Cryot. 21.58
Dried 59.85.
Acid.
34-
43-
Water.
O T -*
Pievious
Rcquisili's.
21.
30-
6o°, 4.
6o°, 18.
212°, 6.
32. Supertartrate of Potash.
33. Tartrate of Potash.
34. Tartrate of Potash and Soda.
35. Tartrate of Antimony and Potash, or Emetic
Tartar.
6o°, 60.
212°, 13.
6o°, 4.
Deliquescent.
58.
I7-
14.42
40-°5
26.
39-
33-
67.
6o°, 5.
Efflorescent.
6o°, 15.
212°, 3.
Tart. Pot.
34-
Ox. of Ant.
o 38.
Potash 16.
In this first part of the table of secondary salts thei-e
are five columns, in the first of which are set down the
names of most of the secondary salts employed in medi¬
cine, according to the most approved chemical nomen¬
clature. The second column shews the degree of attrac¬
tion which subsists between each salt and water, name¬
ly, how many parts of water at the temperatures of 6o°
and 2120 of Fahrenheit are required to dissolve one part
of the salt, in the state in which it is usually employed,
TAB
Tart, of
Soda.
46.
34-
17-
6.
64.
o.
16.
44-
o.
o.
12.
and whether the salt be deliquescent or efflorescent.
The three remaining columns point out, as far as has
been ascertained, the proportional quantities of the com¬
ponent parts of each salt, the third column shewing how
many parts in the 100 consist of base; the fourth how
many of acid, and the fifth how many of water of com¬
position. In some cases two proportions are Riven, and
it is expressed in the third column under what state of
the salt these proportions exist.
LE II.
Decomposition by Single Affinity.
Barytes.
Potash.
Soda.
Lime.
Magnesia.
Ammonia.
Tannin.
Gallic Acid.
Oxalic Acid.
Tartaric Acid.
~Vol. AMI. Part I.
Salt. | Decomposition by Double Affinity.
<
%
O
K-l .
K
^ in
<—c
0 H
W O
X
Q-t
X
D
n
Pi
W
Pa
P
CZ3
Nitrate of Potash.
   Silver.
Muriate of Barytes.
 Lime.
 Soda.
■ 11  Ammonia.
Carbonate of Barytes.
   Lime.
 —  Magnesia.
 Potash.
  Soda.
 Ammonia.
Acetate of Lead.
Subborate of Soda.
Kr
PRESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS.
3i +
Previous
Requisites.
Decomposition by Single Affinity.
Barytes.
Potash.
Soda.
Lime.
Ammonia.
Barytes.
Barytes.
Potash.
Barytes.
Potash.
Soda.
Lime.
Magnesia.
Ammonia.
Tartaric Acid.
Muriatic Acid.
Zinc.
Iron.
Tin.
Barytes.
Potash.
Soda.
Lime.
Magnesia.
Ammonia.
Same as the last.
k3ALT.
w
X
cu
X
t)
02
<
H
O
9-i
w
H
X
o.
s
tl
02
o
o
02
w
H
O
X
p.
X
D
02
Decomposition by Double Affinity.
Nitrate of Silver.
Muriate of Barytes.
Lime.
Corrosive Muriate of Mercury.
Red Muriate of Iron.
Carbonate of Lime.
. Potash.
     Soda.
. ■ —   Ammonia.
Acetate of Mercury.
 Lead.
Subborate of Soda.
Tartrate of Potash.
Previotv
Requisite
Nitrate of Silver.
Muriate of Barytes.
     Lime.
 Soda.
   Ammonia.
Corrosive Muriate of Mercury.
Phosphate of Soda.
Carbonate of Barytes.
Acetate of Mercury.
 Lead.
Tartrate of Potash, partially.
o
w
H
X
pH
D
02
1 ^
X 0
02
X ~0
w
w
* <
O x
w
H u
■< X
p. N
X
X
02
Nitrate of Potash.
— Silver.
Muriate of Barytes.
 Lime.
Corrosive Muriate of Mercury.
Acetate of Mercury.
—  Lead.
Tartrate of Potash.
Subsulphate of Mercury.
Nitrate of Potash.
Silver.
Muriate of Barytes.
Lime.
Soda.
Ammonia.
Corrosive Muriate of Mercury.
Phosphate of Soda.
Carbonate of Potash.
 Soda.
Acetate of Mercury.
 Lead.
Subborate of Soda.
Nitrate of Silver.
Muriate of Barytes.
Lime.
Corrosive Muriate of Mercury.
Acetate of Mercury.
- Lead.
Subborate of Soda.
Nitrate of Silver.
Muriate of Barytes.
Acetate of Lead.
’revious
quisites.
PRESCEIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS.
Decomposition by Single Affinity.
Barytes.
Sulphuric Acid.
Heat.
Barytes.
Potash.
Soda.
Lime.
Magnesia.
Ammonia.
Zinc.
Muriatic Acid.
Tin.
Phosphoric Acid.
Copper.
Mercury.
Sulphuric Acid.
Barytes.
Potash.
Magnesia.
Sulphuric Acid.
Nitric Acid.
Boracic Acid.
Phosphoric Acid.
Barytes.
Potash.
Sulphuric Acid.
Nitric Acid.
Barytes.
Potash.
Soda.
Lime.
Sulphuric Acid.
Nitric Acid.
Barytes.
Potash.
Soda.
Lime.
Magnesia.
Ammonia.
Copper.
Salt.
W E
H %
gs
w w
H H
a05
w .
H W
< §
E J
o
W .
H ■<
« CO
w
H
<
i-i
M
erf
W
W I^i
> e*-i
O
w
H
Decomposition by Double Affinity.
Supersulphate of Alumina and Potash.
Sulphate of Magnesia.
     Soda.
Muriate of Barytes.
   Lime.
All the Sulphates employed in Medicine.
Muriate of Barytes.
 Lime.
     Soda.
 Ammonia.
Corrosive Muriate of Mercury.
Red Muriate of Iron.
Antimony^.
Phosphate of Soda.
All the Carbonates employed in Medicine.
Subborate of Soda.
All Sulphates more or less.
Nitrate of Sil ver.
Phosphate of Soda.
Carbonate of Potash.
* Soda.
Ammonia.
Subborate of Soda.
All Sulphates.
Nitrate of Silver.
Phosphate of Soda.
Carbonate of Ammonia.
315
Previous
Requisites.
Supersulphate of Alumina and Potash.
Sulphate of Potash.
 Copper.
Nitrate of Silver.
Acetate of Mercury.
■"i Lead.
Supersulphate of Alumina and Potash.
Sulphate of Potash.
- Copper.
Nitrate of Silver.
Carbonate of Barytes.
   Potash.
Soda.
Acetate of Potash.
Subborate of Soda.
Tartrate of Potash.
Most Sulphates.
Carbonate of Barytes.
 Lime.
—— Magnesia.
———— Potash.
   Soda.
   Ammonia.
R r 2
3 i u
Previous
Re quit lie s.
prescriptions, extemporaneous.
Decomposition by Single Affinity.
Barytes.
Potash.
Soda.
Phosphoric Acid.
Nitric Acid.
Muriatic Acid.
Sulphuric Acid.
Barytes.
Oxalic Acid.
Sulphuric Acid.
Tartaric Acid.
Phosphoric Acid.
Nitric Acid.
Muriatic Acid.
Citric Acid.
Boracic Acid.
Acetic Acid.
Barytes.
Potash.
Soda.
Lime.
Oxalic Acid.
Sulphuric Acid.
Nitric Acid.
Muriatic Acid.
Tartaric Acid.
Citric Acid.
Boracic Acid.
Acetic Acid.
Barytes.
Lime.
Oxalic Acid.
Sulphuric Acid.
Nitric Acid.
Muriatic Acid.
Tartaric Acid.
Citric Acid.
Boracic Acid.
Acetic Acid.
Barytes.
Potash.
Lime.
Oxalic Acid.
Sulphuric Acid.
Nitric Acid, &c. as before.
Barytes.
Potash.
Soda.
Lime.
Oxalic Acid.
Sulphuric Acid, &c. as above.
Salt.
w
% *
X O
£ o
O
S3
Ph
W c/i
H W
P3 CQ
<! ^
O
w
H
'A
O
P3
P3
O
W
H
<
A
O
pq
@3
<
O
Decomposition by Double Affinity.
Sulphate of Potash.
Copper.
Nitrate of Silver.
Muriate of Barytes.
■ Lime.
f'rcvioi
ttequisiv
Supersulphate ot Alumina and Potash.
Sulphate of Magnesia.
.— Potash.
Nitrate of Silver.
Muriate of Ammonia.
Corrosive Muriate of Mercury.
Supertartrate ot Potash.
Supersulphate of Alumina and Potash.
Sulphate of Magnesia.
Nitrate of Silver.
Corrosive Muriate of Mercury.
Supertartrate of Potash.
<
H
O
w
%
A
O
«
•3
o
W C/2
<&
<
U
w
H
Hi
A*
O
Pfl „
<! ^
O
Supersulphate of Alumina and Potash.
Nitrate of Silver.
Corrosive Muriate of Mercury,
Carbonate of Iron.
Supertartrate of Potash.
All the Sulphates except those of Potash and Soda
Nitrate of Silver.
Muriate of Barytes.
    — Ammonia.
Corrosive Muriate of Mercury.
Supertartrate of Potash.
Sulphates as in the last.
Nitrate of Silver.
Muriate of Barytes.
Soda.
Supertartrate of Potash.
Supertartrate of Alumina and Potash.
Sulphate of Magnesia.
Nitrate of Silver.
Muriates of Barytes and Lime. '
Supertartrate of Potash.
uisites.
4 vYm~mJ
PRESCIllPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS.
Decomposition by Single Affinity.
Acids as in the last.
Acids as in the last, and, beside,
Phosphoric Acid.
Sulphuric, Nitric, Muriatic, and Phosphoric
Acids.
Oxalic, Tartaric, Boracic, and Citric Acids.
Salt.
o o .
Ssl
Barytes.
Potash.
Soda.
Lime.
Ammonia.
Magnesia.
Gallic Acid.
Muriatic Acid.
Oxalic Acid.
Phosphoric Acid.
Sulphuric Acid.
Tartaric Acid.
Citric Acid.
Boracic Acid.
Substances as above, and nearly in the same or¬
der.
»
H
^ ,
H ^
W ®
u
317
Decomposition by Double Affinity.
Super tartrate of Potash.
Muriate of Ammonia.
Tartrate of Potash and Soda.
Previous
Requisites.
' *  
Five first substances as before.
Tin.
Gallic, Sulphuric, Oxalic, and Tartaric Acids.
Benzoic, Muriatic, Nitric, and Citric Acids.
Lime.
Barytes.
Magnesia.
Gallic Acid.
Sulphuric, Nitric, and Muriatic Acids.
Phosphoric Acid.
Oxalic and Tartaric Acids.
Citric and Acetic Acids.
Ll-I
o
w ^
H £
•< 3
H
w M
H «
< <
H W
W 1-1
G
<1
Lime.
Barytes.
Magnesia.
Potash.
Soda.
Ammonia.
Almost all other Acids.
Lime.
Barytes.
Magnesia.
Sulphate of Magnesia.
    Potash.
     Soda.
 —   Copper.
——————— Iron.
Muriate of Soda.
Sulphates of Alumina, Magnesia, Potash, Soda,
Copper, and Iron.
Muriate of Soda.
Supersulphate of Alumina and Potash.
Sulphate of Magnesia.
Iron.
w ^
hPh
K
W
< <
erf h
b 0
(rf n,
< r\
Nitrate of Silver.
Muriate of Barytes.
   Lime.
Carbonates of Barytes, Lime, Magnesia, Potash,
Soda, Ammonia, and Iron.
Sulphates of Magnesia, Potash, and of Soda.
Muriate of Ammonia.
3i8
Previous
Requisites.
prescriptions, extemporaneous.
Decomposition by Single Affinity.
Barytes.
Lime.
Sulphuric, Muriatic, and Nitric Acids.
Soda.
Lime.
Ammonia. >
Gallic, Sulphuric, Nitric, and Muriatic Acids.
Salt.
H ft ^
< < P
H O
H OC«
pi Ph -C!
^-1 O rt
tH ^
£ ^
2 h
^ o
H ^
"T3
W
H
<1
A
£
^ 1
Decomposition by Double Affinity.
Carbonate of Soda.
 Ammonia.
Previi.
ReqHisa
Explana- This second part of the table of secondary salts con-
tioa- gists of three columns. In the middle column are set
down the names of the secondary salts employed in me¬
dicine, in the same order as in the former table } and in
the adjoining columns on each side are noted those sub-
stances employed in medicine which are capable of ef-
fecting a decomposition of each salt} those in the left-
hand column being such as decompose the salt by what
is called single affinity, in consequence of that substance
having a superior attraction for the acid or the base of
the salt; while the substances in the right-hand column
are secondary salts, between which and the opposite salt
in the middle column such an action may take place as
-t to effect their mutual decomposition.
Uses of the With tables of this kind before him, a prescriber will
tables. avoid several mistakes into which he might be betrayed
from a deficiency of chemical knowledge. 'I hus,
knowing the solubility of any salt, he will not prescribe
a greater quantity oHt than is capable of being retain¬
ed in solution in the watery part of any draught or mix¬
ture which he is to order. lor instance, knowing tha~
sulphate of potash requires sixteen parts of water at 6o°
for its solution, he will, if he proposed to prescribe a
draught containing two drams of this salt, be aware
that such a quantity would require at least four ounces
of waterbut this making the draught too large is a
great objection to giving the medicine in that form.
Or suppose that he wished to give half an ounce of super-
tartrate of potash {crystals of tartar), by way of laxa¬
tive j he sees, that to dissolve this quantity it would re¬
quire at least two pounds of water, and therefore that he
cannot order it in the form of solution, though, when
mixed up with syrup into an electuary, it affords a good
and efficacious cooling laxative. Again, knowing that
sulphate of soda effloresces in the air, and thereby loses
nearly half its weight, he will take care always to pre¬
scribe it in the form of crystals j and if he is to order a
laxative draught containing one ounce of this salt, he
must prescribe at least three ounces of liquid.
The information conveyed in the second column re¬
specting the deliquescence or efflorescence of certain
salts, or the readiness with which they imbibe water
from the atmosphere, or part with their water of crystal¬
lization, is extremely useful in pointing out the proper
forms of exhibition. Seeing, for instance, that acetate
of potash {diuretic salt) is a deliquescent salt, no one
would think of prescribing it in the form of pills } while,
on the other hand, carbonate of soda being efflorescent,
is well adapted to that form, and accordingly has been
3
so prescribed by Dr Beddoes j (see Kirby's Tables,for¬
mula 153.).
Knowing the proportional quantities of the component
part of any salt, we can, by calculation, ascertain pretty
nearly how much of the one is required to decompose
the other, and thus employ no more of either than is
necessary. T. hus, suppose it were required to decom¬
pose 100 grains of green sulphate of iron by carbonate
of soda, in order to procure the greatest possible quantity
of carbonate of iron. We find by the first table, that
100 grains of the sulphate contain 28 grains of oxide
of iron, and to saturate this, we find by computation,
that there are required 9 grains of carbonic acid. Now,
on examining the composition of carbonate of soda, we
find that 100 grains of this salt contain about 14^ grains
of carbonic acid, and consequently, that about 60 grains
of carbonate of soda are sufficient to decompose 100
grains of green sulphate of iron.
Further, knowing the substances that are capable of
decomposing any particular salt, a prescriber will not
order any of these substances in the same formula with
that salt, unless some manifest advantage were to be the
result of their mutual action. He knows that sulphate
of-zinc and acetate of lead decompose each other, and
that the acetate of %inc formed by their mixture, is a
better remedy in cases of ophthalmia than either of the
former salts. Here then is an advantage. Tartrate of
antimony and potash is a good remedy in fever, so is
decoction oj Peruvian bark; but we find by the tables,
that this salt is decomposable by gallic acid, and we
know that decoction of cinchona contains this acid, es¬
pecially after having stood for some time. It would
therefore be improper to prescribe these remedies in con¬
junction, as has sometimes been recommended, because
the salt would be so much altered by the decomposition
as to be no longer the medicine we propose to admini¬
ster. A similar instance of unscientific prescription, aris¬
ing from a want of chemical knowledge, occurs in a
formula attributed to Mr Coleman, and published in the
fifth edition of the Phormacopcda Chirurgica, p. 58.
under the title of Collyrium hydiargyri muriati cum
cake. It is composed of a scruple of muriate of mer¬
cury dissolved in an English pint of boiling distilled
water, with the addition of two drams of quicklime,
and after the whole is completely mixed, we are direct¬
ed to filter the clear liquor through paper. The author
of this Pharmacopoeia seems aware that “ the different
elective attractions operating in the mixture of the lime
with the solution of muriate of mercury, are such as
produce
PRESCRIPTIONS, E
“views
B lisites
D' r"5
pc cr.
Bur
«P#c
Eire ii re.
idB speet coa
ni- s*stc.
ir I
a
produce a new chemical arrangement, in which the acti
vity of the ingredients is mutually diminished. The
fact is, that the large quantity of lime here directed will
completely decompose the muriate of mercury, so that
the clear liquor will contain nothing but uncombined
lime, and muriate of lime. Hence the muriate of mer¬
cury is an unnecessary ingredient, and if the medicine
be efficacious as a collyrium, it would be better to form
it at once by the addition of a small quantity of muriate
of lime to lime-water.
A physician who is familiar with the principles of
chemistry will not direct a chemical medicine to be pre¬
pared of more ingredients, or in a more operose manner
than is requisite to produce the desired effect. When
Dr Dover first gave to the public the composition of liis
sudorific powder, he ordered it to be prepared in the
following manner. Four ounces of nitre, and the same
quantity of vitriolated tartar (sulphate of potash), are to
be thrown into a red-hot crucible, and kept stirring till
the deflagration ceases. To the mixture, while hot, is
to be added an ounce of sliced opium. The whole is
then to be reduced to powder and well mixed with an
ounce of powdered ipecacuanha, and the same quantity
of powdered liquorice root. It is well known to the
chemists of the present day, that nitrate of potash, when
thrown on an ignited combustible body, deflagrates,
and is decomposed ; but that it does so when thrown
into an ignited crucible, with an incombustible body,
such as the sulphate of potash, we can scarcely conceive.
If it does, the effect must be, that the nitric acid is car¬
ried off, and there remains the potash, which is an un¬
necessary ingredient in the composition. Again, the
only use of heating the salt, would be to dry the opium
and thus render it more easily pulverised j but as dried
opium is always kept in the shops, and by means of sul¬
phate of potash, is very easily reduced to powder, that
part of the operation is superfluous. Accordingly, a
powder equally efficacious, and much less operose, is
prepared by rubbing X.ogzdcwx sulphate of potash, opium,
and ipecacuanha, forming the presentpulvis ipecacuanha:
et opu, Ed. or pulvis ipecacuanha compositus, Lond.
From the same want of chemical knowledge, some
medicines have been extolled as efficacious remedies
from not knowing their real nature. Thus burnt
sponge has long been celebrated for the cure of scrofula.
We do not altogether deny its efficacy in this complaint;
but as burnt sponge is composed almost entirely of char¬
coal, with the addition of a little carbonate of soda, a
powder composed of these ingredients must be equally
efficacious.
Under this head we may notice an error which is fre-
-quently made by prescribers who have not been ac¬
customed to see and prepare the remedies which they
prescribe. We have often seen a mass for pills ordered
to be prepared of such ingredients as are naturally too
hard to form into pills, as for instance, extract of cin¬
chona, and extract of liquorice, and yet there has been
directed a quantity of liquorice powder, to form the
mass of a proper consistence. Sometimes again, the
matters directed are already too soft, or become too
soft by mixture, as when aloes and extract of gentian
are directed to be beaten together with a proper quan¬
tity of syrup, to form a mass for pills. See the Edin.
Phar. edit. 1783.
We shall conclude this part of our subject with re-
3*
XTEMPOK ANEOUS. 3 T g
marking, that it is of consequence in a chemical point Previous
o yitu, to piescnbe as the constituent of a liquid me- Requisite*,
dicine, suen water as will not decompose any of the v" •'
other ingredients. It is common to order the water by
the name of aqua pura, or aqua fontana. Now, if this
water be hard, i. e. impregnated with sulphate of lime,
&c. it will decompose many of the secondary salts, and
thus diminish their efficacy. Acetate of lead, for in¬
stance, is always decomposed by hard water, and a tur¬
bid liquor is thus formed, which by standing deposits a
sediment. It would therefore be better in all cases to
prescribe distilled water, or where this is not likely to
be found, as in small country towns, soft water.
III. We have thus considered at some length the
previous knowledge required by a practitioner before
he can pretend to prescribe for his patient in a scientific
manner. We shall now endeavour to apply the obser¬
vations that have been made, and from the application
deduce some general rules for extemporaneous prescrip-
VV hen a practitioner is called to a patient, he will Practical
first examine into the symptoms and causes of the ma- hints,
lady under which the patient labours, and attend to the
age, sex, and peculiar habit of the patient. He will
then consider whether or not a cure is probable, or
whether it may be in his power only to relieve the di¬
stressing symptoms. If a cure appears to be practicable,
he will proceed to form his indications, and in conformi¬
ty with these he will prescribe the remedies that seem
best adapted to the case. It is this method of procedure
that distinguishes the scientific practitioner from the
ignoiant empiric. Ihe latter, from a superficial view
of the most obvious symptoms, hastily determines the
nature of the complaint, which he probably contrives
shall be some one of which he has witnessed many cases,
or for the cure of which he is in possession of some fa¬
vourite remedy. Having resolved what the disease
shall be, he has nothing to do but apply his remedy, and
this he does without considering whether existing cir¬
cumstances may not render the administration of it im¬
proper.
Io return from this digression, we shall endeavour to
give an example as simple as will answer our purpose, to
illustrate the above method of procedure. We shall
suppose that a practitioner is sent for to a middle-aged
man, in moderate circumstances, who has been for some
days labouring under a tertian intermittent fever, with
which he had never before been affected, but had com¬
monly been strong and healthy. The practitioner sees
nothing in the circumstances of the case which can lead
to an unfavourable prognosis, and he therefore has little
hesitation in pronouncing, that the fever will probably
soon be removed. Considering the indications usually
laid down in practical writers on intermittents, he pro¬
ceeds to prescribe the remedies which appear best suited
to the case in point. Ihus the indications given by Dr
Cullen are,
1. In the time of intermission to prevent the recur¬
rence of paroxysms.
2. In the time of paroxysms to conduct these so as to
obtain a final solution of the disease.
3. lo take off certain circumstances which might
prevent the fulfilling of the two first indications*. * Culleri*
In considering the first indication, the practitioner First hints,
reflects on the effect of the usual exciting cause of anin-§
termittent,
20
Jlules for
Prcscrip-
ti«ns.
PHESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPOR ANEOUS.
. , . . !• i !, to lip a debi- in the prescription, this being considered as the guide by plU|es
tenaittent,...W, .chhc^.o^ is (o ^llisoperationS. SuP-
ram« i,y to,°ic‘ ,'Ujof those he b»rk of the Mom, pose tve tvere to prescribe a medicine contain,ng castor Urn
by tonics, ana intermit- oil, distilled water, mucilage of gum arable, syrup of
officinalis is justly celeb ate d " ^ ,jut r£ubarl, ami tincture of senna. In the preparation of
tents. 1 his then ic J'ou X 1 ’ this medicine the apothecary will first rub together the
after oil and he ,ill then add the and per
38
Example ot
prescrip¬
tion.
a paroxi/sm. We shall suppose, however, that the last
paroxysm took place the day before he saw the patient,
and consequently may be expected to return the next
day. He finds also lliat the patient is costive, a circum¬
stance which must be removed according to. the third
indication. Now, attending to the second indication,
he knows that this is generally best fulfilled by the ex¬
hibition of an emetic at the commencement of the cold
fit, and of an opiate at the commencement of the hot
fit’-, but the costiveness of the patient contraindicating
the use of opium, he must endeavour to find tor it a
substitute which has not a tendency to excite or increase
constipation. He will perhaps prescribe as follows:
39
Arrange¬
ment of
formulae.
40
Arrange¬
ment of in
;gredients.
Ijb. Vini ipecacuanha;, unc. 1. ^
, Tartritis antimonii (Edin.) unc. -§-• ha^
haustus.
Signetur. T//e emetic to be taken just as the next
cold ft is coming on.
13c. Pul veris Rhei Palmati, gr. 2$.
Submuriatis Hydrargyri, gr. 3.
Succi Spissati Hyoscyami, gr. 4.
Syrupi q. s. Fiat bolus.
Signetur. To be taken just as the next hot ft is
coming on.
Pul veris Cinchona; officinalis, scr. 2.
  Croti Elutheriae, gr. 10. M. f. pulvis.
Signetur. One to be taken in a little wine and wa¬
ter as soon as the hot fit is gone off, and repeated every
two hours till the expected return of the next cold fit.
The analysis of this prescription will afford us some
useful practical observations.
1. It will be observed that the formula are arranged
in the order in which the medicines are to be exhibited,
a circumstance to which it is always proper to attend,
when the prescription is to contain more than one for¬
mula or circumstance to be directed by the practition¬
er. Thus when any thing is required immediately, as
bleeding, the application of leeches, or of a blister, this
should form the first clause in the prescription, in the
following manner.
Mittatur sanguis e brachio statim ad unc. 12.) or,
Appliccntur quamprimum temporibus Jtirudines sex; or,
Applicetur statim emplastrum vesicatorium capite raso.
2. The ingredients directed in each formula should be
arranged in the order in which they are to be mixed by
the compounder. This may be thought a matter of
slight importance, but it is more deserving of notice
than is generally supposed, l or the most part, indeed,
in whatever order the practitioner may arrange the in¬
gredients in his formula, a skilful apothecary will com¬
bine them in that order which experience has shewn
him to be the most convenient ; but it is surely much
dealer that the order of preparation should be preserved
haps the tincture, and lastly the water. In this order
then it would he best to express the formula. See
Kirby’s Tables, formula 54. In this manner the neat¬
ness of the medicine is insured, and the preparation of
it rendered more easy and expeditious. It is very usual
for pivseribers to begin with the article that is to be
most abundant in the medicine, as the water, and so
gradually descend to that of least quantity; and parti¬
cular care is generally taken to place in succession those
ingredients that are employed in equal quantities, with
the sign {fid singulorum, of each) after the last. This
seems rather a puerile method, and is commonly incon¬
sistent with the practice of composition.
There are other reasons for arranging the ingredients
in the order of composition. In some cases a very vola¬
tile substance forms a part of the medicine, as aether, or
ammonia j and it is proper that this should be the last
ingredient in the composition of the medicine, that as
little as possible of it may be dissipated. It is proper,
therefore, that it should stand last in the formula (see
Kirby’s Tables, formulae 126,129, and 130.). There is
a formula given in the Pharmacopoeia Chirurgica for an
embrocation, to be composed of 2 drams of tincture of
camphor {camphorated spirit}, 1 dr. water of aceta-
ted litharge {Goulard'1 s extract) and a pound of distilled
'water. We are told that the mixture of these ingre¬
dients is to take place in the order in which they are
set down, otherwise the camphor will be separated *. * Ptaj
We have already mentioned (N° 3) the names ofc^
the several parts of which a compound medicine may be J
formed, as the basis, the adjuvant, the corrector, and
constituent; and have explained the reasons for the ad¬
dition of the three latter. There are some rules re¬
specting these, which it will he proper to consider in this
place. , _ 41
3. The basis should always be single, unless some qulcs
manifest advantage is expected to arise from the em-tict bat
ployment of two or more remedies of the same kind.
The reason of this rule is sufficiently obvious, as the ef¬
fect of a single remedy is much more easily determined
and proportioned than that of two or more employed to¬
gether. The advantages of simplicity in prescription
will be considered presently.
4. If more than one basis be employed, they should
be of the same nature, or such as produce the same ef¬
fects. This needs no illustration. 4;
5. With respect to the adjuvant, we shall remark on-for the
ly that one use generally assigned to it, viz. that of fa-juvanl
cilitating the solution of the basis in the stomach, ap¬
pears equivocal. It is not uncommon to order resinous
drugs to he made up into pills with soap, which is con¬
sidered by many as acting in the way of promoting so¬
lution. Soap is often a good constituent, but we do not
think it can produce the effect above alluded to. 4;
6. The use of the corrector requires a little more dis-fortht
cussion. One of the first intentions of the corrector isrector
to diminish the too violent action of the principal reme¬
dy, or l@ prevent its exerting an action in an improper
part of the body. Thus, mucilage may he added to
colocynth,
PRESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS.
colocynth, {bitter apple), or given after it, to blunt
or lessen the acrimony which this substance is commonly
321
found to possess. So again, mercury is often combined
with opium, when it is required to introduce a consider¬
able quantity of the former into the system, or to speak
more properly, to acquire the full benefit of its accu¬
mulated stimulus. This can scarcely be effected if it
be allowed to run oft' by the bowels. Camphor is’often
given after the application of a blister, to obviate the
strangury which frequently attends the external appli¬
cation of cantharides. In some cases the cinchona bark
produces sickness or purging, and here the addition of
a few drops of tincture of opium to each dose is pro¬
per.
7. Another use of the corrector is to obviate or dis¬
guise the unpleasant taste or odour of the principal re¬
medy. ft bus, the emetic in our prescription is ordered
to be prepared of the wine of ipecacuanha instead of the
powder, as the wine that forms the solvent of that re¬
medy disguises its unpleasant taste, ftftie articles usually
employed as correctors of flavour, are syrups and tinc¬
tures of various kinds, essential aromatic oils, &c. and
the use of these has been often much abused. 'The ad¬
dition of a large quantity of sugar, in some cases, espe¬
cially in dyspepsia or indigestion, seldom fails of increas¬
ing the symptoms of the disease, as in a debilitated state
of the stomach it quickly passes into a state of fermen¬
tation, and produces flatulence, pain, and anorexia or
loss of appetite, the very symptoms which we are to re¬
move. It is a common practice to add syrup to several
of the neutral salts, as sulphate of soda, sulphate of iron,
&c. with a view to improve their flavour ; but we ap¬
prehend tnat whoever has tasted the nauseous mixture
will scarcely agree with the prescriber that he has Gain¬
ed his point.
8. I he abuse of alcohol in the form of tinctures has
been sometimes carried to a great, and, we think, a cul¬
pable excess. 1 his has arisen sometimes from the de¬
sire of ilie patient to have his medicines made strong and
good, and not unfrequently, perhaps, fiom mercenary
views in the practitioner, to induce the patient to swal¬
low a greater quantity of medicine, because it is ren¬
dered agreeable to his palate. We have no doubt that
many well-meaning practitioners order a considerable
dose of tincture from a mistaken complaisance to their
patients, without apprehending any ill consequences
from it ; but in fact, the intemperate use of these tinc¬
tures is injurious to the stomach, and has, we believe,
not unfrequently drawn some of the most sober persons
into a habit of dram-drinking, ft’he propensity to the
use of cordials, which is now become so prevalent, has
probably arisen from this source. The quantity of al¬
cohol ordered by some prescribers is truly astonishing.
A book lately came into our hands, which is called a
translation of elegant medical prescriptions for various
disorders by the late Dr Hugh Smith. For the accu-
jacy of the translation we cannot vouch, not having seen
the original ; but if it be accurate, the spirituous cinna¬
mon water {spirit of cinnamon), seems to have been a
very favourite article in Dr Smith’s catalogue of medi¬
cines, as it is no unusual thing to see an ounce, or if
ounce of it ordered in a single draught, or four ounces
in an eight-ounce mixture. Did not this occur so fre¬
quently in the prescriptions of Dr Smith, we should sup¬
pose it to be some blunder of the translator or transcriber.
VOL. XVII. Part I. 1
tions.
45
45
in mistaking the character denoting dram for the sym- Ruies fo
bofical character signifying ounce. Urescrip
. ?• A third use of the corrector is to render the me¬
dicine more agreeable to the stomach, ft’hus, sulphate
of soda is to many persons very nauseous, and is not un¬
frequently rejeeted by vomiting ; but the addition of a
small quantity of lemon juice, or of supertartrate of pot-
ash, is found to correct this unpleasant quality. 'The
bark of cinchona does not agree with some stomachs,
without the addition of an aromatic j the cascarilla or¬
dered in the above powders, affords a useful addition,
with the view of rendering it more agreeable to the'
stomach.
ft’he unpleasant odour of a medicine is more difficult
to correct than its flavour. In internal medicines this
is usually best effected by regulating the form in which
they are exhibited j as, in prescribing the sulphurate of
potash, it is better to order it in the form of a powder
to be sweetened with sugar, to be swallowed dry fsee
JVirby’s Tables, formula 68), than by way of draught or
mixture. The odour of external medicines is best cor¬
rected by the essential oils and perfumes. Thus, in
using sulphur for cutaneous diseases, it is usual to add a
quantity of essence of bergamot or oil of lavender,
which, though they do not entirely destroy the odour
of the sulphur, have a considerable effect in disguising
10. In ordering a corrector, the practitioner should QuanUr
be aware that it is not the quantity of the basis, but itsof a remedy
quality that he is to correct. If a dose of digitalis orto 1,6 regw-
of squill makes the patient sick, we should not think oflaletL
giving opium or effervescing draughts to prevent this
effect, but we should lessen the quantity of the medicine
at its next exhibition. We have been rather minute on
the subject of the corrector, as we conceive that much
will depend on the adroit management of this part of
a formula, in showing the neatness and address of the
prescriber. By a proper use of correctors he can often
regulate the action of a medicine, and considerably re¬
lieve the feelings of his patient. 4g
11. 1 he constituent employed in a formula will of^ernarl{|i;
course vary with the form of the medicine. In the0,1 the con*
   1 ■ - - stituent.
more solid compositions, as boluses, pills, and electua-'
ries, it is generally syrup, conserve, confection or ex¬
tract. In liquid medicines, it is either simple water, or
some watery liquid, as decoctions, infusions, or water
distilled from some aromatic plant. It is proper to re¬
mark, that tne prescriber should consider whether a
constituent ordered as such, be necessary, for it often
happens, that the extracts or pilular masses kept in the
shops, are already of a proper consistence for making in¬
to pills. It is obvious that the constituent, if it be not
simple water, should have similar qualities with the
other parts of the medicine, unless when it contains in
it the corrector.
12. In the prescription which we have given as an^ani^^ r-
example, the names of the articles are written at length, ingredients
\> e do not, however, approve of this being generallyneed not be
done in practice. To an apothecary’s apprentice it can written at
answer no other end than to exercise his latinitv, and'6*1^1’
display the erudition of the prescriber. In fact, it may
even tend to mislead him •, for as the names of the ar¬
ticles kept in his master’s shop, are always painted on
the labels, or drawers, in an abbreviated form, the
words at full length are not better understood by the
S 3 compounder,
322
Rules for compounder, and indeed they are often more intel'1S1^®
Prescrip- in the concise form in which he is accustomed to see
tions. tiiem. Add to this, that the writing ot the Woitls at
full length may occasionally betray the practitioner in¬
to an unguarded mistake, which may call in q^stio
his grammatical accuracy. In Fox’s Formula Selectee,
calomelas perpetually occurs as the gemt^e instea
of calomelanos; and in a work on midwifery, Pub ^ “
ed bv Dr Pugh of Chelmsford, grammatical errors both
in the names and in the directions are to be detected
passim. The only advantage that writing at length
seems to possess, is that it teaches a beginner o read a
prescription, which by the way is often at first no easy
ro matter. But practice soon renders this familiar.
Symbolical ‘13. The quantities of the ingredients in the ab^e
characters prescription are not expressed in the usua ^ ,
m.'f f- ,ve have employed the contracted forms of the words
™ded- rd thce S::
PHESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS.
  which we may proportion the doses of the same substance
. J In rpcrnlatmiT Inf*
Ku1es fo
Prescripi
Irons.
uncia ana aracnmui ts- \ ^ rr ui.se
as recommended in the preface to l)r Kirby s laW«.
The directions also are tvntten m English. 1 he rea-
sons assigned in the work above referred to, are as fol¬
low. “ The characters' 3 and 3 are so similar, that they
may easily be written for each other, and that they have
sometimes been so written cannot be denied. J he con¬
sequence is obvious 5 a stroke of the pen too much may
kill the patient, and a stroke too little may produce a
medicine of little or no efficacy. Strange . that p hy¬
sicians should have been so misled by an affectation i
mystery or concealment, (for to what else ean be attri¬
buted the use of these hieroglyphics) ? as to place the
safety of their patients at the mercy of a laPsus Penn*'
f7»c. and dr. can never be written for each other and
we see no good reason why these abbreviations should
not be employed for uncia and drachma, as well as
and git. for granum and gutta. Dr Spens, in his de¬
cant edition of the Pharmacopona Nosoconnt Ldinbu?-
gensis, has employed these contracted words, but has re¬
tained the Roman numerals. , , . ,
“ The use of the Arabian figures appears calculated
to insure both perspicuity and dispatch. They are more
easily written, occupy less room in a prescription, and
(by their familiarity) remove all possibility of mis¬
ts As to the directions, they should always be writ¬
ten in the vernacular language. In a prescription, per¬
spicuity is always our first object j it is not icie ia
avc are called upon to display our learning and classical
elegance; and whoever considers that these are proper¬
ties not always to be met with in the shop of an apothe¬
cary or a druggist, will readily wave them, in order to
insure the perfect understanding of Ins prescriptions. It
does not indeed require any great knowledge of Batin
to translate the directions which usually occur in pre¬
scriptions ; hut as there are cases in which a long and
rather complex direction is employed, we should leave
nothing to the contingency of the learning or ignorance
of the compounder, but by writing the directions our¬
selves in the received language ot the country, put it
out of his power to injure our reputation, or endanger
ci the safety of the patient.’ _
Rules for The doses of medicines must, in a great measure, be
the doses of determined by experience j but after having thus ascer-
medicines. the medlum dose proper for an adult under ordi¬
nary circumstances, and of an ordinary constitution,
there are certain general considerations, according to
2
to various constitutions and ages. In regulating the
doses of medicine, we are to attend chiefly to the fol¬
lowing considerations. , ,
a. The circumstances of the disease and the vital
powers of the patient. _
b. The powers, mode of exhibition, and particular
intention of the medicine employed.
c. The age, sex, constitution, and habits ot the pa-
tiei 4 The circumstances of the disease to be attended to Doses
are its nature, seat, period, and degree of violence.^
There are several diseases that require Herculean reme- the <h*„,
dies, and these in very large doses. It is Avell known
that maniacs require much greater doses to produce the
same effect than most other patients. If we are to ad¬
minister an emetic to a person in this situation, it would
be of no use to prescribe 2 or 3 grains of tartrate oj
. •  nr a srmnle of wecacuanha, the
52
be ot no use 10 picatnuc ^ ^
antimony and potash, or a scruple of ipecacuanha, the
usual doses in ordinary cases. Less than 6 grs. of he
former will scarcely excite vomiting, and it is some¬
times necessary to order 10 or 15 grs. If we wish to
procure sleep to these rvretched beings, a few grains of
opium are a trifle. Dr Darwin mentions two cases of
insanity, in one of which 2 scruples ol solid opium were
administered, and four hours after, a third scruple while
in the other, a furious maniac was rendered calm and
rational in the space of a few hours by a dose ot 400
drops of tincture of opium.
Again, the more violent the disease, the larger doses
are generally required for its removal-, but, on the other
hand, the later the period or stages of several diseases
as fever, consumption, and similar affections attended
with great debility, the less is the quantity required to
produce the same effect 5 or rather the less able will the
patient be to bear the usual doses. When the vital
powers are much diminished, a large dose may be at¬
tended with very serious consequences. I hus, in cases
of suspended animation by drowning, where the vital
energy is nearly exhausted, if, when the powers of life
are lust returning, we were to oblige the patient to
swallow a quantity of brandy, or even a glass of pur#
wine, we should probably smother the glimmering spark.
Again, in cases of torpor from cold, if we expose the
frozen limb to a sudden considerable heat, a gangrene
ensues; whereas, had we in the former case given a lit¬
tle wine and water, and in the latter applied a mode¬
rate gradually increasing warmth, attended with gentle
friction, we should probably have restored the patient,
and preserved the limb. . , 7. . 53
1 c The powers, form, arid intention of the medicine^ A
must be considered. The more active remedies must be turea*
administered with greater caution than such as areo
inferior efficacy. Thus, if we are to exhibit the corrost
muriate of mercury, the oxide of arsenic, the nitrate oj
silver, or other powerful and dangerous remedies, vie
must begin with a quantity rather below than above the
medium dose, and gradually increase it according
the effect produced. On the other hand, however, W
must not descend to doses that are trifling and inert, f
is as ridiculous to prescribe a scruple ol cinchona twice
or thrice a day, to restore vigour to a debilitated sys em»
as it Avould be improper to order half an ounce O' r a -
barb for an ordinary cathartic. A prudent practitioner
Avill avoid both extremes of timidity and rashness, a ^
PRESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS.
lies for Will neither risk Uie safety of his patient by an excessive
esen'p- dose, nor give him lingering suspense and pain, for
liojis A,***  i.k _ ,
^ want of the due application of the proper remedies*
Much will depend on the form in which the medicine
is to be exhibited. T. hus, if we are to employ exter¬
nally, or byway of blister, such medicines as are usually
given by the mouth, it is necessary to order them in
much larger quantity. The usual dose of tincture of
opium is 25 or 30 drops; but if this is to be applied by
friction, from 2 drams to half an ounce will sometimes
be required for one application ; and in a glyster it is
usual to prescribe a dram or two. The tincture of can-
tbarides, whether given internally, or applied by fric¬
tion to the surface, is a powerful remedy; but in the
former case, 20 or 30^ drops are sufficient, while in the
latter a dram or two is usually employed. Similar re¬
marks might be made with respect to the use of mercu¬
ry, and many other remedies.
The intention with which the medicine is administer¬
ed must also be taken into consideration, as there are
many substances that produce different effects, according
to the quantity employed. Thus, tartrate of antimony
and potash may be given as an emetic, a diaphoretic, an
expectorant, or a cathartic, according to the magnitude
or repetition of the dose. 'I wo or three grains given at
once, or a grain every 15 minutes, usually excite vo¬
miting ; but from £ gr. to 1 gr. given every 3 or
6 hours, generally keeps up a constant nausea without
vomiting, and thus, by sympathy, the medicine acts as
a diaphoretic or antispasmodic. The medicine given in
the dose of a third of a grain twice or thrice a-day is a
good expectorant; and in the dose of gr. every two
or three hours, usually operates by the bowels. It is
well known that the effect of opium varies considera¬
bly, according to the dose and the interval at which it is
administered. If we wish to promote sleep, or relieve
pain, we give what is called a full dose, that is, a grain
or two. It thus acts as a narcotic, and an antispasmo-
dic or a diaphoretic. Given in small repeated doses, it
acts as a general stimulus, promotes absorption, and an-
, . . 323
swers the purposes of diuretic and an astringent. Ten Rules for
or twelve grs. of aloes exhibited at once, are cathartic; Preserip-
but one or two grs. given twice or thrice a day gently tioll>-
stimulates the rectum and neighbouring parts, and acts '
m particular cases as an emmenagogue.
We need scarcely remark, that when two or more
articles of a similar nature are prescribed in the same
formula, the dose of each must be proportionally lessen-
16. We must regulate our doses according to the age, Age^&c.
sex, constitution, and habits of the patient. of the pa-
It is evident that various ages must require various lienU
proportions ; but experience shews that the required
doses are not directly proportional to the ages, as might
a priori be expected, and as the mathematical physicians
in the. beginning of the 18th century believed (b).
-fc.xperience has enabled us to construct a table, in which
may be shewn the doses proportioned to various ages,
adjusted from a certain medium dose for an adult: such
a table is the following.
Age.
Weeks,
Months,
7
28
Years,
3t
5
7
J4
21
63
77
100
Proportional dose
T’S-
1
*
1
T
1 x
TV
S
V
Absolute dose, dr. 1.
grs. 4
grs.
grs.
grs.
5
10
12
grs.
scr.
dr.
scr.
dr.
gr*
gr.
scr.
1
2
1
55
50
2
55
Table.
The
?? At ?e- time W,ien Newton liad by bis discoveries rendered the study of mathematics as fashl™ m
useful, medicine partook of the general bias, and several physicians of ingenuity and erudition atten So “
its theory and practice under the dominion of their favourite science. Among these Gr Strothe^ re“ d d, fy?
ed a course of ectures on the rationale of medicines, which he entitles Prefectiones pL^o ZathiZtu J-
practicee. In his 21st lecture he treats of the doses of medicine, and after discussing in fverv nbil^ f-
ner the general mode of regulating these according to the size and shape of the particles of medicineT ^d ’X™'
momentum as determined by their celerity multiplied by their quantity of matte^ he proceeds to noin^
we are to proportion the doses to various ages. He has the following question ; If a person of JZ S™
totes 60 grams of any medicine, how much must a child of c years of age take 9 Tliisnn.Cm,, I, r ° ^
by the rule of proportion in the following manner. J / ° 11118 I1*8*™ be °f course resolver
30:5,6of°° = )
10
forfte0 atVe°rmberol‘^aT''y aPPliC‘>ble t0 ^ CaSe’ ^ CallS iD 'he aid ofalSebra’ and '"brtltuting
rrrthe greater age given
c=the less age given
*=rthe dose given
£=the dose required.
32 4
prescriptions, extemporaneous.
57
Climate.
5s
Idiosju-
eracy.
The above table may serve as a general guide to the
young practitioner. The second column shows the ali¬
quot "parts of the medium dose for an adult, that ate
adapted to different ages from seven weeks to I GO years,
supposing this medium dose to be i and the third co¬
lumn gives the absolute quantities in grains, &c. taking
the medium dose at I dr. This table, however, will by
no means apply in all cases. Thus, the dose of opium
adjusted from this table, for a child of five years old,
is c £rr. and that of submuriate of mercury or calomel,
i gr. *, but in cases of p/irenitis hydrocephahca (water
in the head), we may administer half a grain of the for¬
mer, and three or four of the latter. Females m general
require less doses than males ; and persons of a robust
and vigorous constitution, such as country labourers, the
more active mechanics, servants, and those of the me¬
lancholic and phlegmatic temperaments, will, all other
things being equal, require larger doses than persons ot
an opposite description. .
The climate also seems to have some influence in this
respect. In America and the West Indies we are in¬
formed that much larger doses of submuriate of mercury
are given than are usually prescribed m Britain. In
cases where we would give three or four grains, they
would order 10 or 15. We are told, too, that in some
parts of India, in order to excite vomiting in a native,
it is sometimes necessary to give 20 scruples of ipecacu¬
anha. The Germans, and especially, according to Gau-
bius, the inhabitants of Saxony and Westphalia, require
much larger doses than the inhabitants of any other
country in Europe. ,, . ...
Peculiarities of constitution, commonly called idiosijn-
crasies, require attention on the part of the prescriber.
It is therefore proper to inquire whether any circum¬
stance of this kind occurs in any individual, especially
when called for the first time.
The habits of the patient must also be regarded, as
in general medicines lose some of their effect by being
often repeated, and therefore require to have their dose
increased. Thus, persons who are accustomed to the
use of opium, will derive no benefit from the ordinary
doses of that medicine, but when labouring under a com¬
plaint that requires the exhibition of opium, they must
take a quantity somewhat larger than that to which they
are habituated. It is well known what quantities of Rulesf
opium are consumed by some of the eastern nations •, treseri
and the writer of this article has seen a travelling gypsy
who never went to rest without taking more than half a
dram of solid opium (c). ... 50
17 Perspicuity is essentially necessary in writing aperSpictK
prescription, and every thing which can in any degree a prind*
diminish it ought to be carefully avoided. Many ot theconsuta
observations already made have been directed to this
point •, and we have yet one or two remarks to complete
this part of our subject. A prescriber should be very
careful not to introduce into his prescription articles
which are obsolete, or which are no longer contained in
our pharmacopoeias, unless he is certain that the apothe¬
cary Avho is to prepare the medicine keeps such articles
beside him ; and even then, as it is most likely that they
have been long prepared, and have lost much of their
efficacy, he cannot depend on their answering the end
he proposes. Thus, few would now think of prescribing
the confcctio paulina, the theriaca Andromachi, or the
aqua alexiteria simplex, or many other compounds, which
have given place to more simple and convenient forms. 53
18^ The same cautions will apply, though perhaps Obsolen
with some limitations, to those medicines which are~
rarely met with, or have been newly introduced intocinest#
our Pharmacopoeias. Before we vent ure to prescribe anorderc(i
article of this description, we should ascertain whether with ca
or not it is to be procured in or near the place wheretioa.
the patient resides, or, where possible, we should give
timely notice to the apothecary to provide himself with
some of it. Many unpleasant circumstances may arise
from not attending to this caution, especially where the
patient is apprised that he is about to take a nerv re¬
medy which has been found very beneficial in cases
similar to his own. For instance, the Rus Toxico¬
dendron has lately been much extolled in the cure of
palsy. Suppose a physician in a provincial town, at a
great distance from the capital, were to prescribe this
medicine. The apothecary has none of it, nay, perhaps,
has never heard of the medicine, and it must be procur¬
ed from the capital. This occasions a delay for several
days, and in the mean time the paralytic person is im¬
patient to try the effect of the new remedy, and probably
refuses to take any other. When the medicine arrives,
the
, x „ r ,. . • „ .. 0 011v1;prf nf the Doses of Medicine, we must notice an improvement lately proposed,
(c) Before dismis ig J t j ^ .c t on(ton College in the intended new edition of their P/rormt/cqpoew,
parts, lletweert Jater^U spirit. This will certain!, bean
tea-spoon now contains a dram.
lies for
L'serip-
ious.
PRESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS.
the patient lias perhaps, as not infrequently happens,
lost his enthusiasm, and begins to take it with reluc¬
tance or disgust, feelings which not a little influence the
success of a remedy, and thus disappoint the hopes both
of the patient and physician.
Under this head of avoiding uncommon medicines, it
may be proper to remark, that though a physician in
this empire is allowed to prescribe articles from anv of
the national dispensatories, he should in general confine
himself to that which is most used in the part of the em¬
pire where he resides, and if he mentions an article from
either of the others, he should subjoin to the name of
that article the initials P/j. Ed. Ph.Lond. or Ph. Dub.
to prevent mistakes, thus,
325
recipes of old practitioners handed down from father to Rules for
son, or from master to apprentice, which seem to owe Prescrip-
their celebrity chiefly to the multitude of their ingredi-,
ents. 1 he Lisbon diet drinks have long been famous in
the cure of diseases of the skin. The following is one
of these, as taken from the Pharmacopoeia Chirurgica.
lions.
63
.Errors ia
point of
simplicity.
R. Tincturae Scillae (P/r. Londd) dr. 2.
R. Tincturae Angusturae (P/r. Dub.) unc. 1.
R. Solutionis muriatis (Jalcis (P/£. Ed.) dr. I.
tfi
£ ipounds,
19. With the same view of ensuring perspicuity, we
offici- should never prescribe a compound medicine which is
n to be not officinal, merely by its usual title, without specifying
*1 the component parts, or at least the proportions of these.
11 e ' Thus, if we propose to order an infusion of quassia, or a
decoction of oak bark, it would not be sufficient to write
in the formula infusi quassice, or decocti quercus, but
it would be proper either to prescribe the mode of pre¬
paring them at length, thus,
R. Rasurae ligni quassiae excelsae, dr. x.
Aquas distillatae ferventis, Ibj
Infunde per horam, et cola ; or,
R. Quercus contusi, unc. 1.
Aquae distillatae Ibij.
Coque ad dimidium, et cola ;
And then to prescribe the proper quantity, as,
R. Infusi hujuce, unc. 7, &c. or,
R. Decocti supra praescripti, unc. 8, &c.
Or, it would at least be proper to mention within a
parenthesis, the proportions to be employed in the com¬
position, in the following manner :
R. Decoctum Lusitanicum, No. 2.
Sarsaparillae concisae,
Ligni santali rubri,
Ligni santali citrini, sing. unc. iss. j
Radicis glycyrrhizae,
Radicis mezerei, sing, drach. ij.
Ligni rhodii,
Ligni guaiaci officinalis,
Ligni sassafras, sing. unc. ss. ;
Antimonii unc. j.
Aquae distillatae lt> v.
Ihese ingredients are to be macerated for 24 hours,
and afterwards boiled till the fluid is reduced to half its
original quantity. From one to two pints are given
daily *. * Pharnt.
Some practitioners adhere to this form j but others, less
bigotted to old customs, have recourse to a contractedP
form of it, retaining only the guaiacum, sassafras, and li¬
quorice, and adding raisins, similar tothe decoctum guai¬
aci compositum of the Pharmacopoeias.
The following is given in Fox’s Formulae as a remedy
for dropsy.
R. Succ. limon. rec. unciam,
Sal absynth. scrupulos duos,
■ coi n. cerv. scrnpulum,
Tinct. cinnam. et
Aceti scillit. sing, drachmas duas,
Tinct. cort. Peruv. semunciam,
Aq. menth. vulg. simp, et
• purae sing, unciam,
Vini antim. Huxbami guttas quadraginta,
Tinct. Theb. guttas viginti.
Fiat mistura, pro dosihus duabus.
»•
blj
•«!
tk
R. Infusi quassiae excelsae (cum dr. 1. ad aquae
Ibj. &c.) ; or,
R. Decocti quercus (cum corticis uncia I ad
aquae ibj.) &c.
tQ I
die
i
icity
tu-
jjj
Ik
tk
|l!j
Again, it would be absurd in private practice to pre¬
scribe the citrate of potash or of ammonia by the names
of mistura salina, or julepum neutrale ; but it would be
necessary to introduce into the formula the proper quan¬
tities of lemon juice and of carbonate of potash, or car¬
bonate of ammonia, to prepare these secondary salts.
See Kirby’s formula 13.
2o. That we may the better avoid mistakes in compo¬
sition, it is advisable to study simplicity as much as pos¬
sible: the physician is considered as the assistant of na¬
ture, and ought to follow her example in producing ef¬
fects by the most simple means. Nothing looks so un¬
scientific as a crowded formula 5 it bears the marks of
empiricism in its very face, and always reminds us of
those monuments of pharmaceutical folly, the theriaca
and the mithridate to be hereafter noticed. It seems as
if the prescriher said to himself, “ I will put plenty of
ingredients into this medicine, and the deuce is in it if
some of them do’nt answer.” There are many favourite
On examining this prescription, we shall find the re¬
sulting medicine to be composed of citrate of potash,
acetate of ammonia, a solution of tartrate of antimony
and potash, and tincture of opium, all which are dia¬
phoretics ; of squill, which is diuretic; and of cinna¬
mon, Peruvian bark, alcohol, and mint water, which are
tonic and stimulant. Now, a diaphoretic, a diuretic,
and a stimulant, may not form a bad compound in drop¬
sy, but as they may be given in a much more simple
form, the present medicine is absurdly complex and un¬
scientific. It might be reduced as follows:
R. Aquae acetitis ammoniac, unc. 1.
Tincturae scillae, dr. 1.
• ■ ■■ lauri cinnamomi, unc. -f.
Vini tartritis antimonii, dr. 1.
Tincturae opii, gt. 40.
Aquae distillatae, unc. vi. M.
We shall quote one other example of a medical far¬
rago, taken from De Cortex’s Formulae. It is for a pow¬
der formed of vegetables ; and we may remark it is in
the vegetable kingdom that prescribers have most exu¬
berantly displayed their talent at composition.
R. Rad,
prescriptions,
R. Rad. Imperator
Aristolochii utriusque
■ zeodar.
Siler, montan. aa dr. I.
Zinzib. scr. 2.
I'lor. Centaur, min. dr. I.
 Rorismar. scr. I.
 Gratiol. German, dr. 4*
Bacca Lauri
  junip. aa dr. iss.
Thymi,
Serpylli,
Absinthiae,
Tanaceti, __
Summxtat. Santon. aa. dr. I. M. r. pulv*
Half j |
Prescr
64
Disadvan¬
tages of
complex
lornuiUe.
Such a powder as this may vie in composition with
the theriaca and mithridate of redoubted fame. As this
medicine is composed of so many ingredients, possessedot
various powers, it must of course be endowed with many
virtues, or must be a pulvis Accordingly,
its author acquaints us, in the margin, that it is resolvent,
sudorific, stimulant, roborant, calefacient, aromatic, sto¬
machic, discutientj diaphoretic, diuretic, and aperient j
that it is of service in dropsy, chlorosis, paralysis, apo¬
plexy, fever, delirium, and fifty other diseases and morbid
affections, for a full detail of which we must refer our
readers to the work itself.
One would think that the absurdity of these complex
formulae would be abundantly evident to every man of
common sense j but the empirical prescriber will pro¬
bably say, such is the medicine which I have frequently
seen given with success, and how am I sure that, by
omitting one of the materials, I may not destroy the
efficacy of the medicine ! _ _ .
The more compounded a medicine is, the more diffi¬
cult it will be to ascertain and proportion the effects
produced by its several parts on the human system.
When several articles are employed at the same time,
we cannot be certain to which of them we are to attri¬
bute the benefit which appears to result, or the noxious
qualities which the compound may possess* This rage
for composition has been one great obstacle to the im¬
provement of medicine. The effects of various substan¬
ces on the body have been but little attended to j and
indeed the investigation is difficult, and requires a long
series of careful and nice experiments, and these made,
not on the inferior animals, but on man himself. The
administration of medicines to the lower classes of ani¬
mals, can throw but little light on their action upon the
human body. Several substances which are highly inju¬
rious to man, are taken by some other animals with im¬
punity. The old story of the origin of the name of an¬
timony is probably well known to many of our readers.
See Antimony. On the contrary, some substances are
poisons to many of the lower animals, but are much less
injurious to man. A small quantity of nux voviica will
destroy a garden mouse, hut a man may take five or ten
grains with safety, and even advantage. The doses of
medicines, too, bear no proportion in the various ani¬
mals. A few grains of aloes are sufficient to purge a
man, but a horse requires from half an ounce to a whole
ounce. It is therefore necessary that man himself should
be the subject of experiment j and where great nicety
is required, the enquirer should make the experiment on
EXTEMPORANEOUS.
his own person. Innumerable are the dogs, birds, anti
frogs, that have been sacrificed on the altar of science.
Few experimentalists have, like Pelletier and Davy,
ventured to operate on themselves 5 and even where this
has been done, the effects of prejudice and previous hy¬
pothesis have considerably diminished the value of their
researches.
It is advisable that every practitioner should, from the
number of his patients, select a few cases to which he
may particularly attend, carefully observing and com-
paring the effects of the medicines prescribed.^ In this
way he will in time collect a body of information, from
which he may be able to draw some valuable conclusions.
It is more peculiarly requisite to make observations on
the effects of compound medicines, and compare them
with those produced by the component simples, when,
given separately.
It would be unfair to dismiss this part of our subject, AU cot
Without admitting that there are some compound medi-Pkxmt
cines, the good effects of which must be acknowledged, ^
though we cannot in the present state of medical science, jeI1!
explain their action. There are two medicines of this
kind, which the writer of this article has often seen pre¬
scribed by physicians of whose abilitiesandexperience he
has a high opinion, with evident good eflect, and which
yet have much of the complex empirical air that we
have been condemning. One of these is a remedy for
the advanced stage of dysentery, and is prescribed neat¬
ly in the following manner.
R. Infusi quassia: (cum dr. I. ad. aquae Ibj) unc. 6.
Magnesise ustse dr. 2.
Tincturae sennae unc* 2.
— opii dr. 2.
I.
Electuarii aromatici dr.
' Syrupi Rhei dr. 3. M.
Signetur. Three or jour table spoonsful to be taken
every six hours, shaking the phial, and one spoonful after
every loose stool.
Here are a bitter, an absorbent, a stimulant, a laxa¬
tive, and a narcotic, combined in the same medicine.
To which of these are we to attribute the good effects
which have appeared to us to result from the exhibition
of the whole ? Probably the slight laxative and the ab¬
sorbent are here of little use, and the chief benefit is to
be ascribed to the bitter and the stimuli, considering the
opium in this light.
The other medicine to which we allude is considered
as an antiseptic, and is frequently ordered in putrid dis¬
eases, especially in cynanche maligna or scarlatina an-
ginosa. It is as follows.
R. Muriatis sodse dr.
Succini limonis. dr. l-£.
Sacchari purificati, unc.
Spiritus myristic. moschati, dr. 3.
iEtheris sulphurici cum alcohole, dr. 2.
Aquae menthae piperitae, unc. 6. M.
Signetur. Three table spoonsful to be taken every
four houi's (and in cynanche some of it to be frequently
used by way of gargle).
What an apparent confusion of salt and sour, of sweet
and strong ! It is true that there is here no decomposi¬
tion, and yet the medicine is certainly unscientific and
empirical.
21. i
es for 21. d prescriher should adapt his prescription as far
icrip- as may be to the worldly circumstances of his patient, di-
jns recting for the poorer class those forms which are least
fv ' expensive, such as powders, pills, electuaries, and ingre-
>£> dients for teas and decoctions, with properdirections how
to prepare them. To his more wealthy patients he may
prescribe those forms which, by uniting neatness with
convenience, will both please his patient, and allow an
adequate remuneration to the apothecary, who in most
places derives from his practice little profit, except what
arises from the sale of his medicines. The forms best
adapted to such patients are those of draughts, boluses,
-7 powders, and julep, &c.
aess to 22. Neatness in prescrip tion should always be regarded;
be sjr- for as;the effects of medicines often depend much on the
,l£'' feelings of the patient, we should take care that his taste,
sight, and smell, be offended as little as possible, that dis¬
gust may not either prevent his taking the medicine at
all, or at least prevent him from taking it with confi¬
dence. In liquid medicines, we ought as much as pos¬
sible to avoid powders, and every thing which can ren¬
der the liquid unpleasant to the eye j and if we prescribe
a formula containing oil, we ought to take care that
this be intimately mixed with the other ingredients.
Thus, suppose, when about to employ opium by friction,
we were to order equal parts of tincture of opium and oil
of olives. Though when well shaken together, these in¬
gredients would incorporate sufficiently to answer the
purpose of opiate friction, yet when allowed to stand,
they would speedily separate, and give the embrocation
an unpleasant appearance. It would he better, there¬
fore, to insure their combination by adding a little so¬
lution of ammonia.
23. In this respect much will depend on the form of
the medicine ; and a physician should be perfectly aware
what form is best adapted to the articles he is to em¬
ploy, as well as what is most agreeable to the patient.
This subject of forms was sufficiently explained in the
article Materia Medica, Part 111. chap. 2.
We have now finished all that appeared most import¬
ant on the general rules for extemporaneous prescrip¬
tions 5 but it may be proper to bring under one general
view the principles which have been laid down. The
great object of a practitioner is to cure his patient safe¬
ly, agreeably, and expeditiously. That he may cure him
safely, he is to study perspicuity and simplicity. To in¬
sure perspicuity, he should arrange his formulae in the
order of exhibition j write the words so that they may
be most intelligible ; arrange the articles of each formu¬
la in the mode of composition j use abbreviated words
for quantities instead of symbols j employ the common
numerals ; write the directions in English ; avoid obso¬
lete or uncommon remedies, and order no article, not of¬
ficinal, merely by its name. To insure simplicity, he
PRESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS.
.327
Rec
la'.io
prescription with a few practical cautions, for which we Rules for
are chiefly indebted to Dr Percival. Prescrip-
1. A practitioner should attend to the feelings and liolls-
prejudices of his patient. Dr Percival ordered bleeding
to a patient labouring under peripneumony, who had a
great dread of the operation, and appears to have died
in consequence of its having been attempted.
2. A physician, after having ascertained the nature
of a disease, in considering the treatmentwhich he means
to adopt, should first reflect whether any evacuation be
necessary, as bleeding, the application of leeches or of
blisters, cupping, vomiting, purging, &c.
3. He should next enquire whether any particular
symptom, such as hemorrhage, great pain, excessive
vomiting or purging, be so violent or so distressing as
to require immediate attention.
4. He is to consider whether the disease under notice
is one for the cure of which any specific remedy has
been discovered, such as mercury in syphilis, cinchona
in intermittents, &c.
5. In chronic diseases, where the usual remedies fail
of success, it is often of consequence to endeavour to
rouse the system into a new action by mercury, electri¬
city, opium, &c. This practice appears rather empiri¬
cal, but the experience of many able physicians has
evinced its propriety.
6. In commencing the treatment of any case, it is pro¬
per to begin with the simplest and safest method j and
if this does not succeed, to try others of a more com¬
plex and bolder description.
7. A physician should not change his plan or his re¬
medies too soon or too often.
8. The cases of new born infants require peculiar
caution, as a moderate dose of a powerful medicine may
prove fatal. Four drops of tincture of opium have been
given to a child a few weeks old for gripes. The in¬
fant was seized with stupor and convulsions, and died.
A practitioner of midwifery gave an infant two tea¬
spoonfuls of castor oil by way of purgative j severe
vomiting and convulsions came on, and the child sunk
under them.
IV. Modern pharmacy may be said to commence Origin of
about the middle of the 15th century, at which time it modern
appears to have been in a most deplorable state of em-pbarn,acy-
pirical barbarity. Though it is probable that, among the
earlier practitioners of medicine, remedies were employ¬
ed in their most simple forms, the art of compounding
a number of simples together into one medicine had, by
the time of which we are now speaking, arrived at a
pitch of extravagance which has never been exceed¬
ed.
What carried this ostentation of composition to the
highest excess, was the object of framing antidotes,
which being previously administered, might defend a-
must employ no more ingredients than are necessary. gainst any poison whatever, that should afterwards he
That he may cure his patient agreeably, he must ob- taken into the body. To this scheme is owing the enor
serve neatness in his prescriptions ; adapt his forms to
the nature of the remedies employed, and not prescribe
offensive remedies where those that are agreeable or pa¬
latable will answer the same purpose.
That he may cure his patients expeditiously, he should
employ the most efficacious remedies in the proper
doses, and take care they are administered in such a man¬
ner as to be most likely to produce the desired effect.
We shall now conclude these general observations on
mous length of the celebrated mithridate and theriaca ;
for such medicines must of course recommend themselves.
by the number and variety of their ingredients, as they
were to contain a proper antidote for every possible spe¬
cies of poison, and more especially as these compositions
were to be farther wrought up into little less than uni¬
versal remedies for all diseases to which the human body
is subject.
The first of these antidotes was said to be composed
fio n
328
PRESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS.
Historical
Sketches
c u r • j o^T^m-atplv with all bole, green vitriol calcined, of each half an ounce 7 toot nm
from the result of experiments made sepalately wiui au a URfi, «
, ■ , r- • I . • . . , .1    uinrr whose of creemng birth wort, or in its stead ot the long hirth-s ke
:oric?
70
Account of
the mithri-
date.
Account
the the-
riaca.
kinds of simple antidotes by the famous king whose
name it bears; but as no records are left us ot any ot
those particular experiments, we may reasonably consi¬
der this tale as fabulous. As it is not likely that this
medicine and the theriacawill ever again appear in 0111
Pharmacopoeias, we shall, tor the amusement of our
readers, describe the composition of each, as given in the
London Pharmacopoeia published in 174^* ^ie mi‘
thridate is thus composed.
“ Take of cinnamon 14 drams, of myrrh 11 drams j
agaric, spikenard, ginger, satlron, seeds ot treacle mu¬
stard, or of mithridate mustard, frankincense, chio tur¬
pentine, of each 1.0 drams camel’s hay, costus, or in
its stead zedoary, Indian leat, or in its stead mace,
French lavender, long pepper, seeds of hartwort, juice
ef the rape of cistus, strained storax, opopanax, strained
galbanum, balsam of Gilead, or in its stead expressed oil
of nutmegs, Russian castor, of each an ounce poley-
mountain, water-germander, the fruit of the balsam
tree, or in its stead cubebs, white pepper, seeds of the
carrot of Crete, bdellium strained, of each seven drams*,
Celtic nard, gentian root, leaves of dittany ot Crete,
red roses, seeds of Macedonian parsley, the lesser car¬
damom seeds freed from their husks, sweet fennel seeds,
gum Arabic, opium strained, of each live drams *, root
of the sweet flag, root of wild valerian, anise-seed, saga-
penum strained, of each three drams ; spignel, St John’s
wort, juice of acacia, or in its stead Japan earth, the
bellies of scinks, of each two drams and a half 7 clarifi¬
ed honey, thrice the weight of all the rest. Dissolve the
opium first in a little wine, and then mix it with the
honey made hot *, in the mean time melt together m
another vessel the galbanum, storax, turpentine, and
the balsam of Gilead, or the expressed oil of nutmeg,
continually stirring them round, that they may not
burn *, and as soon as these are melted, add to them the
hot honey, first by spoonfuls, and afterwards more free¬
ly : lastly, when this mixture is nearly cold, add by de¬
grees the rest of the species reduced to powder.
The preparation of the Theriaca andromachi, or A e-
nice treacle, is thus directed.
“ Take of the troches of squills, half a pound *, long
pepper, opium strained, dried vipers, of each three
ounces ; cinnamon, balm of Gilead, or in its stead ex¬
pressed oil of nutmeg, of each two ounces j agaric, the
root of Florentine orris, water-germander, red roses,
seeds of navew, extract of liquorice, of each an ounce
and a half*, spikenard, saffron, ammomum, myrrh, co¬
stus, or in its stead zedoary, camel’s hay, of each an
ounce ; the root of cinquefoil, rhubarb, ginger, Indian
leaf, or in its stead mace, leaves of dittany of Crete, of
horehound, and of calamint, French lavender, black pep¬
per, seeds of Macedonian parsley, olibanum, Chio tur¬
pentine, root of wild valerian, of each six drams ; gentian
root, Celtic nard, spignel, leaves of poleymountain, of St
John’s wort, of ground pine, tops of creeping germander,
with the seed, the fruit of the balsam tree, or in its stead
cubebs, aniseseed, sw'eet fennel seed, the lesser cardamom
seeds freed from their husks, seed of bishop’s-weed, of
hartwort, of treacle mustard or mithridate mustard,
juice of the rape of cistus, acacia, or in its stead Japan
earth, gum Arabic, storax strained, sagapenum strained,
Lemnian earth, or in its stead bole Armenic or French
3
of
of creeping birth wort, or in its stead of the long birth-S ketcho
wort, tops of the lesser centaury, seeds of the carrot of 
Crete, opopanax, galbanum strained.Russia castor, Jews
pitch, or in its stead white amber prepared, root of the
sweet flag, of each two drams ■, of clarified honey thrice
the weight of all the rest. The ingredients are to bo
mixed in the same manner as in the mithridate.
The theriaca may be considered as a modification of
the mithridate by Andromachus, though we are not in¬
formed what were his reasons for the variations, except
that by the addition of the viper’s flesh the medicine
was rendered more useful against the bite of that ani¬
mal *. The theriaca was in so great repute before the * Co^
decline of the Roman empire, that even the wise Mar- Aniidol.i
cus Aurelius was induced to make a daily use ot it, tobklcsm
the great prejudice of his health *, for we are told by
Galen, that his head was so much affected, that he dosed
in the midst of business *, and when on this account he
omitted the opium in the composition, he could not
sleep at all. 72
It is not a little amusing to observe the reasons that Origin 0.
induced the ancient compounders of medicines to crowd d^sev i
their receipts with such a multitude of ingredients. Me-
dicines were then distributed into four qualities, of heat¬
ing, cooling, drying, and moistening, by the combination
of which, and the structure of the substance in which
they adhered, whether consisting of gross or subtle parts,
■was deduced another head of qualities from consequen¬
tial effects they were supposed by this means to have
on the body, of inciding, attenuating, incrassalwg, re¬
laxing, astringing, and the like *, by a farther prosecu¬
tion of this speculation was derived from the same source
a third arrangement of cephalics, hepatics, stomachics,
diuretics, and others 5 these orders being closed by a
fourth head, to comprehend such, whose effects sur¬
mounted even the acuteness of this system to explicate j
these were said to operate tola substantia. The first of
these qualities, as well as those which depended on
them, were farther divided into four degrees, and
each of these into three subdivisions, whereby medicines
might be adapted to each case with the nicest subtilty
by the rules of arithmetic. Again, when the composi¬
tion was thus happily adjusted, it was farther to be en¬
quired, whether the medicine after all might not be sus¬
pected of some noxious quality, requiring correction *,
and this, whether real or imaginary, was by the farther
addition of some proper accompaniment to be provided
for. It was also to be considered, that a medicine
might be serviceable to a remote part, but exposed to be
destroyed by the powers of digestion before it arrived
therethen it was to be assisted by some material, by
which it should be defended and conducted safely, so as
neither to be acted upon, nor act, till it reached the de¬
signed part, and then be left to operate without impe¬
diment, its guide and protector being itself there oppor¬
tune! r consumed : some medicines were pretended to
run too swiftly through the body, others to move on too
sluggishly, the first of these required a curb, the others a
spur: often a director was necessary, that the medicine
might not stray from its destined course*, every medicine
was supposed to have its peculiar station, in which, left to
itself, its operation would be exerted j if it were requi¬
red to perform its office sooner, it was to be committed
* to
jjijtirical
✓r
p li¬
ft by
ha¬
ll
PRESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS.
,torical if custody of some other, which might fix it to the
,—  • j - , „ .
329
% S'!
iul
’3
In ave-
rnn1! m
mi
etches, region desired j if it were designed to proceed farther
it must have an assistant to open it a passage.
How much ingenious men have been perplexed to
account for these irregularities and superfluities of the
earliest pharmaceutical writers, may in some measure
he conceived from Bauderon’s comment on the Aierea
Alexandrina, the first composition in the collection of
Nicholaus, whom we shall presently notice. Opium,
it seems, is the base whose powers are heightened by
other ingredients, which require also others to correct
then ill qualities. Besides these, one list of ingredients
is to direct the operation to the head, another set to the
breast, others to the heart, stomach, spleen, liver, kid¬
neys, and other parts ; insomuch, says the author, that
this one medicine, in regard to the diseases he enume¬
rates, may very justly be considered as a whole apothe¬
cary’s shop, contained in a gallypot. Rondelet, in his
remarks on the Syrupus Hyssopi Mesuce, seems less dis¬
posed to admire what he did not understand, when he
tells us, he long doubted with himself, under what head,
whether of attenuants or incrassants, it ought to be
ranged, it containing so many species of each kind j
and at last has recourse to this frank reason for retain¬
ing it at all, ent nobis usui, cum nondum erimus cert?\
incrassarcne, an attenuare oporteat.
When the alchemists had extended the hounds of
■ ; d bv^e’r .art from mere drudgery of manufacturing gold
th ' che- ant^ s^ver» th** nnore noble and philosophic employ¬
ment of composing an universal elixir that should secure
its possessor from disease, and prolong his life to an in¬
definite period, pharmacy derived from their labours
considerable and solid advantages. T he experiments
instituted by these visionaries with the metals, led to
the accidental discovery of some of the most efficacious
remedies which we at present employ, especially the
preparations of antimony and mercury, and most of what
are called the neutral or secondary salts. By calling in
the aid of fire, they enabled us to produce in bodies,
changes which, without the assistance of this powerful
agent, we should have been unable to effect. Now,
every thing was submitted to digestion, calcination, fer¬
mentation, distillation, and sublimation; hut, as general¬
ly happens in cases of innovation or reform, these new
methods of obtaining active remedies were carried to an
absurd and ridiculous extent. Finding that the healing
Powers of many substances were eliminated or increased
by the application of heat, they seemed to imagine that
the simple medicine could in no case possess any medi¬
cal virtue till it had been placed upon the fire, or kept
for some hours in a furnace. Hence the immense num¬
ber of distilled waters and spirits, essential and empy-
leumatic oils, with which the old pharmacopoeias are
crowded, and which seem in many cases to possess no
other powers than what they derive from the water or
the spirit that forms the hulk of the preparation. Not
only plant and minerals, but animals and animal mat¬
ters of all kinds, were distilled, digested, or calcined.
Thus, we find a water of snails, a spirit of millipedes,
an oil of earth worms, &c. &c. The absurd and
pompous names by which the preparations were distin-
gui ’hed, are truly ridiculous. Magisterial balsam, hiera-
ptcra, Ethiops mineral, ens veneris, fores mart is, ca-
omelfts, aqutla alba, are a few which long retained their
seat, both in public and private dispensatories. As these
Vol. XVII. Parti. f
preparations were, from their contrivers, denominated Historical
chemical; the more ancient medicines, which were Sketches.
drawn almost entirely from the animal and vegetable  v— ^
kingdoms, were denominated Galenical, because &chiefly
employed by the followers of Galen. Hence the divi¬
sion of medicines into Galenical and chemical, a divi¬
sion which obtained for some hundred years, and which
only a few years ago was preserved in the sale cata¬
logues of the London druggists.
However amusing to a scientific modern chemist it 74
may he to wander through the labyrinths of the earlier
pharmaceutical writers, it js necessary for us to be brief
upon the subject. These absurdities are now fast dis¬
appearing j and pharmacy, guided by the increasing
brightness of her younger but more enlightened sister,
has begun to assume a more scientific and a more de¬
cided character. I he principles and improvements of
modern chemistry have been introduced into our phar¬
macopoeias, and the civilized nations of Europe are now
vying with each other in the amelioration ot these guides
to the medical practitioner. In our own country, the
Edinburgh college led the way to this reform. They
have been followed by the Dublin physicians ; and we
may soon expect the completion of the revolution in our
national pharmacy, by the publishing ot a new edition
of the London Pharmacopoeia, which is, we understand,
now under review.
1 ne progress ot our present officinal pharmacy, from Progress ot
the time of its first introduction by the Arabians, so farn,°der*
as we can trace it through the obscurities attending its l'banna(7*
origin, has been as follows. Saladinus of Ascoli, an
author who wrote about the middle of the 15th century,
while as yet there were no pharmaco|joe'as established
by any public authority, informs us, that the books with
which the apothecaries were generally furnished, were
these : a book of Avicenna and another of Serapion,
which treat on simples; Simon Jannensis r/<? sywewr/wzz’s
a treatise of an Arabian author under the name of Liber
Servtton’s, containing the preparations of simples, and
the chemical medic ines then in use 5 likewise two An-
Udotaria, one of Johannes Damascenus or Mesue, and
another of Nicholaus de Salerno.
Some time after, Nicholaus Praepositus of Tours
wrote a general dispensatory, that might supply the
place ol all these j in whic h the compositions are almost
entirely taken from Mesue, and the forementioned more
ancient Nicholaus. The Thesaurus Aromatariorum
written near the same time, and the Lumen Apothecari-
orum, consist also of similar extracts ; and in the Lu-
mmare Majus published soon after, which contains a
more extensive collection, these two authors generally
lead each head. The same Antidoiaria have also been
made the general basis of the modern pharmacopoeias,
though we know little more of their authors than that
they were the favourites of those barbarous times in
which they lived.
It is probable that Mesue lived about the 12th een-Mes««,
tury, which is all that we can ascertain respecting a
writer to whose authority such implicit submission has
been paid ; and even this circumstance has been dis¬
puted : for some have confounded him with a much
earlier writer of the same name, who resided at the
court of Bagdat.
Of the otherfatherof pharmacy,Nicholaus,little more Nkhoiato
is known. From his being styled of Salerno, wc might
T t ifflpfy
33°
Historical
Sketches.
PRESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS.
78
Foreign
j> iblic
i’hirmaco
j.ueias.
imply tliat he resided in that school. 01 his work, Sa-
ladin gives the following account: that there were two
Antidotaria under the name of this Nicholaus, the one
distinguished by the title of Nicholaus Magnus, and the
other by that of NicRolans Parvus ; that the latter was
in most frequent use, and was only an epitome of the
former, coritaining but a part of the compositions, and
those reduced to less quantities. Among the collections
of pieces often published together as a supplement to
Mesue, one is entitled Antidotarium Nicholai, and in
this are contained the compositions which were deliver¬
ed by dispensatory writers, under the name of Nicho¬
laus. This is the lesser antidotarium, and there is also
a copy of the greater, published under the name of
Nicholaus Alexandrinus, as translated fiom the Greek
by Nicholaus of Reggio, the first translator of Galen.
In this translation, as in the former antidotarium, the
compositions are arranged in the order of the Latin al¬
phabet : whereas, in the origin al, the Greek alphabeti¬
cal order seems to have been followed. Here, beside
a much greater number of articles than in the other
Nicholaus, those which they have in common are in
greater quantities.
The first Pharmacopoeia which was set forth by pub¬
lic authority, was that of Valerius Cordus, published in
’ 1 (542, under the sanction of the senate of Nuremberg.
This consists almost entirely of collections trom the two
authors above mentioned, with short notes in relation
to such names of plants or drugs in the compositions as
were of doubtful signification. Subsequent pharmaco¬
poeias, however they might be rendered more copious
by additions from other authors, also paid the like re¬
gard to Nicholaus and Mesue. This Pharmacopoeia of
Cordus has been made more celebrated from the com¬
ments made on it by Hoffman. In 1561, Clusius pub¬
lished at Antwerp a Latin translation of the Florentine
Antidotarium. In 1381 was published at Bergamo, in
Italy, the Pharmacopoeia Bergamensis, which was fol¬
lowed by the Pharmacopoeia Augustana, at Augsburg
in 1601 ; republished at Rotterdam, with notes by
Z,welter in 1654, and again in 1666. The pharmaco¬
poeia of the faculty at Palis first appeared in 1637 ; and
about the same time there was published at Paris a col¬
lection of Arabian formulae, called the Persian Phar¬
macopoeia. In the latter end of the 17th century, the
incorporated physicians of Sweden published their Dis¬
pensatory under the title of Phamacopccia Holmiensis,
which was republished in 1775 au<^ I7^4 ^,e
of Pharmacopoeia Suecica. The Prussian Dispensatory,
Pharmacopoeia Borussica, was first published in 1799.
The Pharmacopoeia of Vienna was first published in
1729, and republished in 1765*
Besides these, wre have seen or heard of the follow-
ing *.
The Dispensatory of Wirtemburg, of which the first
edition is that of 1771.
Pharmacopoeia Genevensis, published in 1780, re¬
published in Italian in 1800.
Dispensatorium Lippiacum in 1792.
Pharmacopoeia Bremensis in 1792.
Pharmacopoeia Austriaco-provincialis, 1 794.
Pharmacopoeia Austnaco-castrensis, 1795*
Pharmacopoeia Bossica, published at St Petersburg!!
first in 1798, and again in 1803.
Of the British Pharmacopoeias, the earliest is that of
the London college, which W’as first published in 1618. Historic
It was again published either at the close of the 17th, Sketch;
or beginning of the 18th century, in i8mo; again in'“““V'
1746 m 4to, and last in 1791. The college is now Briu^ 1
preparing a new edition, and has circulated among itsijc-
members a specimen of the proposed alterations. Ivecopcias,
have been favoured with a perusal of this specimen, and
we have no doubt, that with respect to accuracy of pre¬
paration, and judicious selection of remedies, the new
work will not be inferior to the late editions of the
Edinburgh and Dublin Pharmacopoeias. In point of
nomenclature, however, we cannot help thinking, that
the committee have in a great measure failed in their
desire to avoid error and confusion. Should the no¬
menclature of the specimen be adopted in the published
edition, we fear that the novelty of the terms w ill be
the smallest objection to their use; but that being so
perfectly different, both from the language of modern
chemistry and of the late pharmacy of the London
druggists and apothecaries, will occasion serious incon¬
venience both to prescribers and compounders. It would
be indecorous for us to particularize instances, but we
chiefly allude to the names of the secondary salts, which
we consider as very objectionable. The new edition
will be evidently much improved, many new articles are
admitted, and not a few of such as were less efficacious,
or which may be prepared extemporaneously, are omit-
ted.
The college of Edinburgh first published their Phar¬
macopoeia in 1722-, and improved editions have succes¬
sively appeared in 1736, 1747, 1756, 1775, 1783,
1792, 1803, and 1805, this last being little more than
a new impression of the preceding. The Dublin col¬
lege first published, or rather printed, a Pharmacopoeia
in 1794', and they have lately, viz. in 1807, republish¬
ed it with considerable improvements. In this edition
they have chiefly followed the plan of the Edinburgh
Pharmacopoeia, but they retain the usual pharmaceuti¬
cal names of the simples, though they have in general
adopted the reformed chemical nomenclature. The
most material improvements will be noticed in the o/i-
pendiv to this article. go 1
Besides the Pharmacopoeias printed under the autho-j’orejg11
rity of public colleges, a great many have been pub-private;
lished by individuals both on the continent and in Bri-pensato
tain. We shall notice the principal ot these in chrono¬
logical order.
The earliest of these that we find on record, after
those of Nicholaus, is the Antidotarium Speciale of
Wecker, which was printed in 1561. Four years alter
appeared the Antidotarium of Montagna, published at
Venice j and at the same place in 1600, appeared a
work by Fioraventi, entitled Secreti Rationale Lntorno
Alla Medicina. In 1608, Renodaeus published at Pa¬
ris his Ofjicina Pharmaceutica seu Antidotarium. Myn-
sicht’s Armamentarium Medico-chymicum appeared in
1631 ; and in 1656, Schroeder published at Leyden
his Pharmacopoeia Medico-Chemica. In 1676 Oharas
published his Pharmacopee Galenique et Chemique at Pa¬
ris, and in 1684 the same work was republished in La¬
tin at Genoa. In 1698 appeared the celebrated Phar¬
macopee Universelle of Lemery •, and in the same year
the Pharmacopoeia Spagyrica of Poterius. Of those that
have appeared in the 18th century, beside those men¬
tioned in the introduction to Materia Medica, we
may
loi'ioal
itches.
PRESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS.
fnay notice as being of superior merit; Triller’s Dis-
petisatorium Pharmaceuticum Universale, published at
Frankfort in I4 : Snielman’s Phni-mnrr\nrvA,
3.3 r
ish pri
Dis-
j natories
82
C'xtions
•Iurmulse.
'Frankfort in 1764; Spielman’s Pharmacopoeia Gene¬
rali's at Strasburg in 1783, and Reuss’s Dispcnsato-
riwn Universale at the same place.
- In our own country, several useful works of this kind
have been produced. One of the earliest (d), and
‘among the most remarkable of these, is the Pharmaco¬
poeia O fficinalis et Extemporanea, or Complete English
Dispensatory of Dr Quincy, which was first published
m 1718, again in 1722, and in 1739 had reached the
eleventh edition, now before us. Considering the time
at which it was written, this is an excellent perfor¬
mance, and is the more interesting, as it formed the
foundation on which were composed those more accu¬
rate and scientific works the New Dispensatory of
Lewis, and the Edinburgh New Dispensatory. Quin¬
cy’s Dispensatory was followed by similar works, as by
James’s Dispensatory in 1747, Lewis’s in 1753, and
the Edinburgh New Dispensatory by Webster in 1786.
At length, in 1803, Dr Andrew Duncan, Junior, pub¬
lished his Edinburgh New Dispensatory, which, from
the important additions and improvements progressively
introduced in four editions, must be considered as a new
work, and has entirely superseded every similar publi¬
cation.
Of collections of formulae, both by continental and
English writers, there is no want; but it will be diffi¬
cult for an unexperienced prescriber to make a judicious
selection from among them. The best we have seen in
this country are, the Thesaurus Medicaminum, now ad¬
mitted to be the production of Dr R. Pearson ; the
PbarmacopoeiaChirurgica; and perhaps we may add those
published in Dr Kirby’s Tables of the Materia Medica.
The first of these was published in 1794, and a third edi¬
tion of it materially improved appeared in 1804. The
Pharmacopoeia Chirurgica is a valuable selection of for¬
mulas, chiefly intended for surgeons, and drawn up prin¬
cipally from the practical Pharmacopoeia of the differ¬
ent London hospitals. The first edition appeared, we
believe, in 1794; and in 1802 there was published a
fifth edition, with the addition of a synoptical table of
the formulae contained in the volume, arranged accord¬
ing to the order of their principal incredients. The
formulae annexed to each of the classes in Dr Kirby’s
Tables are intended principally to serve as examples of
the method of prescribing the principal articles enume¬
rated in the class to which they are attached. They
are selected partly from the best writers on extempora¬
neous prescription and the practice of medicine, and are
partly derived from the private experience of the author
or his medical friends.
Of the older collections of formulge, we may notice
the Pharmacopoeia Extemporanea of Fuller, which con¬
tains 1000 select formulae, arranged in alphabetical or¬
der, and accompanied by practical and pharmaceutical
remarks. This work went through many editions, both
in England and on the Continent. The best which we
have seen is that published at Paris in 1768, under the ,
care of Theodore Baron. ?
He know of very few works that have been written, ' ^ 
containing practical rules for the writing of prescrip- s3
tions. In our own country, almost the only work 01, v-'0lk*
the subject with which we are acquainted, is pre*’
Lectures on Pharmacy ; a work now very little known, scriptioii.
though the principal parts of it were introduced under
their proper heads, in the later editions of the complete
English Dispensatory. Quincy’s rules, though now a
little antiquated, are for the most part very good ; and
allowing for the imperfect state of chemical science in
the beginning of the 18th century, may still be perused
with advantage. Similar rules, which were indeed lit¬
tle more than modifications of those given by Quincy,
were laid down by Dr Lewis in his New Dispensatory. „
One of the most celebrated foreign elementary works Gauimw.
on this subject, and that which we believe is best known
in this country, is Libellus de Methodo Concinnandi For¬
mulas Medicamentorum, by Gaubius, a second edition of
which was published at Leyden in 1752. After laying
down some general rules to be observed before prescrilT-
ing, Gaubius gives an account of the nature and con¬
struction of formulae in general, and then treats parti¬
cularly of the several forms of medicines usually employ¬
ed. These he divides into internal and external, reckon¬
ing among the former powders, boluses, electuaries, eclcg-'
mata or lynctuses, pills, lozenges, &c. which he distin¬
guishes into tab cl lev and rotuh, infusions, decoctions, ex¬
pressed juices, emulsions, juleps, mixtures, and draughts
or contracted mixtures. External forms he divides into
injections, adsperginet. ( powder sprinkled on the surface),
fomentations, dry epithems, cataplasms or poultices,
baths, fumigations, plasters, cerates, ointments, odorifer¬
ous balsams, liniments, epispastics or blistering plasters,
frictions, collyria or eye-waters, errhines or snuffs, denti¬
frices or tooth-powders, apophlegmatisms, gargles, cly¬
sters, suppositories, and pessaries. He givres ample rules
for the preparation of each of these forms, with ex¬
amples. . This work, however, from the antiquated style
and prolixity with which it is written, and the obsolete
names that every where occur throughout the examples,
is of little use except as a book of reference. ^
In 1754, Joannes Petrus Eberhard, professor of me- Ebcrhlr!
dicine in the university of Halle, in the duchy of Magde-
burg, published his Methodus Conscribendi Formulas
Medicos, a small pamphlet in i8mo, containing rules
arranged in a tabular form. In this little work the au¬
thor first treats of the nature of a medical formula, and
explains the characters usually employed in preserrption.
He then lays down his plan of division, and lastly treats
of the preparation of each particular form, vvith”practi¬
cal hints respecting the ingredients proper for each form»
with their proportional doses, and the cases to which
they are more particularly adapted. This work was first
intended for the professor’s pupils, but he published it
under the conviction that it would be found of advan¬
tage by practitioners in general. On the whole, it is a
T t 2 useful
(d) The only Pharmacopceias worth notice in this country that preceded the Dispensatory of Quincy, weie,
we believe, the Pharmacopoeia Batcana, edited by Dr Thomas Fuller, and the Pharmacopoeia Extcmparmu
drawn up by the same author, (to he presently noticed), both published early in the 18th century.
332
Historical
Sketches.
PRESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS.
. *7
Alibert.
useful publication, but is as much too briet as that of
Gaubius is too prolix. The rules are not illustrated by
examples.
The best work that we have seen on the elements of
extemporaneous prescription, is entitled, ha et Ratio
Formulas Medicosconscribendi, by Griiner, professor of
medicine in the university of Jena. As we have seen
only one copy of this work, belonging to the college
library Edinburgh, and when this article went to
press, could not procure a second perusal of it, we can¬
not present our readers with any analysis of its contents j
but from the favourable impression we received on exa¬
mining it several years ago, we consider it as a valuable
The last writer on this subject whom we shall notice
is M. Alibert, who, at the end of the second volume of
bis Nouveaux Elemens de Therapeutique el de Matiere
Medicate, has given what he calls a New Essay on the
Art of Prescribing ; in the first part of which he treats of
the general rules of the art, and in the second explains
the particular formulae which act on the vital properties
of the different organic systems of the human body. M.
Alibert’s arrangement is peculiar, and we shall therefore
give a sketch of it. He arranges his formulae under
six sections, and divides each section into several articles.
In the first section he treats of the formulae or com¬
pound medicines which the medical art principally di¬
rects towards the vital properties of the system ol the
digestive organs. In the first article of this section he
describes the compound medicines which are particular¬
ly directed to the muscular contractility of the stomach,
in common language, emetics ; in the second article,
those which are particularly directed to the muscular
contractility of the intestinal canal, viz. cathaiticsj
in the third article he treats of those which are particu¬
larly adapted to the changes of the vital properties that
result from the presence of worms in the stomach and
intestines, namely, anthelmintics j in the fourth article, Sket
of those which are particularly directed against the ef-v-
fects of poisons introduced into the stomach or intea*
tines j and in the filth, of those compound medicines
which are particularly directed to the vital properties of
the larger intestines. •2)
In the second section he treats of these medicine*
which the art particularly adapts to the vital properties
of the urinary passages $ diuretics.
In third section he describes those that particularly
refer to the vital properties of the respiratory organs,
viz. expectorants and refrigerants.
In the fourth section he treats of those compound me¬
dicines which are particularly directed to the vital pro¬
perties of the dermoid system, or the skin ; namely, dia¬
phoretics, emollients, and epispastics.
In the fifth section he notices those medicines which
are particularly directed to the vital properties of the
nervous system ; viz. antispasmodics, narcotics, sternu¬
tatories and sialagogues.
In the sixth and last section he treats of the compound
medicines that the art particularly directs toward the
vital properties of the system of generation.
Some other late French writers on Pharmacy have
given a number of examples of medical formulae, espe¬
cially M. Bouillon La Grange, in his Manueldu Phar-
tnacien. In all these formulae is employed the new
French standard of weights and measures, commonly ac¬
companied by the synonymous troy weights and mea¬
sures, as used by the French apothecaries under the
old government j hut as neither of these are familiar to
English readers, we shall here add two tables of the
French weights and measures of capacity, reduced to
English wine measures and troy and apothecary weights.
Table I. A Comparison of French Grammes tvith Troy, French, and Nuremberg, Apothecary Grains,
Grammes.
2=
3=
6=
9=
10=
[Toy grains.
15-444=
30.888=
46.332=
61.776=
77.220=
92.664=
108.108=
I23-552=
138.006=
154.440=
Old French Grains
18.883 =
37.766 =
56.649=
75-532=
94-4I5=
113.298=
132.181 =
151.064=
169.947=
188.830=
Nuremberg Grains.
16.128
32-256
48.384
64.512
80.640
96.768
I I 2.896
I29.O24
MS-M2
161.280
Table II. French Measures of Capacity, reduced to cubic inches, and English Wine Measure.
French Measures.
Millilitre =
Centilitre =
Decilitre =
Litre =
Decalitre =
Hecatolitre =
Chiliolitre =
Myriolitre =
F.njdish cubic inches
.06102
.61028 =
6.10280=
61.02800=
610.28000=
6102.80000=
61028.00000=
610280.00000=
Tuns.
O
o
o
o
o
a
1
10
Hhds.
Gallons
O
O
O
O
2.
26.419
I 2.19
58-9
Pints.
.00 2
.0211
.21 13
2-I,33
J-’Si2
■appendix.
PRESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS.
APPENDIX.
Preparation b. Decoctum Cornu Cervini
Decoction ol hartshorn.
333
Dub. Appendix.
iS The new edition of the Dublin P/iarmacopoRici hav¬
ing appeared since the printing of our article Materia
Medica, it becomes us to notice the principal improve¬
ments introduced by the Dublin college 5 and as parti¬
cular circumstances prevented our doing so under Phar¬
macy, we have reserved them for an appendix to the
present article. We shall also take this opportunity of
supplying some omissions in the article Materia Me-
DICA, rendered unavoidable by the circumstance of
that article coming on at the conclusion of a volume,
beyond which we could not with propriety extend it,
especially by the addition of a complete table of the sy¬
nonymous Latin names of all the officinal compounds.
We shall notice the additions and improvements of
the Dublin college in tlie same order which we have
observed in Materia Medica, Part IV.
Chap. I. Animal Substances.
2. Murias Ammonia (e).
Cai iate Preparation c. Carbonas Ammonia;. See Mate-
ofsno- ria Medica, N° 238.
In the preparation of this salt, the Dublin college
now employ carbonate of soda for decomposing the mu¬
riate of ammonia, instead of chalk. The only advan¬
tage of this seems to he that the decomposition is ef¬
fected at a lower temperature.
Sola a of Preparation d. Aqua Carbonatis Ammonia; .
carb ite MATERIA MeDICA, N° 250.
of ai 0- 7
nk Here too carbonate of soda is employed in the pro¬
portion of 28 oz. to the pound of muriate of ammonia.
Ibis is made by boiling two ounces of burnt harts- Deca'ction
horn reduced to powder, and 3 drs. of gum arabic, jnofharts-
3 pints of water to 2 pints, continually stirring, and h°m'
then straining the liquor.
In this way a considerable quantity of the phosphate
ot lime is, by means of the gum arabic, suspended in
the water ; but we do not think this so good a method
or administering the remedy as giving the powder it¬
self, mixed with syrup or mucilage.
Chap. II. Pegetable Substances.
24. Alcohol. Materia Medica, N° 294.
Preparation a. Alcohol. Alcohol,
The new process of the Dublin college for preparing
alcohol is as follows : A gallon of rectified spirit of
wine is first mixed with an ounce of caustic potash in
powder ; then a pound of pearl ashes dried at the heat
of 500 of I ahrenheit, and reduced to powder, is ad-
, while still warm, and the mixture digested for
three days in a close vessel with frequent agitation.
1 he spirit is then poured off, mixed with half a pound
of dried muriate of lime (which is usually obtained
from the residuum after the preparation of pure ammo¬
nia), and distilled with a moderate heat till what re¬
mains in the retort begins to grow thick.
26. Acidum Acetosum impurum.
1 reparation b. Acidum acetosum forte, E. Ma-
teria Medica, N° 307.
Acidum aceticum, Dub.
Preparation f. Hydrosulphuretum Ammonia;.
Materia Medica, N° 241.
This is now introduced into the Dublin Pharmaco¬
poeia, and is directed to be prepared much in the same
manner as in the pharmacopoeia of Edinburgh.
Arom
amint
cd al
c Preparation h. Alcohol Ammoniatum Aroma-
tol.ticum. Materia Medica, N° 243.
The only change made in the preparation is, in sub¬
stituting 4 oz. of nutmegs for 2 drs. of the essential oil,
and distilling off the ammoniated alcohol, thus rend- r-
mg the solution of the aromatic principles more com¬
plete.
Phosp e
ll!B(
5. Cervus Elaphus.
Preparation a. Phosphas CALCIS.
dica, N° 254.
Materia Me-
The Dublin college order this under the name of
'll vis cornu cervmi usti, to be prepared in the usual
manner as directed by the Edinburgh Pharmacopoeia.
ns is prepared by putting into a tubulated retort, Acetic
3 ounces by weight of sulphuric acid, and adding to itaci^
gradually in small portions, 6 ounces of acetate of pot¬
ash, Avaiting after each addition till the mixture be
cold ; and after the whole is mixed, distilling to dry¬
ness. What comes over is the acetic acid.
Preparation d. Acidum acetosum CAMPHORATUM,
E. Materia Medica, N° 309.
Acidum aceticum camphoratum, Dub.
Prepared much in the same manner with the Edin- CamphoriK
burgh acid, only with half the quantity of acid. ted aceti*
J acid.
29. Cera. Materia Medica, N° 319.
Preparation a. Cera FLAVA PURIFICATA, Dub.
Purified yellow wax.
Wax is purified by melting it with a moderate heat Purified
(«5 in a water bath), scumming it, and pouring off the wax.
clear fluid from the dregs.
32. Angustura, Materia Medica, N° 331.
Preparation
situation 1 n^tbe”11°W'0^ enumei;at'ons the numbers prefixed to the simple articles correspond to those in the same
refer to tl.P arran/?ement ot IV. ,n Materia Medica ; while those which follow some of the articles
«tei to the paragraphs of that article as numbered in the marginal notes.
334
Appendix.
r 9
Tincture of
anguslura.
ICO
Ointment
ol bluck
pepper.
toi
Infusion of
valerian.
PRESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS.
Preparation a. Til CIURA Angusturai, Dub. line,
tore of Angustura.
Tins is prepared by digesting two ounces of eoaisely
powdered angustura bark in two pints of proof spirit or
seven days, and straining. t i t» i
This preparation, now first made officinal by tae Du >-
lin college, is a good form for exhibiting the angustuia
in small doses. Ordinary dose about 2 drs. generaliy
in composition.
Class II. Order 3. Dianbiua "irigynia.
45. Piper Nigrum.
This is made by adding to the purging clyster to be Apfcndt
described presently, 2 drs. of tincture of asatoetida.
Class VI. Order 2. Hexandria Trigynia.
112 *. Rumex Aciuaticus, Dub. Great water dock. Grelt WJ
The root. ler dock,
One of the new additions to the Dublin Materia Me¬
dina.
It ranks among astringents, and has been celebrated
as a remedy in scurvy, diseases of the skin, and venereal
complaints. It is generally given by way of infusion.
f }
t
i
t
ll
V
ll
11
ai
Preparation a. UnguENTUM Piperis NIGRI, Dub.
Ointment of black pepper. A stimulating ointment,
made by mixing 4 oz. of finely powdered black peppei,
with a pound of prepared hogs lard.
Class III. Order 1. Triandria Monogynia.
48. Valeriana Officinalis, Materia Medica,
N° 354-
Preparation d. Infusum Valerianae, Dub. Infu¬
sion of valerian.
This is made by digesting 2 drs. of valerian root,
coarsely powdered, in 7 oz. by measure of boiling water,
for an hour, and draining oft the liquor when cold.
This is a good antispasmodic, especially in hysteric
cases, and the stomach is said to hear it better than the
powder. Dose, a glassful twice or thrice a-day.
In our Materia Medica, in the names of the pre¬
parations of valerian, the genitive case of valeriana is
inadvertently printed vdlenanu
Class VII. Order 1. Heptandria Monogynia.
11 3. AESCULUS IIlPPOCASTANUM. toy
Now adopted by the Dublin college.
127. Cassia Senna.
Preparation h. Syrupus Sennas, Dub. Syrup ofSynJp°3of I
Senna. See SYRUPUS MaNNAE, Materia MeDICA, senna.
N° 795-
Class X. Order 1. DecanCria Monogynia.
I30. SWIETENIA FeBRIFUGA. ioj
Now also first adopted in the Dublin pharmacopoeia.
134. Quassia Excelsa.
no
Preparation a. TlNCTURA Quassias, Dub. Tine-Tincture
ture of quassia. quassia.
li
It
ev
ti(
sy
i"i
tin
Bi
a?
tki
tie
aln
aru
tk
opi
Class V. Order 1. Pentandria Monogynia.
69. Hyoscyamus Niger.
Tincture of Preparation b. TlNCTURA HyoscYAMI NlGRI, Ma-
henbane. TERIA MEDICA, N° 392.
Now added by the Dublin college, and made rather
stronger than the Edinburgh tincture, the proportions
being ounces of the dried leaves in coarse powder, to
an English pint of proof spirit.
72. Cinchona Officinalis.
Infusion of Preparation a. INFUSUM CINCHONAS OFFICINALIS,
cinchona. E. Materia Medica, N° 402.
Infusum CinchonjE sine galore, Dub.
Prepared by macerating an ounce of cinchona bark
in coarse powder in 12 ounces of cold water for 24
hours ; then pouring off" the liquor.
This is prepared by digesting an ounce of quassia
shavings in 2 pints of proof spirit for 7 days, and filter-
ing.
This forms a strong solution of the bitter principle of
quassia.
137. Styrax Officinale.
Preparation b. Pilule E styrace, Dub. Storax
pills.
Prepared by beating well together 3 drs. of purified
storax, 1 dr. of soft purified opium, and the same quan¬
tity of saffron.
This may properly he considered as a preparation of
opium, of which it contains a fifth part.
Class XI. Order 2. Dodecandria Digynia.
, in f
142*. Agrimonia Eupatoria, Dub. The herb.Agdmoi
All
sti:
pri
son
id
sns
lei!
not
tla
8GC
stiii
Af:
las
tie
aici
Order 2. DlGYNIA.
84. Ulmus campestris.
Decoction Preparation a. DecOCTUM UlMI.
of dm bark. The Dublin college order this decoction to be pre¬
pared much in the same manner as that ot the London
pharmacopoeia.
no. Ferula Asafoetida.
IO5 ^
Tetid dy- Preparation/. Enema foetidum, Dub, Fetid clyster.
A slight astringent now added by the Dublin college.
Class XII. Order 5. Icosandria Polyginia.
113
158. Geum urbanum, Dub. Avens. The root. Arens.
This has now obtained a place in the pharmacopoeia
of Dublin, and as a useful indigenous tomc^ merits par¬
ticular notice. Dose of the powder from half a dram
to a dram. „
Class
pw
!: tie
sic
seil
tie
fall
ten,
4
Class XIII. Order i.
i6cl Pap aver Somniferum.
Opium.
ief-
PRESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS. . v:-
Polyandiua Momogynia. e.l aDd the spirits are exhilarated. Pain is alleviated,
and all care for the time forgotten. The effects of this
substance on those who swallow it as a substitute for
wine, as is u sual in the east, are familiar to most of our
readers, and sufficiently prove its stimulating effect,
oimilar proofs appear to have been exhibited during the
present war, among Europeans. We are told that the
French soldiers are plied indifferently with opium or
biandy, in order to increase their courage and ferocity
and we have been credibly informed, that some of the
most celebrated performers on the London stage, parti¬
cularly m tragic parts, which require peculiar self com¬
mand, or energy of expression, are accustomed to take
doses of opium proportioned to the circumstances of the
character which they are to perform.
The excretion of urine is sometimes increased j but as
an increase of absortion is a usual consequence of opium
other excretions, except, as we have said, the perspi¬
ration, appear to he diminished. Opium also acts as a
powerful stimulus to the genital organs, and excites the
venereal appeht0: It is said that on examining the bo¬
dies of Turks slain in battle, the penis has been often
found in a state of erection, even in old men *. * Murray
After these eflects have continued for a time, appear- dpparat.
ances of a different nature present themselves At first Medicam'
a languor and lassitude not unpleasing come on, and are T* h P‘
soon followed by yawning and a strong propensity to
sleep. If the quantity taken has been considerable
(above two gr.), the previous symptoms of excitement
are more remarkable, but they generally continue for a
snorter time, and are followed by a proportional depres¬
sion. Considerable nausea supervenes, and sometimes a
severe vomiting is excited, by which great part of the
opium is expelled from the stomach. But if this should
fail to take place, and often when it has to a partial
degree appeared, a heavy stupor comes on, attended
with giddiness and headach ; the breathing becomes
difficult and laborious j the person falls into a profound
sleep, from which he is roused with great difficulty, and
into which, if left to himself, he speedily relapses ; the
face becomes pale, the lips livid, the extremities cold,
universal torpor seizes the limbs, and is followed by
convulsions and fatal apoplexy.
On examining the bodies of those animals which have AnnJarln
fallen victims to opium, the stomach is found distended, ces on dis¬
and containing frothy mucus, its internal coat in a state secti°n--
of inflammation, ami sometimes the pyloris contracted.
1 he vessels of the brain are exceedingly turgid, and
commonly an effusion of blood is found to have taken
place.
^ ben a person awakes after having taken opium, be
usually finds himself heavy and giddy, and not unfre-
quently complains of headach and dimness of sight ; his
bowels are costive, and bis appetite defective. Some
people, so far from being soothed and lulled to sleep by
opium, are rendered exceedingly irritable and restless 5
others, if they are made to sleep by the influeHce of
this medicine, are harassed with frightful dreams, and’
awake unrefreshed.
Effects similar to what we have described arise from
opium when injected into the rectum ; hut they require
a larger dose. When this substance is applied to the
eye, the urethra, or other sensible parts, it excites pain
and redness *, which, however, do not long continue. * CHimpe's
When merely applied to the surface of the bodv, while £(•*'•
the. 2'5' '
As the account of this important remedy given in the
article Botany may not be deemed sufficiently satisfac¬
tory by our medical readers, and as in tbe Materia Me¬
dina we were so much confined that we could only refer
to the best writers that have treated on opium, -we shall
here supply that deficiency, by giving a comprehensive
view of the effects of opium 5 of the discoveries that
have been made by late chemical analyses respecting the
nature of its narcotic principle j shall point out the ge¬
neral means by which the ill effects which sometimes
attend the exhibition of this medicine may be obviated
and enumerate those articles of the Materia Medica
which may be most conveniently employed as substitutes
for a drug now become so scarce and expensive.
Perhaps no article of tbe Materia Medica ranks
higher in point either of antiquity or efficacy than opium.
Its peculiar properties and mode of operation have, how¬
ever, been long a subject of debate, both among theore¬
tical and practical writers. Tbe place assigned to it in
systematic arrangement has been continually fluctuat¬
ing; Cullen and his followers considering it as one of
the most powerful sedatives which w'e possess, while
Brown, Darwin, and the advocates for their doctrines,
as strenuously contend thatit ought tube ranked amongst
the most active and diffusible stimuli. In fact, the par¬
ties engaged in this controversy appear chiefly to differ
about words, and probably they are both partly right
and partly wrong.
Ihey agree that the effects of opium are similar to
those ol wine and alcohol, liquors which are generally,
though indeed not universally, accounted stimulants. J f
opium produces similar effects with these, we see no good
reason why it should not be arranged in the same class.
All these substances may indeed be considered as both
stimulant and sedative, according as we advert to their
primary or secondary effects. If by a stimulant be meant
something which increases the force and frequency of
action in the muscular fibres, and possesses the power of
sustaining or increasing the vital powers, which is, we
believe, the generally received definition, we can surely
not refuse this character to alcohol, and its modifications.
MTo that has ever felt the cheering influence of wine,
that has experience.d the exhilaration, the flow of spirits,
and the energy of action, which are the usual effects of
the bottle, can refuse to acknowledge the effects of the
stimulating powers of this too fascinating beverage.
Again, if by a sedative we are to understand something
which diminishes the force and vigour of muscular ac¬
tion, and depresses all the vital energies, every one who
has felt the effects consequent to a too free filiation at
Hie shrine of Bacchus, will readily admit that wine and
alcohol are, in an eminent degree, possessed of sedative
powers. Now, that opium resembles alcohol in both
these circumstances, is generally admitted.
When a moderate quantity of opium (vve mean not
more than two grains), is received into the stomach, it
excites there a gentle warmth, which is gradually diffu¬
sed over the whole body, attended with an itching of
the skin, and usually followed by an increase of perspi¬
ration. The pulsation of the heart and arteries is at first
rendered fuller and more frequent, and there is commonly
heat and flushing of the face; the eyes appear enliven-
336
PRESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS.
general debility felt alter having taken opium, are best ,
117
Til effects
of opium.
Appendix, the cuticle is entire, it produces no change J but when
v > the tincture of opium, or opium in line powder, nnxe
with an oily substance, is rubbed on the skin, pain is al¬
leviated, sleep induced, delirium assuaged, and other se¬
dative effects brought on j but the stimulating effects
of the medicine are, in this way, said to be less ap-
^ The ill effects which sometimes attend the exhibition
of op.um, may arise, either directly from its stimulating
power, or from consequent exhaustion.
I The ill effects which appear to be the immediate
consequence of the stimulus are, excitement, increased
absorption, and determination ol the blood to the bead.
Tin s, effects render it an improper remedy in t.ie early
stages of inflammatory diseases, particularly in phremtis,
pneumonia, catarrh, and dysentery By increasing ex¬
citement and determining to the head, opium is impro¬
per in phrenitis •, and it is hurtful in the other diseases by
increasing absorption, and hence lessening expectoration,
and producing costiveness. In some cases ol inflamma¬
tion, however, where increased perspiration is desirable,
as in rheumatism, if the medicine he so managed as to
produce full sweating in a short time alter exhibition,
it may be employed with advantage.
II. The ill effects which arise from the secondary
circumstances following the administration of opium, are
chiefly headach, general debility, tremors, spasms, pa¬
ralysis, and hypochondriasis. Of course, m cases where
these symptoms and diseases are to be apprehended, it
must be employed with considerable caution..
Opium has been analysed by several chemists, espe¬
cially hy Gren, Bucholtz, Josse, Proust, Dr Duncan ju¬
nior, and very lately by Derosne. “ By evaporating a
watery solution of opium to the consistence of a syrup,
Derosne obtained a precipitate, which was increased by
diluting it with water. He dissolved this in hot alcohol,
from which it again separated on cooling. W hen puri¬
fied by repeated solutions, it crystallized in rectangu¬
lar prisms with rhomboidal bases, had no taste or smell,
was insoluble in cold water, and soluble in 400 parts
of boiling water, did not affect vegetable blues, was
soluble in 24 parts boiling alcohol and no cold*, so¬
luble in bot ether and volatile oils, and separated from
them as they cooled j very soluble in all acids, and
-* Dwncan’s highly narcotic *.
Dispensat. ^ considerable proportion of the substance of opium
4th edit. .g insoiuh|e both in water and alcohol; and it is re¬
markable that the insoluble part is very different in
Turkey opium from what it is in that which comes
from the East Indies; being in the former a ductile,
plastic, coherent mass, in the latter an incoherent,
powdery matter, diffusible in water. According to Dr
Duncan, the active constituent of opium appears to be
of a volatile nature; and as this must be carried off by
boiling or distillation, the usual processes for purifying
opiuni tend to diminish its medical effects.
The ill efleets of opium are to be obviated or coun¬
teract! d by regulating the dose according to the effect
relieved by wine and exercise.
When a person has swallowed such a quantity of
opiuni as there is reason to fear will prove latal, it its
effects are not prevented or counteracted, it is proper to
exhibit an emetic as soon as convenient, in order to eva¬
cuate from the stomach as much of the opium as possi.
hie. With this view, a scruple or hall a dram of sul¬
phate of ziuc dissolved in a little water, is to be given,
and the action of vomiting promoted several times by
proper diluting liquors. We should then administer: le¬
mon juice in considerable quantities ; and 1 the stupor
be very great, all methods are to be employed for rou¬
sing the'patient, and obliging him to exert himselt in
moving about. If the more alarming symptoms are
made to yield, we should give wine, ether, or other sti¬
mulants, in moderate doses, still taking care to keep a-
live the attention of the patient. Strong coifee has
been highly recommended in these cases.
As opium is now become a very expensive article, itSu|)Stl
is of consequence to consider what other remedies thattbrop:
are likely to produce the same good effects may be sub¬
stituted for it. Several of the narcotic vegetables have
been employed for this purpose, especially lactuca virosa,
conium maculatum or hemlock, datura stramonium or
thorn apple, atropa belladonna or deadly nightshade,
humulus lupulus or hop, and hyoscyamus niger or hen¬
bane. Of these the two last seem to be best adapted to
this purpose.
tiS
Analysis of
Extractum opii aquosum, Dub.
Preparation d.
The Dublin College have made some alteration in Water
their mode of preparing this extract, though they pre-tract*
serve the same proportions. They direct the opium to0f1™’
be triturated with hot water for ten minutes, when the
water is to be poured off, a fresh quantity added, and the
trituration continued lor the same period. Ibis tritura¬
tion to be repeated a third time. I hen all the liquors
are to be mixed together, suffered to stand in an open
vessel for two days, strained through linen, and then in¬
spissated to the consistence of an extract.
Class XIV.
MIA.
Order i. Didynamia Gymnosper-
168. Mentha Viridis.
V- 3*9-
Com-
119
Means of
obviating
the il ef
Preparation p. I NEW SUM COMPOSITUM, Dub.
pound infusion of mint. ^
This is prepared by first digesting, for half an liour,Comp
in a close vessel, two drams of dried mint in as muebinfaio
boiling water as, when strained, may produce six oun-mmt.
ces, and then mixing with the strained liquor, two drams
of fine white sugar", and three drops of essential oil of
mint, previously dissolved in hall an ounce ol compound
tincture of cardamom.
the 11 el leia^icu ~ , c j ■ • t
feetb.ofopi-intended to be produced; by the mode of admimstra-
  . it • . 1 I   1 I i- . ^ I \«r f \ 1 _
This forms a very grateful stomachic.
inn.
tion, whether internally, or by friction, or by combi¬
ning with it some correcting substance which has the
effect of counteracting its unpleasant properties, such as
lemon-juice, ammonia, tartrate' of antimony and potash,
sphmuriate of mercury, or aromatics. The languor and
174. Teucrium Chama:drys, Dub.
mander. The herb.
WTall ger-Wttngf
niandti
An indigenous tonic, employed in domestic medicine
in cases of chlorosis, gout, and intermittent fever
PRESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS.
O 1T T * «   
124
cture of
talis.
Order. 2 Angiospermia.
180. Digitalis purpurea.
Preparation b. Tinctura Digitalis purpureas.
This medicine is now introduced into the Dublin
Phaimacoposia, and is prepared in the same manner as
nirpp.f^n liv Hip ^,^11 
Class XXIV. Order 2. Cryptogamia. Fuel.
#  1 ’  
directed by the Edinburg!
Class XIX. Order 2.
superflua.
216. Anthemis Nobilis
li college.
Syngenesia Polygamia
337
  Appendit.
2J5 » Focus VESJCULOSOS, QUEECDS MARINA,' —'
Dub. Yellow bladder wrack. , ,
Eladdev
A common indigenous sea-weed, the charcoal from™^
which is employed in the following preparation.
(-pound reparation a *. Decoctum Chamemaeli COMPOSI
d :ctionofTUM, Dub. Compound decoction of chamomile,
e momile.
Made by boiling for a little half an ounce of chamo¬
mile flowers and two drams of sweet fennel seeds in a
pint or water, and straining.
Used chiefly for clysters.
Class XXI. Order 8. Monoecia Polyandria.
a. Pulvis quercus marina:, Dub. Powder of sea- Powder of
Wr^C • . sea-wrack,
’j'8 1S Prepared by drying and cleaning any quantity
of yellow bladder wrack, gathered while in fruit; then
exposing it to the fire in an iron pot or crucible, covered
Avith a perforated lid, till the volatile matters have eva-
porated, and the mass becomes of a dull red colour.
Hus is to be reduced to a very line powder, and kept
in close vessels. r
1 he medical virtues of this preparation, if it have any,
are similar to those of burnt sponge, and it may be
given in the same dose. ^
226. Quercus Cerris. Galls.
T'ture Of, **reParatlon a- Tinctura Gallarum, Dub. Tine-
ture of galls.
. PrePared by digesting four ounces of powdered galls
in two pints ot proof spirit for seven days, and strain¬
ing.
A strong solution of the astringent principle of galls.
Order 10. Monadelphia.
Order 3. Alga:.
256. Lichen Islandicus, N° 799.
Preparation a. Decoctum Lichenis Islandici n IJu
Dub. Decoction of Iceland liverwort. ofTceS
I Ins is prepared by digesting half an ounce of Iceland livervvoi t‘
liverwort in a pint of hot water for two hours, in a close
eosel, then boiling for 15 minutes, and straining off
the liquor while hot. b
22
8. Pinus Abies. Burgundy pitch.
‘cicnt
Preparation b. Emplastrum caleFacieNS, Dub.
Laleiacient plaster.
Chap. III. Mineral Substances.
Sect. 2. Inflammable Substances.
260. Sulphur sublimatum.
Con and
Pills c°- Dub.
loc) ,
dutn it.
A warm.stimulating plaster, made by meltimr toge¬
ther with a moderate heat, seven parts of Burgundy
fitch and one part of ointment of cant har ides.
Preparation g. Aqua Sulphureti Kali, Dub. WatV/of
» ater of sulphuret of potash. sulplmret of
potash.
Order 12. Syngenesia.
236. Cucumis Colocynthis.
Preparation A. Pilula:Colocynthidiscomposita:,
Uu. ivOmnniinrl rvillo  i?
Compound pills of eoloevnth.
These are prepared by beating together half an ounce
he pith o, colocynth, half an ounce of hepatic aloes,
and he same quantity of scammony, all in powder, with
Uvo drams of Spanish soap, a dram of cloves, and a suf-
icient quantity of simple syrup, to form a mass for pills,
i his is a strong cathartic, and may be given in a dose
Of 10 or 15 grains.
244. Juniperus Sabina.
. Preparation d. Unguentum
ointment.
Sabina:, Dub. Savine
This is prepared by boiling together half an ounce of
sublimed sulphur with nine ounces by measure of caustic
ey tor 10 minutes, and straining through paper. The
liquor is to be kept in vessels well closed.
i? sPecihc gravity of this liquid is assigned by the
Dublin college to he to that of distilled water, as 11 20
to 1000.
SULPHt'RF-TI AmmoKM, Dub. Wftte/of
ater of sulphuret of ammonia. sulphuret of
This is prepared by shaking four ounces of fresh-"™™*
buiat lime in an earthen vessel, which is to be kept co¬
vered ti l the 1,me has fallen into powder, and become
cool ; when there are to be added four ounces of pow¬
dered muriate of ammonia, and two ounces of sublimed
sulpluir mixed together, avoiding the vapours. The
whole is now to be put into a retort, and distilled with
a sudden and pretty strong heat, and the liquor that
comes over is to be kept in a phial well closed with a
glass stopper.
Prepared by boiling half a pound of fresh savine
aves, bruised, in two pounds of prepared hog’s lard till
in(7;nbe-?T?fCriSP’ tl!en PreSsinS out the lard and melt¬
ing m it half a pound of bees wax.
whb.h^1^1"? °in;ment’ USe(1 in dressing issues, for
ment * ^ S U t0 ^ Pre^era^e to cantharides oint-
VOL. XVII. Part I. ^
Sect. 4. Alkalies and Alkaline Salts.
265. Nitras Potassa:.
Preparation g. /Ether Nitrosus, Dub.
ether.
135
Nitrous Nitrous
ether.
I repared by pouring gradually, and in different por¬
tions upon a pound and a half of nitre, dried and coarsely
powdered, in a tubulated retort, placed in a bath of cold
^u water,
33?
PRESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS.
Appendix.
136.
Oxymuri-
:.tip a'ka-
Une w.ite:'.
I37.
Oxymuri-
-atic water.
138
"Water of
_4nuriate of
li:ne.
139
Precipitat
«d chalk.
tvater, a pound of sulphuric acid previously mixed with
19 ounces by measure of rectified spirit of wine, the
mixture having been allowed to cool. ^ ith a very
slight degree of heat, such as that of tepid water, an
etherial liquor will pass over from the retort, and the
heat which soon spontaneously arises in the retort must
he moderated by cooling with cold water. I he receiv¬
er should also be cooled with ice or snow, and furnished
with a proper apparatus, to carry oft and condense the
superabundant vapours. The etherial liquor that spon¬
taneously comes over, is to be put into a phial with a.
ground glass stopper, and as much dry subcarbonate of
potash added as may be sufficient to saturate the super¬
abundant acid, which is commonly done after the addi¬
tion of about a dram of the salt. The ether which now
floats on the upper part of the phial, is to be separated
by means of a funnel, and kept for use.
Nitrous ether is a powerful stimulus, but is seldom
employed in medicine.
266. Murias Sod;e.
Preparation d. Aqua Alkalina Oxymuriatica,
Dub. Oxymuriatic alkaline water.
This is prepared by putting into a matrass two pounds
of dried muriate of soda, and a pound of powdered man-
ganese mixed, then pouring on two pounds of water,
and gradually adding at different times two pounds of
sulphuric acid, adapting a proper apparatus of tubes and
recipients, that the gas which comes over may pass
through a solution of four ounces of carbonate of potash,
in 29 ounces by measure of water.
This preparation is a solution of oxymuriate of potash,
a salt which was lately in great esteem as a remedy in
several diseases, especially typhus, scurvy, and siphilis,
from an idea that it imparted to the system the oxygen
defective in these diseases. The remedy is already out
of fashion in this country.
Preparation e. Aqua Oxymuriatica, Dub. Oxy¬
muriatic water.
Made by passing the gas extricated from the mixture
of muriate of soda, manganese, and sulphuric acid, in
the preceding preparation, through a pound of distilled
water, by which this is impregnated with oxymuriatic
acid gas.
Forms a good bleaching liquor, but is scarcely em¬
ployed in medicine.
Sect. 6. Earths and Earthy Salts.
272. Carbonas Calcis.
Preparation f. Solutio Muriatica Calcis, E.
Materia Medica, N° 876. AQUA MURIATIS
CALCIS, Dub. Water of muriate of lime.
The Dublin college direct this to be prepared by dis¬
solving an ounce of chalk in coarse powder in two ounces
of diluted muriatic acid, and straining.
Preparation g. Creta pr^ECIFITATA, Dub. Preci¬
pitated chalk.
Prepared by precipitating the chalk from the above
solution, by adding carbonate of soda, filtering and wash¬
ing the precipitate.
The carbonate of lime is thus procured very pure and
in a very fine powder.
273. Sulphas Magnesia. Appendix:
Preparation d. Enema CaTHARTICUM, Dub. Pur-'
ging clyster. Furging
.... r • clyster.
Made by dissolving an ounce of manna in 10 ounces
by measure of compound decoction of chamomile, (see
N° I 25.), and adding an ounce of olive oil, and half an
ounce of sulphate of magnesia.
Sect. 7. Metals, and Metallic Preparations.
275. Acidum Arseniosum.
Preparation a. Arsenias Kali, Dub.
*41
Arsemate Arseniati
of potash
of potash.
The Dublin college direct this salt to be prepared by
mixing together an ounce of white oxide of arsenic, and
the same quantity of nitrate of potash, separately re¬
duced to powder, putting them into a glass retort placed
in a sand bath, and applying a gradual heat, till the bot¬
tom of the retort assumes an obscure red ; then dissolv¬
ing the residuum in four pounds of boiled distilled
water, evaporating, and setting it aside to crystallize.
The use of arsenic, in the cure of many diseases of
debility, has of late been much extended. It is now
employed, not only in intermittents, but in protracted
rheumatism, and many other cases where the vital
powers are much diminished.
276. SULFHURETUM AnTIMONII.
Preparation h. Oxidum Antimonii nitro-muria-
ticum, olim CALX STIBII PR^ECIPIT.ATA 1 riatic oxic
Dub. (See N° 879.). Nitro-muriatic oxide of anti-of anti-
v uiony.
mony. '
This precipitate is now directed to be prepared by
mixing together 11 ounces by measure of muriatic acid,
and 1 ounce by measure of nitrous acid, taking care to
avoid the fumes, and gradually adding to the mixture
2 ounces of prepared sulphuret of antimony} then di¬
gesting with a gradually increased heat, till the effer¬
vescence ceases, and boiling for an hour; filtering the
liquor when cold, so that it may drop into a gallon of
water. The powder which falls to the bottom is to be
repeatedly washed till the water poured from it is per¬
fectly free from acid, and is then to be dried on blot¬
ting paper. ^
Preparation k. Tartras Antimonii et PoTASSiE. Antim^
TART ARUM ANTIMONIATUM, sive EME-ate
TICUM. Dub. Antimoniated or emetic tartar.
In the Dublin pharmacopoeia we are directed to pre¬
pare this medicine by boiling 18 ounces by measure of
distilled water in a glass vessel, and gradually throwing
into it 2 ounces of nitro-muriatic oxide of antimony,
and 2-§- ounces of powdered crystals of tartar, previous¬
ly mixed, continuing the boiling for half an hour, then
filtering the liquor, and cooling it gradually, that ciys-
tals may be formed.
277. Hydrargyrum. i44
Preparation a. Hydrargyrum cum Magnesia,
Dub. Mercury with magnesia. neg;a.
This is a new preparation, formed by first rubbing
together an ounce of quicksilver with the same quantity
ofmanna, adding now and then a few drops of water,
so
ppendix
prescriptions, extemporaneous
so as to reduce the mixture to the consistence of svr.m
fill f 1f* f I-» /-v   J * •  » 1 ^
I4S.
t, nouiat
< iiibmu-
i e of
«rcuiy.
14^
1 tureof
aiaate of
cili
... . i   i-uusisience 01 syrup
till the whole ot the mercury disappears 5 then still con-
tinning the trituration, adding first a dram of magnesia
and when all are well mixed, a pint of hot water and
shaking the mixture. When the sediment has ’com¬
pletely subsided, the liquor is to be poured off, and the
washing twice repeated, so as to dissolve the whole of
the manna. To the sediment, still moist, are to be
added three drams more of magnesia, and the compound
is to be dried on blotting paper.
This preparation is similar in its medical effects to
the hydrargyrus cum creta, described in Materia
Medica, N° 914.
• Preparation /Z. SuBmuriaS Hydrargyri ammo-
NIATUM. Dub. Ammoniated submuriate of mercury.
Prepared by adding to the liquor from which preci¬
pitated submuriate of mercury has been obtained, a
quantity of caustic water of ammonia, washing the pre¬
cipitate with cold distilled water, and drying on blot¬
ting paper. The same with the calx hydrargyri alba,
London.
278. Zincum.
Preparation g. Tinctura Acetatis Zinci. Dub.
Tincture of acetate of zinc.
. Made by rubbing together an ounce of sulphate of
zinc, and the same quantity of acetate of potash, then
adding a pint of rectified spirit of wine, macerating for
a week with frequent agitation, and filtering the tinc¬
ture.
Chiefly used as an external astringent.
280 *. Oxidum Manganesii nigrum. Manga-
nesium, Dub. Black, oxide of manganese.
359
Employed chiefly in preparing the oxymuriatic alka- w,,,],-
line water. '
287. Sulphas Ferri nativus.
Preparation e *. Ac etas Ferri. Dub.
of iron.
. r47
Acetate Acetate of'
iron.
. ^ade by digesting half an ounce of carbonate of
iron in 3 ounces by measure of acetic acid, and fil¬
tering.
Preparation/ Tinctura Muriatis ferri cum Tmltlc- ^
oxido rubro, Dub. Tincture of muriate of iron with muriate of
red oxide. iron with
Prepared by digesting an ounce of red oxide of iron
with four ounces by measure of muriatic acid for 24
hours, then boiling for half an hour, evaporating the
filtered liquor to the consistence of syrup, and when
cold, adding rectified spirit of wine, with frequent ao-i-
tation, till the tincture acquires the specific gravity of
A modification of the tincture of muriated iron de¬
scribed under Materia Medica, N° 965, and is em¬
ployed in similar cases.
J he above appear to be the most material changes
made m the new edition of the Dublin Pharmacopoeia.
A tew articles ot less consequence are omitted, and
the new names of others will be seen in the following
-fable. In this Table we have followed the alphabetil
cal order of the last Edinburgh Pharmacopoeia, and in
the third column we have caused the London names to
be printed in Italics, leaving a space above each for
t e insertion of such new names as may occur in the
new edition of their Pharmacopoeia which the London
College is expected soon to publish.
Edinburgh Names.
Acetis hydrargyri.
Hydrargyrus ace talus.
Acetis plumbi.
Saccharum saturni.
Acetis potassae.
Lixiva acctata.
Acidum acetosum destillatum.
Acetum vini distillatum.
Acidum acetosum forte.
Acidum acetosum camphoratum.
Acidum benzoicum.
Flores bewzoim.
Acidum sulphuricum.
Acidum vitriolicum.
Aither sulphuricus.
Hither vitriolicus.
Alcohol.
Spiritus vinosus rectificatus.
Alcohol ammoniatum.
Spiritus ammonite.
Alcob°l ammoniatum aromaticum.
Spiritus ammonice aromaticus.
Alcohol ammoniatum foetidum.
Table of Synonymous Names of the Officinal Compounds.
London Names in 1791.
Hydrargyrus acetatus.
Dublin Names.
Acetas hydrargyri.
Hydrargyrum acetatum.
Acetas plumbi.
Cerussa acetata.
Acetas kali.
Alkali vegetabile acetatum.
Acetum distillatum.
Acidum aceticum.
Acidum aceticum camphoratum.
Acidum benzoicum.
Sal ben’zoini.
Acidum sulphuricum.
Acidum vitriolicum.
^Either sulphuricus.
Hither vitriolicus.
Alcohol.
Cerussa acetata.
Kali acetatum.
Acetum distillatum.
Acidum acetosum.
Flores benxdes.
Acidum vitriolicum.
Hither vitriolicus.
Alcohol.
Spiritus ammonice.
Spiritus ammonias.
Spiritus alkali volatilis.
Spiritus ammoniae aromaticus.
Spiritus alkali volatilis aromaticus. Spiritus ammonice compositus
opintus ammoniae feetidus. Spiritus ammonice fcctidus.
^ u 21 Ammoniaretuni,
340
Appen ix.
PRESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS
Edinburgh Names.
Ammoniaretum eupri.
Cuprum ammoniacum.
Aqua acetitis ammonise.
Aqua ammonice acetatce.
Aqua ammoniac.
Aqua ammonice causticce.
Aqua cavbonatis ammoniac.
Aqua ammonice.
Aqua potass*.
Aqua Hxivce causticce.
Carbon as ammoniac.
Sal ammoniacus volatihs.
Carbonas calcis praeparatus.
Creta alba.
Carbonas ferri praeparatus.
Hubigo ferri.
Carbonas ferri praecipitatus.
Carbonas magnesiae,
Magnesia alba.
Carbonas potassae.
Lixiva purijicata.
Carbonas sodae.
Soda.
Decoctum anthemiilis nobilis.
Decoctum commune.
Decoctum guaiaci compositum.
Decoctum lignorum.
Decoctum cinchonas officinal!.
Electuarium aromaticum.
Confectio cardiaca.
Electuarium cassiae sennae.
Electuarium lenitivum.
Electuarium mimosae catechu.
Confectio Japonica.
Electuarium opiatum.
dectuarium thebaicum.
Emplastrum gummosum.
Dublin Names.
Cuprum ammoniatum.
Aqua acetatis ammoniac.
Liquor alkali acetatis volatihs.
Aqua ammoniac caustic*.
Aqua alkali volatihs caustici.
Aqua carbonatis ammoniac.
Liquor alkali volatihs mitts.
Aqua cupri ammoniati.
Liquor cupri ammoniati.
Aqua kali caustici.
Lixivium causticum.
Aqua subcarbonatis kali.
Lixivium mite.
Carbonas ammoniac.
Alkali volatile mite.
Creta preparata.
Carbonas ferri.
Magnesia.
Carbonas potassae.
Alkali vegetabile mite.
Carbonas sodae.
Alkalifossile mite.
Decoctum chamaemeli.
Decoctum sarsaparillae compositum.
Decoctum corticis cinchonae.
Decoctum corticis peruviam.
Electuarium aromaticum.
Electuarium sennae.
Electuarium catechu compositum.
Emplastrum galbani.
London Names in 1791. Append*
Aqua ammonice acetatce.
Aqua ammonice puree.
Aqua ammonice.
Aqua cupri ammoniati.
Aqua kali pur i.
Aqua kaliprceparati.
Ammonia preeparata.
Creta preeparata.
Rubigo ferri.
Magnesia alba.
Kali preepara turn.
Nati'on preeparaium.
Decoctum pro enemate.
Decoctum sarsaparillce compositum.
Decoctum corticisperuviani.
Confectio aromatica.
Electuarium e senna.
Confectio opiata.
Emplastrum lithargyri compositum.
Emplastrum meloes vesicatorii.
Emplastrum vesicatonum.
Emplastrum oxidi plumb! semivitrei.
Emplastrum commune.
Emplastrum oxidi ferri rubri.
Emplastrum roborans.
Emplastrum resinosum.
Emplastrum adheesivvm.
Emplastrum saponaceum.
Emulsio amygdali communis.
Emulsio communis.
Emulsio mimosae niloticae.
Emulsio Arabica.
Emulsio camphorata.
Extractum anthemidis nobilis.
Extractum cinchonae officinalis.
Extractum corticis peruviani.
Emplastrum aromaticum.
Emplastrum cantharidis.
Emplastrum lithargyri.
Emplastrum thuris.
Emplastrum lithargyri cum resina.
Emplastrum saponis.
Emplastrum saponaceum}
Emulsio Arabica.
Mistura camphorata.
Extractum florum chamaemeli.
Extractum cinchonae rubr* resin.
Extractum corticis peruviani.
Emplastrum ladani compositum.
Emplastrum cantharidis.
Emplastrum lithargyri.
Emplastrum thuris.
Emplastrum lithargyri cum resina.
Emplastrum saponis.
Lac amygdalce.
Mistura camphorata.
Extractum chamcemeli.
Extractum corticis peruviani turn
resino,.
Extractmn
PRESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS.
,ildjXi Edinburgh Names.
v—' Extractum convolvuli jalapie.
Extractinti julapce.
Extractum glycyrrhizae glabrae.
Extract, haematoxyli campechiani.
Extractum ligni campechensis,
Extractum rutae graveolentis.
Extractum foliorum mice.
Dublin Names.
Extractum jalapae.
Extractum glycyrrliizae.
Extractum scobis haematoxyli.
Extractum foliorum rutae.
London Names in 1791.
Extractum jalapit,
Extractum glycyrrhi%ce.
Extractum ligni campechensis.
Extractum rutce.
Infusum cinchonae officinalis.
Infusum rosae gallicae.
Infusum rosarum.
Infusum tamarindi cum senna.
Magnesia.
Magnesia usta.
Mucilago astragali tragacantba.
Mucilago gummi tragacanthce.
Mucilago mimosae niloticae.
Mucilago gummi Arabici.
Murias ammoniae et ferri.
Flores martiales.
Murias hydrargyri.
Mercurius sublimatus corrosivum.
Murias antimonii.
Butyrum antimonii.
Nitras argenti.
Causticum lunare.
Oleum ammoniatum.
Linimentum volatile.
Hydrargyrum cum creta.
Infusum cinchonae sine calore.
Infusum rosae.
Infusum sennae cum tamarindis.
Magnesia usta.
Mucilago gummi tragacanthae.
Mucilago gummi Arabici.
Murias ammoniae et ferri.
Murias hydrargyri corrosivum.
Hydrargyrummuriat. corrosivum,
Nitras argenti.
Argentum nitratum.
Linimentum ammoniae.
Hydrargyrus cum creta.
Infusum rosce.
Magnesia usta.
Mucilago tragacanthce.
Mucilago Arabici gummi.
Ferrum ammoniacale.
Hydrargyrus muriatus.
Antimonium muriatum.
Argentum nitratum.
Linimentum ammonice.
Oleum volatile juniperi communis.
Oleum volatile lauri sassafras.
Oleum lavandulae spicae.
Oleum juniperi sabinae.
Oleum volatile menthae piperitae.
Oleum volatile myrti pimentae.
Oleum volatile pimpinellae anisi.
Oleum cornu cervi rectificatum.
Oleum baccarum juniperi.
Oleum corticis etligui sassafras.
Oleum animale.
Oleum essentials baccce juniperi.
Radicis sassafras.
Oleum lavandulce.
Oleum florum lavandulae.
Oleum foliorum sabinae.
Oleum herbae florescentis mentbae Oleum menthce piperitidis.
piperitidis.
Oleum baccarum pimento.
Oleum seminum anisi. Oleum essentials anisi.
Oleum volatile pini.
Oleum terebinthinae rectificatum.
Oleum terebinthince rectifcatum..
Oleum volatile roris marini officinal is.
Oleum sulphuratum.
Balsamum sulphuris.
Oxidum antimonii cum phosphate
calcis.
Antimonium calcareo-phosphorat.
Oxidum antimonii cum sulph. per
nitrat. potassse.
Crocus antimonii.
Oxidum antimonii cum sulphure vi-
trificatum.
Vitrum antimonii.
Oxidum ferri nigrum.
Ferri squamce.
Oxidum rubrum.
Ferrum vitriolatum ustum.
Oxid.hydrargyri peracidumnitricum
Mercurius prcecipitatus ruber.
Oleum roris marini.
Fulvis antimonialis.
Oxydum ferri nigrum.
Oxydum ferri rubrum.
Oxydum hydrargyri.
Oxydum hydrargyri nitricum.
Hydrargyrum subnitratum.
Oleum roris marini.
Oleum sulphuratum.
Fulvis antimonialis.
Crocus antimonii.
Antimonium vitrificatum,
Hydrargyrus calcinatus.
Hydrargyrus nitratus ruber.
Oxidum
342
Appendix.
PRESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS.
Edinburgh Names.
Oxitlum hydrargyri cxnereum.
Pulvis mercurii cinereus.
Oxidum zinci.
Calx “zinci.
Phosphas sodae.
Soda phosphorate.
Pilulse aloeticae.
Pilulae aloes cum colocyntliide.
Pilulcc ex colocynthide cum aloe.
Pilulte assefoetidae compositae.
Pilulce gummosce.
Pilulae scilliticae.
Potassa.
Causticum commune accrrhnum.
Potassa cum calce.
Causticum commune mihus.
Potlo carbonatis calcis.
Potio cretacea.
Pul vis carbonatis calcis compositus.
Pulvis crctaceus.
Pulvis ipecacuanhae et opii.
Pulvis doveri.
Solutio sulphatis cupri composita.
Aqua styptica.
Spiritus aetheris nitrosi.
Spiritus nitri dulcis.
Spiritus ammonise aromaticus.
Spiritus volatilis aromaticus.
Spiritus lauri cinnamomi.
Aqua cinnamomi spirituosa.
Spiritus myristicae moschatae.
Subacetis cupri praeparatus.
JErugo ceris.
Submurias hydrargyri.
Hydrargyrus muriatus mitis.
Submurias hydrargyri praecipitatus.
Subsulphas hydrargyri flavus.
Mercuriusflavus, vel turpeth.min.
Succus spissatus conii maculati.
Extractum seminum cicutce.
Succus spissatus momordicae elaterii.
Elaterium.
Sulphas aluminae exsiccatus.
Alumen ustum.
Sulphas ferri.
Sal mantis.
Sulphas potassae.
Lixiva vitriolata.
Sulphas potassae cum sulphure.
Sal polychrestus.
Sulphas sodae.
Soda vitriolata.
Sulphas zinci.
Vitriolum album.
Sulphuretum antimonii praecipitatum
Sulphur antimoniiprcecipiiatum.
Dublin Names.
Oxydum hydrargyri cinereum.
Oxydum zinci.
Ziincum ustum.
Phosphas sodae.
Pilulae aloes cum zingibere.
Pilulce aheticce.
Pilulae colocynthidis compositae.
Pilulae myrrhae compositae.
Pilulae scillae cum zingibere.
Pilulce scilliticce.
Kali causticum.
Alkali vegetabile causticum.
Kali cum calce.
Causticum mitius.
Mistura cretae.
Mistura cretacea.
Pulvis ipecacuanhae compositus.
Spiritus aethereus nitrosus.
Liquor cethereus nitrosus.
Spiritus ammoniac aromaticus.
Spiritus alkali volatilis aromaticus.
Spiritus cinnamomi.
Spiritus nucis moschatae.
iErugo praeparata.
Submurias hydrargyri sublimatum.
Hydrargyrum muriatum mite sub¬
limatum.
Submurias hydrargyri praecipitatum.
Hydrargyrum muriatum mite
preecipitatum.
Submurias hydrargyri ammoniatum.
Oxydum hydrargyri sulphuricum.
Succus spissatus cicutae.
Elaterium.
Alumen ustum.
Sulphas ferri.
Ferr urn vitriolatum.
Sulphas kali.
Alkali vegetabile vitriolatum.
Sulphas sodae.
Alkalifossile vitriolatum.
Sulphas zinci.
Zincum vitriolatum.
Sulphur antimonii fuscum.
London Names in 1791.
Zincum calcinatum.
Pilulce aloes compositcc.
Pilulce c gummi.
Pihdce scillce.
Kali purum.
Calx efum kali pur0.
Mistura cretacea.
Pulvis cretce compositus.
Pulvis ipecacuanha compositus.
Spiritus cetheris nitrosi.
Spiritus ammonice compositus.
Spiritus cinnamomi.
Spiritus myristicce.
JErugo preeparata.
Calomelas.
Hydrargyrus muriatus mitis.
Calx hydrargyri alba.
Hydrargyrus vitriolatus.
Succus cicutce spissatus,
Elaterium.
Alumen ustum.
Ferrum vitriolatum.
Kali vitriolatum.
Matron vitriolatum.
Zincum vitriolatum.
Sulphuretuns
,,ndix. Edinburgh Names.
y ' Suljlhnretum hydrargyri nigrum.
JEthiops mineral!$.
SuJphuretum liydrargyri rubrum.
Gin na bar is fac (in'a.
Sulphuretum potasstc.
He par sulphur is.
Syrupus citri aurantii.
Syrupus e cortice aurantiorum.
Syrupus citri medici.
Syrupus e succo malorum limon.
Syrupus dianthi caryopliylli.
Syrupus caryophyllorum.
Sympus toluiferi balsami.
Syrupus balsamicus.
Tartris antxmonii.
1'artarus antimonialis sive cmet.
Tartris potassae.
Tartarum solubile.
Tartris potassac et sodae.
Sal rupdlensis.
PRESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS.
London Names in 1791.
Dublin Names.
Sulphuretum hydrargyri nigrum.
Hydrargyrum su Ip hurat.nigrum.
Sulphuretum hydrargyri rubrum.
Hydrargyrum sulphur at.rubrum.
Sulphuretum kali.
Alkali vegetabile sulphuratum.
Syrupus aurantii.
Syrupus limonis.
Syrupus caryophylli rubri.
Tartarum antimoniatum.
Tartarum stibiatum.
Tartaras kali.
Alkali vegetabile tartarisatum.
Tartaras sodae et kali.
Sal rupellensis.
Hydrargyrus cum sulphure.
Hydrargyrus sulphuratus ruber.
Kali sulphuratum.
Syrupus corticis aurantii.
Syrupus limonis.
Syrupus caryophylli rubri.
Syrupus tolutanus.
Antimonium tartarisatum..
Kali tartarisatum.
Natron tartarisatum.
Tinctura aloes et myrrhae.
Tinctura aristolochioe serpentariae.
Tinctura benzoin composita.
Bulsamum traumaticum.
Tinctura camphorae.
Spintus vmosus camphoratus.
Tinctura convolvuli jalapae.
Tinctura ferulae asaefoetidae.
Tinctura lauri cinnamomi.
Tinctura meloes vesicatorii.
Tinctura cantharidum. .
Tinctura mimosae catechu.
Tinctura japonica.
Tinctura muriatis ferri.
Tinctura opii ammoniata.
Elixir paregoricum.
Tinctura rhei palmati.
Tinctura saponis.
Linimentum saponaceum.
Tinctura saponis et opii.
Linimentum anodynum.
Tinctura toluiferi balsami.
Tinctura tolutana.
Unguentum acetitis plumbi.
Unguentum saturninum.
Unguentuni album.
Unguentuin nitratis hydrargyri.
Unguentum citrinum.
Unguentum oxidi plumbi albi.
I Unguentum e cerussa.
Unguentum meloes vesicatorii.
Unguentumepispast. epulv. canth.
Unguentum resinosum.
Unguentum basilicum.
Unguentum subacetitis cupri.
Vinurn tartritis antimonii.
I inum e tartaro antimoniali.
Tinctura aloes composita.
Tinctura serpentariae.
Spiritus camphoratus.
Tinctura jalapae.
Tinctura assaeftetidae.
Tinctura cinnamomi.
Tinctura cantharidis.
Tinctura catechu.
Tinctura muriatis ferri.
Tinctura opii camphorata.
Tinctura rhei.
Linimentum saponis..
Tinctura balsami tolutani.
Unguentum acetatis plumbi.
Unguentum cerae.
Unguentum supernitratis hydrargyri
Unguentum hydrargyri nitrati.
Unguentum cerussae.
Unguentum cantharidis.
Unguentum resini albi.
Unguentum aeruginis.
Tinctura aloes composita.
Tinctura serpentarice.
Tinctura ben%oes composita..
Spiritus camphoratus.
Tinctura jalapce.
Tinctura asscefact idee.
Tinctura cinnamomi.
Tinctura cantharidis.
Tinctura catechu.
Tinctura ferri muriati.
Tinctura opii camphorata.
Tinctura rhabarbari.
Linimentum saponis compositunu.
Unguentum cerussce acetatce.
Unguentum ccree.
Unguentum hydrargyri nitrati.
Unguentum cantharidis.
Unguentum resini jlavi..
Vinum antimonii tartarisati.
INDEX
343
Appendix.
[ 344 1
A.
Acetate of potash, composition of,
P- 3*3
substances de¬
composing, 317
lead, composition of, 313
substances decom¬
posing, 317
mercury, substances decom¬
posing, ib*
iron, substances decomposing, ib.
Dublin preparation of, N°I47
Acetic acid, preparation of, 96
camphorated, 97
Adjuvant of a formula, what, 4
rule for, 42
Agrimony, 112
Alchemists, improvements in pharmacy,
introduced by, 73
Alcohol, Dublin preparation of, 95
AliberVs new essay on the art of pre¬
scribing noticed, 87
arrangement of compound
medicines, ib.
Antidotaria, account of, 77
Antidotes, frequency of, in the middle
ages, _ < 69
Arrangement of formulae in a prescrip¬
tion, _ 39
ingredients in aformula, 40
Arseniate of potash, 141
Aurelius, Marcus, stupified himself by
the habitual use of theriaca, 71
Avens, 113
B.
Basis of a formula, what, 4
rules for, 41
C.
Cat'bonate of barytes, composition of, p. 312
substances decom¬
posing, 316
lime, composition of, 312
substances decompo-
_ sing, _ 316
magnesia, composition bf, 313
substances de¬
composing, 316
potash, composition of, 313
substances decom¬
posing, 316
soda, composition of, 313
substances decompo-
_ sing, . 316
ammonia, composition of, 313
Dublin prepa¬
ration of, N° 89
substances de¬
composing, p. 316
3
INDEX.
Carbonate of iron, composition of, P-313
substances decompo¬
sing, 31?
zinc, composition of, 313
substances decompo¬
sing, 3j7
Chalk, precipitated, N° 139
Chemical, affinity, attention to, in pre¬
scription necessary, 24
common errors from
ignorance of, 25
Chemistry, knowledge of, necessary to
a prescriber, 22 et seq.
Clyster, foetid, 105
purging, _ J3°
Composition of medicines, advantages of, 7
Compound medicines, when not officinal,
to be specifically described, 61
Consistence of medicines, errors respect¬
ing, 34
Constituent in a formula, what, 4
rules for, 34, 35, 48
Corrector in a formula, what, 4
rules for, 43
D.
Decoction of hartshorn, 94
of elm bark, 104
compound, of chamomile, 125
Iceland liverwort, 132
Diseases, knowledge of, necessary, 16
Dispensatories, private foreign, enumer¬
ated, 80
British, enumerated, 81
Dock, great water, 106
Doses of medicines examined, 32
regulated by circumstances, 52
by the nature and inten¬
tion of the medicines, 53
by the age, &c. ol the
patient, 54
by climate, 57
by idiosyncracy and ha¬
bit, 58
table of, for different ages, 55
explained, 56
algebraical formula for,p. 223.note(B)
ZXover^s powder examined, N° 32
Dropping of liquid medicines inaccurate,
p. 324. note (c)
Dropsy, complex remedy for, how sim¬
plified, N° 63
Dublin Pharmacopoeia, account of, 79
new improvements in.
See Appendix.
E.
Ebei'hard'ls work on extemporaneous
prescription, account of, 88
Edinburgh Pharmacopoeia, editions of, 79
Ether, nitrous, 13 5
!>•
Expectorants, table of,
Extract, watery, of opium,
F.
Formula, how differing from prescriptio
parts of,
division of,
arrangement of, in a prescrip
tion,
complex, disadvantages of,
not always to be cor
demned,
parts of, origin of the,
collection of, noticed
Fucus vesiculosus,
G.
Gaubius's work on extemporaneous pre¬
scription, account of,
Germander, wall,
Geum urbauum,
Griffith's myrrh mixture examined,
simplified,
Gjuner's work on extemporaneous pre
scription noticed,
H.
Hints to a young practitioner,
Infusion of valerian,
cinchona,
compound of mint,
L.
Lisbon, diet-drink, complex formula for
London Pharmacopoeia, editions of,
M.
Materia Medico, knowledge of, necessa
ry to a prescriber,
tables of, utility of, 18,
exemplitied, p
explained, N°
Mesue, a pharmaceutical writer in the
middle ages,
Mithridate, account of,
Muriate of barytes, composition of, p.
substances decom-
37(
L#1
E#11
Lofn
|in,acci
gen
wye
rm
r«o
posing,
lime, composition of,
substances decom¬
posing,
soda, composition of,
substances decomposing,
ammonia, composition of, ;
substances decom-
»p(
frofi
fr
ofs
posing,
mercury, mild, composition
of,
corrosive, compo¬
sition of,
substances decom- Jlsj
posing, 1
antimony, composition of, ■
; W,N.:
N.
PRESCRIPTIONS, EXTEMPORANEOUS.
wes of ingredients in a formula need
not be written at length, N° 49
aseous medicines, how corrected, 45
mess to be observed in writing pre¬
scriptions, 67
holaus, a pharmaceutical writer of
the middle ages, 77
-ate of potash, composition of, p. 312
substances decompo-
sln£>. 3r5
silver, composition of, 312
substances decompo-
«ng, 315
(kolete medicines to be avoided, N° 60
1 (,ur of medicines, when unpleasant,
how corrected, 46
( tment of black pepper, 100
of savine, 129
( um, account of, 114
'f, 11 general elfects of, 11 j
appearances on dissecting ani¬
mals killed by, 116
ill effects of,
how obviated,
analysis of,
substitutes for,
Q)\ie of antimony, nitro-muriatic,
P.
■ mniary circumstances of the patient
y; I to be regarded in prescription, 66
,p fWpicuity, a principal consideration in
prescription, ^9
ti'rmacopceias, public foreign, enume
niiiiH rated,
sol■>! British, enumerated,
Y\-macy^ modern, origin of,
“Bj, . progress of,
ukmfyphate of lime, composition of, p
soda, composition of,
substances decompo¬
sing, 316
1 storax, N° in
compound of colocynth, 128
! calefacient, 127
der of many virtues, formula for,
from De Gorter, p. 326
of sea wrack, N° 131
^riptions, medical, nature of, 1
examples of, 2
parts of, ' .3
necessity of ac¬
quiring a habit
of writing, 18
“7
118
n9
120
142
P;
78
75
69
75
313
ib.
Prescriptions, medical, previous requisites
for, N° 15
art of writing, im¬
portance of, 8
general courses of medicine
insufficient for, 9
necessity of, 10
illustrated, u, 38
not to be learned
by attending a
shop, 11
nor in an hospital, 13
the finishing part
of a physician’s
education, 14
works on, noticed, 83
Q.
Quantity of a remedy to be regulated
rather than its quality cor¬
rected, 4^
Quicksilver with magnesia, 144
R.
Recapitulation of the principal rules to
be observed in prescrip¬
tion, , 68
Rumex aquaticus, 106
S.
Salts, secondary, tables of, p. 312, 313
explained, N°29,30
uses of, 31
Simplicity to be studied in prescription, 62
errors in point of, 63
Sponge, burnt, examined, 33
Subborate of soda, composition of, p. 313
substances decompo-
sing, 317
Subcarbonate of potash, composition of, 313
Submuriate of mercury, ammoniated, N° 145
Subsulphate of mercury,composition of, p.312
Sulphate of magnesia, composition of, ib.
substances decom-
sing, 314
potash, composition of, 312
substances decompo-
. sing, 314
soda, composition of, 312
substances decomposing^ 14
copper, composition of, 312
substances decompo-
s.ing> 314
green, of iron, composition
of, 312
substances decompo-
sing, 314
zmc, composition of, 312
c 7 z 345
Sulphate of zinc, substances decompo-
s‘ng> p. 314
Supersulphate of alumina and potash,
composition of, 312
substances decompo-
Sl*nK> 314
Supertartrate of potash, composition of, 313
substances de-
. composing, 317
Symbolical characters to he avoided in
prescriptions, N° eo
Syrup of senna, I08
T.
Table of expectorants, ,, p.
secondary salts, ^i2
doses, ^23
French weights and measures, 332
synonymous, of officinal com¬
pounds, ’330
Tartar, antimoniated, 143
Tartrate of potash, composition of, p, 313
substances decompo¬
sing* 317
and soda, composition of,'313
substances de¬
composing, 318
antimony and potash, compo¬
sition of, 313
substances de-
. composing, 318
zd’amw/i chamaedrys, N0 123
Therapeutics, knowledge of, necessary
to a prescriber,
Theriaca, account of,
Tincture of angustura,
henbane, Dublin,
quassia,
galls,
acetate of zinc,
muriate of iron with red
oxide,
Tinctures, abuses of, deprecated,
. U-
Uncommon remedies to be prescribed
with caution,
W.
TUater, cautions respecting the prescrip¬
tion of,
of sulphuret of potash,
ammonia
oxymuriatic,
alkaline,
of muriate of lime,
JTax, purified,
fFrack, bladder,
21
71
99
102
no
126
146
148
44
60
35
133
134
137
136
138
98
130
Pff iiee,
Pi ::nt
P R E
PRESENCE, a term of relation, used in opposition
to absence, and signifying the existence of a person in
a certain place.
Present Tense, in Grammar, the first tense of a
veib, expressing the present time, or that something is
Vol. XVII. Part I. b +
E
See
P R
now performing j as scribo, I write, or am writing.
Grammar.
PRESENTATION, in ecclesiastical law. See Pa¬
tronage.
Presentation of the Virgin, is a feast of the Rom-
X x ish
Present
Tense,
Presenta¬
tion
P R E
[ 34-6 ]
P R E
t'rc irrita¬
tion
II
ish church, celebrated on the 21st of November, m me¬
mory of the Holy Virgin’s being presented by her pa¬
rents in the temple, to be there educated. Emanuel
Preserve- ^omncnu?> who began to reign in H43> makes mention
tion Island, n,. • r .. Snmp imaaine it to have
of this feast in his Constitutions. Some imagine it to have
been established among the Greeks in the 1 ith century •,
and think they see evident proofs of it in some homilies
of George of Nicomedia, who lived in the time of Vho-
tius. Its institution in the West is ascribed to Gregory
XI. in 1372. Some think it was instituted in memory
of the ceremony practised among the Jews for their new¬
born females •, corresponding to the circumcision on the
eighth day for males. #
Presentation of our Lady also gives the title to
three orders of nuns. The first, projected in 1618, by a
maid named Joan of Cambray. The habit of the nuns,
according to the vision she pretended to have, was to be
a gray gown of natural wool, &c j but this project was
never accomplished. The second was established in
France, about the year 1627, by Nicholas Sanguin, bi¬
shop of Senlis •, it was approved by Urban v II I. 1 bis
order never made any great progress. The third was
established in 1664, when Frederic Borromeo, being
apostolical visitor in the Valteline, was intreated by some
devout maids at Morbegno to allow them to h\e in
community in a retired place •, which he granted, and
erected them into a congregation, under the title of con¬
gregation of our Lady. They live under the rule of St
Augustine.
PRESENTMENT, in Law. See Prosecution.
A presentment, generally taken, is a very comprehen¬
sive term *, including not only presentments properly so
called, but also inquisitions of office, and indictments by
a grand jury. A presentment, properly speaking, is the
notice taken by a grand jury of any offence from their
own knowledge or observation, without any bill of in¬
dictment laid before them at the suit of tne king. As
the presentment of a nuisance, a libel, and the like; upon
which the officer of the court must afterwards frame an
indictment, before the party presented can be put to an¬
swer it. An inquisition of office is the act of a jury,
summoned by the proper officer to inquire of matters re¬
lating to the crown, upon evidence laid before them.
Some of these are in themselves convictions, and cannot
afterwards be traversed or denied ; and therefore the in¬
quest, or jury, ought to hear all that can be alleged on
both sides. Of this nature are all inquisitions oifelo de
se ; of flight in persons accused of felony ; of deodands,
and the like ; and presentments of petty offences in the
sheriff’s tourn or court-leel, whereupon the presiding of¬
ficer may set a fine. Other inquisitions may be after-
Avards traversed and examined ; as particularly the co¬
roner’s inquisition of the death of a man, tvhen it finds
any one guilty of homicide 3 for in such cases the offend¬
er so presented must be arraigned upon this inquisition,
and may dispute the truth of it; which brings it to a
kind of indictment, the most usual and effectual means
,of prosecution. See Indictment.
PRESERVATION island, a small island on the
southern coast of New Holland, and one of the groupe
called Furneaux islands, derives its name from the
circumstance of the crew of a ship which was wreck¬
ed on the coast, having saved their lives, and resid¬
ed for some time upon it. This island is in most
• places extremely barren, and is remarkable for large
Length
aloft
. keel
Breadth amidships
Depth
a moveable wash strake of
40
37
10
3
o
6 exclusive of
8
The form the same as the yawns of that coast; the
stern post nearly upright.
External gunwales hollow, forming an oblique sec¬
tion of a parabola with the side of the boat, and pro¬
jecting nine inches from it on each side : these gunwales
are reduced a little in their projection towards their ends,
and are first formed by brackets and thin boards cover¬
ed at top and bottom with one thickness of good sound
cork, and the extremity or apex of the projection having
two thicknesses of cork, the hotter to defend it from any
violent blows it may meet with in bard service. Hie
depth of these gunwales from top to bottom was 15
inches, and the whole covered with very strong canvas,
laid on with strong cement to resist the water, and that
will not stick to any thing laid upon it.
A false keel of wrought iron three inches deep, marie
of three bars rivetted together, and bolted under the
common keel, which it greatly strengthens, and makes
a very essential part of her ballast; being hxed so much
below the floor, it has neaily double the power the same
weight would have if laid on the floor, and therefore
_j ^ 1
blocks of granite scattered on its surface in many pmm,f
places. But one of the most singular phenomena in tien hlJ
the history of this island lias, the discovery of a petri- JWvi
fied wood in the midst of a patch of naked sand ; and at 'rm>
least 100 feet above the level of the sea. Some of
the stumps of the trees rose a foot and a half above the
surface ; some were furnished with branches, and even
it is said a green leaf Avas seen on one of them Avben they
Avere first discovered. The petrifactions were found to
be of a calcareous nature. V>e think it probable that
the trees here said to be petrified may be of the nature
of corals, may7 ha\’e been formed as usual at the bottom
of the sea, and elevated to their present situation by
some convulsion.
In some parts of the island a little vegetation avhs
observed, with some brush wood and stunted tiees. Small
kangaroos were found m abundance, witii diflerent kinds
of birds and some noxious snakes. Collins''s Account of
New South JFales, II.
PRESER VING Lives of Shipwrecked Persons. In
our account of life-boats, we laid before our leaders
every thing that seemed useful on so important a subject
Avhich Avas then knoAvn to us. Since that time we have
met with the following description of a similar inven¬
tion by a Mr Lukin of London, suggested during kk
casual residence at Lowestofl in Sufloik.
A boat constructed on this principle cannot be over¬
set or sunk by any power of Avind and Avater ; in pioof
of which the following particulars and description of
the construction are made public, Avith the hope of ren¬
dering more generally known the easy means of saving
many valuable lives ; which might certainly be done,
if one or two of these boats Avere built at each of our
ports, and every ship furnished with one (at least) in
proportion to her size.
Description and Dimensions of the Lowe staff Life-Boat,
Feet. Inches.
, . „ P R E C 347 3
tsernng much preferable to any other ballast that can be used
for sailing boats.
esidial^ Thwarts and gang-board as usual; three masts and
'“'v ~ lug sails, and 12 short oars.
In this state, this boat is much safer than any common
boat of the same dimensions, will carry more sail, and
bear more weather j but to make it completely unim-
mergible, empty casks of about 22 inches diameter were
ranged along withinside the gunwales, lashed firmly to
the boat, lying even with the tops of the gunwales, and
resting upon brackets fastened to the timbers for that
purpose : also two such casks in the head, and two in
the stern, and all removable in a short time, if desired ;
there were also some empty casks placed under the gang-
board j these would be an addition to the buoyancy if
empty, and an increase to her ballast if full.
Thus equipped, this boat was launched on the 19th
of November, in a very squally day, About 20 men
were launched in her, most of them pilots or seamen.
They ran her immediately from the beach across the
Corton sand, in the rnid.^t ol the breakers, which would
have been almost certain destruction to any common sail¬
ing boat, as that would have been filled and sunk imme¬
diately. They then turned to the southward along the
top ot the sand to its end : when they tacked and stood
to tne northward, pulled up the plugs in her bottom,
■and let in as much water as would come that way j the
water rose very little above the thwarts. With all this
water in it, the boat sailed better than without it. The
plugs were now put 111 again, and water poured in by
buckets, until it ran over both gunwales j and in this
state it was the opinion of those on board that she would
have carried 60 men without sinking, and to upset it is
not possible. But it is Mr liukin’s opinion that more
than 50 men should not lie taken in when the boat is
lull of water, and all her casks empty.
It is particularly advisable that all life-boats should
be built of the torm most approved by the pilots or sea¬
men on the coast where they are to be used ; as no one
form will -mit all shores; and these principles of safety
are applicable to every form.
To this description we have only to add, that Mr
Lukin is said to he the inventor of the first life-boat
•fever built in England, and to have obtained a patent for
it in the year 1785* It would appear, too, that he
published a pamphlet on the subject, but this pamphlet
tVe have had no opportunity of seeing.
PRESIDENT, Pit/ESES, is an officer, created or
elected to preside over a company or assembly; so call¬
ed in contradistinction to the other members, who are
termed residents.
Levd President of the Council, is a great officer of
the crown, who has precedence next after the lord chan¬
cellor and lord treasurer ; as ancient as the time of King
John, when he was styled consiliurius capitalis.—His
office is to attend on the king, to propose business at the
council-table, and to report to the king the several trans¬
actions there. See Privy-Council.
PR ES ID IAL, was a tribunal, or bench of judges,
established (belore the Revolution) in the several consi¬
derable cities ol France, to judge ultimately, or in the
last resort, ot the several causes brought before them by
■way of appeal from the subaltern judges. The presidials
made one company with the officers of the bailliages and
seneschaussees, where they were established.
P R E
PRESS (Prelum), in the mechanic arts, a machine Press.
made of non or wood, serving to squeeze or compress 1  -~n.
any body very close.
The ordinary presses consist of six members, or
pieces; viz. two fiat smooth planks; between which
the things to be pressed are laid; two screws, or
worms, fastened to the lower plank, and parsing thiouo-li
two holes in the upper; and two nuts, in form of an
S, serving to drive the upper plank which is move-
able against the lower, which is stable, and without
motion.
_ -F*desses used for expressing Liquors, are of various
kinds; some, in most respects, the same with the com¬
mon presses, excepting that the under plank is per¬
forated with a great number of boles to let the juice
expressed run through into a tub, or receiver, under¬
neath.
A very useful machine for a press, in the process of
cyder making, has been constructed by Mr Anstjce,
who, with his well-known zeal for the improvement
of mechanics, permits us to lay before our readers the
following description of it.
AA fig. 1. two pieces of timber, 21 feet long, I 2 by pIate
6 inches, laid side by side at the distance of 12 inches, ccccxxxitS
and secuied in that situation by blocks placed between
and bolts passing through them ; this frame forms the
bed of the machine. BB, two uprights, 12 feet long,
6 by 8 inches, morticed upon them, and secured in their
position by pins and iron squares. CC, two uprights,
five feet long, six hy ten inches, morticed near the end
of the under frame, and secured as before. D, a lever,
17 feet long, 12 by 13 inches, turning on a large holt
which passes through the short uprights, al.-,o through
iron straps, which secure them to the bed inside, and a
stirrup of iron which passes over the end of the lever,
and which makes the turning point in the line of its
lower side, and not through its middle. E, a lever 20
feet long, six by eight inches at its largest part and ta¬
pering towards the other end : this lever turns on a bolt
in the uprights BB. F, I, 2, 3, 4. four pieces of oak
(which he calls needles, 10 feet long), four by two and
a half inches, morticed loosely into the upper lever, and
hung thereto hy bolts, so as to swing perpendicularly
and play in a long mortice or channel cut through the
large lever to receive them. These needles have inch-
holes pretty closely bored through them (in a direc¬
tion crossing the machine), from the lower ends as far
upwards as the great lever will reach, when it is as high
as it can go. G, a bed to receive what is to be press¬
ed. H, a frame to support a winch worked by a
handle at I. At the end of the small lever two blocks
or pulleys are fixed, one above, and the other below it;
a rope of about half an inch diameter is then fastened to
the cieling (or continuation of the uprights of the
winch frame if necessary) at K; then passed through the
upper block on the lever, from thence passed through
a block at L, and then goes with four turns round the
winch, from whence it is carried through the block un¬
der the lever, and fastens to the machine at M ; by this
means, if the winch be turned one way, it raises the
end of the small lever if the other depresses it.
To work the machine. If we suppose the great
lever hearing on the matter te be pressed, an iron pin
must be put into one of the holes in the needles abov#
the great lever ; and when the small lever is worked as
X x 2 for
P R E
[ 348 ]
P R E
far as it will go, either up or down, another holt is to
be put into the hole, which comes nearest above the
.Treat lever on the other side of the uprights BB, and
the winch then turned the contrary way, by which
means the pressing goes on whether the small lever uses
or falls. Before the resistance is very great, the
needles farthest from the fulcrum of the small lever are
used ; after that the nearest are employed, which doubles
the power of the machine. In raising the great lever,
or lowering it to its bearing, the needles most distant
from the fulcrum of the small lever, are used under in¬
stead of oi;cr it. As the rope is liable to stretch and
get slack, he passes it, after taking two turns on the
winch, through a pulley, to which is suspended a weight
of half a hundred, and then takes two turns more be¬
fore it is carried through the other block, by which
means tire slack is constantly gathered in, and the
weight holds on without increasing the friction, as by
hanging under the winch it counteracts the pressure up¬
wards on its axis. .
The power of this machine is very great, being as
one to 1136 nearly, and capable by a trilling addition
of any other proportion. It is applicable to many pur¬
poses beside cyder pressing, and is more simple, and
less liable to injury, than any other which has fallen
under our observation. Perhaps, however, it would be
an improvement to use, instead of the ropes and pulleys,
by which the lever E is moved, a small wheel or pinion
of 10 or 12 teeth, on the axis of the winch W(hg. 2.),
and a stiff beam <? n down from the lever, having on its
lower end an iron rack, of which the teeth take into
those of the pinion. The action of these teeth would,
in our opinion, be less diminished by friction and obli¬
quity, than the pulleys are by friction and the stillness
of tlie rope ; and the machine would retain all its other
advantages. , , .
Press used by Joiners, to keep close the pieces they
have glued, especially panels, &c. of wainscot, is very
simple, consisting of four members 5 viz. two screws,
and two pieces of wood, four or five inches square, and
two or three feet long; whereof the holes at the two
ends serve for nuts to the screws.
Press used by Inlayers, resembles the joiner’s press,
except that the pieces of- wood are thicker, and that
only one of them is moveable ; the other, which is in
form of a tressel, being sustained by two legs or pillars,
joined into it at each end. This press serves them for
sawing and cleaving the pieces of wood required m
marquetry or inlaid work. . .
Founder's Press, is a strong square frame, consisting
of four pieces of wood, firmly joined together with te¬
nons, &c. This press is of various sizes, according to
the sizes of the moulds ; two of them are required to
each mould, at the two extremities of which they are
placed ; so as that, by driving wooden wedges between
the mould and the sides of the presses, the two parts of
the mould wherein the metal is to be run may be pres¬
sed close together.
Printing-Pbess. See PRiNTiNG-Press.
Rolling-Press, is a machine used for taking of!
prints from copper plates. It is much less complex than
that of the letter-printers. See its description and use
under the article Rolling-Press Printing. .
Press, in Coining, is one of the machines used in
striking of money, differing from the balance, in that
3
it has only one iron bar to give it motion, and piess the
moulds or coins *, is not charged with lead at its ex¬
treme, nor drawn by cordage. See COINING.
Binder's Cutting-Press, is a machine used equally
by book-binders, stationers, and pasteboard-makers 5
consisting of two large pieces of wood, in form of
cheeks, connected by two strong wooden screws j which,
being turned by an iron bar, draw together, 01 set
asunder, the cheeks, as much as is necessary for the
putting in the books or paper to be cut. I he cheeks
are placed lengthwise on a wooden stand, in the form
of a chest, into which the cuttings fall. Aside of the
cheeks are two pieces of wood, of the same length with
the screws, serving to direct the cheeks, and prevent
their opening unequally. Upon the cheeks the plough
moves, to which the cutting-knife is fastened by a
screw 5 which has its key to dismount it, on occasion,
to be sharpened.
The plough consists of several parts ; among the rest
a wooden screw or worm, which, catching within the
nuts of the two feet that sustain it on the cheeks, brings
the knife to the book or paper which is fastened in the
press between two boards. This screw, which is pret-
ty long, has two directories, which resemble those ox
the screws of the press. To make the plough slide
square and even on the cheeks, so that the knife may
make an equal paring, the foot of the plough where the
knife is not fixed, slides in a kind of groove, fastened
along one of the cheeks. Lastly, the knife is a piece of
steel, six or seven inches long, flat, thin, and sharp,
terminating at one end in a point, like that of a sword,
and at the'other in a square form, which serves to fas¬
ten it to the plough. See BoOK-Btnding.
As the long knives usedliyus in the cutting of books
or papers, are apt to jump in the cutting of thick hooks,
the Dutch are said to use circular knives, with an edge
all round j which not only cut more steadily, but last
longer without grinding.
Press, in the woollen manufactory, is a large wooden
machine, serving to press cloths, serges, rateens, &c.
thereby to render them smooth and even, and to give
them a gloss.
This machine consists of several members-, the prin¬
cipal whereof are the cheeks, the nut, and the worm
or screw, accompanied with its bar, which serves to
turn it round, and make it descend perpendicularly on
the middle of a thick wooden plank, under which the
stuffs to be pressed are placed. 1 he calender is also
a kind of press, serving to press or calender linens,
silks, &~c. /- 7 t>
Liberty of the Press. See Liberty oj the Press.
PRESSING, in the manufactures, is the violently
squeezing a cloth, stuff, &c. to render it smooth and
glossy. . . 11 j
There are two methods of pressing, viz. co.d ana
As to the former, or cold pressing: After the stuff
has been scoured, fulled, and shorn, it is folded square
in equal plaits, and a skin of vellum or pasteboard put
between each plait. Over the whole is laid a square
wooden plank, and so put into the press, which is screw¬
ed down tight by means of a lever. After it has lain
a sufficient time in the press, they take it out, removing
the pasteboards, and lay it up to keep. Some only lay
the stuff on a firm table after plaiting and pasteboaiding,
cover
Potash
Plate cwrxxxix.
Kiln ioi' prep
a ring-.
Press cvder.
n p' I
i, I
at ■
si I
;a
c, I
te %
V \
•essmg
! esteign
P R E C 349 ] PR
cover the whole with a wooden plank, and load it with there are two fairs in the year-
a proper weight. ■ ’"
The method of pressing hot is this :
E
When the stuff
has received the above preparations, it is sprinkled a
little with water, sometimes gum-water; then plaited
equally, and between each two plaits are put leaves of
pasteboard ; and between every sixth and seventh plait,
as well as over the whole, an iron or brass plate well
heated in a kind of furnace. This done, it is laid upon
the press, and forcibly screwed down. Under this press
are laid five, six, &c. pieces at the same time, all fur¬
nished with their pasteboards and iron plates. When
the plates are well cooled, the stuffs are taken out and
stitched a little together to keep them in the plaits.
This manner of pressing was only invented to cover the
defects of the stuffs ; and, accordingly, it has been fre¬
quently prohibited.
Pressing, or Impressing. See Impressing.
PRESSION, or Pressure, in the Cartesian philo¬
sophy, is a supposed impulsive kind of motion, or rather
an endeavour to move, impressed on a fluid medium,
and propagated through it
See Pneumatics.
See Hydrodynamics
and
PRESSURE of air.
Pressure of Fluids.
Pneumatics.
PREST, is used for a duty in money, to be paid
by the sheriff on his account, in the exchequer, or for
money left or remaining in his hands : 2 & 3 Edw. VI.
c. 4.
PREST-Money, is so called from the French word
prest, that is, promptus, expeditus; for that it binds
those who receive it, to be ready at all times appoint¬
ed, being commonly meant of soldiers.
PRESTATION-money, is a sum of money paid
yearly by archdeacons and other dignitaries to their
bishop, pro extcriori jurisdictione.
Prestation (prastatici), ivas anciently used for
other payments : Ft quietismt de prcestatione muragii.
Chart. Hen. VIE Sometimes also for pourveyance.
PRESTEIGN is a town in Radnorshire, distant
149 miles west-north-west from London, in the direct
road to Aberystwith, and throughout South Wales, in
N. Lat. 5 20 12', bounded to the north and north-east
by Herefordshire. It is a neat well built town, with
clean and regular streets, and is the residence of many
genteel families. The neighbourhood abounds with all
the comforts and conveniencies of life. It is seated on
a gravelly soil on the baeks of the river Lug, and at the
head of a very fertile vale : the mountains to the west
and north-west of the town forming, as it were, an
amphitheatre round it. The name of it in Welsh, is
Slan-Andi'as, which is supposed to be derived from the
church, which is dedicated to Saint Andrew. The
town is divided into four wards, which have each a se¬
parate jurisdiction, separate officers, levies, &c. The
curfew-bell of William the Conqueror still remains in
this place, and is rung every night. It is a borough by
prescription, and is governed by a bailiff annually elec¬
ted, and sworn in by a steward appointed by the crown.
The living is a rectory and vicarage united, and report¬
ed to be worth from 500I. to 600I. per annum 5 the
parish lying in two counties. Here is an excellent free
school well endowed. The county hall, the county gaol,
the county bridewell, and house of correction, are kept
in this place. The markets are held on Saturdays j and
About a century and presteign
a half ago Presteign was considerably larger-, had a jj
good woollen manufactory, of which the very large Prestos,
buildings now standing (formerly belonging to clothi-'
ers) bear ample testimony 5 but a fire, succeeded by the
plague, in the town, about the year 1636, reduced the
same, and with it its consequence as a manufacturing
town. The parish embraces a circle of at least 19
miles; and is reckoned very healthy.
PRESTER John, or Jean, an appellation former¬
ly given to an emperor of the Tartars, who was over¬
come and killed by Jenghiz Khan. Since that time it
has been given to the emperor of Abyssinia or Ethio¬
pia 5 however, in Ethiopia itself this name is utterly
unknown, the emperor being there called the grand ne¬
gus.
Prester, a meteor, consisting of an exhalation
thrown from the clouds downwards with such violence,
as that by the collision it is set on fire. The word is
Greek, the name of a kind of serpent, called
also dipsas, to which this meteor is supposed to bear a
resemblance. The prester difiers from the thunderbolt
in the manner of its inflammation j and in its burning
and breaking every thing it touches with greater vio¬
lence.
Prester, a word used by some to express the ex¬
ternal part of the neck, which is usually inflated in an¬
ger.
PRESTIMONY, in Canon Law, is derived a prce¬
statione quotidiana; and is, by some, defined to be a
kind of benefice, served by a single priest. Others say,
it is the incumbency of a chapel, without any title or
collation ; such as are most of those in castles, where
prayers or mass are said ; and which are mere unen¬
dowed oratories. Whence the term is also applied, in
the Romish church, to certain perpetual offices bestow^-
ed on canons, religious, or others, for the saying of
masses, by way of augmentation of their livings.
Others think it is a lease, or concession of any ecclesi¬
astical fund or revenue, belonging to a monastery, to be
enjoyed during life. Hu Moulin calls it a profane be¬
nefice, which, however, has a perpetual title, and an ec¬
clesiastical office, with certain revenues attached to it $
which the incumbent is allowed to sell, and which may
be possessed without tonsure ; such as the lay church¬
wardens of Notre-dame. He adds, that, in propriety,
the canonries of chapels are benefices of this nature.
The most probable opinion seems to be, that prestimony
is a fund, or revenue, appropriated by the founder for
the subsistence of a priest, without being erected into
any title of benefice, chapel, prebend, or priory ; and
which is not subject either to the pope or to the ordi¬
nary, but whereof tire patron, and those who have a
right from him, are the collators, and nominate and
confer plena jure.
PRESTO, in the Italian music, intimates to perform
quick as prestissimo does extremely quick.
PRESTON, a town of Lancashire in England, seat¬
ed on the river Ribble, over which there is a handsome
stone bridge. Here is held a court of chancery, and
other offices of justice for the county palatine of Lanca¬
ster. It is noted for the defeat of the rebels here in
1715, when they were all made prisoners, and sent up
to London. It contained 17,085 inhabitants in 1811.
W. Long. 2. 26. N. Lat. 53. 45.
PRESTRE,
s
PEE [ 350 ]
Prtstrc PHESTIIE. Sec Vauban.
11 PRETENSED or Pretended right, In Law, Is
Prevarica- where one is in possession ot lauds and tenements,
, tlul1 which another, who is out, claims and sues for. litre
the pretensed right is in him who so claims or sues.
PRETERITE, in Grammar, a tense which expres¬
ses the time past, or an action completely finished , as,
scripsi, “ I have written.” See Perfect and Gram¬
mar
PRETERIT LON, or Pretermission, In Rhetoric,
a figure whereby, in pretending to pass over a thing un¬
touched, we make a summary mention thereof. I will
not my he is valiant, he is learned, he is just, &x.
The iiio>t artful praises are those given by way ot pre¬
tention. Set Oratory.
PRETEXT, a colour or motive, whether real or
feigned, for doing something.
Toga PRETEXT A, among the ancient Romans,
a long white gown, with a border ol purple round the.
edges, and worn by c hildren ot quality till the age ot
puberty, viz. by the boys till 17, when they chan¬
ged it for the toga virilis ; and by the girls till mar¬
riage.
PRETIUM SEPULCHRI, in old law books, &c. those
good"' accruing to the church wherein a corpse is buri¬
ed. In the Irish canons, lib. xix. cap. 6. it is ordered,
that along with every body that is buried, there go his
cow, horse, apparel, and the furniture ot his bed •, none
of which may he disposed ot otherwise than for the pay¬
ment of debts, &x. as being familiars and domestics of
the deceased.
PRETOR, a magistrate among the ancient Romans,
not unlike our lord chief justices, or lord chancellor, or
both in one *, as being vested wtth the power of distri¬
buting justice among the citizens. At first there was
only one pretorj hut afterwards, another being created,
the first or chief one had the title of pro:tor urbanus,
or the “ citv pretorthe other was called peregrinus,
as being judge in all matters relating to foieigners.
But, besides these, there were afterwards created many
provincial pretors } who were not only judges, hut also
assisted the consuls in the government of the provinces,
and even were invested with the government of pro¬
vinces themselves.
PRETORI AN GUARDS, in Roman antiquity, were
the emperor’s guards, who at length were increased to
10,000 : they had this denomination, according to some,
from their being stationed at a place called Prcetorium :
their commander was styled prafectus preetorn.
PRET0R1UM, or Prattorium, among the Ro¬
mans, denoted the hall or court wherein the pretor
lived, and wherein he administered justice.
It likewise denoted the tent of the Roman general,
wherein councils of war, &c. were held : also a place
in Rome where the Pretorian guards were lodged.
PREVARICATION, in the civil law, is where
the informer colludes with the defendants, and so makes
only a sham prosecution.
Prevarication, in our laws, is when a man falsely
seems to undertake a thing, with intention that he may
destroy it *, where a lawyer pleads booty, or acts by col¬
lusion, &c. It signifies also the false and contradictory
testimony of a witness*, and denotes sometimes the se¬
cret abu-e committed in the exercise ot a public office,
or of a commission given by a private person.
1
PRIAM, king of Troy, was the son of Laonifedon. p,.;ail
He was carried into Greece after the taking of that city (]
by Hercules*, but was afterwaids ransomed, on which, Pr‘ce
he obtained the name of Priam, a Greek word signify-
ing “ ransomed.” At his return he rebuilt Ilium, and
extended the bounds of the kingdom of Troy, which
became very flourishing under his reign. He married
Hecuba, the daughter of Cisseus king of Thrace, by
whom he had 19 children*, and among the rest Paris,
who carried off Helen, and occasioned the ruin of Troy,
which is supposed to have been sacked by the Greeks
about 1184 B. C. when Priam was killed by Pyr¬
rhus the son of Achilles at the foot of an altar where
he had taken refuge, after a reign of 52 years. See
Troy.
PRIAPISMUS, or Priapism, is an erection of
the penis without any concomitant pain, or the con¬
sent of other parts. It is thus called, because the per¬
son in this state resembles the lewd god Priapus. Cce-
lius Aurelianus says it is a palsy of the seminal vessels,
and other nerves distributed to the parts about the pe¬
nis, by the distension of which this disorder is pro¬
duced. It is of the same nature as the satyriasis.
See Medicine, N° 372,
PRIAPUS, in Pagan worship, the son of Bacchus
and Venus, who presided over gardens and the most in¬
decent actions. He was particularly adored at Lampsa-
cus, a city at the mouth of the Hellespont, said to be
the place of his birth ; and his image was placed in
gardens to defend them from thieves and birds destruc¬
tive to fruit. He was usually represented naked, with
a stern countenance, matted hair, and holding either a
wooden sword or sickle in his hand, and with a mon¬
strous privity ; from whence downward his body ended
in a shapeless trunk. The sacrifice offered to this ob¬
scene deity was the ass } either on account of the natu¬
ral uncomeliness of this animal, and its propensity to
venery, or from the disappointment which Priapus met
with on his attempting the chastity of ^ esta, while that
goddess was asleep, when she escaped the injury design¬
ed her by her being awaked by the braying ot old Sile-
nus’s ass.
PRICE, Rev. Richard, D. D. L. L. D. fellow of
the Royal Society of London, and of the Academy of
Sciences, New England, was born at Tynton in Gla¬
morganshire, I ebruary 22. 1723* H;s father was a
dissenting minister at Bridgend in that county, and
died in 1739. At eight years old he was placed under
a Mr Simmons of Neath *, and in four years removed
to Pentwyn in Caermarthenshire under the Rev. Samuel
Jones, whom he represented as a man ot a very enlar¬
ged mind, and who first inspired him with liberal senti¬
ments of religion. Having lived as long with him as
with Mr Simmons, he was sent to Mr Griffith’s acade¬
my at Talgarth in Breconshire. In 1740 he lost his
mother*, and on this he quitted the academy and came
to London. Here he was settled at that academy, of
which Mr Eames was the principal tutor, under the
patronage of his uncle the Rev. S. Price, v\ho was co¬
pastor with Dr Watts upwards of 40 years. At the
end of four years he left this academy, and resided with
Mr Strealfield of Stoke Newington in the quality of
domestic chaplain, while at the same time he regularly
assisted Dr Chandler at the Old Jewry, and occasionally
assisted others. Having lived with Mr Streatfield near
p II I
ice.
* A itrss
at
fun H
Svc
, C 35
13 years, on ins death and his uncles’s he was induced
to change his situation, and in 1757 married Miss S.
Blundell of Leicestershire. He then settled at Hack¬
ney, but being shortly after chosen minister at Newing¬
ton Green, he lived there until the death of his wife
which was in 1786, when he returned to Hackney!
He was next chosen afternoon preacher at the meeting¬
house in Poor Jewry-street, but this he resigned on be¬
ing elected pastor of the Gravel-pit meeting Hackney,
and afternoon-preacher at Newington Green. These
he resigned with a farewel-sermon in February 1791.
Shortly after he was attacked with a nervous fever
which disappearing, was succeeded by a disorder in his*
bladder, which reduced him to such a degree that
worn out with agony and disease, he died without a
groan on the 19th April 1791. He left his property
to a sister and two nephews.
l)r Kippis, speaking of his learning and pursuits,
observes *, that “ his chief aim was to lay a foundation
for solid knowledge, by an application to sciences of the
noblest kind. It was on the great and fundamental
principles and obligations of morality, on the higher
species of mathematics, on the snblimer parts of natu¬
ral philosophy, on the true basis of government, and on
the questions which relate to the essential welfare and
dignity of man, that his studies were employed ; and in
the prosecution of these studies he not only enriched
his own mind, but was enabled to become of eminent
service to his country and to the world. In his moral
writings he has laboured with distinguished ability to
build the science of ethics on an immutable basis ; and
what he has advanced will always stand high in estima¬
tion as one of the strongest efforts of human reason in
favour of the system he has adopted. For myself (adds
Dr Kippis), I scruple not to say, that I regard the
treatise referred to as a rich treasure of valuable infor¬
mation, and as deserving to he ranked among the first
productions of its kind. With re-pect to his other
ethical works, everyone must admire the zeal, earnest¬
ness, and strength, with which he endeavours to lead
men into pious views of God, of providence and prayer ;
and to promote the exercise of devout and amiable
dispositions. In consequence of his profound know¬
ledge in mathematical calculations, he was qualified at
a particular crisis for beung of singular utility to his
fellow-citizens. A number of schemes for insurance
lor lives and the benefit of survivorship, promising
mighty advantages, were rising up in the metropolis.
These ruinous schemes would have been carried to great
excess, had not Dr Pi ice stepped forward and dispelled
the delusion. Gratitude will not allow us to forget the
ability and spirit with which he awakened the attention
of Ins countrymen to the reduction of the national debt.
"ith him it was that the scheme of the present minister
for that purpose is understood to have originated. Y\ hat
crowned the whole of his character was, its being an
assemblage of the most amiable and excellent private vir¬
tues. His piety was sincere, humble, and fervent; his
sou! pure and elevated •, in his views disinterested and
noble ; and in his manners mild and gentle: the ap¬
plause ot his talents and virtues will be transmitted to
future ages, and he will be united in the catalogue with
the most eminent benefactors of mankind.”
This is the panegyric of a friend j hut with few abate¬
ments it will be admitted y every candid reader. In
]
p rt 1
morals Dr Price’s principles were those ofCudworth
and Clarke ; and by many who have themselves adopted
a very different theory, he is allowed to have defended
those principles with greater ability than any other
writer 111 the English language) see Moral Philosophy,
IN 14.). In metaphysics he was perhaps too great an
admirer of Plato, from whom he has borrowed a doc¬
trine concerning ideas which we confess ourselves un¬
able to comprehend. He was a firm believer in the imma¬
teriality of the soul 5 but, with Dr Law, the late learn¬
ed bishop ot Carlisle, he thought, that from death to
the resurrection of the body it remains in a dormant or
quiescent state. He contended for its indivisibility, but
maintained at the same time its extension : which fur¬
nished Dr Priestley with some advantages in their ce¬
lebrated controversy, which his own acuteness would
never have obtained. In propagating his political prin¬
ciples, which were republican, he sometimes expressed
himself with undue vehemence; and he was a zealous
enemy to all religious establishments, which, in his opi¬
nion, encroach upon that liberty wherewith Christ has
made us free. His faith respecting the Son of God
was what has been called sometimes low Arianism and
sometimes Semi-arianisnt. From a very early age he
claimed the privilege of thinking for himself on every
subject. His father was a rigid Calvinist, and spared
no pains to instil lus own theological dogmas into the
tender mind of his son ; but young ilichard would
often start his doubts and difficulties, and sometimes
incur the old man’s displeasure by arguing against his
favourite system with an ingenuity that perplexed, and
a solidity that could not be easily overturned. He had
once the misfortune to be caught reading a volume of
Clarke’s sermons, which his father in great wrath snatch¬
ed from him and threw into the fire. Perhaps he could
not have taken a more effectual method to make the
book a favourite, or to excite the young man’s curiosity
alter the other works of the same author ; and it is by
no means improbable that this orthodox bigotry contri¬
buted more than any other circumstance to lay the foun¬
dation ol his son’s Arianism.
Put whatever may be thought of Dr Price’s specu¬
lative opinions, whether political or religious, his vir¬
tues in private life have never been called in question.
Of his practical religion it is impossible to speak in
terms too high. There was a fervour even in his
public prayers which indicated the strongest sensibility
as well as sincerity in himself, and communicated
its warmth (0 those who joined with him. But in his
family devotions he gave still fuller scope to the pious
emotions of his soul, and proved to those friends who
were occasionally present at them how deeply he felt
religious impressions, and how happily be blended in
this as well as in other things the cool decisions of the
understanding with the amiable and exalted sensibilities
of the heart.
But it is not in devotion only that these sensibilities
were displayed. He was as exemplary in affection to
his relatives as in love to his Maker. Of this he gave
a striking though private instance before he first quit¬
ted his native place to try his fortune in London.
His father had left to an elder brother by a former
marriage a very considerable fortune ; to Bichard he
left a mere trifle ; and to each of two sisters still less.
Our author divided his share between his sisters, reser¬
ving
P R I
[ 35
vine; to himself only a few pounds to defray the expen-
ces of his journey, and trusting for his future support
to the blessing of God upon his talents and his indus¬
try. As in early life he was an affectionate and gene¬
rous brother, in old age he was a loving and attentive
husband. His wife, who for a considerable time be¬
fore her death was almost wholly helpless, found du¬
ring the last years of her life hardly any enjoyment ex¬
cept in a game at whist; and though our Doctor dis¬
liked cards as a waste of time, and never touched them
on any other occasion, to amuse her he would sit down
every evening to the card-table, and play till it was
late, with a cheerfulness and good humour winch charm¬
ed every person who had the happiness ol viewing him
in that endearing situation. .
Yet, though thus attentive to the obligations ot do-
mestic’life, he did not suffer his private affections to en¬
croach upon his social duties. His talents and his la¬
bours were ever ready at the call of friendship j nay so
much did his nature abound with the milk ol human
kindness, that he could not resist without extreme re¬
luctance even troublesome and unreasonable solicita¬
tions. His hours of study and retirement were fre¬
quently broken in upon by applications for assistance
and advice, especially in matters relating to annuities
and life-insurances ; and in this way he sacrificed much
of his personal convenience to individuals of whom he
knew but little, and from whom he would accept of no
pecuniary recompense. His good nature in this re¬
spect amounted almost to a foible j and subjected him
to importunities and loss of time, of which he would
sometimes complain as interfering materially rvith moie
important and more generally useful studies.
Whilst he thus obliged the rich by his mental talents,
he succoured the poor with his earthly substanee. A
fifth part of his annual income was regularly devoted
to charitable purposes 5 and he was laudably anxious
to distribute it in such a way as might produce the
greatest good. In the practice of this, and indeed ot
all bis virtues, he was utterly devoid of ostentation.
Simplicity and humility were among the strong features
of his character. No man was ever less sensible of
liis own excellence, or less elated by his own celebrity •,
and in no man was the dignity of artless manners and
unaffected modesty more happily displayed.
His face was the true index of his mind. It beam¬
ed with philanthropy 5 and when lighted up in conver¬
sation with his friends, assumed an aspect peculiarly
pleasing. His person was slender, and rather below
the common size, but possessed of great musculai
strength and remarkable activity. A habit of deep
thought had given a stoop to his figure, and he gene¬
rally’walked a brisk pace with his eyes on the ground,
his coat buttoned, one hand in his pocket, and the
other swinging by his side. .
It Js natural to suppose that sueh a man as J3r i nee,
some of whose writings were translated into foieign
languages, would be very generally respected in the re¬
public of letters, and have many correspondents. The
supposition is well founded. In 1763 or 17^4 'vas
chosen a fellow of the Royal Society, and contributed
largely to the transactions of that learned body j . in
1769 he received from Aberdeen a diploma creating
him DD.; and in 1783 the degree of LL.D. was con¬
ferred upon him by the college of Yale in Connecticut.
2 ] P R I
As in 1770 he had refused an American degree which PrJ
had been conveyed to him by Dr Franklin, his accep-l——yv
tance of one 13 years afterwards can be attributed only
to his extravagant attachment to a republican form of
government} which was the greatest defect in his cha¬
racter, and shows what prejudices the most vigorous
mind will imbibe by thinking always on the same sub¬
jects, and in the same track. Among his correspon¬
dents, the most eminent in his own country were the
late Lord Chatham, Lord Stanhope, Lord Lansdowne,
the late bishops of Carlisle and St Asaph, and the pre¬
sent bishop of Landaff "7 Mr Hume, Mr Harris of Sa¬
lisbury, Dr Gregory of Edinburgh, and the celebrated
Mr Howard, who lived with him on terms of the great¬
est intimacy } in America he corresponded with Dr
Franklin, Dr Chauncey, Mr Adams, and others ; and
in France with the celebrated Turgot, the Duke de
Rochefoucault, and several of the first national assembly.
One of his female correspondents sketched his character
with great justness many years ago under the fictitious
but well applied name of Simplicius; and with this cha¬
racter we shall close these short memoirs.
“ While the vain man is painfully striving to out¬
shine the company, and to attract their admiration by
false wit, forced compliments, and studied graces, he
must surely be mortified to observe how constantly Sim¬
plicius engages their attention, respect, and complacen¬
cy, without having once thought of himself as a person
of any consequence among them. Simplicius imparts
his superior knowledge, when called upon, as easily and
naturally as he would tell you what it is o’clock j and
with the same readiness and good will informs the most
ignorant or confers with the most learned. He is as
willing to receive information as to give it, and to join
the company, as far as he is able, in the most trifling
conversation into which they may happen to fall, as in
the most serious and sublime. If he disputes, it is with
as much candour on the most important and interesting
as on the most insignificant subjects; and he is not lesspa-
tient in hearing than in answering his antagonist. If you
talk to him of himself or his works, he accepts praise or
acknowledges defects with equal meekness, and it is im¬
possible to suspect him of.affectation in either. Me are
more obliged by the plain unexaggerated expressions of
his regard, than by the compliments and attentions of
the most accomplished pattern of high breeding 5 be¬
cause his benevolence and sincerity are so strongly mark¬
ed in every look, word, and action, that we are comin¬
ced his civilities are offered for our sakes, not for his
own, and are the natural effects of real kindness, not
the studied ornaments of behaviour. Every one is de¬
sirous to show him kindness in return, which we know
will be accepted just as it is meant. All are ready to
pay him that deference which he does not desire, and
to' give him credit for more than he assumes, or even
more than he possesses. With a person ungraceful, and
with manners unpolished by the world, his behaviour is
always proper, easy, and respectable j as free from con¬
straint and servility in the highest company, as from
haughtiness and insolence in the lowest. His dignity
arises from his humility j and the sweetness, gentleness,
and frankness of his manners, from the real goodness
and rectitude of his heart, which lies open to inspection
in all the fearlessness of truth, without any need of dis¬
guise or ornament.”
Qnrll
t'rice.
riJe-
' n ? R 1 t 353
Such was Dr Price.—Of Ins public principles men
will think differently ; of his private worth there can
"J be but one opinion. He will live in the memory of his
friends till memory has lost her power. To posterity
his works will be his monument. They are : A Re¬
view of the principal Questions and Difficulties in Mo¬
rals, 8vo, 17585 Dissertations on Providence. &c. 8vo.
1767 ; Observations on Reversionary Payments, &c.
8vo. 1771 5 Appeal on the National" Debt, &c’ 8vo.
1773 ; Observations on the Nature of Civil Liberty,
1776: on Materialism and Necessity, in a correspon¬
dence between Dr Price and Dr Priestley, 1779; on
Annuities, Assurances, Population, &c. 8vo. 1779 ; on
the Population of England, 1780 ; on the Public Debts,
Finances, Loans, &c. 8 vo. 1783 5 on Reversionary Pay¬
ments, 2 vols. 1783 j on tbe importance of the Ame¬
rican Revolution, 1784 : besides Sermons, and a variety
of papers in the Philosophical Transactions on astrono¬
mical and other philosophical subjects.
PRIDE, inordinate and unreasonable self-esteem, at¬
tended with insolence and rude treatment of others 
It is frequently confounded with vanity, and sometimes
with dignity; but to the former passion it has no re¬
semblance, and in many circumstance it differs from the
latter. ^ anity is the parent of loquacious boasting 5
and the person subject to it, if his pretences be admit¬
ted, has no inclination to insult the company. The
proud man, on the other hand, is naturally silent, and,
wrapt up in his own importance, he seldom speaks but
to make bis audience feel their inferiority. It is this
]
P R I
circumstance wliicli distinguishes pride from dignity the forward petuiance of'the'il'h'■tlltl0n’-un‘ rePr.'!s>
and constitutes its sinfulness. Every man „(tL„ ' 1“.," 1°/f1'6 S-'-g
and constitutes its sinfulness. Every man possessed of
great powers of mind is conscious of them, and feels
that he holds a higher rank in the scale of existence than
he whose powers are less. If he recollect, at the same
time, that he has nothing which he did not receive, and
that his superiority is owing to the good pleasure of
Him who forms his creatures differently, as the patter-
forms his clay; he will be so far from insulting his in¬
feriors, that when necessarily in company with them
he will bear with their foibles, and, as far as is proper,
make them lose sight of the distance which the laws of
God and man have for ever placed between them and
him. This condescension, however, if be be a man of
dignity, will never lead him to join with them in any
mean or dirty action. He will even excuse in them
many things which he would condemn in himself, and
give them bis good wishes, after they have forfeited bis
esteem. Such a character is amiable and respectable,
and what every man should labour to obtain. From tbe
weakness of human nature, however, it is too apt to de¬
generate into pride.
To a man of great intellectual powers and various
erudition, tbe conversation of ordinary persons affords
neither instruction nor amusement 5 and such conversa
ence, as to insult ns inferiors, and sometimes bis equals, p.-tf
without forming the resolution to insult either the one Pride
or the other. Such a character is -hateful to every 
company, ani| is so far from indicating true dignity
of mind in him to whom it belongs, that it is obviously
associated with meanness, and indicates a consciousness
of some radical defect. He who possesses real and con¬
spicuous merit has no occasion to depress others for the
purpose of raising himself 5 his superiority will be cheer¬
fully acknowledged 5 but when a man of undoubted
eminence an one respect, is so swollen with pride as to
nuke him wish to appear great in all respects, he has
no other means of enforcing his ill-founded claim, than
displaying his acknowledged superiority, with such in¬
solence as, may drive at a distance from him every per¬
son by whom he is conscious that in many instances he
nug it ie more than rivalled. Whoever is proud of
knowledge, would do well to consider how much know¬
ledge he wants.
The same observations which we have made on pride
o parts will apply to every other species of pride, such
as pride oi birth, office, or riches, &c. The peace and
°r-Vur a0ftrS0Ciet>j require difference of‘ accompanied
with different degrees of authority 5 and he who inhe-
ntsa title or office from his ancestors, may without
pride be conscious of his superiority, provided he forget
not that such superiority is conferred on families and
individuals, not for their own sakes, but for the good
ot the community. The peer who keeps this circum¬
stance in mind, may maintain ^is station, and repress
offence to any thinking man 5 but if he dwell upon his
rank with too much complacency, he will in process of
time be apt to consider himself and his family as supe-
nor by nature to those upon whom no title has been
conferred, and then his pride will become intolerable,
if we could trace our descents, says Seneca, we should
find all slaves to come from princes, and all princes from
s aves. To be proud of knowledge, is to be blind in
the light 5 to be proud of virtue,' is to poison ourselves
with the antidote 5 to be proud of authority, is to make
our rise our downfal. The best way to humble a proud
man is to neglect him.
PRIDEAUX, Humphry, a learned clergyman of
tbe church of England, was born at Padstow in Corn¬
wall in 1648. He studied three years at Westminster
under Dr Busby; and then was removed to Christ¬
church, Oxford. Here he published, in 1676, bis
Marmora Oxoniensia ex Arundelianis, Seldeniams, alm-
que conjlata, cumperpetuo Commentario. This introdu¬
ced him to tbe lord chancellor Finch, afterward earl
of Nottingham, who in 1679 presented him to the rec¬
tory of St Clements near Oxford, and in 1681 bestowed
on him a prebend of Norwich. Some years after he was
engagecl in a controversy with the Papists at Norwich,
tmn x ,  7 fT --—.-.on, *-uuiiuversy wim me papists at iMorwich,
tbiL u * I-epeated’, ™ast’ fr°ni the nature of concerning the validity of the orders of the church of
uungs, become tedious and irksome. But it rennirpo F.no-lnml n/IvVI. 1 •„ 1 1. .1.. , •
tilings, become tedious and irksome. But it requires
great command of temper and of manners to prevent
uneasiness long felt from sometimes betraying itself by
external symptoms, such as peevish expressions, a for¬
bidding look, or absence of mind ; and these are the in¬
fallible indications of contempt for the company, tbe
very worst ingredient in the passion of pride. If this
contempt be often excited, it will be formed into a ha¬
bit; and the proud man will be so much under its influ-
Vol. XVII. Part I.
England, which produced his book upon that subject.
In 1688 be was installed in the archdeaconry of Suf¬
folk ; to which he was collated by Dr Lloyd, then bi¬
shop of Norwich. In 1691, upon the death of Dr
Edward Pococke, the Hebrew professorship at Oxford
being vacant, was offered to Dr Prideaux, but he re¬
fused it. In 16975 be published bis Life of Mahomet,
and in 1702 was installed dean of Norwich. In 1710
be was cut for the stone, which intenupted his studies
t Y y ^ for
R I I* 354 1 P R I
Some time after his return to priests of different orders, called schiek, and mufti; and Pne,
oome — the Indians and Chinese have their bramins and kon%es. ^Pnestk
It has been much disputed, whether, in the Chri-
Chandler's
Travels in
Asia Mi¬
nor.
for more than a year.      
Condon, he proceeded with his Connection ot t ie i
story of the Old and New Testament j which he had
begun when he laid aside the design ol writing the Hi¬
story of Appropriations. He died in
PRIENE, an ancient town of Asia Minor. It is
now called Samsun, and Samsun-katesi, which do not
however appear to be very recent. It was taken in
laoi by Bajazet, who subdued Ionia. It had former¬
ly without including the citadel, three gateways j one
of which was towards Kelibesh, an adjoining village j
and without it are vaults of sepulchres. I he entrance
was not wide. A part of the arch, consisting of a
sin ode row of massive stones, still remains : but those
on which it rests are so corroded by age, broken, or di¬
storted, as to seem every moment ready to yield and
let down their load. A rugged way leads to a second
opening in the wall opposite to this, and about a mile
from it- beyond which are likewise vaults of sepulchres.
Between these was a gate facing to the plain 5 and on
the left hand going out of it is a hole, resembling the
mouth of an oven, in the side of a square tower j and
over it an inscription in small characters, exceeding y
difficult to be read. It signifies, that a certain Cyprian
stian church, there be any such officer as a priest, in the
proper sense ot the word. I he church ot Itome, which
holds the propitiatory sacrifice of the mass, has of course
her proper priesthood. In the church of England, the
word priest is retained to denote the second order in her
hierarchy, but we believe with very difl'erent significa¬
tions, according to the different opinions entertained of
the Lord’s supper. Some few of her divines, of. great
learning, and of undoubted Protestantism, maintain that
the Lord’s supper is a commemorative and eucharistical
sacrifice. Those consider all who are authorised to ad¬
minister that sacrament as in the strictest sense priests.
Others hold the Lord’s supper to be a feast upon the
one sacrifice, once offered on the cross j and these too
must consider themselves as clothed with some kind.of
priesthood. Great numbers, however, of the English
clergy, perhaps the majority, agree with the church of
Scotland, in maintaining that the Lord’s supper is a
rite of no other moral import, than the mere comme¬
moration of the death of Christ. These cannot consi¬
der themselves as priests in the rigid sense of the word,
difficult to be read. It a,gutties mat a certatu .... th. word priest is a
•, 0j i/te Torn.
- PRIESTLEY, Joseph, LL.D. F. R. S. and mem¬
ber of many foreign literary societies, was born on the
24th of March 1733, at Field-head, in the parish of
Bristall, in the west riding of Yorkshire. His father
was a cloth-manufacturer, and both his parents were
worship of a hero, the guardian of the city, and pointed
out the place where, in obedience to them, lie had erect¬
ed the god. This was probably some local hero, whose
little image was set in the wall, and w'hose name and
memory have perished.
PRIEST, a person set apart for the performance ot
sacrifice, and other offices and ceremonies of religion.
Before the promulgation of the law of Moses, the first¬
born of every family, the fathers, the princes, and the
kings, were priests. I bus Cain and Abel, Noah., A-
b rah am, Melchizedtc, Job, Isaac, and Jacob, offered
themselves their own sacrifices. Among the Israelites,
after their exod from Egypt, the priesthood was con¬
fined to one tribe, and it consisted of three orders, the
/ije//-priest, priests, and Levites. The priesthood was
made hereditary in the family of Aaron, and the first¬
born of the oldest branch of that family, if he had no
legal blemish, was always the high-priest. This divine
appointment .was observed with considerable accuracy
till the Jews fell under the dominion of the Romans,
and had their faith corrupted by a false philosophy.—
Then, indeed, the high-priesthood was sometimes set
up to sale, and instead of continuing for life, as it ought
to have done, it seems from some passages in the New
Testament, to have been nothing more than an annual
office. There is sufficient reason, however, to believe,
that it was never disposed ot but to some descendant
of Aaron, capable of filling it, had the older branches
been extinct. (For the consecration and offices of the
Jewish priesthood, we refer our readers to the books of
Moses). In the time of David, the inferior priests
were divided into 24 companies, who were to serve in
rotation, each company by itself, for a week. 'I he
order in which the several courses were to serve was de¬
termined by lot-, and each course was in all succeeding
ages called by the name of its original chief.—All na¬
tions have had their priests. The pagans had priests of
Jupiter,Mars, Bacchus, Hercules, Osiiis, and Isis,&.c.j
and some deities had priestesses. The Mahometans have
respectable among Calvinistic dissenters. A strong de¬
sire for reading was one of the first passions which this
philosopher exhibited, and which probably induced his
parents and friends to change their mind respecting his
destination, and instead of a tradesman, to fit him for
some learned profession. He acquired a knowledge of
Hebrew, Greek, and Latin, in the school of an eminent
teacher at Bartley, and at the age of 19 became a
theological student in the academy of Daventry. W hen
about the age of 22 he was made choice of to be
assistant minister to the Independent congregation of
Needham market, in Suffolk. Having staid at Need¬
ham for about three years, he received an invitation to
be pastor of a small flock at Namptwitch, in Cheshire,
of which he accepted. Here he opened a day school,
in the management of which he displayed that turn for
research, and that spirit of improvement, which were
afterwards destined to be such prominent features of his
character. His reputation as a man of extraordinary
talents and diligent enquiry soon spread among his pro¬
fessional brethren, and when Dr Aikin was chosen to
succeed the reverend Dr Taylor as tutor in divinity at
Warrington, the vacant department of belles lettres
was assigned to Mr Priestley.
His literary career may probably be said to have com¬
menced at Warrington ; and the extent, as well as the
originality of his pursuits, were soon announced to the
world by a variety of valuable publications. Much ot
his attention about this period was taken up with gene¬
ral politics, on which he delivered a number of lectures.
Although it was reasonable to think that Ins time would
be sufficiently occupied by his academical and literary
employments, yet his unwearied activity and indj^JT
inestley.
^ ^ * t 355 ]
found means to accomplish tl,e first great work in phi- felt for him in
losophy which laid a solid foundation for his future
fame.
Having long amused himself with anelectrical ma¬
chine, and felt himself interested in the progress of dis¬
covery in that branch of physics, he undertook a history
of electricity, with an account of its present state. This
work made its first appearance at Warrington in the
year 1767, which was so well received by the learned
world, that it went through a fifth edition in 4to in the
year 1794. It is justly deemed a valuable performance,
and its original experiments are allowed to be very in¬
genious.
About the year 1768, he was chosen pastor of a
large and respectable congregation of Protestant dissent¬
ers at Leeds, which made him turn a very large share
of his attention to theological subjects. His mind is
said to have been strongly impressed with sentiments of
piety and devotion from a child*, and though he
changed most of those religious sentiments in which he
had been instructed, for such as he regarded to be more
rational and consistent with truth, his piety and devotion
aever deserted him.
He was at the head of the modern Unitarians, ■whose
leading tenet is the proper humanity of Christ, confining
every species of religious worship and adoration to the
one supreme. Some, we believe, have charged him
with a design to subvert the Christian religion ; but
such an insinuation argues a total want of candour, as
xeal for Christianity, as a divine dispensation, and the
most valuable of all gifts bestowed upon the human race,
was his ruling passion.
His History and present state of Discoveries relating
to Vision, Light, and Colours, appeared in 1772, in
two vols. 4to. 1 his is allowed to be a performance of
great merit, having a lucid arrangement; but it did
not bring him such a large share of popularity as his
History of Electricity, as it is probable that he was
scarcely qualified to explain the abstruser parts of the
science. In the year 1770, he quitted Leeds for a situ¬
ation entirely different. His philosophical writings,
and the recommendation of Dr Price had made him so
favourably known to the earl of Shelburne, that this
nobleman made him such advantageous proposals for
residing with him, that a regard for his family would
not permit them to be rejected. The domestic tuition
of Lord Shelburne’s sons having been previously com¬
mitted to a man of merit, they received no instructions
from Dr Priestley farther than some courses of experi¬
mental philosophy. He also attended his lordship in a
visit to Paris, where he had an opportunity of seeing
some of the most celebrated men of science in that
country, whom he astonished by asserting a firm belief
in revealed religion, which had been presented to their
minds in such colours, that they thought no man of
sense could hesitate in rejecting it as an idle fable.
I775> h® published his examination of Dr Reid
«n the Human Mind ; Dr Beattie on the Nature and
Immutability of Truth; and Dr Oswald’s Appeal to
Common Sense. The design of this volume was to
refute the new doctrine of common sense, employed as
the test of truth by the metaphysicians of Scotland.
He never intentionally misrepresented either the argu¬
ments or purposes of an opponent; but he measured the
aspect with which he treated him by that which he
P R I
,, ... his own mind. In the year 1777, he
published Ins disquisitions relating to Matter and Spirit
in which he gave'a history of the philosophical doctrine
respecting the soul, and openly supported the material
system, which makes it homogeneous with the body.
I his subjected him to more odium than any of his other
opinions. As he materialized spirit, so he in some mea¬
sure spiritualized matter, by assigning to it penetrability
and some other subtle qualities. About the same pe¬
riod he became the champion of philosophical necessity ■
a doctrine not less obnoxious to many, on account of its
supposed effects on morality, than the former. 80 asto¬
nishing was the versatility of his mind, that he at the
same time carried on that course of discovery concern¬
ing aeriform bodies which has rendered Ids name s«
illustrious among philosophical chemists. A second
volume was published in 1775, and a third in 1777.
Some of his most memorable discoveries were those of
nitrous and depblogisticated or pure air; of the restora¬
tion of vitiated air by vegetation ; of the influence of
fight on vegetables, and of the effects of respiration oa
the blood.
1 he name of Priestley was by these means spread
through the countries of Europe, and honours were
heaped upon him from scientific bodies in various parts.
The term of his engagement with Lord Shelburne
having expired, Dr Priestley was at liberty to choose a
new situation for himself, retiring with a pension for
life of 150I. a-year. He chose the vicinity of the po¬
pulous town of Birmingham, as it was the residence of
several men of science, such as Watt, Withering, Bol¬
ton, and Keir, whose names are well known to the pub¬
lic. Here he was invited to become pastor of a dissent¬
ing congregation, of which he accepted about the latter
end of the year 1780. Soon after this appeared hi»
Letters to Bishop Newcome, on the Duration of Christ’s
Ministry, and his History of the Corruptions of Christi¬
anity, which were afterwards followed by his History
of Early Opinions.
He displayed his attachment to freedom by his Essay
on the First Principles of Government; and by an an¬
onymous pamphlet on the State of Public Liberty in
this country ; and had shown a warm interest in the
cause of America at the time of its unfortunate quarrel
with the mother country.
The celebration of the anniversary of the destruction
of the Bastile, by a public dinner, on July 14th 1791,
at which Dr Priestley was not present, gave the signal
of those riots which have thrown lasting infamv on the
town of Birmingham, and in some degree on the na¬
tional character. Amidst burning houses of worship and
private dwellings, Dr Priestley was the great object of
popular rage; his house, library, manuscripts, and ap¬
paratus, were made a prey to the flames ; he was hunted
like a criminal, and experienced not only the furious
outrages of a mob, but the most unhandsome treatment
from some who ought to have sustained the parts of gen¬
tlemen, and the friends of good order. He now lay
under a load of public odium and suspicion, and he was
constantly harassed by the petty malignity of bigotry.
It was of consequence not to be wondered at, that
he looked for an asylum in a country to which he had
always shewn a friendly attachment, and which he sup¬
posed was in possession of all the blessings of civil and
religious liberty. In the year 1794, he took leave of
y 2 his
Priestley.
P R I
[ 356 ]
PHI
Ins native country, and embarked for North America.
He took up his residence in Northumberland, a town in
the interior of the state of Pennsylvania, w hich he se¬
lected on account of the purchase ot landed property in
its neighbourhood 5 otherwise its remoteness from the
sea-ports, its want of many ol the comforts of life, and
of all the helps to scientific pursuit, rendered it a pecu¬
liarly undesirable abode lor one of I3r Priestley’s habits
and employments. The loss of his amiable wife, and of
a most promising son, as well as repeated attacks of dis¬
ease, severely tried the fortitude and resignation of this
great and good man.
In America he was received with general respect,
and the angry contests oi party were not able wholly to
deprive him of the esteem due to his character.
was heard as a preacher by some of the most distinguish¬
ed members of congress •, and he was offered, but de¬
clined, the place of chemical professor of Philadelphia.
It became his great object to enable himself in his re¬
tirement at Northumberland to renew that course of
philosophical experiment, and especially that train of
theological writing, which had occupied so many of the
best years of his life. By numerous experiments on the
constitution of airs, he became more and more fixed in
his belief of the phlogistic theory, and in his opposition
to the new French chemical system, of which he lived
to be the only opponent of any celebrity. By the libe¬
ral contributions of his friends in England, he was en¬
abled to commence the printing of two extensive works,
on which he was zealously bent, a Church History, and
an Exposition of the Scriptures; and through the pro¬
gress of his final decline he unremittingly urged their
completion.
An article in the Philadelphia Gazette speaks of him
in the following honourable terms :
“ Since his illness at Philadelphia, in the year i8or,
he never regained his former good state of health. His
complaint was constant indigestion, and a difficulty of
swallowing food of any kind. But during this period
of general debility, he was busily employed in printing
his Church History, and in the first volume of his notes
on the Scriptures, and in making new and original ex¬
periments. During this period, likewise, he wrote his
pamphlet of Jesus and Socrates compared, and reprinted
his Essay on Phlogiston.
“ From about the beginning of November, 1803, to
the middle of January, 1804, his complaint grew more
serious •, yet, by judicious medical treatment, and strict
attention to diet, he, after some time, seemed, if not gain¬
ing strength, at least not getting worse ; and his friends
fondly hoped that his health would continue to improve
as the season advanced. He, however considered his life
as very precarious. Even at this time, besides his mis¬
cellaneous reading, which was at all times very exten¬
sive, he read through all the works quoted in his Com¬
parison of the different Systems of Grecian'Philosophers
with Christianity *, composed that work, and transcribed
the whole of it in less than three months j so that he has
left it ready for the press.
“ In the last fortnight of January, his fils of indiges¬
tion became more alarming, his legs swelled, and his
weakness increased. Within two days of his death he
became so weak, that he could walk but a little way,
and that with great difficulty. He was fully sensible
that he had not long to live, yet he talked with cheer-
L • 4
Prim®
Seari:
ness to all who called on him. He dwelt upon the pe- prje(;t
culiarly happy situation in which it had pleased the di- «
vine Being to place him in life, and the great advantage
he had enjoyed in the acquaintance, and friendship of
some of the best and wisest men of the age in which he
lived, and the satisfaction he derived from haying led an
useful as well as happy life. On the 9th of February
1804, he breathed his last, so easily, that those who'were
sitting close to him did not immediately perceive it. He
had put his hand to his face, which prevented them from
observing it.”
In the constitution of Dr Priestley’s mind ardour and
vivacity of intellect were united with a mild and placid
temper. With a zeal for the propagation of truth which
nothing could subdue, he joined a calm patience, an un¬
ruffled serenity, which rendered him proof against dis¬
appointments. The rights of private judgment were
rendered sacred to him by every principle of hisunder-
standmg, and his heart would not have suffered him to
injure his bitterest enemy. He wms naturally disposed
to be cheerful, and when his mind was not occupied
with serious thoughts, could unbend with playful ease
and negligence, in the private circle ot friends. He
commonly spoke little in large and mixed companies,
and in the domestic relations of life vvas uniformly
kind and affectionate. His parental feelings were those
of the tenderest and best of fathers. Not even malice
itself could ever fix a stain on his private conduct, or
impeach his integrity.
PRIMiE vijE, among physicians, denote the whole
alimentary duct*, including the oesophagus, stomach, and
intestines, with their appendages.
PRIMAGE, in Commerce, a small duty at the wa-
ters-side, usually about 12d. per ton, or 6d. per bale, due
to the master and mariners of a ship.
PRIMARY, first in dignity, chief, or principal.
Primary Qualities oj Bodies. See Metaphysics,
N° 152.
PRIMATE, in church-polity, an archbishop, who is
invested with a jurisdiction over other bishops.
PRIME, Primus, an appellation given to whatever
is first in order, degree, or dignity, among several things
of the same or like kind 5 thus we say, the prime mi¬
nister, prime cost, &.c.
Prime is sometimes used to denote the same with de¬
cimal, or the tenth part of an unit.
Prime-Figure, in Geometry, one which cannot be
divided into any other figures more simple than itself,
as a triangle among planes, and the pyramid among so-
lids.
For prime numbers, in arithmetic, see the article
Number.
Prime of the Moon, is the new moon when she first
appears, which is about three days after the change.
Prime Vertical, is that vertical circle which passes
through the poles of the meridian, or the east and west
points of the horizon ; whence dials projected on the
plane of this circle are cixWeA prime vertical, or north-
and-south dials.
Prime, in the Romish church, is the first of the ca¬
nonical hours succeeding to lauds.
Prime, in Fencing, is the first of the chief guards.
See Guard.
PRIMER SEASIN, in Feodal Law, was a feodal bur^
den, only incident to the king’s tentants in capite, and
’ J not
imer
asin
ogenx
jre.
P K I ‘ f
not to those who held of inferior or mesne lords. It
was a right which the king had, when any of his ten¬
ants in capite died seized of a knight’s fee, to receive of
the heir (provided he were of full age) one whole year’s
-—i profits of the lands if they were in immediate possession,
and half a year s profits if the lands were in reversion
expectant on an estate for life. This seems to be little
more than an additional relief (see Relief) ; but
grounded upon this feodal reason, That by the ancient
law of foods, immediately upon the death of a vassal the
superiorwas entitled to enter and takeseisinor possession
of the land, by way of protection against intruders, till
the heir appeared to claim it, and receive investiture ;
and for the time the lord so held it, he was entitled to
take the profits ; and unless the heir claimed within a
year and day, it was by the strict law a forfeiture. This
practice, however, seems not to have long obtained in
England, if ever, with regard to tenures under inferior
lords; but, as to the king’s tenures in capite, this prima
seisitia was expressly declared, under Henry Ilf. and Ed¬
ward II. to belong to the king by prerogative, in con¬
tradistinction to other lords. And the king was en¬
titled to enter and receive the whole profits of the land,
till livery was sued 5 which suit being commonly within
a year and day next after the death of the tenant, there¬
fore the king used to take at an average the first-fruits,
that is to say, one year’s profits of the land. And this
afterwards gave a handle to the popes, who claimed to
be feodal lords of the church, to claim in like manner
from every clergyman in England the first year’s pro¬
fits of his benefice, by way ofprimitice, or first-fruits. 
AH the charges arising by primer seisin rvere taken a-
way by 12 Car. II. c. 24.
PRIMING, in Gunnery, the train of powder that is
laid, from the opening of the vent, along the gutter or
channel on the upper part of the breech of the gun :
which, when fired, conveys the flame to the vent, by
which it is further communicated to the charge, in order
to fire the piece. This operation is only used on ship¬
board at the proof, and sometimes in garrison j for, on
all other occasions, tubes are used for that purpose.
Priming-Uire, in Gunnery, a sort of iron needle
employed to penetrate the vent or touch-hole of a piece
of ordnance, when it is loaded : in order to discover
whether the powder contained therein is thoroughly dry
and fit for immediate service ; as likewise to search the
vent and penetrate the cartridge, when the guns are not
loaded with the loose powder.
Priming, among painters, signifies the layintr on of
the first colour.
PRlMIPILUS,in antiquity, the centurion of the first
cohort of a legion, who had the charge of the Roman
eagle.
PRIMIlIiE, the first-fruits gathered oil the earth,
whereof the ancients made presents to the gods.
PRIMITIVE, in Grammar, is a root or original
I'ord in a language, in contradistinction to derivative ;
thus, God is a primitive ; godly, a derivative j and god¬
like, a compound.
PRIMOGENI1URE, the right of the first-born,
has among most nations been very considerable. The
fiist-born son in the patriarchal ages had a superiority
over his brethren, and, in the absence of his father, was
priest to the family. Among the Jews, he ivas conse-
P K I
357 ]
crated to the Lord had a double portion of the inheri- Priino„eni
tance, and succeeded in the government of the family ture
or kingdom. It is, however, remarkable, and unq’ues- II
tionably shows the connection between this institution
and ^the birth and office of our Saviour, that if a W0- ' v  
man’s first child were a girl, neither she, nor the chil-
dien that came after her, were consecrated.
In every nation of Europe, the right of primogeni¬
ture prevails in some degree at present, but it did not
prevail always. The laiv which calls the elder-born to
the crown, preferably to the others, was not introduced
into 1 ranee till very late j it was unknown to the first
race of kings, and even to the second. The four sons
of Clovis shared the kingdom equally among themselves ;
and Louis leDebonnaire did the same : it was not till
the race of Hugh Capet, that the prerogative of succesr
sion to the crown was appropriated to the first-born.
. - ^ie ancient custom of Gavel-kind, still preserved
in some parts of our island, primogeniture is of no ac¬
count j the paternal estate being equally shared by all
the sons. And it has been a matter'of violent and
learned dispute, whether at the death of Alexander III.
Lahol or Eruce Avas, by the Iuav as it then stood, heir to
the crown of Scotland. The former had undoubtedly
the right of primogeniture, but the latter stood in one
degree of nearer relation to the deceased sovereign ; and
the Scottish barons, not being able to determine whose
claim Avas best founded, referred the question to Ed¬
ward I. of England, and thereby involved their coun-
tiy in a long and ruinous war. See Scotland.
PRIMORIE, is a name given by the Slavi to that
tract of sea-coast which lies between the tA\To rivers Cetr
tma and Narenta, the first of which is the Nestus and
liluras, and the second the Nanis, of the ancients j
comprising what was properly called Dalmatia two ages
before our era, and Avhich was knotvn to the Greeks of
the Ioav times under the name of Paratalassia. Appian
informs us that the Ardei or Vardei possessed many ci¬
ties there, part of which they seized before the invasion
of the Romans, and part they built themselves. We
learn also from the Tabula Peutingeriana, that after the
conquest many of those cities remained, and Avere inha¬
bited by the conquerors, avIio also founded new settle¬
ments. And indeed Avere these proofs wanting, the nu¬
merous inscriptions found near the sea, and sometimes
among the hills, Avould render it at least probable. The
coast is extremely pleasant, the soil fertile, and the si¬
tuation most convenient for commerce Avith the inland
provinces. By bad management, hoAvever, much ground
has been lost near the sea, by its being covered Avith
gravel 5 and by imprudent cultivation of the hills, the
impetuous fury of the mountain torrents has rendered
a part of it uninhabitable. Macarska is now the only
town in the territory, and it appears to have risen out
of the ruins of the ancient Rataneum of Pliny. It
formed a part of the Narentan state for several ages, and
afterwards, together Avith the rest of Primorie, passed
under the obedience of various Christian princes. It af-
tenvards became subject to the Ottoman Porte, and at
last voluntarily subjected itself to the Venetian republic.
See Dalmatia and Macarska. See also Fortis’s
Travels into Dalmatia, p» 265 —^18.
PRIMULA, the Primrose ; a genus of plants be¬
longing to the pentandria class : and in the natural me*
> thod
P H I
Primula
.11
Prince
F.din. Phil-
Trans.r. iii.
p. 13, &c.
thod ranking under the 21st order, I*recta.
TANY Index. This genus includes the primrose, the
cowslip, the polyanthus, and the auricula some 0 t ic
earliest and most beautiful ornaments of the flower-gar¬
den. For the mode of culture, see Gardening.
PRIMUM MOBILE, in the Ptolemaic astronomy, the
ninth or highest sphere of the heavens, whose centre is
that of the world, and in comparison ot which the earth
is but a point. This is supposed to contain within it all
other spheres, and to give them motion, turning them
quite round, as well as revolving itself, in 24 hours.
PRINCE, Princeps, in polity, a person invested
with the supreme command ot a state, independent ot
any superior. , . .
Prince also denotes a person who is a sovereign 1
his own territories, yet holds of some other as Ins supe¬
rior ; such are the princes of Germany, who, though
absolute in their respective principalities, are bound to
the emperor in certain services. .
Privce also denotes the issue of princes, or those ot
the royal family. In France, before the revolution, they
were called princes of the blood, and during the short
continuance of the constitution of 1791, French princes.
In England the king’s children are called sons and
daughters of England 5 the eldest son is created prince
of Wales ; the cadets are created dukes or earls as the
king pleases; and the title of all the children is royal
highness: all subjects are to kneel when admitted to kiss
their hand, and at table out of the king’s presence they
are served on the knee. See Royal Famdy.
Prtxce of the Senate, in old Rome, the person who
was called over first in the roll of senators, whenever it
was renewed by the censors : he was always of consular
and censorian dignity. See the article Senate.
Fringe's Metal, or Pinchbeck, an alloy of copper
and zinc, which has a resemblance to gold. See Che¬
mistry, N° 2014.
Princetown. See Hew Jersey.
Prince of Wales's Island, or Pulo Penang, is situat¬
ed in the entrance of the straits of Malacca, in 100
of east longitude, and in 50 of north latitude. It is
about seven leagues in length and three in breadth, and
is supposed to contain about 160 square miles. Its
northern extremity runs nearly parallel with the main
land at a distance of about two miles, by which a hue
channel is formed, where the greatest fleets might ride
in perfect safety, the height of the surrounding moun¬
tains acting as a barrier against the force ot the pre¬
vailing winds. c n 1
The purchase of this island from the king ot Qued-
dah, on the opposite Malay coast, was made on behalf
of the East India Company by Mr Light, who took
[ 358 ] P R I
See Bo- ment, were destroyed. A new treaty rvas entered into, Pnn,
by which it was stipulated, that the Malay king should < r
receive an annual payment of 6000 dollars. In 1800,
a tract of land on the opposite shore, cf 18 miles in
length and three in breadth, was ceded to the company
by the king of Queddab, on condition of receiving an¬
nually an additional sum of 400^ dollars. Ibe num¬
ber of inhabitants in 1797 was computed at about
12,000 persons of all descriptions.
The climate, considering its vicinity to the equator,
is remarkably mild. The thermometer on the high
grounds never rises above 7^°» seldom more than 74 >
and falls as low as 66° j while on the plain it ranges
from 76° to 90°. Its healthfulness is certainly not sur¬
passed by that of any European settlement on the coast.
Out of a garrison of 300 troops (natives of Hindostan),
not one died for the space of 14 months' $ a singular fact
to be experienced by a new settlement in an uncleared
country. This great salubrity is perhaps the effect of a
constant ventilation, supported by almost continued but
gentle breezes, added to the dryness of the soil, the uni¬
form but gradual elevation from the sea to the foot of
•the hills preventing those stagnations ot vvater, which,
in tro pical latitudes, are so highly prejudicial to the
health of man.
A ridge of beautiful mountains, deeply indented with
valleys, and covered with evergreens, divides the island
longitudinally. Flagstaff hill, nearly the highest on the
island, is estimated at 2500 feet above the level of the
sea. Innumerable rivulets receive their origin from these
mountains, and are remarkable for the transparency and
coolness of their waters. The soil, which is light and
sandy near the sea, gradually changes toTt rich clay as
it approaches to the high lands. There the sugar-cane
grows with the utmost luxuriance, and the most plenti¬
ful crops of rice are everywhere produced. The gar¬
dens have already furnished the inhabitants with cabba¬
ges and potatoes ; and when industry shall have reached
the tops of the mountains, it will be no surprise to see
in tbe plantations most of the productions ot Europe in
their utmost perfection. Here are also produced pep¬
per, cocoa-nuts, coffee, cotton, ginger, yams, sweet po¬
tatoes, a great variety of vegetables, and many different
sorts of fruits. Among the exotics are the clove, nut¬
meg, cinnamon, pimento, hyapootee, colalava, and a
number of other plants from the Moluccas and Eastern
isles, introduced only a fewT years ago. In decorating
the landscapes of this little island, nature has been pecu¬
liarly lavish. An assemblage of flowering trees and
shrubs in perpetual blossom, and endless in the variety
of their species, form the first shade. These are over¬
topped by forest trees of an immense height, winch
of the East India Lompany by ivir^igur, - - - t^i^ branches on every side, and are cover
possess,on of ,t on be of Augns 786. 1 be set sp ^ foHage. Here strangers fee „,.l
tlement continued to enjoy peace and security till the
year 179G when a jealousy on the Payt ot the king ot
Queddah, probably arising from a collision of interests,
threatened it with the calamities of war. Mr Light,
however, anticipated the attack of the enemy, and car¬
ried the scene of action to his own shores. A fort con¬
structed by the Malays at the town of Prya on the op¬
posite shore, and only two miles distant iiom George
Town in Prince of Wales’s island, was taken by assault;
and almost the whole of the prows collected in the river
for the conveyance of troops to attack the British settle-
ed with the richest foliage. Here strangers feel with
rapture the effect of the breezes, which, from whatso¬
ever quarter they blow, are strongly impregnated with
the fragrance of the groves. .
The original animal productions of this island are
very limited. Of quadrupeds, the wild hog, deer, and
squirrel, nearly comprehend the whole-, but the absence
of the tiger and leopard, whose numbers and ferocity al¬
most render the opposite shores uninhabitable, amp y
compensates for this deficiency. The flying fox and
squirrel are natives of this island} the former a non-
1 descript,
PR!
descript, anil a great natural curiosity. Of birds there
are also but few, and only one which is remarkable for
the melody of its notes. The crow and sparrow, the
never-failing attendants on population, have but lately
made their appearance. They are now, however ra¬
pidly increasing and multiplying. AH the domestic’ani¬
mals arrive here at great perfection.
The sea which surrounds the island, affords a vast
variety of fish of the most delicious flavour, and its shores
abundance of the finest turtle and oysters. In no situa¬
tion indeed are the conveniencies and luxuries of life
enjoyed in greater profusion. The advantages of the
island in a political and commercial view are very con¬
siderable. There were nothing but wooden bridges on
this island in the year 1800,"which were perpetually
liable to be injured,and which the rapid swellof the rivers
frequently carried away; but four substantial bridges of
brick and mortar were soon after that period completed
their foundations being of stone.
The markets are well supplied with different kinds of
fish, poultry of all sorts, pork, grain, and great variety
of the finest fruits and vegetables. The quality of the
beel and veal xs none of the best, and they import sheep
from Bengal. Milk, butter, and bread', bear a high
price, the two former of which are not very abund¬
ant.
Prince of M ales Island produces a great variety of
timber, lit for every purpose of ship-building, and can
furnish masts of any dimensions. Ships of 74 guns were
provided with loiver masts of one piece in the course of
the late war.
There are few, if any places, more abundantly sup¬
plied with water, than this island, numerous streams of
water flowing from the hills in every direction. Three
or four of these streams unite, and form the Penang ri¬
ver, after traversing a considerable space ; and it "dis¬
charges itself into the sea, about a mile to the southward
of the town.
This island contains mines of tin; but it is said they
have never been worked.
r 359 i
P R I
and Danish, and 36 Asiatic, arrived in this island. The
total number of arrivals, in 1800, amounted to 103:
and in 1802, to 241, equal nearly to 57,000 tons.
Prince William's Sound, situated on the north-west
coast of America, and so named by Captain Cock in
1778. The men, women, and children of this sound
are all clothed in the same manner. Their ordinary
dress is a sort of close frock, or rather robe, which
sometimes reaches only to the knees, but generally
down to the ancles. Ihese frocks are composed of the
skins of various animals, and are commonly worn with
the hairy side outwards. The men often paint their
faces of a black colour, and of a bright red, and some¬
times of a bluish or leaden hue; but not in any regular
figure. The women puncture or stain the chin with
black, that comes to a point in each of their cheeks.
Iheir canoes are of two sorts; the one large and open,
the other small and covered. The framing consists of
slender pieces of wood, and the outside is composed of
the skins of seals, or other sea animals, stretched over
the wood. Their weapons, and implements for hunting
and fishing, are the same as those used by the Green¬
landers and Esquimaux. Many of their spears are head¬
ed with iron, and their arrows are generally pointed
with bone. The food they were seen to eat was the
flesh of some animal, either roasted or broiled, and
dried fish. Some of the former that was purchased had
the appearance of bear’s flesh. They also eat a larger
sort of fern-root, either baked or dressed in some other
method. Their drink, in all probability, is water ; for,
in their canoes, they brought snow in wooden vessels,
which they swallowed by mouthfuls. Our knowledge
of the . animals of this part of the American con¬
tinent is entirely derived from the skins that were
brought by the natives for sale. These were principal¬
ly of bears, common and pine martens, sea otters, seals,
racoons, small ermines, foxes, and the whitish cat or
lynx. The birds found heie were the halycon, or great
king’s-fisher, which had fine bright colours; the white-
Persons rnnviWJ 1 • v • pit,. JleatIed eagle, and the humming-bird. The fish that
tkb e C°r;V • , f ^,onieTs’&c- in an7 of Bri- wcre principally brought to market for sale were torsk
T- . in p ™E.aSt fndle? are frequently ba- and holibut. The rocks were almost destitute of shell¬
fish ; and the only other animal of this tribe that was
observed was a reddish crab, covered with very large
spines. lew vegetables of any kind were observed ;
and the trees that chiefly grew about this sound were
the Canadian spruce pine, some of which were of a con¬
siderable size. E. Long. 115. 21. N. Lat. 59. 33.
PRINCIPAL, the chief and most necessary part of
a thing. '1 he principal of a college or hall is the mas¬
ter thereof.
In commerce, principal is the capital of a sum due
or lent; so called in opposition to interest. See Inte¬
rest.
It also denotes the first fund put by partners into a
common stock, by which it is distinguished from the
calls or accessions afterwards required.
Principal, in Music. See Fundamental, in Mu¬
sic, and Generator, in Music.
Principal, in Law, is either the actor or absolute
perpetrator of the crime, who is called a principal, in
the first degree; or he who is present, aiding and abet¬
ting the fact to be done, who is denominated a principal
in the second degree. The presence of a principal need
not
nished to Prince of Wales Island, so that it may be
considered as the Botany Bay of the East.
The following table exhibits the revenue and dis¬
bursements of the island, at several different periods,
from 1789 to 1804.
1789
1790
1791
J795
1796
1800
1802
1803
Revenue.
Dollars.
2500
4100
I1’235
19,612
28,000
J3A55
74,280
75,000 estimated.
Disbursements.
Dollars.
78,884
96,274
108,290
IJ5i379
192,598
184,469
176,000
180,000 estimated.
The imports of this island consist of the various natu-
ra productions of the east, as well as ol a great variety
0 the manufactures of the industrious inhabitants of
those regions.
In 1799, 95 English ships, 37 American, Portuguese,
Piinee,
Piincipal.
Principal
II
Principle.
Blackst.
Comment.
b. iv. c. 3.
pur [ 360
not always be an actual immediate standing by, within
sight or hearing of the fact j but there may be also a
constructive presence, as when one commits a robbery
or murder, and another keeps watch or guard at some
convenient distance. And this rule has also other ex¬
ceptions *, for, in case of murder by poisoning, a man
may be a principal felon by preparing and laying the
poison, or giving it to another (who is ignorant ot its
poisonous quality) for that purpose ; and yet not admi¬
nister it himself, nor be present when the very deed ot
poisoning is committed. And the same reasoning will
hold, with regard to other murders committed in the
absence of the murderer, by means which he had pre¬
pared before-hand, and which probably could not tail ot
their mischievous effect. As by laying a trap or pit-iall
for another, whereby he is killed-, letting out a wild
beast, with an intent to do mischief; or exciting a mad¬
man to commit murder, so that death thereupon ensues .
in every one of these cases the party offending is guilty
of murder as a principal, in the first degree. F01 he
cannot be called an accessory, that necessarily presuppo¬
sing a principal j and the poison, the pit fall, the beast,
or the madman, cannot be held principals, being on y
the instruments of death. As therefore he must be cer¬
tainly guilty, either as principal or accessory, and can¬
not be so as accessory, it follows that he must be guilty
as principal j and if principal, then in the first degree }
for there is no other criminal, much less a superior in
the guilt, whom he could aid, abet, or assist.
Principal Point, in Perspective, is a point in the
perspective plane, upon which a line drawn from the
eye perpendicular to the plane falls.
This point is in the intersection of the horizontal and
vertical plane j and is also called the pofw* of sight, and
point of the eye. See Perspective.
Principal Ray, in Perspective, is that which passes
perpendicularly from the spectator’s eye to the perspec¬
tive plane, or picture.
Whence the point where this ray falls on the plane,
is by some also called the principal point, which other
writers call the centre of the picture, and the pomt of
concurrence. . .
PRINC1PATO, the name of a province ot Italy, in
the kingdom of Naples, which is divided into two parts,
called by the Italians the Principato Ultra, and the
Principato Citra, the Hither and Farther Principato.
The Hither Principato is bounded on the north by the
Farther Principato and part of the Terra-di-Lavoro, on
the west and south by the Tuscan sea, and on the east
by the Basilicata. It is about 60 miles in length, and
30 in breadth ; the soil is fertile in wine, corn, oil, and
saffron 5 and they have a great deal ot silk, besides se¬
veral mineral springs. The capital town is Salerno.
The Farther Principato is bounded on the north by the
county of Molese and the Terra-di-Lavoro, on the west
by the Tuscan sea, on the south by the Hither Princi¬
pato, and on the east by the Capitanata. ^ It is about
37 miles in length, and 30 in breadth. The Apenmne
mountains render the air cold j and the soil is not veiy
fertile either in corn or wine, but it produces chesnuts,
and pastures in great plenty. Benevento is the capital
town. The population of both in 1817 was 764,000.
PRINCIPLE, Principium, in general, is used tor
the cause, source, or origin of any thing.
Principle, in human nature. See Disposition.
Princip-
Pringlu
] P R I
PRINCIPLE, in science, is a truth, admitted without
proof, from which other truths are inferred by a chain ot
reasoning. Principles are of two kinds,p/wiory and ge-
neral; and to the last the name oiaxioms is usually given
on account of their importance and dignity. An axiom
or general principle, when the terms in which it is ex¬
pressed are understood, must be a self-evident truth -, but
from its very nature it cannot be a first truth. Our first
truths are all particular. A child knows that two par¬
ticular lines, each an inch long, are equal to one an¬
other, before he has formed any general notions of
length and equality. “ Things equal to one and the
same thing are equal to one another,” is the first of
Euclid’s axioms} and an axiom it undoubtedly is, but
to no man has it been a first truth. It is, if we may use
the expression, a genus or class ol truths, comprehend¬
ing under it numberless individuals. W ere a full-grown
man introduced into the world, without a single idea inr
his mind, as we, may suppose Adam to have been, he
would instantly perceive, upon laying together three
pieces of wood each a foot long, that they were all equal
in length -, and if he were to cut another to the same
length with any one of them, he would find upon trial
that it was of the same length with them all. After a
few simple experiments of this kind, he would, by a law
of human thought, infer, that all things equal in length
or in any other dimension, to any one thing, aie in that
dimension equal to one another.
It was not therefore with such weakness as some
have imagined, that Hobbes affirmed those propositions
commonly called axioms, not to be primary but secon¬
dary principles. A primary principle deserves not the
name of an axiom, as it is only a particular truth in¬
cluding in it no other truth. There is not one of Eu¬
clid’s axioms which has not been the result of induction,
though we remember not the time at which the induc¬
tion ivas made. That the whole is greater than any
of its parts is a general truth which no man of com¬
mon sense can controvert -, but every one discovered
that truth by observing that his body was larger than
his head, his foot, or his hand ; that a mountain is
larger than a mole-hill in the middle of it j and that a
piece of timber measuring what is called a yard is longer
than any one of the divisions marked upon it, and
termed inches. The particular observations are made
through the senses and treasured up in the memory;
and the intellect, by its constitution, compares them
together, marks in what they agree and disagree, and
thence draws its axioms or general principles. He,
therefore, who should admit the truth of an axiom, and
deny the evidence of sense and perception, would act as
absurdly as he who accepts payment in a bank-bill, and
refuses it in the individual pieces of gold or silver which
that bill represents. General axioms are of infinite
use in the pursuits of science ; but it is not because
they create new truths -, they only shorten the process
in the discovery of such as might be found, with labour,
through the medium of particular propositions. See
CampheWs Philosophy of Rhetoric and Tathain's Chart
and Scale of Truth. ,
Principles, in Physics, are often confounded with
elements, or the first and simplest parts whereof natural
bodies are compounded, and into which they are again
resolvable by the force of fire. _ .
PRINGLE, Sir John, an eminent physician ami
philosopher,
V B I
r
1e. philosopher, was a younger son of Sir John Pringle of
—' Stitchel, ia the shire of Roxburgh, Baronet 5 tool the
degree of M. D. at Leyden, j 730 ; and published there
D/'ssertatw Inauguralis de Marcore Senili, gto. After
having been some years professor of moral philosophy
at Edinburgh, he wa* in June j 745 appointed physi¬
cian to the duke of Cumberland, and physician-general
to the hospital of the forces in Flanders, where the
earl of Stair appears to have been his patron. In Fe¬
bruary 1746, Dr Pringle, Dr Armstrong, and Dr Bar¬
ker, were nominated physicians to the hospital of
lame, maimed, and sick soldiers, behind Buckingham-
house •, and in April 1749, Dr Pringle was appointed
physician inordinary to the king. In 1750 he pub¬
lished “ Observations on the Nature and Cure of Hos¬
pital and Gaol Fevers, in a letter to Dr Mead,” 8vo
(reprinted in 1755) ; and in 1752 he favoured the
public with the result of his long experience, in an ad¬
mirable treatise under the title of “ Observations on the
Disorders of the Army in Camp and Garrison,” 8vo.
On the 14th of April 1752, he married Charlotte,
second daughter of Dr Oliver, an eminent physician at
Bath. In 1756 he was appointed jointly with Dr
Wintringham (now Sir Clifton Wintringham, Bart.)
physician to the hospital for the service of the forces of
Great Britain. After the accession of his present ma¬
jesty, Dr Pringle was appointed physician to the queen’s
household, 1761 j physician in ordinary to the queen in
1763, in which year he was admitted of the College of
physicians in London ; and on the 5th of June 1766,
he was advanced to the dignity of a baronet of Great
Britain. In 1772 he was elected president of the
Royal Society, where his speeches for five successive
years, on delivering the prize-medal of Sir Godfrey
Copley, gave the greatest satisfaction. Sir John Pringle
in 1777 was appointed physician extraordinary to the
king. He was also a fellow of the College of Phy¬
sicians at Edinburgh, and of the Royal Medical Society
at Paris j member of the Royal Academies at Paris,
Stockholm, Gottingen, and of the Philosophical So¬
cieties at Edinburgh and Haerlem j and continued pre¬
sident of the Royal Society till November 1778 5 after
which period he gradually withdrew from the world,
and in 1781 quitted his elegant house in Pall Mali
(where he had long distinguished himself as the warm
friend and patron of literary" men of every nation and
profession), and made an excursion to his native coun¬
try. He returned to London in the latter end of the
year j died greatly beloved and respected, January 18.
1782; and having no children, was succeeded in estate,
and also (agreeably to the limitation of the patent)
m title, by his nephew, Sir James Pringle, Bart. A-
mong the worthy physician’s communications to the
Royal Society, the following are the principal : 1.
Some Experiments on Substances resisting Putre¬
faction,” Phil. Trans. N° 495. p. 580 ; and N° 496,
F 525> 55° 5 reprinted, with additions, in Martin’s
Abridgement, vol. xi. p. 1365. 2. “ Account of some
ersons seized with the Gaol lever by working in
tNewgate, and of the manner by which the Infection
Was communicated to one entire Family,” vol. xlviii.
P- 42. At the request of Dr Hales, a copy of this
useful paper was inserted in the Gentleman’s Magazine,
3753i P- 7L before its appearance in the Transactions.
3- A remarkable Case of Fragility, Flexibility, and
Vol. XVII. Part I. b f
61 ] P B I
Dissolution of (lie Bones, ib. p. 297. ^“Account
of the Earthquake felt at Brussels,” vol. xlix. p. ?46. jj'&
5. ‘‘ Account of the sinking of a river near Pontypoo] Printing.
ni Monmouthshire,” ib. p. 547. 6. “Account of an ' 
Earthquake felt Feb. 18. 1756, along the coast of
England, between Margate and Dover,” ib. p. 579,
7- Account of the Earthquake felt at Glasgow and
Dumbarton ; also of a shower of Dust falling on a
Ship between Shetland and Iceland,” ib. p. 509. g.
Several Accounts of the fiery Meteor which appeared
on Sunday, November 26. 1758, between eight and nine
at night, vol. 1. p. 218. 9. “ Account of \he Virtues
of Soap in dissolving the Stone, in the Case of the
Reverend Mr Matthew Simson,” ib. p. 221. 10.“ Ac¬
count of the effects of Electricity in Paralytic Cases,”
ib. 481. And see a letter to him on that subject from
Professor Winthorp. “ Some Account of the Success
of the Vitrum Ccratum Antimonii," was printed in the
Edinburgh Medical Essays, vol. v.
PRINOS, in Bota?nj, a genus of the monogynia or¬
der, belonging to the hexandria class of plants 5 and in
the natural method ranking under the 43d order, L)u-
inosce. I he calyx is sexfid 5 the corolla monopctalous,
and rotaceous $ the belly hexaspermous.
PR INI ER, a person who composes and takes im¬
pressions from moveable characters ranged in order, by
means of ink and a press.
1 HINTING, the art of taking impressions from
coaracters or figures, moveable and immoveable, on pa¬
per, linen, silk, &c. There are three kinds of print¬
ing: the one from moveable letters, for books} ano¬
ther from copper-plates, for pictures} and the last from
blocks, in which the representation of birds, fhnvers,
&c. are cut, for printing calicoes, linen, &c. The first
is called common or letter-press printing} the second,
rolling-press printing } and the last, calico, &c. printing.
The principal difl'erence between the three consists in
this, that the first is cast in relievo, in distinct pieces }
the second engraven in creux} and the third cut in re¬
lievo, and generally stamped, by placing the block up¬
on the materials to be printed, and stinking upon the
back of it.
Of the above branches, Letter-Press PRINT-i.etter-
ING is the most curious, and deserves the most par-press print-
ticular notice: for to it are owing chiefly our deliver-’H»•
ance from ignorance and error, the progress of leam-
ing, the revival of the sciences, and numberless improve¬
ments in arts, which, without this noble invention,
would have been either lost to mankind, or confined
to the knowledge of a few. “ To the art of printing, Utility of
(says an elegant essayist *), it is acknowledged we owe tins art.
the reformation. It has been justly remarked, that if*DrKnexp
the books of Luther had been multiplied only by the
slow process of the hand-writing, they must have been
few, and would have been easily suppressed by the
combination of wealth and power} but, poured forth
in abundance from the press, they spread over the land
with the rapidity of an inundation, which acquixes ad¬
ditional force from the efforts used to obstruct its pro.
gress. He who undertook to prevent the dispersion
of the books once issued from the press, attempted a
task no less arduous than the destruction of the hydra.
Resistance Avas vain, and religion was reformed : and
we who are chiefly interested in this happy revolution
must remember, amidst the praises bestowed on Luther,
Z z that
Printing.
Good and
evil result¬
ing from it
4
Its good
effects
overba¬
lance the
bad.
PEI [ 362 ]
that his endeavours had been ineffectual, unassisted by
the invention of Faustus.
“ How greatly the cause of religion has been promo¬
ted by the art, must appear, when it is considered, that
it has placed those sacred books in the hand oi every
individual, which, besides that they were once locked
up in a dead language, could not be procured without
great difficulty. The numerous comments on them ot
every kind, which tend to promote piety, and to form
the Christian philosopher, would probably never have
been composed, and certainly would not have extend¬
ed their beneficial influence, if typography had still been
unknown. By that art, the light, which is to illumi¬
nate a dark world, has been placed in a situation more
advantageous to the emission of its rays but it it has
been the means of illustrating the doctrines, and en¬
forcing the practice ot religion, it has also, particulai-
ly in the present age, struck at the root of piety and mo¬
ral virtue, by propagating opinions favourable to the
sceptic and the voluptuary. It has enabled modern
authors wantonly to gratify their avarice, their vanity,
and their misanthropy, in disseminating novel systems
subversive of the dignity and happiness of human na¬
ture : but though the perversion ol the art is lamenta¬
bly remarkable in those volumes which issue, with of¬
fensive profusion, from the vain, the wicked, and tue
hungry j yet this good results from the evil, that as
truth is great and will prevail, she must derive fresh
lustre, by displaying the superiority of her strength in
the conflict with sophistry. . .
“ Thus the art of printing, in whatever light it is
viewed, has deserved respect and attention. I rom the
ingenuity of the contrivance, it has ever excited me¬
chanical curiosity ; from its intimate connection with
learning, it has justly claimed historical notice ; and
from its extensive influence on morality, politics, and
religion, it is now become a subject of very important
speculation. . , .
“ But however we may felicitate mankind on tlie in¬
vention, there are perhaps those who wish, that, toge¬
ther with its compatriot art of manufacturing gunpow¬
der, it had not yet been brought to light. lts eflects
on literature, they assert, that it has increased the num¬
ber of books, till they distract rather than improve the
mind ; and of its malignant influence on morals, they
complain, that it has often introduced a false refinement,
incompatible with the simplicity of primitive piety and
genuine virtue. With respect to its literary ill conse¬
quences, it may be said, that though it produces to the
world an infinite number of worthless publications, yet
true wit and fine composition will still retain their value,
and it will be an easy task for critical discernment to se¬
lect these from the surrounding mass of absurdity : and
thouo-h, with respect to its moral effects, a regard to truth
extorts’ the confession, that it has diffused immorality
and irreligion, divulged with cruel impertinence the se-
P R I
crets of private life, and spread the tale of scandal Pi-huing,
through an empire ; yet these are evils which will either '—-y-*
shrink away unobserved in the triumphs of time and
truth over falsehood, or which may, at any time, be
suppressed by the legislative interposition.” 5
Some writers have ascribed the origin of this art to History of
the East, and affixed a very early period to its inven-jj1^™
tion •, particularly P. Jovius, (Hut. lib. xiv. p. 226. ed.
Florent. 1350), from whom Osorius and many others
have embraced the same opinion. But these have evi¬
dently confounded the European mode of printing with
the engraved tablets which to this day are used in Chi¬
na. The invention of these tablets has been ascribed by
many writers even to an earlier period than the com¬
mencement of the Christian era 5 but is with more pro¬
bability assigned, by the very accurate Phil. Couplet, to
the year ^he Historza Sinensis of iVbdalla, writ¬
ten in Persic in speaks of it as an art in very
common use. Meerman, vol. i. p. 16. 218, 219, vol.
ii. p. 186. N. Trigault asserts that the Chinese prac¬
tised the art of printing five centuries before. Count
Ferre Itezzonico found at Lyons plates with words and
names engraven by a Nuremberger 1380.
The honour of having given rise to the European
method has been claimed by the cities of Haerlem,
Mentis and Strasburg. And to each of these it may
be ascribed in a qualified sense, as they made improve¬
ments upon one another. _ 6
I. The first testimony of the inventor is that recorded Claim of
hy Hadrian Junius, in his Batavia, p. 253, ed. Lugd.Haerlem.
Bat. 15885 which, though it hath been rejected by ma-
nv, is of undoubted authority. Junius had the relation
from two reputable menj NicholausOalius (a), who was
the schoolmaster ; and Quirinius Talesius, his intimate
and correspondent. He ascribes it to Laurentius, the
son of John (iEdituus, or Gustos, of the cathedral of
HAERLEM, at that time a respectable office), upon the
testimony of Cornelius, some time a servant to Lauren-
tius, and afterwards bookbinder to the cathedral, an
office which had before been performed by Franciscan
friars. His narrative was thus : “ That, walking in a
wood near the city (as the citizens of opulence use. to
do), he began at first to cut some letters upon the rind
of a beech tree 5 which, for fancy’s sake being impressed
on paper, he printed one or two lines, as a specimen for
his grand-children (the sons of his daughter) to follow.
This having happily succeeded, he meditated greater
things (as he was a man of ingenuity and judgment) 5
and first of all, with his son-in-law Thomas Peter (who,
by the way, left three sons, who all attained the consu¬
lar dignity), invented a more glutinous writing-ink, be¬
cause he found the common ink sunk and spread 5 and
then formed whole pages of wood, with letters cut upon
them 5 of which sort! have seen some essays,in an anony¬
mous work, printed only on one side, entitled Speculum
nostra; saluiis : in which it is remarkable, that in the in¬
fancy
(A) Callus see™ to be the sane who Is called Claes ^,nsM 5-^“
?t:!tvq3d s in ^
-IdlersrMuy" 3-° J«3- There are some letters of Hadriao
Junius to this Talesius, in the Epistolce Junuina, p. 198..
Printim
P R I [ 263
. fancy of printing (as nothing is complete at its first in-
vention) the back sides of the pages were pasted ton-e¬
ther, that they might not by their nakedness betray their
deformity. These beechen letters he afterwards changed
for leaden ones, and these again for a mixture of tin and
lead [stannece] as a less flexible and more solid and dur¬
able substance. Of the remains of which types, when
they were turned to waste metal, those old wine-pots
were cast, that are still preserved in the family-house
which looks into the market-place, inhabited afterwards
by his great-grandson Gerard Thomas, a gentleman of
reputation ; whom I mention for the honour of the
family, and who died old a few years since. A new
invention never fails to engage curiosity. And when a
commodity never before seen excited purchasers, to the
advantage of the inventor, the admiration of the art in¬
creased, dependents were enlarged, and workmen mul¬
tiplied ; the first calamitous incident! Among these was
]
P R I
tells us (Lcl. v. 13.) of its being usual to cut words on
the Sar/c of a beech ; and thence he was easily led to
make a wrong application of it here.
2. 1 he letters were at first wooden, and are said to be
afterwards exchanged for metal types j from which the
wine-pots were formed, remaining in the time of Junius.
According to tradition, printing was carried on in the
same house long after the time of Laurentius: these
pots might therefore be formed from the waste metal of
the printing-house, after the use offusile types became
universal.—-But Laurentius seems to have carried the
art no farther than separate wooden types. What is a
remarkable confirmation of this, Henry Spiechel, who
wrote, m the 16th century, a Dutch poem entitled
Hertspiegel, expresses himself thus : “ Thou first Lau¬
rentius, to supply the defect of wooden tablets, adaptedst
wooden types, and afterwards didst connect them with a
t uead, to imitate writing. A treacherous servant sur-
:;:“;'£5rw;Btr.=r t 3335»4*s=;
^ 1 of
Pr‘ ng.
name of laustus (b), unfaithful and unlucky to mo
master, or whether it was really a person of that name,
I shall not much inquire j being unwilling to molest the
silent shades, who suffer from a consciousness of their
past actions in this life. This man, bound by oath to
keep the secret of printing, when he thought he had
learned the art of joining the letters, the method of
casting the types, and other things of that nature,
taking the most convenient time that was possible, on
Christmas eve, when every one was customarily employ¬
ed in lustral sacrifices, seizes the collection of types, and
all the implements his master had got together, and,
with one accomplice, marches off to Amsterdam, thence’
to Cologne, and at last settled at Mentz, as at an asylum
of security, where he might go to work with the tools
he had stolen. It is certain, that in a year’s time, viz.
m 1442, the Doctrinale of Alexander Galius, which was
a grammar much used at that time, together with the
Tracts of Peter of Spain, came forth there, from the
same types as Laurentius had made use of at Haerlem.”
Thus far the narrative of Junius, which he had fre¬
quently heard from Nicolaus Galius; to whom it was
related by Cornelius himself, who lived to a great age
and used to burst into tears upon reflecting on the loss’
his master had sustained, not only in his substance, but in
his honour, by the roguery of his servant, his former
associate and bedfellow. Cornelius, as appears by the
registers of Haerlem cathedral, died either in 1515, or
the beginning of the following year j so that he might
very well give this information to Nicolaus Galius, who
was^schoolmaster to Hadrian Junius.
Though this circumstance is probable as to the main
tact, yet we must set aside the evidence of it in some
particulars. 1. The first obvious difficulty is noticed
by bcnverius 5 “ that the types are said to be made of
the rind of beach, which could not be strong enough to
hear the impression of the press though this is re-
nioved, if, instead of the bark, we substitute a bough of
the beech. The idea of the bark, when Junius wrote
this, was perhaps strong in his mind, from what Virgil
truth itself, though destitute of common and wide-spread
fame 5 truth, I say, still remains.” No mention in the
poem of metal types; a circumstance which, had he been
lobbed of such, as well as of wooffe?! ones, would scarcely
ha\e been passed over in silence.
When Laurentius first devised his rough specimen of
the art, can only be guessed at. He died in 1440, af¬
ter having published the Speculum Belgicum, and two
e *tions of Donatus, all with different wooden types;
which it is probable (considering the difficulties he had
to encounter, and the many artists whom he must neces¬
sarily have had occasion to consult) cost him some years
to execute ; so that the first essay might be about 1450,
winch nearly agrees with Petrus Scriverius, who says,
the invention was about 10 or 12 years before 1440.
bee Laurentius. ^
3. AY hat was the specimen he first diverted himself
with in cutting, at the distance of three centuries, one
would think impossible to be discovered. And yet
Job. Enschedius, a printer, thinks he was so happy as
to find it, being an old parchment Horarium, printed
on both sides, in eight pages, containing the Letters of
the Alphabet, the Lord’s Prayer, the Apostles Creed
and three short prayers. And Mr Meerman having
shown this to proper artists who were judges of these
matters, they gave it as their opinion that it aoreed
exactly with the description of Junius. It is conforma¬
ble to the firsteditions of the Dutch Speculum Salvationis,
and the fragments of both Bonatus's of Holland, both
which are the works of the same Laurentius, and were
pieceded by this. In these types, which are certainly
moveable, cut, and uneven, there is a rudeness which
Mr Meerman has not observed in any other instances.
I here are no numbers to the pages, no signatures, no
direction-words, no divisions at the end of the lines ; on
the contrary,_ a syllable divided in the middle is seen,
thus, Spi ntu, in p. 8. 1. 2, 3- There are neither dis¬
tinctions nor points, which are seen in the other works
of Laurentius j and the letter t is not marked with an
accent, but with a dot at the top. The lines through-
Z Z 2 out
se/m? ^in Faust, or Fust, is by many supposed to have derived his name fromfaustus, “ happy j” and Dr Faustus
John Hr, /lryian air ° £rande“fin the appellation : but very erroneously. John Faust, or Fust, is no more than
•wm nana, whence our name Fist.
u tiling-.
P R I
[ 364' ]
P R I
out are uneven. The shape of the pages not always
the same ; not (as they should be) rectangular, but some¬
times rhomb-like, sometimes an isosccle trapezium : and
the performance seems to be left as a specimen both of
his piety, and of his ingenuity in this essay of a new in¬
vented art. Mr Meerman has given an exact engrav¬
ing of this singular curiosity.
But, whatever else may appear doubtful in the nar¬
rative of Junius, it is very clear, that the first essays
of the art are to be attributed to Laurentius, who used
only separate tuooden types. See the article Lauren¬
tius.
II. Some of Laurentius’s types were stolen from him
by one of his servants (c) John Geixsfleicii senior;' 
who fled therewith to MENTZ. Having introduced 7
the art from Haerlem into this his native city, he set
with all diligence to carry it on j and published, in 1442, z‘
Alexjndhi Galli Doctrinale, and Petri Hjspani
Tractatus ; two works, which, being small, best suited
his circumstances •, and lor which, being much used in
the schools, he might reasonably expect a profitable sale.
They were executed with wooden types, cut after the
model of those he had stolen.
In 1443 he hired the house Sum Jlungeil; and was
assisted
(c) Authors differ as to the person who committed this robbery. It is clear from all accounts that his name
was John ; but what his surname was is the disputed point. Junius, alter some hesitation, ascribes it to John I ust $
but with injustice : for he was a wealthy man, who assisted the first printers at Mentz. with money j and though he
afterwards w^as proprietor of a printing-office, yet he never, as far as appears, performed any part ot the business
with his own hands, and consequently he could never have been a servant to Laurentius. Nor is the conjecture of
Scriverius better founded, which fixes it upon John Gutenberg, who (as appears by authentic testimonies) resided
at Strasburg from 1436 to 1444, and during all that period employed much fruitless labour and expence in endea¬
vouring to attain this art. Mr Mterman once thought, “it might be either John Meidenbachius, (who, we are
told by Seb. Munster and the author of Chronographia Moguntinensis, was an assistant to the first Mentz printers) ;
or John Petersheimius (who was some time a servant to Fust and Schoefler, and set up a printing-house at Irancfort
in 14^9): or, lastly, some other person, who, being unable through poverty to carry on the business, discovered it
to Geinsfleich at Mentz.” But more authentic intelligence afterwards convinced him there were two persons of
this name *, and that John Geinsfleich senior* was the dishonest servant, who was born at Mentz, and who in the
papers published by Kohlerus, we find there in the year 1441, and not before : for though he was ot a good lamily,
yet he was poor, and seems to have been obliged, as well as his brother, to seek his livelihood in a foreign coun¬
try } and perhaps was content to be under Laurentius, that, when he had learned the art, he might lollow it in
his own. But, to leave conjecture, rve may produce some certain testimonies.
1. It is what Junius himself says, that the person who stole the types did it with a view to set up elsewhere j
nor is it likely that he w'ould either make no use of an art he had seen so profitable to Laurentius, or that he
would teach it to another and submit to be again a servant.
The Lambeth Record (which is printed below, from Mr Atkyns) tells us, that “ Mentz gained the art by
the brother of one of the workmen of Haerlem, who learned it at home of his brother, who after set up for himself
at Mentz.”—By the strictest examination of the best authorities, it is plain, that by these two hrdthers the two
Geinsfleiches must be meant. But as the younger (Gutenberg') was never a servant to Laurentius, it must be the
senior who carried off the types, and instructed his brother in the art", who first applied himself to the business at
Strasburg, and afterwards joined his elder brother, who had in the mean time settled at Mentz.
What is still stronger, two chronologers of Strasburg, the one named Dan Spekhnus, the other anonymous (in
Meerman’s Documenta, N° lxxxv. LXXXVI.), tell us expressly, that John Geinsfleich (viz. the senior, whom
they distinguished from Gutenberg), having learned the art by being servant to itsJirst inventor, carried it by theft;
into Mentz his native country. They are right in the fact, though mistaken in the application of it; for they
make Strasburg the place of the invention, and Mentelius the inventor, from whom the types were stolen. But
this is plainly an error: for Geinsfleich lived at Mentz in 1441, as appears from undoubted testimonies-, and could
not be a servant to Mentelius, to whom the before-mentioned writers ascribe the invention in I44°> though more
ancient ones do not attempt to prove that he began to print before 1444 °r I44^- Nor will the narrative agree
better with Gutenberg, who was an earlier printer than Mentelius ; since, among the evidences produced by him
in his law-suit, 1439, no Geinsfleich senior appears, nor any other servant but Laurentius Beildek. The narra¬
tion therefore of the theft of Geinsfleich, being spread by various reports through the world, and subsisting in the
time of these chronologers, was applied by them (to serve the cause they wrote for) to Strasburg j but serves to
confirm the truth, since no writer derives the printing spoils from any other country than Holland or Alsatia.
The chronologers have likewise, instead of Fust, called Gutenberg the wealthy manj who, from all circumstances,
appears to have been poor, They also call Schoetier the son-in-law of Mentelius j when it is clear that he married
the daughter of Fust.
* He was called Geimjleich xar the other was distinguished by the name of Gutenberg. They were both poor; though
of a family distinguished by knighthood They were both married men ; and were most probably brothers, as it was rot uncommon
in that age for two brotheis to have the same Christian name. These both appear ia a disreputable light. The eldest robbed his
master, with many aggravating urcumslancvs. The youngest was remarkably contentious; and, after entering into a contract of
marriage with Anna, a noble girl of The Iren Cate, refused to marry hei till compelled by a judicial decree; and afterwards cared
not what became of the lady, but le ft her boi n<! nt StrasLurg when he removed to Menu?. He had not only frequent quaircls with
his wife; but with Andrew Drizehcn, Andrew lieitmunn, nnd John RifJ, all of whom were associated with him at Strasburg in hi*
difl'ereut employments of making of looking- glasses, polishing of precious stones, and endeavouring to attain the art of printing;
with these he involved himself in three law-suits. See Meerman, vel. i. p 163, See. N.
,
P R I r
L ^
7. assisted with money hy Fust, a wealthy person, who in
return had a share of the business : and about the same
time Jo/m Mcidenbachius was ad m i t ted a partner, as were
some others whose names are not transmitted to our
times j and in 1444 they were joined by Gutenberg,
who for that purpose quitted Strasburg. Wooden types
being found not sufficiently durable, and not answering
expectation in other respects, the two brothers lirst in^
vented cut metol types, tout while these were preparing',
which must have been a work of time, several works
were printed, both on wooden separate types and on
wooden blocks; which were well adapted to small hooks
of frequent use, such as the Tabula Alphabetical the Ca-
t hah con, fJonati Grummaticu, and the Confcssionahci.
From the above-mentioned printers in conjunction, af¬
ter many smaller essays, the Bible was publishedin 1450,
with large cut metal types (d). And it is no wonder’
considering the immense labour this work cost, that it
should be seven or eight years in completing. In this
same year the partnership was dissolved, and a new one
entered into, in August, between Fust and Gutenberg;
the former supplying the money, the latter skill, for
their common benefit. \ arious difficulties arisinp-,
occasioned a law-suit for the money which Fust had ad¬
vanced j which was determined against Gutenberg. A
dissolution of this partnership ensued in 1455; and in
1457 a magnificent edition of the Psalter was published
by Fust and Schaeffer, with aremarkahle commendation,
in which they assumed to themselves the merit of a new
invention (viz. of metal types'), ad inventionem artifici-
osam imprimendiac characterixandi. This hook'was
uncommonly elegant, and in some measure the work of
Gutenberg j as it was four years in the press, and came
out but 18 months alter the partnership was dissolved
between him and Fust.
I he latter continued in possession of the printing-
office : and Gutenberg, by the pecuniary assistance of
Conrad Humery syndic of Mentz (e), and others,
opened another office in the same city ; whence appear¬
ed, in 1460, without the printer’s name, the Catholicon
Jo. de Janua, with a pompous colophon in praise of its
Pnntir.g.
65 ] P R I
beauty, and ascribing the honour of the invention to the
city ot Mentz. It was a very handsome book, though
inferior to the Psalter which had been published in 1 4?7
by F ust and Schoeffer. Both the Psalter and Catholieon
were printed on cut metal types (f). It may not be im¬
proper to observe here, that as the Psalter is the earliest
book which is known to have a genuine date, it became
a common practice, after that publication, for printers
to claim their own performances, by adding their names
to them. ’
III The progress of the art has been thus traced
tnrough its second period, the invention cut metal types.
But the honour ot completing the discovery is due to
1 ETER Schoffer (g) de Gernsheim.
A very clear account of this final completion of the g
types is preserved byTrithemius(H). Post here Invention
successerunt subtihora, inveneruntque modutn fundendiof castinS
lormas omnium Latini alphabeti literarum, quas inff’^'
matnees nommabant: ex quibus rursum erneos sive
stanneos charccteres fundebant, ad omnem pressuram
sujficientes, quos prius manibus scvlpebant. Ft revera
ffutl ante 'vxx ferme annos ex ore Petri Opilinnis de
Gems ham, civis Moguntini, qui gener erat primi artis
inventons, audivi, magnam aprimo inventionis suae here
ars impressoria habuit difficultotem.—Petrus autem
memoratus Opilio, tunc famulus postea gener, sicut
diximus, inventoris primi Johannis Fust, 'homo ingeni-
osus etprudensjaciliorem modum fundendi characteres
excogitavit, et art cm, ut nunc est, eomplevit.
. Another ample testimony in favour of Schoeffer is
given hy Jo. Frid. Faustus of Aschaftenburg, from pa¬
pers preserved in his family: “ PeterSchoeffer of Gerns-
heim, perceiving his master Fust’s design, and being him¬
self ardently desirous to improve the art, found out (by
the good providence of God) the method of cutting
(incidendi) the characters in a matrix, that the letters
might easily be singly cast instead of being cut. He pri¬
vately cut matrices {or the whole alphabet; and when he
showed his master the letters cast from these matrices
Fust was so pleased with the contrivance, that he promis¬
ed Peter to give him his only daughter, Christina, in mar¬
riage ;
(d) Many writers have supposed that this was the edition of which some copies were sold in France by Fust as
manuscripts, for the great price of 500 or 600 crowns, which he afterwards lowered to 60, and at lasl to less than
b, SeJC°nd ^ nn°r® exPe«slve ed.tionof 1462, that was thus disposed of, when Fust went to Paris
M, 4°°^an.tl ™ COst 4000 flonns before the third quaternion (or quire of four sheets) was printed. Meer-
t uVi116 d4aithi °/ Gut,enb<:rg> Conrad Humery took possession of all his printing materials; and engaged to
the archbishop Adolphus that he never would sell them to any one hut a citizen of Mentz. They were how¬
ever, soon disposed of to Nicholas Bechtermuntze of Altavilla, who, in 1469, published Vocabularium Latim-Teu-
lomcum which was printed with the same types which had been used in the Catholicon. This very curious and
scarce Vocabulary was shown to Mr Meerman, by Mr Bryant, in the duke of Marlborough’s valuable library at
leniieim. It is in quarto, 35 lines long, contains many extracts from the Catholieon, and is called Ex quo, from
ine preface beginning with those words. Meerman, vol. ii. p. 96.
(f) Gutenberg never used any other than either wooden or cut metal types till the year 1462. In 146 c he was •
ail(mtteA inter Auhcos by the elector Adolphus, with an annual pension ; and died in February 1468. His elder
rother Gemsfleich died in 1462. Their epitaphs are printed by Mr Meerman, vol. ii. p. 154, 295.
(G) In German, Schoeffer; in Latin, Opilio ; in English, Shepherd. He is supposed by Mr Meerman to
nave been the first engraver on copperplates.
1 Anna/es Ihrsaugienses, tom. ii. ad ann. 1450.—As this book was finished in 1514, and Trithemius tells us
ad the narrative from Schoeffer himself about 30 years before ; this will bring us back to 1484, when Schoeffer
must have been advanced in years, and Trithemius about 22 years old, who died in 1 ci6. Sea Voss. Hist. Lat. 1.
1. c. io. Fabr. Med. & Infim. Mt. 1. 9.
P R I
[ 366 ]
P R I
Printing, rlage j a promise which he soon after performed. But
t.i.—v.... ' there \vere as many difficulties at first with these letters,
as there had been before with wooden ones j the metal
being too soft to support the force ot the impression: but
this defect was soon remedied, by mixing the metal with
a substance which sufficiently hardened it (i).”
Fust and Schoeffer concealed this new improvement,
by administering an oath of secrecy to all whom they
intrusted, till the year 1462 } when, by the dispersion of
their servants into different countries, at the sacking oi
Mentz by the archbishop Adolphus, the invention was
publicly divulged.
The first book printed with these improved types was
Durandi Rationale, in 1459 ; at which time, however,
they seem to have had only one size of cast letters, all the
larger characters which occur being cut types, as appears
plainly by an inspection of the book. From this time to
1466, Fust and Schoelfer contimied to print a consider¬
able number of books $ particularly two famous editions
of Tally's Offices. In their earliest books, they printed
more copies on vellum than on paper, which was the case
both of their Bibles and Tally's Offices. This, however,
was soon inverted j and paper introduced for the greatest
part of their impressions j a few only being printed on
vellum for curiosities, and for the purpose of being illu¬
minated. How long Fust lived, is uncertain *, but in
1471 we find Schoeffer was in partnership with Conrad
Henlif and a kinsman of his master Fust. Fie published
many books after the death of his father-in-law j the last
of which that can be discovered is a third edition of the
Psalter in 1490, in which the old cut types ol the first
edition were used.
Claim of IV. With regard to the olaim of STRASBURG :
Strasburg. It has been already mentioned, that Gutenberg was en¬
gaged in that city in different employments j and, among
others, in endeavouring to attain the art of printing.
That these endeavours were unsuccessful, is plain from
an authentic judicial decree of the senate of Strasburg
in 1439, after the death of Andrew Drizehen (k).
But there are many other proofs that Gutenberg and
his partners were never able to bring the art to perfec¬
tion.
I. Wimphelingius *, the oldest writer in favour of
Strasburg, tells us, that Gutenberg was the inventor of
“ a new art of writing,” ars impressoria, which might
also be called a divine benefit, and which he happily
completed at Mentz} hut does not mention one book
Meerman, of his printing : though he adds, that Mentelius print-
vol> '• ed many volumes correctly and beautifully, and acquired
p. Z02.
vol- ii.
P- I35'
* Epitome
Rerum
Germani-
cnrum ed.
Argent.
great wealth •, whence we may conclude that lie per-
fected what Gutenberg had in vain essayed. “vvi
2. Wimphelingius, in another book f, tells us, the f Cofa/
art of printing was found out by Gutenberg incomplete .
which implies, not that he practised the art in an im-&em-i
perfect manner (as Laurentius had done at Haerlem),
but rather that he had not been able to accomplish what
he aimed at.
3. Gutenberg, when he left Strasburg in 1444 or
the following year, and entered into partnership with
Geinsfleich senior and others, had occasion tor his bro¬
ther’s assistance to enable him to complete the art;
which shows that his former attempts at Strasburg had j
been unsuccessful J. ^
4. These particulars are remarkably confirmed by ^
Trithemius, who tells us, in two different places §, thatHirfag
Gutenberg spent all his substance in quest of this art ;utsupr,
and met with such insuperable difficulties, that, in de-chron-
spair, he had nearly given up all hopes of attaining it,^??*]
till he was assisted by the liberality of Fust, and by his^^ j
brother’s skill, in the city of Mentz. ii p. id
5. Ulric Zell says || the art was completed at Mentz; I*7.
but that some books had been published in Holland ear- j
Her than in that city. Is it likely that Zell, who was a ^|
German, would have omitted to mention Strasburg, if
it had preceded Mentz in printing P
There is little doubt, therefore, that all Gutenberg’s
labours at Strasburg amounted to no more than a fruit¬
less attempt, which he was at last under the necessity of
relinquishing: and there is no certain proof of a single
book having been printed in that city till after the dis¬
persion of the printers in 1462, when Mentelius and Eg-
gestenius successfully pursued the business.
In fine, the pretensions of Sti'asburg fall evidently to
be set aside. And as to the other twro cities, Huerlem
and Mentz, the disputes between them seem easily clear¬
ed up, from the twofold invention of printing above
mentioned : the first with separate wooden types at
Haerlem, by Laurentius, about 1430, and after conti¬
nued by his family j the other with metal types, first
cut, and afterwards cast, which were invented at Mentz,
but not used in Holland till brought thither by Theodo-
ric Martens at Alost about 1472.
From this period printing made a rapid progress in
most of the principal towns of Europe. In 1490, it
reached Constantinople 5 and, according to Mr Palmer,
p. 281, &c. it was extended, by the middle of the next
century, to Africa and America. It was introduced
into Russia about 1560: but, from motives either of
policy
(1) See Meerman, vol. i. p. 183. who copied this testimony from AVolfius, Monument. Typography vol. i. p. 468.
' seff* ' .
(k) Their first attempts were made about 1436 with wooden types. Mr Meerman is of opinion that Geinsfleich
junior (who was of an enterprising genius, and had already engaged in a variety of projects) gained some little in¬
sight into the business by visiting his brother who was employed by Laurentius at Haerlem, but not sufficient to
enable him to practise it. It is certain that, at the time of the law-suit in 1439* mucfi money had been expended,
without any profit having arisen ; and the unfortunate Drizehen, in 1438, on his death-bed, lamented to his con¬
fessor, that he had been at great expence, without having been reimbursed a single obolus. Nor did Gutenberg
(who persisted in his fruitless endeavours) reap any advantage from them ", for, when he quitted Strasburg, he was
overwhelmed in debt, and under a necessity of selling every thing he was in possession of. [Meerman, vol. 1.
p. 198—202.]. All the depositions in the law-suit abovementioned (with the judicial decree) are printed by Mr
Meerman, vol. ii. p. 38.—88. N.
P .in?-
P R I
policy or superstition, it was speedily suppressed by the
ruling powers; and, even under the present enlightened
empress, has scarcely emerged from its obscurity.—That
it was early practised in the inhospitable regions of Ice¬
land, we have the respectable authority of Mr Bryant:
“ Arngrim Jonas was born amidst the snows of Ice¬
land ; yet as much prejudiced in favour of his country
as those who are natives of a happier climate. This
isible in his Crymogcea, but more particularly in his
i-fnrrt/3 rtlt'T Iri rtirt'nrt I       • .*•
t 367 3
P R I
IS V
Intnio-
Anatome Blefkiniana. I have in my possession this cu¬
rious little treatise, written in Latin by him in his own
country, and printed Typis Holensibus in Islandia Borea-
h anno 1612. Hola is placed m some maps within the
Arctic circle, and is certainly not far removed from it.
I believe it is the farthest north of any place where arts
and sciences have ever resided.” Observations and In¬
quiries relating to variouspartsof Ancient History, 1767,
p. 277.
    It was a constant opinion, delivered down by our his-
tion.the torians, as hath been observed by Dr Middleton, that
*1 2 tiie Art of Printing was introduced and first practised in
England by Tt illiam Caxton, a mercer and citizen of
I London ; who, by his travels abroad, and a residence of
many years in Holland, Flanders, and Germany, in the
affairs of trade, had an opportunity of informing himself
of the whole method and process of the art; and by the
encouragement of the great, and particularly of the ab¬
bot of Westminster, first set up a press in that abbey,
and began to print books soon after the year 1471.
This was the tradition of our writers; till a book,
which had scarce been observed before the Bestoration,
was then taken notice of by the curious, with a date of
its impression from Oxford, anno 1468, and was consi¬
dered immediately as a clear proof and monument of
the exercise of printing in that university several years
before Caxton began to deal in it.
This book, which is in the public library at Cam¬
bridge, is a small volume of 41 leaves in 4to, with
this title. Bxpositio Sancti Jcronum in Simbolum
Apostolqrum ad Papam Laurentium: and at the end,
Explicit expositio, Sfc. Impressa Oxonie et finita Anno
Domini m.cccc.lxviii. xvn. die Decembris.
The appearance of this book has robbed Caxton of
a glory that he had long possessed, of being the author
inEni> dP°fp^ntinS in 1,1'3 kingdoin 5 and Oxford has ever since
wa« at carried the honour of the first press. The only difficulty
ford. was, to account for the silence of history in an event so
memorable, ar.d the want of any memorial in the univer¬
sity itself concerning the establishment of a new art
amongst them of such use and benefit to learning. But
this likewise has been cleared up by the discovery of a
record, which had lain obscure and unknown at Lam-
beth-palace, in the Kegister of the See of Canterbury,
and gives a narrative of the whole transaction, drawn
up at the very time.
An account of this record was first published in a thin
quarto volume, in English ; with this title : “ The
Original and Growth of Printing, collected out of
History, and the Records of this Kingdome : wherein
is also demonstrated, that Printing appertaineth to the
Prerogative Royal, and is a Flower of the Crown of
England. By Richard Atkyns, esq.—Whitehall, April
the 25. 1664. By order and appointment of the right
honourable Mr Secretary Morrice, let this be printed.
The lit
printii
press s
Tho. Ryeaut, London : Printed by John Streater, for
the Author, 1664.” 4to. ,
It sets forth in short, “ That as soon as the art of
printing made some noise in Europe, Thomas Bour-
chier, archbishop of Canterbury, moved the then king.
(Henry VI.) to use all possible means for procuring a
printing mould (for so it was then called) to be brought
into tins kingdom. The king (a good man, and much
given to works of this nature) readily hearkened to the
motion ; and taking private advice how to effect his
design, concluded it could not be brought about with¬
out great secrecy, and a considerable sum of money o-i-
xen to such person or persons as would draw off some
ot the workmen of Haerlem in Holland, where John
Vmtenberg had newly invented it, and was himself per¬
sonally at work. It was resolved, that less than 1000
merks would not produce the desired effect; towards
which sum the said archbishop presented the king aoo
merks. Ihe money being now prepared, the manao-e-
ment ot the design was committed to Mr Robert Tur-
nour, who then was master of the robes to the king, and
a person most in favour with him of any of his condition.
Mr I urnour took to his assistance Mr Caxton, a citizen
ot good abilities, who traded much into Holland ; which
was a creditable pretence, as well for his going, as stay
in the Low Countries. Mr Tumour was in disguise
(Ins beard and hair shaven quite off) ; but Mr Caxton
appeared known and public. They, having received
t ie said sum of 1000 merks, went first to Amsterdam
then to Leyden, not daring to enter Haerlem itself; for
the town was very jealous, having imprisoned and ap¬
prehended divers persons who came from other parts for
the same purpose. They staid till they had spent the
whole thousand merks in gifts and expences : so as the
king was fain to send 500 merks more, Mr Tumour
having written to the king that he had almost done his
work ; a bargain, as he said, being struck betwixt him
and two Hollanders, for bringing off one of the under-
workmen, whose name was Frederick Corsells (or rather
Corsellis), who late one night stole from his fellows in
disguise into a vessel prepared before for that purpose ;
and so, the wind favouring the design, brought him safe
to London. It was not thought so prudent to set him
on work at London : but, by the archbishop’s means
(who had been vice-chancellor and afterwards chancellor
of the university of Oxon), Corsellis was carried with a
guard to Oxon ; which guard constantly watched, to
prevent Corsellis from any possible escape, till he had
made good his promise in teaching them how to print.
So that at Oxford, printing was first set up in England
which was before there was any printing-press or print¬
er in France, Spain, Italy, or Germany (except the
city of Mentz), which claims seniority, as to printing,
even of Haerlem itself, calling her city, Urbem Mogun-
tinam artis typographical inventricem primam ; though
it is known to be otherwise, that city gaining the art by
the brother of one of the workmen of Haerlem, who
had learnt it at home of his brother, and after set up for
himself at Mentz. This press at Oxon was at least ten
years before, there was any printing in Europe, except
at Haerlem and Mentz, where it was but new-born. This
press at Oxford was afterwards found inconvenient to
be the sole printing-place of England ; as being too far
from London and the sea. Wherefore the king set up a
press
Printing.
p 11 I [368] p ft 1
Prinvmr. ptdss at St Alban’s,ami another in the city of Westnnn-
•.— ' ster, where they printed several books of divttnt?/ and phy¬
sic : for the king (for reasons best known tohimsell and
council) permitted then no law-books to be printed; noi
did any printer exercise that art, hut only such as wei c
the king’s sworn servants •, the king Imnselj having the
price and emoluments for printing books.—By this means
the art grew so famous, that anno primo Richard 111*
* c. 9. when an act of parliament was made for restraint
of aliens for using any handicrafts here (except as ser¬
vants to natives), a special proviso was inserted, that
strangers might bring in printed or written books to sell
at their pleasure, and exercise the art ol printing here,
notwithstanding that act: so that in the space of 40 or
co vears, by the indulgence of Edward TV* Edward V .
Richard III. Henry VII. and Henry VIII. the Eng¬
lish proved so good proficients in printing, and grew so
numerous, as to furnish the kingdom with books •, and
so skilful, as to print them as well as any beyond the
seas-, as appears by the act 25 Hen. VIII. c. 15. which
abrogates the said proviso lor that reason. And it
was further enacted in the said statute, that if any per¬
son bought foreign books bound, he should pay 6s. 8d.
per book. And it was further provided and enacted,
that in case the said printers or sellers of hooks were
unreasonable in their prices, they should be moderated
by the lord chancellor, lord treasurer, the two lords
chief justices, or any two of them, who also had power
to fine them 3s. 4d. for every book whose price should
be enhanced —But when they were by charter corpofa-
ted with bookbinders, booksellers, and founders of letters,
3 and 4 Philip and Mary, and called The Company of
Stationers, they kick’d against the power that gave them
lifej gcc.—Queen Elizabeth, the first year of her reign,
grants by patent the privilege of sole printing all books
that touch or concern the common laws of England, to
Tot tel a servant to her majesty, who kept it entire to
his death ; after him, to one Vest Weirt, another ser¬
vant to her majesty 5 after him, to Weight and Norton j
and after them, King James grants the same privilege
to More, one of the signet ; which grant continues to
t2 this day, &c.”
Whether From the authority of this record, all otir later wri-
Caxton or ters declare Corsellis to be the first printer in England;
CorseHis Anthony Wood, the learned Mr Maittaire, Palmer,
Ta! ^ • and one John Bagford, an industrious man, who had
* published proposals for An History of Printing, (Phil.
Trans, for April 1707). But Dr Middleton has called
in question the authenticity of this account, and has ur¬
ged several objections to it, with the view of supporting
Caxton’s title to the precedency with respect to the
introduction of the art into this country ; of which we
shall quote one or two, with the answers that have been
made to them.
Objection 1 “ The silence of Caxton concerning a
fact in which he is said to be a principal actor, is a suf¬
ficient confutation of it: for it was a constant custom
with him, in the prefaces or conclusions of his works,
to give an historical account of all his labours and trans¬
actions, as far as they concerned the publishing and
printing of books. And, what is still stronger, in the
continuation of the Polychronicon, compiled by himself,
and carried down to the end of Henry the Sixth’s reign,
he makes no mention of the expedition in quest ot a
printer : which he could not have omitted had it been
J
true ; whilst in the same book he takes notice ot the
invention and beginning of printing in the city of*—yv
Mentz.”
Answer.—As Caxton makes no mention in his Poly¬
chronicon of his expedition in quest of a printer', so nei¬
ther does he of his bringing the art into England, vfhidx
it is as much a wonder he should omit as the other.
And as to his saying that the invention of printing was
at Meat*, he means, of printing onfusile separate types.
In this he copies, as many others have, from the Eas-
cicidus Temporum ; a work written in 1470, by Wer-
nerus Rolevinch de Laer, a Carthusian monk, a MS.
copy of which was in the library of Gerard Jo. Vossius
(see lib. iii. de Histor. Latin, c. 6.) ; and afterwards
continued to the year 1474, when it was first printed at
Cologne typis Arnoldi ter Huernen. It was republished
in 1481 by Heinricus Wirczburgh de Yach, a Cluniac
monk, without mentioning the name either of the prin¬
ter or of the place of publication. It is plain that Cax¬
ton had one at least, or more probably both, of these
editions before him, when he wrote his continuation of
Polychronicon, as he mentions this work in his preface,
and adopts the sentiments of its editor. (See Meer-
MAN, vol. ii. p. 37. and his Documenta, NG vii. xxiv.
and xxv.).
Obj. 2.—“ There is a farther circumstance in Cax¬
ton’s history, that seems inconsistent with the record;
for we find him still beyond sea, about 12 years after
the supposed transactions, “ learning with great charge
and trouble the art of printing” {Recule of the Histories
of Troye, in the end of the 2d and 3d books) ; which
he might have done with ease at home, if he had got
Corsellis into his hands, as the record imports, so many
years before : but he probably learnt it at Cologne,
where he resided in 1471, {Recule, &c. ibid.), and
whence hooks had been first printed with date the year
before.”
Ans.—Caxton tells us, in the preface to The History
of Troye, that he began that translation March 1.1468,
at Bruges; that he proceeded on rvith it at Ghent;
that he finished it at Cologne in 1471 ; and printed it,
probably, in that city with his own types. He was 30
years abroad, chiefly in Holland; and lived in the court
of Margaret duchess of Burgundy, sister of Edward t
IV. It was therefore much easier to print his book at
Cologne, than to cross the sea to learn the art at Oxford.
But further, there was a special occasion for his print¬
ing it abroad. Corsellis had brought over so far the
art of printing as he had learned it at Haerlem, which
was the method of printing on wooden separate types,
having the face of the letter cut upon them. But the
art of casting metal types being divulged in 1462 by the
workmen of Mentz, Caxton thought proper to learn
that advantageous branch before he returned to Eng¬
land. This method of casting the types was such an im¬
provement, that they looked on it as the original of
printing; and Caxton, as most others do, ascribes that
to Mentz.—Caxton was an assistant with Tumour in
getting off Corsellis; hut it is nowhere supposed that he
came with him into England. (See MeermaN, vol. n.
p. 34. B.). ,
Obj. 3.—“ As the Eambeth record rvas never heard
of before the publication (f At ky ids book, so it has never
since been seen or produced by any man ; though the
registers of Canterbury have on many occasions been di-
PR! [ 369 ] P R I
. lignutly and particularly searched for it. They were prorogued. See/o»r™/s of ,he Home of Lords, vol. P,
examined, wit lout doubt, very carefully by Archbishop xi. p. 700—It is probable, then, that after Mr At-
Parker, for the compiling h.s „/ the British kyns had published I,is book in April 1664, the par-
Chure/r, where, in the hfe of Thomas IJourehier, though liameut thought proper, the next year, to ituire futo
he congratulates that age on the noble and useful in- t/x right of the king's prerogative ; and that Sir Job,,
vent,on oi printing, yet hew silent as to the introduc- Birkenhead took cate to inspect the original, then in
the custody of Archbishop Sheldon : and, finding it not
sufficient to prove what Mr Atkyns had cited it for,
made no report ol the MS. to the house; but only mo¬
ved that the former law should be renewed. The MS.
was probably never returned to the proper keeper of it}
but was afterwards burnt in the fire of London, Sept.
13. 1666.—(4.) J uat printing was practised at Ox¬
ford, was a prevailing opinion long before Atkyns. Bry¬
an Iwyne, in his Apologia pro Antiquitate Acadanice
Oxoniensis, published 1608, tells us, it is so delivered
down in ancient writings: having heard, probably, of
this Lambeth MS. And Kang Charles I. in his letters
patent to the University of Oxford, March 5. in the ele¬
venth of his reign, 1635, mentions.printing as brought
to Oxford from abroad. As to what is objected, “ that
it is not likely that the press should undergo a ten or
eleven years sleep, viz. from 1468 to 1479,” ll »s Pr°-
bably urged without foundation. Corselhs might print
several books without date or name of the place, as Ul-
ric Zell did at Cologne, from 1467 to 1473, and from
that time to 1494. Corsellis’s name, it may be said,
tion of it into England by the endeavours of that arch¬
bishop : nay, his giving the honour of the invention to
Strasburg clearly shews that he knew nothing of the
story of Corsellis conveyed from Haerlem, and that the
record was not in being in his time. Palmer himself
owns, “ That it is not to be found there now j for that
the late earl of Pembroke assured him, that he had em¬
ployed a person for some time to search for it, but in
vain (Hist, of Printing, p. 314.). On these grounds
wc may pronounce the record to be a forgery ; though
all the writers above mentioned take pains to support
its credit, and call it an authentic piece.
Atkyns, who by his manner of writing seems to have
been a bold and vain man, might possibly be the inven¬
tor; for he had an interest in imposing it upon the world,
in order to confirm the argument of his book, that
printing was of the prerogative royal; in opposition to
to the company of stationers, with whom he was engaged
in an expensive suit of law, in defence of the
tents, under which he claimed some exclusive powers of
printing. For he tells us, p. 3. ‘ That, upon consider¬
ing the thing, he could not but think that a public
person, more eminent than amercer, and a public purse,
must needs be concerned in so public a good : and the
more he considered, the more inquisitive he was to find
out the truth. So that he had formed his hypothesis be¬
fore he had found his record ; which he published, he
says, as a friend to truth ; not to suffer one man to be
intitled to the worthy achievements of another 5 and as
a friend to himself, not to lose one of his best arguments
of mtitling the king to this art.’ But, if Atkyns was
not himself the contriver, he was imposed upon at least
by some more crafty man; who imagined that his in¬
terest in the cause, and the warmth that he shewed in
prosecuting it, would induce him to swallow for genuine
whatever was offered of the kind.
Ans.—On the other hand, is it likely that Mr At¬
kyns would dare to forge a record, to be laid before the
king and council, and which his adversaries, with whom
he was at law, could disprove ?—(2.) He says he recei¬
ved this history from a person of honour, who was some
time keeper of the Lambeth library. It was easy to
have confuted this evidence, if it was false, when he pu¬
blished it, April 23. 1664.—(3O John Bagford (who
was born in England in 1651, and might know Mr At¬
kyns, who died in 1677), in his History of Printing at
Oxford, blames those who doubted of the authenticity of
the Lambeth MS.; and tells us that he knew Sir John
Birkenhead had an authentic copy of it, when in 1665
[which Bagford by some mistake calls 1664, and is fol¬
lowed in it by Meerman] he was appointed by the house
of commons to draw up a bill relating to the exercise
of that art. this is confirmed by the Journals of that
house, f riday Oct. 27* 1665, vol. viii. p. 622, where
it is ordered, that this Sir John Birkenhead should carry
the bill on that head to the house of lords for their con¬
sent.— 1 he act was agreed to in the upper house on
Tuesday Oct. 31. and received the royal assent on the
same day ; immediately after which the parliament was
Vol. XVII. Part I. f
appears not in any of his publications; but neither does
that of Joannes Petersheimius. [See MEERMAN, vol. i.
p. 34. ; vol. ii. p. 21 — 27, &c.]
I urther, the famous Shakespeare, who was born in
*5^4’ ariti died 1616, in the Second Part of Henry VI.
act iv. sc. 7. introduces the rebel John Cade, thus up¬
braiding Lord T reasurer Say : “ Thou has most traito¬
rously corrupted the youth of the realm, in creating a
grammar-school : and whereas, before, our forefathers
had no other book but the score and the tally, thou hast
caused Pi'inting to be used ; and, contrary to the king,
his crown, and dignity, thou hast built a paper-mill.”—
Whence now had Shakespeare this accusation against
Lord Say ? We are told in the Poetical llegister, vol. ii.
p. 231. ed. Lond. 1724, that it was from Fabian, Pol.
^ ergel, Hall, Hollingshed, Grafton, Stow, Speed, &c.
But not one of these ascribes printing to the reign of
Henry \ I. On the contrary, Stow, in his Annals,
printed at London, 1560, p. 686, gives it expressly to
William Caxton, 1471. “ The noble science of print¬
ing was about this time found out in Germany at Ma-
gunce, by one John Guthumburgus a knight. One
Conradus an Almaine brought it into Rome : William
Caxton of London, mercer, brought it into England
about the year I471? and first practised the same in the
abbie of St Peter at Westminster ; after which time it
was likewise practised in the abbies of St Augustine at
Canterburie, Saint Albons, and other monasteries of
England.” What then shall we say, that the above is
an anachronism arbitrarily put into the mouth of an ig¬
norant fellow out of Shakespeare’s head ? We might be¬
lieve so, but that we have the record of Mr Atkyns con¬
firming the same in King Charles II.’s time. Shall we
say, that Mr Atkyns borrowed the story from Shake¬
speare, and published it with some improvements of
money laid out by Henry VI. from whence it might be
received by Charles II. as a prerogative of the crown ?
But this is improbable, since Shakespeare makes Lord
3 A Treasurer
P R I [ 370 ]
Printing. Treasurer Say tbe intrument of Importing it, of whom
Mr Atkyns mentions not a word. Another difteience
there will still be between Shakespeare and the Lambeth
MS.; the poet placing it before 1449, 10 wlnch yeaJ
Lord Say was beheaded; the MS. between 1454 and
141:0, when Bourchier was archbishop. We must say,
then, that Lord Say first laid the scheme, and sent some
one to Haerlem, though without success; but alter some
years it was attempted happily by Bourchier. Am we
must conclude, that as the generality of writers have
overlooked the invention of printing at Haer em with
wooden types, and have ascribed it to Mentz where we-
tal types were first made use of; so in England they
have passed by Corsellis (or the first Oxford Printer,
whoever he was, who printed with wooden types at Ox¬
ford), and only mention Caxton as the original artist
who printed with metal types at Westminster, [bee
Meerman, vol. ii. 7, 8.]. It is strange, that the
learned commentators on our great dramatic poet, who
are so minutely particular upon less important occasions,
should every one of them, Dr Johnson excepted, pa=s
by this curious passage, leaving it entirely unnoticed.
And how has Dr Johnson trifled, by slightly reniark-
ing “ that Shakespeare is a little too early with this
accusation !”—The great critic had undertaken to de¬
cipher obsolete words, and investigate unintelligible
phrases; but never, perhaps, bestowed a thought on
Caxton or Corsellis, on Mr Atkyns or the authenticity
of the Lambeth Record. tl , ,
But, independent of the record altogether, the book
•stands firm as a monument of the exercise of printing
in Oxford six years older than any book ot Caxton s
with a date. In order to get clear of this strong tact,
Dr Middleton, . , , r , ,
1. Supposes the date in question to have been falsified
originally by the printer, either by design or mistake ;
and an X to have been adopted or omitted m the age
of its impression. Examples of this kind, he saysj are
common in the history of printing. And, whilst I
am now writing, an unexpected instance is fallen into
my hands, to the support of my opinion; zn Inaugura¬
tion Speech of the Woodwardian Professor, Mr Mason,
iust fresh from the press, with its date given 10 years
earlier than it should have been, by the omission ot an
* viz. MDCCXXIV ; and the very blunder exemplified in
in the last piece printed at Cambridge, which I suppose
to have happened in the first from Oxford. —To this
it has been very properly answered 1 hat we should not
pretend to set aside the authority ^ a plain date, with¬
out very strong and cogent reasons ; and what the Doc¬
tor has in this case advanced will not appear, on exami¬
nation to carry that weight with it that he seems to
imagine. There may be, and have been, mistakes and
P R I
forgeries in the date both of books and of records too; pr;m!n?i
but this is never allowed as a reason for suspecting such e—
as bear no mark ol either. Me cannot from a blunder
in the last book printed at Cambridge, infer a like blun¬
der in the first book printed at Oxford. Besides, the
type used in this our Oxford edition seems to be no small
proof of its antiquity. It is the German letter, and
very nearly the same with that used by Fust [who has
been supposed to be) the first printer ; whereas Caxton
and Rood use a quite different letter, something between
his German and our old English letter, which was soon
after introduced by De W orde and I ynson.
2. “ For the probability of his opinion (he says),
the book itself affords sufficient proof: for, not to insist
on what is less material, the neatness of the letter, and
regularity of the page, &c. above those of Caxton, it
has one mark, that seems to have carried the matter be¬
yond probable, and to make it even certain, viz. the use
of signatures, or letters of the alphabet placed at the
bottom of the page, to show the sequel of the pages and
leaves of each book; an improvement contrived for the
direction of the bookbinders ; which yet was not prac¬
tised or invented at the time when this book is supposed
to be printed; for we find no signatures in the books of
Faust or Schoeffer at Mentz, nor in the improved or
beautiful impressions of John de Spira and Jenson at
Venice till several years later. We have a book in our
library, that seems to fix the very time of their inven¬
tion, at least in Venice; the place where the art itself
received the greatest improvements: Baldi lectura super
Codic. Sfc. printed by John de Colonia and Jo. Manthem
de Gherret'Zem, anno mcccclxxiiii. It is a large and
fair volume in folio, without signatures, till about the
middle of the book, in which they are first introduced,
and so continued forward : which makes it probable,
that the first thought of them was suggested during the
impression; for we have likewise Lectura Barthoh super
Codic. Sec. in twro noble and beautiful volumes in folio,
printed the year before at the same place, by \ indehn
de Spira, without them : yet from this time forward
they are generally found in all the works of the Vene¬
tian printers, and from them propagated to the other
printers of Europe. They were used at (l) Cologne,
in 1475 5 at Paris, 1476; by Caxton, not before 1480 .
but if the discovery had been brought into England, and
practised at Oxford 12 years before, it is not probable
that he would have printed so long at Westminster with¬
out them Mr Palmer indeed tells us, p, 54, 180, that
Anthonv Zarot was esteemed the inventor of signatures;
and that they are found in a Terence printed by him at
Milan in the year 1470, in which he first printed. I
have not seen that Terence; and can only say that J
have observed the want of them in some later works ot
this
* Sce
Maittaire.
c«*« („bL<
et ant it ypiece Novi Test amen ti, and in some edi ions w JP Annaj> V()j> j 2-) . an(j in Mamme-
lished at Paris, without a date, but printed A. D. 147°» ( ’ j :n*X)e Tondch visione, at Antwerp,
trectus, printed bv Delias de Llouffen, at Bun in Switzerland 147° , amt in use(I J/.
V Ven.ce therefore, was not the place whe^ were "" “not think, of
dus it seems, when the book was halt finished. 1 lie piintei ot inui down S... q ’ T cnn
the use of them before. See Meerman, vol. ii. p. 18 ; and Ihil. Irans. vol. xxin. N 2 . p. 5 9-
P R I [ yji
this as well as ©f other excellent printers of the same
place. But, allowing them to be in the Terence, and
Zarot the inventor, it confutes the date of our Oxford
book as effectually as if they were of later origin at Ve-
nicej as I had reason to imagine, from the testimony of
all the books that I have hitherto met with.” As
to these proofs, first, the neatness ®f the letter, and the
regularity of the page, prove, if any thing, the very re¬
verse of what the Doctor asserts. The art of printing
was almost in its infancy brought to perfection ; but af¬
terwards debased by later printers, who consulted rather
the cheapness than the neatness of their work. Our
learned dissertator cannot be unacquainted with the la¬
bours of Fust and Jenson. He must know, that though
other printers may have printed more correctly, yet
scarce any excel them, either in the neatness of the
letter, or the regularity of the page. The same may be
observed in our English printers. Caxton and Rood
were indifferently good printers j De Worde and Pyn-
son were worse j and those that follow them most abo¬
minable. This our anonymous Oxford printer excels
them all} and for this very reason we should judge him
to be the most ancient of all. Our dissertator lays great
stress on the use of signatures. But no certain conclu¬
sion can be drawn either from the use or non-use of
these lesser improvements of printing. They have in
different places come in use at different times, and have
not been continued regularly even at the same places.
If Anthony Zarot used them at Milan in 1470, it is
certain later printers there did not follow his example j
and the like might happen also in England. But, what
is more full to our purpose, we have in the Bodleian li¬
brary an iEsop’s Fables printed by Caxton. This is, it
is believed, the first book which has the leaves number¬
ed. But yet this improvement, though more useful than
that of the signatures, wras disused both by Caxton him¬
self and other later printers in England. It is therefore
not at all surprising (if true) that the signatures, though
invented by our Oxford printer, might not immediately
come into general use. And consequently, this particu¬
lar carries with it no such certain or effectual confuta¬
tion as our dissertator boasts of.
3. What the Doctor thinks farther confirms his opi¬
nion is, “ That, from the time of the pretended date of
this book, anno 1468, we have no other fruit or produc¬
tion from the press at Oxford for 11 years next follow¬
ing*, and it cannot be imagined that a press, established
with so much pains and expence, could be suffered to be
so long idle and useless.”—To this it may be answered,
in the words of Oxonides, 1st, That his books may
have been lost. Our first printers, in those days of ig¬
norance, met with but small encouragement j they print¬
ed but few books, and but few copies of those books.
In after-times, when the same books were reprinted
more correctly, those first editions, which were not as
yet become curiosities, were put to common uses. This
is the reason that we have so few remains of our first
printers. We have only four books of Theodoric Rood,
who seems by his own verses to have been a very cele¬
brated printer. Of John Lettou-William de Machlinia,
and the schoolmaster of St Albans, we have scarce any
remains. If this be considered, it will not appear im-
posbible, that our printer should have followed his business
from 1468 to 1479, and yet time have destroyed his
intermediate works. But, 2dly, We may account still
] P R 1
another way for this distance of time, without altering
the date. Hie Civil Wars broke out in 1469 : this
might probably oblige our Oxford printer to shut up his
press; and both himself and his readers be otherwise en¬
gaged. It this were the case, he might not return to
his work again till 1479; and the next year, not meet¬
ing with that encouragement he deserved, he might
remove to some other country with his types.
Dr Middleton concludes with apologizing for his
Printin»r.
“ spending so much pains on an argument so inconsider¬
able, to which he was led by his zeal to do a piece of
justice to the memory of our worthy countryman Wil¬
liam Caxton ; nor suffer him to be robbed of the glory,
so clearly due to him, of having frst imported into this
kingdom an art of great use and benefit to mankind : a
kind ot merit, that, in the sense of all nations, gives the
best title to true piaise, and the best claim to be com¬
memorated with honour to posterity.” r.
The fact, however, against which he contends, but Tlie real
which it seems impossible to overturn, does by no means c^a,ms
derogate from the honour of Caxton, who, as has been ^sdlisre*
shown, was the first person in England that practised the spectively?
art of printing with fusile types, and consequently the
first who brought it to perfection ; whereas Corsellis
printed with separate cut types in wood, being the only
method which he had learned at Haerlem. Into this
detail, therefore, we have been led, not so much by the
importance ol the question, as on account of several
anecdotes connected with it, which seemed equally cal¬
culated to satisfy curiosity and afford entertainment.
Caxton had been bred very reputably in the way of
trade, and served an apprenticeship to one Robert Large
a mercer; who, after having been sheriff and lord mayor
ot London, died in the year 1441, and left by will, as
may be seen in the prerogative office, xxini merks to
his apprentice William Caxton : a considerable legacy
in those days, and an early testimonial of his good cha¬
racter and integrity.
From the time of his master’s death, he spent the
following thirty years beyond sea in the business of mer¬
chandise : where, in the year 1464, we find him em¬
ployed by Edward IV. in a public and honourable ne-
gociation, jointly with one Richard Whitehill, Esq. to
transact and conclude a treaty of commerce between the
king and his brother-in-law the duke of Burgundy, to
whom Flanders belonged. The commission styles them,
ambassiatores, procuratores, nuncios, et deputaios speci-
ales; and gives to both or either of them full powers
to treat, &c.
Whoever turns over his printed works, must contract
a respect for him, and be convinced that he preserved
the same character through life, of an honest, modest,
man ; greatly industrious to do good to his country, to
the best of his abilities, by spreading among the people
such books as he thought useful to religion and good
manners, which were chiefly translated from the French.
The novelty and usefulness of his art recommended him
to the special notice and favour of the great; under
whose protection, and at whose expence, the greatest
part of his works were published. Some of them are
addressed to King Edward IV. his brother the duke of
Clarence, and their sister the duchess of Burgundy ; in
whose service and pay he lived many years before he
began to print, as he often acknowledges with great
gratitude. He printed likewise for the use, and by
3 A 2 the
p n i is:
Printing, tlie express order, of Henry VII. liis son Prince Ar-
v~*~“ thnr, and many of the principal nobility and gentry ot
that age. _ ' '
It has been generally asserted and believed, that all
his books were printed in the abbey ol Westminster j
yet we have no assurance of it from himself, nor any
mention of the place before the year 1477 : so that
he had been printing several years without telling us
where.
There is no clear account left of Caxton’s age : but
be was certainly very old, and probably above fourscore,
at the time of his death. In the year 1471 ^.e com'
plained of the infirmities of age creeping upon him, and
feebling his body : yet he lived 23 years alter, and pur¬
sued his business, with extraordinary diligence, in the
abbey of Westminster, till the year 1494, in which be
<lied 5 not in the year following, as all who write ol him
affirm. This appears from some verses at the end ot
a book, called “ Hilton’s Scale of Perfection,” printed
in the same year :
Infynite laude with thankynges many folde
I yield to God nje socouryng with his grace
This boke to finyshe which that ye beholde
Sc;de of Perfection calde in every place
Whereof th’ auctor Walter Hilton was
And Wynkn de Worde this hath sett in print
In William Caxtons hows so fyll the case,
God rest his soule. In joy ther mot it stynt.
Impressus anno salutis MCCCCLXXXxiiii.
Though he bad printed for tbe use of Edward IV.
and Henry VII. yet there appears no ground for the
notion which Palmer takes up, that the first printers,
and particularly Caxton, were sworn servants and prin¬
ters to the crown •, for Caxton, as far as can be obser¬
ved, gives not the least hint of any such character or
title •, though it seems to have been instituted not long
after his death ; for of his two principal workmen,
Richard Pynson and Wynkyn de Worde, the one was
made printer to the king, the other to the king’s mo¬
ther the lady Margaret. Pynson gives himself the first
title, in The Imitation of the Life of Christ ; printed by
him at the commandment of the lady Margaret, who
bad translated the fourth book of it from the French,
in the year 1504: and Wynkyn de Worde assumes the
second, in The Seven Penitential Psalms, expounded by
Bishop Fisher, and printed in the year 1509. But there
is the title of a book given by Palmer, that seems to con¬
tradict what is here said of Pynson j viz. P.sa/terium ex
mandat0victoriosissimiAngltce Regis Hcnru iScplimi,per
Gulielnmm Fanquc, impressorem regium, annoMDllllj
which being the only work that has ever been found of
this printer, makes it probable that he died in the very
year of its impression, and was succeeded immediately by
Richard Pynson. No book hath yet been discovered
printed in Scotland in this period, though the English
printers were able to export some of their works to
other countries. See Henry’s History of Great Britain,
vol. v. p. 471.
Different Before 1465, the uniform character vras the old Go-
characters thic or German; whence our Black was afterwards form-
when first c(]i jn that year an edition of Lactantius was
used in printed in a kind of Semi-Gothic, of great elegance,
j)untin0. antj approaching nearly to the present Roman type j
2 ] 'PUT
which last was first used at Rome in 1467, and soon af- prjHt;nii
ter brought to great perfection in Italy, particularly by ‘
Jenson.
Towards the end of the 15th century, Aldus invented
the Italic character which is now in use, called, from his
name, Aldine or cursivus. This sort of letter he con¬
trived, to prevent the great number of abbreviations
that wTere then in use.
The first essays in Greek that can be discovered are a of the li
few sentences which occur in the edition ot Tally’s 0/^ Greek
Jices, 1465, at Mentz; but these were miserably incor-printing,
rect and barbarous, if we may judge from the speci¬
mens Mr Maittaire has given us, of which the following
is one:
OriCaraaieagT^axara nat r&ruruK'X.
In the same year, 1465, was published an edition of
Lactantius’s Institutes, printed inmonasterio Sublacensi,
in the kingdom of Naples, in which the quotations from
the Greek authors are printed in a very neat Greek let¬
ter. They seem to have had but a very small quantity
of Greek types in the monastery j for, in the first part
of the work, whenever a long sentence occurred, a blank
was left, that it might be written in with a pen : after
the middle of the work, however, all the Greek that
occurs is printed.
The first printers who settled at Rome were Conrad
Sweynheim and Arnold Pannartz, who introduced the
present Roman type, in 1466, in Cicero’s Epislolcc Fa¬
miliar es : in 1469 they printed a beautiful edition of
Auius Gellius, with the Greek quotations in a fair cha¬
racter, without accents or spirits, and with very few ab¬
breviations.
The first whole book that is yet known is tbe Greek
Grammar of Constantine Lascaris, in quarto, revised by
Demetrius Cretensis, and printed by Dionysius Palavi-
sinus, at Milan, 1476. In 1481, the Greek Psalter
was printed here, with a Latin translation, in folio } as
was vEsop’s Fables in quarto.
Venice soon followed the example of Milan j and in
i486 were published in that city the Greek P.?«/ter and
the Batruchomyomachia, the former by Alexander, and
the latter by Laonicus, both natives of Crete. They
were printed in a very uncommon character j the latter
of them with accents and spirits, and also with scholia.
In 1488, however, all former publications in this
language were eclipsed by a fine edition of Homer's
Works at Florence, in folio, printed by Demetrius, a
native of Crete. Thus printing, says Mr Maittaire,
(p. 185.) seems to have attained its ux.p.n of perfection,
after having exhibited most beautiful specimens of La¬
tin, Greek, and Hebrew.
In 1493, a fine edition of Isocrates was printed at
Milan, in folio, by Henry German and Sebastian ex
Pantremulo.
All the above works are prior in time to those of Al¬
dus, who has been erroneously supposed to be the first
Greek printer : the beauty, however, correctness, and
number of his editions, place him in a much higher rank
than his predecessors ; and his characters in general
were more elegant than any before used. He was born
in 1445, and died in 1515.
Though the noble Greek books of Aldus had raised
an universal desire of reviving that tongue, the French
were backward in introducing it. The only pieces print¬
ed
ntmg.
16
: first
ing.
Ane :)tcs
of e y
priu,.
P R I [3
ed by them were some quotations, so wretchedly per¬
formed, that they were rather to be guessed at than read;
in a character very rude and uncouth, and without ac¬
cents. But Francis Tissard introduced the study of this
language at Paris, by his BiSao; y yvuftcA'yv^ix.y, in 1507 j
and that branch of printing was afterwards successfully
practised by Henry, Robert, and Henry Stephens. See
the article STEPHENS.
The earliest edition of the w/io!e Bible was, strictly
speaking, the Complutensian Polyglott of Cardinal
Ximenesj but as that edition, though finished in 1517,
was not published till 1522, the Venetian Septuagint
of 1518 may properly be called the first edition of the
w/10/eGreek Bible; Erasmus having published the New
Testament only at Basil in 1516.
A very satisfactory account of Hebrew printing is
thus given by Hr Kennicott in his Annual Accounts of
the Collation of Hebrew MSS. p. 112. “The method
which seems to have been originally observed in print¬
ing the Hebrew Bible was just what might have been
expected : I. The Pentateuch in 1482, 2. The Prior
Prophets, in 148 3. The Posterior Prophets, in i486.
4. The Hagiographa, in 1487. And, after the four
great parts had been thus printed separatelv (each with
a comment), the whole text (without a comment) was
printed in one volume in 1488; and the text continued
to be printed, as in these first editions, so in several
others for 20 or 30 years, without marginal Keri or
Masora, and with greater arguments to the more an¬
cient MSS. till about the year 1520 some of the Jews
adopted la*er MSS. and the Masora ; which absurd pre¬
ference has obtained ever since.”
Thus much for the ancient editions given by Jews.
In 1642 a Hebrew Bible was printed at Mantua un¬
der the care of the most learned Jews in Italy. This
Bible had not been heard of among the Christians in
this country, nor perhaps in any other; though the
nature of it is very extraordinary. The text indeed is
nearly the same with that in other modern editions ; but
at the bottom of each page are various readings, amount¬
ing in the whole to above 2000, and many of them of
great consequence, collected from manuscripts, printed
editions, copies of the Talmud, and the works of the
most renowned Rabbles. And in one of the notes is
this remark :—“ That in several passages of the He¬
brew Bible the differences are so many and so great, that
they know not which to fix upon as the true read¬
ings.”
We cannot quit this subject without observing, on
Dr Kennieott’s authority, that as the first printed Bibles
are more correct than the latter ones ; so the variations
between the first edition, printed in 1488, and the edi¬
tion of Vander Hooght, in 1705, at Amsterdam, in 2
vols. 8vo, amount upon the whole, to above 1200.
See further Bowycr and Nichols, p. 112—117.
w hen the art of printing was first discovered, they
only made use of one side of a page : they had not yet
found out the expedient of impressing the other. When
their editions were intended to be curious, they omit¬
ted to print the first letter of a chapter, for which they
left a blank space, that it might he painted or illumina¬
ted at the option of the purchaser. Several ancient vo¬
lumes of these early times have been found, where these
letters are wanting, as they neglected to have them
painted.
73 1 P R I
When the art of printing was first established, it was printing
the glory of the learned to be correctors of the press to ' v—-
the eminent printers. Physicians, lawyers, and bishops
themselves, occupied this department. The printers
then added frequently to their names those of the cor¬
rectors of the press ; and editions were then valued ac¬
cording to the abilities of the corrector.
In the productions of early printing may be distin¬
guished the various splendid editions they made of Pri¬
mers or Prayer-books. They were embellished with cuts
finished in a most elegant taste : many of them were lu¬
dicrous, and several were obscene. In one of them an
angel is represented crowning the Virgin Mary, and
God the Father himself assisting at the ceremony. We
have seen in a book of natural history the Supreme Be¬
ing represented as reading on the seventh day, when he
-rested from all his works. Sometimes St Michael is
seen overcoming Satan, and sometimes St Anthony ap¬
pears attacked by various devils of most hideous forms..
The Prymer of Salisbury, 1533, is full of cuts : at the
bottom of the title page there is the following remark¬
able prayer:
God be in my Bede,
And in my Lnderstandynge.
God be in my Eyen,
And in my Lookynge.
God be in my Mont he,
And in my Spekyngc.
God be in my Herte,
And in my thinkinge.
God tie at myn ende,
And at my departynge.
i s
Stereotype Printing. Different persons in different History#
countries have claimed the merit of this invention ; but
from Mr Nit holls’s Biographical memoirs of William
Ged, it appears undeniable that he was the first by
whom it was invented. Mr Tilloch, the editor of the
Philosophical Magazine informs us, that he had turned Vol. x.-
his attention to the subject for a number of years, and
having hit at last upon the discovery, he flattered him¬
self that it was purely original, even feeling vexed when
given to understand that he had been anticipated by
Mr Ged of Edinburgh, who had printed books from
plates about 50 years before.
So far back as the year 1725, we find that Mr Ged
had begun to prosecute plate-making. In 1727, he
entered into a contract with a person who had a small
capital, but who was so intimidated by the insinuations
of some printer, that he expended no more than 22I. in
the course of two years. In this manner he had printed
both bibles and common prayer-books, but tbe compo¬
sitors when they corrected one fault, purposely made
half a dozen move ; and the pressmen when the masters
were absent, battered the letter to second tbe composi¬
tors. In consequence of these abominable proceedings,
the books were suppressed by authority, and the plates
sent to the King’s printing-house, and from thence to
the foundery.
In consequence of Mr Tilloch’s invention and im¬
provement, Stereotype printing was afterwards practised
by him in conjunction with Mr Foulis, printer to the
university of Glasgow, who obtained patents both for
England and Scotland, as Mr Ged’s invention had died
with,!
Pi in line
P R I [ 374 ] P R I
his son. This art, therefore, may be said to have
been twice invented in Britain j after which Didot, a
French printer, published several Latin classics in the
same manner, and to whom some of his countrymen
wished to ascribe the merit of the invention, which must
be a mistake. We admit it possible that he might have
discovered the secret of the art for himself j but it is
not supposeable that he could be ignorant ol Ged’s pro¬
gress and that of Mr Foulis, especially since, when pa¬
tents are obtained, a specification of the process must
be put upon record, of which any one may obtain an of¬
fice copy at a small expence.
Neither is it at all probable that stereotype printing
was the invention of a Dutchman, who is said to have
practised the art even before Ged 3 since we are assu¬
red that Ged himself bad offers from Holland repeated¬
ly, either to go over there, or sell his invention, which
could not possibly have been the case, had it been in
possession of their own countrymen.
Founding of pages, on the first view of it, promises
many advantages of an economical nature, and to sci¬
ence it holds out what can never be obtained in any
other way 3 we mean editions of books without a single
error. From books cast into solid pages, no more co¬
pies would be printed than might be wanted for imme¬
diate sale 3 the money thus saved from being sunk in
paper, to be piled up in warehouses for years, as is the
case at present, would serve as surplus capital to print
other works 3 thus the printer, his workmen, and the
booksellers, would all be benefited.
Some are of opinion, that the expence of stereotype
precludes the use of it, except in the case of standard au¬
thors, whose works are sure of an extensive sale 3 but the
very reverse of this is the truth. If there would be an ad¬
vantage in applying the stereotype art to books of rapid
sale, there would be a still greater one in the case of
euch whose sale would not be so certain, as at the worst
there could only be the loss of the plates, instead of that
of the paper and press-work of a whole edition, which
in almost every instance would amount to a much larger
sum. To the advantages already mentioned we may
add a few others, as stated by Mr Wilson, Stereotype
office Duke street, Lincoln’s Inn Fields. The expence
of Stereotype plates is not 20 per cent, of that ol move-
,able type pages. A room that is fire-proof Avill hold
Stereotype plates of works, of which the dead stock in
printed paper would require a warehouse twenty times
the size 3 and thus warehouse rent and insurance are
saved 3 with the additional advantage, in case of acci¬
dent by fire, that the stereotype plates may be instantly
put to press, instead of going through the tedious opera¬
tions of moveable type printing 3 and thus no loss will
be sustained from the works being out ol print. In ste¬
reotype, every page of the most extensive work has a
separate plate 3 of consequence all the pages of the said
work must be equally new and beautiful. The types ol
each sheet are distributed by the old method, by which
the subsequent sheets are composed 3 so that, although
4he first few sheets of a volume may be yvell composed,
the last part of the volume will appear to be executed
in a very inferior manner. Stereotype plates admit of
alteration 3 and it will be found that they will yield at
least twice the number of impressions that moveable
-types are capable of producing. It seems evident upon
1
the whole, says Mr Wilson, that a saving of from 25 to Pr;ntjJ
40I. per cent, will accrue to the public in the prices of i—-vv
all books of standard reputation and sale, which, he be¬
lieves, are pretty accurately ascertained to comprehend
three-fourths of all the book printing of England, Scot¬
land, and Ireland. It is fair to conclude, therefore,
that both foreign and domestic sales will be much in¬
creased, and that the duties on paper will be propor¬
tionally productive 3 so that the public will reap advan¬
tage in a twofold way by the general adoption and en¬
couragement ot the stereotype art.
The advantages of this mode of printing now men¬
tioned, are such as have been suggested by men who
were competent judges 3 but we leave it to our readers
to determine for themselves, whether the adoption of the
stereotype art of printing would be more beneficial to
society at large, than the publishing ol books by means
of moveable types. 15
The workmen employed in the art of printing are ofMeiW
two kinds : compositors, who range and dispose the let-PrmiD
ters into words, lines, pages, &c. according to the copy
delivered them by the author 3 and pressmen, who apply
ink upon the same, and take off the impression. The
tvpes being cast, the compositor distributes each kind
by itself among the divisions of two wooden frames, an
upper and an under one, called cases ; each ot which is
divided into little cells or boxes. Those of the upper
case are in number 98 : these are all of the same size 3
and in them are disposed the capitals, small capitals,
accented letters, figures, &c. the capitals being placed
in alphabetical order. In the cells of the lower case,
which are 54, are placed the small letters, with the
points, spaces, &.c. The boxes are here of different
sizes, the largest being for the letters most used ; and
these boxes are not in alphabetical order, but the cells
which contain the letter oftenest wanted are nearest
the compositor’s hand. Each case is placed a little
aslope, that the compositor may the more easily reach pjJ
the upper boxes. The instrument in which the letters CCCCxij
are set is called a composing-stick (fig. 1.), which consists fig. 1
of a long and narrow plate of brass or iron, &c. on the
right side of which arises a ledge, which runs the whole
length of the plate, and serves to sustain the letters, the
sides of which are to rest against it 3 along this ledge is
a row of holes, which serve for introducing the screvy fl,
in order to lengthen or shorten the extent of the line,
by moving the sliders b c farther from or nearer to the
shorter ledge at the end d. Where marginal notes are
required in a work, the two sliding-pieces b c are open¬
ed to a proper distance from each other in such a man¬
ner, as that while the distance between d c forms the
length of the line in the text, the distance between the
two sliding-pieces forms the length of the lines for the
notes on the side of the page. Before the compositor
proceeds to compose, he puts a rule or thin slip ot brass-
plate, cut to the length of the line, and of the same
height as the letter, in the composing-stick, against the
ledge, for the letter to bear against. Things thus pre¬
pared, the compositor having the copy lying before him,
and his stick in his left-hand, his thumb being over the
slider c ; with the right he takes up the letters, spaces,
&c. one by one, and places them against the rule, while
he supports them with his left thumb by pressing them
to the end of the slider c, the other hand being con¬
stantly
f k r [37
stantly employed In setting in other letters : the whole
being performed with a degree of expedition and address
not easy to be imagieed.
A line being thus composed, if it end with a word
or syllable, and exactly fill the measure, there needs no
further care ; otherwise more spaces are to be put in, or
else the distances lessened, between the several words
in order to make the measure quite full ; so that every
line may end even. The spaces here used are pieces of
metal exactly shaped like the shanks of the letters : they
ate of various thicknesses, and serve to sunport the let¬
ters, and to preserve a proper distance between the
words ; but not reaching so high as the letters, they
make no impression when the work is printed.’ The
first line being thus finished, the compositor proceeds
to the next j in order to which he removes the brass
rule from behind the former, and places it before it
and thus composes another line against it after the same’
manner as before j going on thus till his stick is full
when he empties all the lines contained in it into the
gaily.
The compositor then fills and empties his composinn--
stick as before, till a complete page be formed 3 when
he ties it up with a cord or pack-thread j and setting
it by, proceeds to the next, till the number of pages to
be contained in a sheet is completed j which done he
carries them to the imposing-stone, there to be rano-ed
in order, and fastened together in a frame called a c/iess;
and this is termed imposing. The chess is a rectangular
iron frame, of different dimensions according to the size
of the paper to be printed, having two cross-pieces of
the same metal, called a long and short cross, mortised
at each end so as to be taken out occasionally. By the
different situations of these crosses the chess is fitted for
different volumes : for quartos and octavos, one traverses
the middle lengthwise, the other broadwise, so as to in¬
tersect each other in the centre : for twelves and twen¬
ty-tours, the short cross is shifted nearer to one end of
the chess -, for folios, the long cross is left entirely out
and the short one left in the middle ; and for broad¬
sides, both crosses are set aside. To dress the chess, or
range and fix the pages therein, the compositor makes
me ot a set of furniture, consisting of slips of wood of
di lie rent dimensions, and about half an inch high, that
they may be lower than the letters: some of these are
p aced at the top of the pages, and called head-sticks \
others between them, to form the inner margin : others
on the sides of the crosses, to form the outer margin,
where the paper is to be doubled 3 and others in the
iorm of wedges to the sides and bottoms of the pao-es.
Ihus all the pages being placed at their proper distan¬
ce3, and secured from being injured by the chess and
turn,tore placed about them, they aie all united, and
astened together by driving small pieces of wood called
qimns cox .n the wedge-form, up between the slanting
de of rti,e foHt and the side-sticks and the chess, by
means of a piece of hard wood and a mallet 3 and all
bemg thus bound fast together, so that none of the let-
rs wi all out, it is ready to be committed to the
Pressmen. Ju this condition the work is called a form;
ml aS there are two of these forms required for every
/,! 7 160 ,?t l SldeS are to be Panted, it is necessary
nbr i Tl68 be,tWeen the PaSeH in each form should be
P cecl with such exactness, that the impression of the
0 J P H I
pages in one form shall fall exactly on the back of the pr-
pages of the other, which is called register. , l>'' l'1"'
,AS !t 7 ““possible but that there must be some mis¬
takes in the work, either through the oversight of the
compositor, or by the casual transposition of letters in
the cases 3 a sheet is printed off, which is called a proof
and given to the corrector; who reading it over and
rectifying it by the copy, making the alterations in the
margin, it is delivered back to the compositor to he cor¬
rected.
The compositor then unlocking the form upon the
correcting-stone, by loosening the quoins or wedges
vh.ch bound the letters together, rectifies the mistakes
/-v P, ng out the fauIty oi- wrong letters with a slen¬
der sharp pointed steel-bodkin, and putting others into
their places. After this another proof is made, sent to
the author and corrected as before ; and lastly, there
:s anothf proof called a revise, which is made in order
to see whether all the mistakes marked in the last proof
are corrected. 1
The pressman’s business is to work off the forms thus
prepared and corrected by the compositor 3 in doing
which there are four things required, paper, ink, balls,
and a press J o prepare the paper for use, it is to be
hist wetted by dipping several sheets together in water:
u se are afterwards laid in a heap over each other ; and
to make them take the water equally, they are all pres¬
sed clos'e down with a weight at the top. The ink is
made of oil and lamp-black ; for the manner of prepa¬
ring which see Printing-Ink. The balls, by which the
ink is applied on the forms, are a kind of wooden fun¬
nels with handles, the cavities of which are filled with
wool or hair, as is also a piece of alum leather or pelt
nailed over the cavity, and made extremely soft by soak¬
ing in urine, and by being well rubbed. One of these
the pressman takes in each hand ; and applying one of
them to the ink-block, daubs and works them together
to distribute the ink equally; and then blackens the
orm which is placed on the press, by beating with the
balls upon the face of the letter.
. rile printing-press, represented fig. 2. is a very cu-FlV „
nous though complex machine. The body consists of S
wo strong cheeks a, a, placed perpendicularly, and join¬
ed together by four cross-pieces, the cap b 3 the head
C\ 'vh,chI 18 “oveable, being partly sustained by two iron
pins or long bolts, that pass the cap 3 the till or shelf
(: hy 'vbieh the spindle and its apparatus are kept in
their proper position 3 and the winter e, which bears
the carnage, and sustains the effort of the press beneath.
I lie spind.le/is an uPright piece of iron pointed with
steel, having a male screw which goes into the female
one in the head about four inches. Through the eye g-
ot this spindle is fastened the bar A:, by which the press¬
man makes the impression. The spindle passes through
a hole in the middle of the till ; and its point works in¬
to a brass pan or nut, supplied with oil, which is fixed
to an iron plate let into the top of the platten. The
body of the spindle is sustained in the centre of an open
frame of polished iron, 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, fixed to it in
such a manner as, without obstructing its free play, to
keep it in a steady direction 3 and at the same time to
serve for Suspending the platten. This frame consists
of two parts 3 the upper called the garter, 1,1; the
under, called the crane, 2, 2. These are connected to¬
gether
P R I
[ 376 ]
P R I
ofllul by two sliort logs or bolts, 3, 3-i "oiob being
fixed below in tbe two ends of the crane, pass upward,
through two holes in the till, and arc received at top
into two eyes at the ends of the garter, where they are
secured by screws. The carriage 11 is Placed a foot
below the platten, having its fore-part supported by a
wop called the fore-stay, while the other rests on t ie
winter. On this carriage, which sustains the plank,
are nailed two long iron bars or ribs •, and on the plank
are nailed short pieces of iron or steel called cramp irons,
equally tempered with the ribs and which shde upon
them when the plank is turned in or out. Under the
carriage is fixed a long piece ot iron called the spit, with
a double wheel in the middle, round which leather-girts
are fastened, nailed to each end of the plunk . and o
the outside of the spit is Hxed a rounce m, or handle to
turn round the wheel. Upon the plank is a square frame
or coffin, in which is inclosed a polished stone on which
the form « is laid* at the end of the coffin are three
frames vi%. the two tympans and fnsket: the tyn,pans
0 ‘are square, and made of three slips of very thin wood,
and at the top a piece of iron still thinner *, that cafie
the outer tympan is fastened with hinges to the coffin:
they are both covered with parchment; and between the
tw0yare placed blankets, which are necessary to take
off the impression of the letters upon the paper. T i e
frisked p is a square frame of thin iron fastened with
hinges L the tvmpan : it is covered with paper cut in
thenecessary places, that the sheet, which is put be¬
tween the frisket and the great or outward tympan,
mav receive the ink, and that nothing may hurt the
'ins To regulate the margins, a sheet of paper is
Sued upon this tympan, which is called the tympan
;XrrandPon each side is fixed an iron point, which
makes two holes in the sheet, which is to be placed
.on the same points when the impression is to be made on
the other side. In preparing the press for working,
he parchment which covers the outer tympan is we.ted
m l is very soft, in order to render the impression
more equable > tbe blankets are then put in, and secured
from slipping by the inner tympan : then while one
pressman Is beating tbe letter with the balls q, covered
lith ink taken from the ink-block the other person
places a sheet of white paper on the tympan-sheet,
turns down the frisket upon it, to keep the paper clean
and prevent its slipping j then bringing the tampans
upon the form, and turning the rounce he brings the
form w’th the stone, &c. weighing about 300 lb,,
weight, under the platteu j pu Is with the bar, y
which means the platten presses the blankets and pape
close upon the letter, whereby halt the form is printed,
then easing the bar, he draws the form still forward ,
gives a second pull; and letting go the bar, turns back
the form, takes up tbe tympans and frisket, takes
the printed sheet, and lays on a fresh one ; and this is
repeated till he lias taken off the impression upon the
foil number of sheets the edition is to consist of. One
side of the sheet being thus printed the form for the
other is laid upon the press, and worked oil in the same
manner. „ , . .
To the above description of the printing press, we
shall add that of one invented by Mr Nicholson, and for
which a patent was granted in 1790. This machine is
recommended by the inventor as being superior to other
printing presses in cheapness, accuracy, and neatness, and
is adapted with some slight variations in its construction Wnti
for printing on paper, linen, cotton, anc woo en. iree
particulars are to be attended to in the invention.
1st, The manner of preparing and placing the types,
engravings, or carvings, from which the impression is to
be made ; 2dly, In applying the ink or colouring matter
to types or engravings j and, 3^, In taking oft the im¬
pression. „ . „
1st. The moulds, punches, and matrices, for casting-
letters, are made in the same manner, and with the same
materials, as other letter-founders do, excepting that, in¬
stead of leaving a space in the mould lor the stem of one
letter only, be leaves spaces for two, three, or more let¬
ters, to be cast at one pouring of the metal j and at the
lower extremity of each of those spaces (winch commu¬
nicate by a common groove at top) he places a matrix, or
piece of copper, with the letter punched upon its face in
the usual way. And moreover, he brings the stem of Ins
letters to a due form and finish, not only by
upon a stone, and scraping it when arranged in the tinish-
ing-stick, but likewise by scraping it, on one or more
sides, in a finishing-stick whose hollowed part is less deep
at the inner than the outer side. ITe ca s *ia 81 ® 0
the groove which is nearest the face of the disposed let¬
ter, the outer side j and the purpose accomplished by
this method of scraping is, that ot rendering the tail ot
the letter gradually smaller the more remotest is, or
farther from the face. Such letters may be firmly im¬
posed upon a cylindrical surface, in the same manner as
common letters are imposed upon a flat stone.
2d/i/, The ink or colouring matter is applied to the
types; forms, or plates, by causing tbe surface ot a cy¬
linder, smeared or wetted with the colouring matter, to
roll over the surfaces of the said forms or plates, or by
causing the forms or plates apply themselves successively
to the surface of the cylinder. The surface of this co¬
louring cylinder is covered with leather, or with wool¬
len, linen, or cotton cloth. When the colour to be
used is thin, as in calico-printing, and m almost every
case, the covering is supported by a firm elastic stuffing,
consisting of hair, or wool, or woollen cloth wrapped
one or more folds round the cylinder. en e
vering consists of woollen cloth, the stuffing must be de¬
fended by leather or oilskin, to prevent its imbibing
too much colour, and by that means losing its elasticity.
It is absolutely necessary that the colouring matter e
evenly distributed over the surface of the cylinder ; an
for this purpose, when the colour is thick and stilt, as
in letter-press printing, he applies two, three, rao^e
small cylinders,called distributing-rollers,longitudinally
against the colouring cylinders, so that they may e urn-
ed bv the motion of the latter ; and the efiect of this ap¬
plication is, that every lump or mass of colour wine 1 may
be redundant, or irregularly placed upon the face ot t e
colouring cylinder, will be pressed, spread, an pa y
taken up, and carried by the small rollers to the other
parts of the colouring cylinder; so that this aS
very speedily acquire and preserve au even lace ot
lour. But if the colouring matter be thinner, he >
not apply more than one or two of these d.stnbi
rollers ; and, if it be very thin, he apphes a
blunt edge of metal, or wood, or a straight brush,
both of these last, against the colouring cylinoer i
the purpose of rendering its colour uniform. '\n n
applies colour to an engraved plate, or ,,
P R I
i nting
r
Fig.
through the interstices of a perforated pattern, as in the*
manufacturing of some kinds of paper hangings, he uses
a cylinder entirely covered with hair or bristles in the
manner of a brush.
idly, The impressions, even in letter-press printing,
are performed by the action of a cylinder or cylindrical
surface. The following is the construction of this ma¬
chine. Fig. 3. represents a printing-press, more espe¬
cially applicable to the printing of books. A and E are
two cylinders, running or turning in a strong frame of
wood, or metal, or both. The cylinder A is faced with
woollen cloth, and is capable of being pressed with more
or less force upon Hi, by means of the lever M. HI is
a long table, which is capable ol moving endwise, back¬
wards and forwards, upon the rollers E and K. The
lollei A acts upon this table by means of a cog-wheel,
or by straps, so as to draw it backwards and forwards’
by the motion of its handle L. The table is kept in
the same line by grooves on its sides, which contain the
cylinder A. I) is a chess, containing letter set up and
imposed. B is a box, containing a colouring-roller, with
its distributing-rollers CC 5 it is supported by the arm
N. O is a cylinder laced with leather, and lying across
an ink-block ; this cylinder is fixed by the middle to a
bended lever moveable on the joint Q.
The action. hen X), or the letter, is drawn beneath
the cyhndei B, it receives ink, and when it has passed
into the position R, a workman places or turns down a
tympan with paper upon it (this tympan differs in no
respect from the usual one, except that its hinge opens
sidewise) ; it then proceeds to pass under the cylinder
A, which presses it successively through its whole sur-
lace. On the other side, at S, the workman takes off
the paper and leaves the tympan up. This motion
causes the cylinder B to revolve continually, and conse¬
quently renders its inked surface very uniform, by the
action ol its distributing-rollers CC ; and, when the
table has passed to its extreme distance in the direction
now spoken of, the arm G touches the lever P, and
raises the cylinder O off the ink-block, by which means
it dabs against one of the distributing-rollers, and gives
it a small quantity ol ink. The returning motion of
the table carries the letter again under the roller B,
which again inks it, and the process of printing another
sheet goes on as before.
Fig. 4. is another printing-press. In this, B is the
inking roller j A is a cylinder, having the letter impo¬
sed upon its surface 5 and E is a cylinder, having its
uniform surface covered with woollen cloth : these three
c\finders are connected, either by cogs or straps at the
edges of each. I he machine is uniformly turned in
one direction by the handle L. The workman applies a
sheet of paper to the surface of E, where it is retained,
either by points in the usual manner, or by the appara¬
tus to be described in treating of fig. 4. The paper pas¬
ses between E and A, and receives an impression ; after
winch the workman takes it oil; and applies another
sheet j and in the mean time the letter on the surface of
A passes round against the surface of B, and receives ink
during the rotation of B. The distributing-rollers CC
0 their office as in the machine fig. 1. ; and once in
eveiy revolution the tail F, affixed to B, raises the ink-
ing-piece G, so as to cause it to touch one of the distri-
utnig-rollers, and supply it with ink. In this way there-
i°re the repeated printing of sheet after sheet goes on.
^OL. XVII. Parti. f
C 377 3
P R I
Fig. 5. IS a printing-press, more particularly adapted Printlv
to print cottons, silks, paper-hangings, or other articles
which run of a considerable length. A is a cylinder Fig. 5.
covered with woollen cloth, or other soft substance. The
web or piece ol cotton, or other goods, is passed round
this cylinder, from the carrying-roller F to the receiving-
rollers GH ; which are connected by a piece of linen
woollen, or hair-cloth, in the manner of a jack-towel!
sewed round them ; the rotation of this towel carries
away the printed stuff or goods, and deposits them at I.
KL is a moveable box, containing three rollers, which
move against each other in rotation. The lowest roller
C revolves in a mass of colour, contained in a trough or
vessel in the bottom part of the box KL j the surface of
this colour is represented by the line MN. The next
roller B is stuffed and covered as described in section 2.
1 he pressure of B against C prevents the cylinder B from
receiving too much colour. 1) is a cut or carved cylin¬
der, which receives colour, during the rotation, from the
roller B, and impresses it upon the web as it passes round
the cylinder A j in this way the constant and effectual
action of the machine is sufficiently obvious. It must be
observed, that the cylinders ABB and G are connected
together by cog-wheels, straps, or other well-known equi¬
valent contrivances5 so that the handle P drives the
whole, without their necessarily depending on any adhe¬
sion or friction at their surfaces. The pressure of B a-
gainst D is governed by an adjustment of the axis of D,
whose sockets are capable of a small motion j and the
pressure ol 1) against A is governed by the position of
the whole box KL. V hen it is required to print more
than one colour upon the same piece, it must pass two or
more times through the machine; or, in those cases where
the materials are liable to change their dimensions, it is
necessary to apply, at one and the same time, two or
more such boxes as KL, with their respective cylinders,
so that the pattern cylinder of each may make its im¬
pression upon the web or material to be printed on.
I ig. 6. is a printing-press, chiefly of use for books and fig. c,
papers. 1, 2, 3, 4, represent a long table, with ledges
on each side j so that the two cylinders A and B can run
backwards and forwards without any side shake. In one
of these ledges is placed a strip or plate of metal cut into
teeth, which lock into correspondent teeth in each cylin¬
der 5 by which means the two cylinders roll along, with¬
out the possibility of changing the relative positions of
their surfaces at any determinate part of the table. This
may also be effected by straps, and may indeed be accom¬
plished with tolerable accuracy, by the mere rolling of
the cylinders on the smooth or Hat ledges without any
provision. A is the printing-cylinder, covered with wTool-
len cloth, and B is the inking-cylinder, with its distri¬
buting-rollers. The table may be divided into four com¬
partments marked with a thicker bounding line than the
rest and numbered 1, 2, 3, 4. At 1 is placed a sheet
ol paper j at 2 is the form or chess, containing letter set
and imposed ; at 3 is an apparatus for receiving the
printed sheet; and 4 is employed in no other use than
as a place of standing for the carriage E, after it has pas¬
sed through one operation, and when it takes ink at F.
Its action is as follows : the carriage is thrust forward
by the workman, and as the roller A passes over the
space numbered 1, it takes up the sheet of paper pre¬
viously laid there, while the roller B runs over the form
and inks the letter. The sheet of paper being wrapped
3 B round
P R I
[ 378 3
P R I
Printing.
round the cylinder A, is pressed against the form as that restore its original position at B, the F1’ fj1'1 Mni,
cylinder proceeds, and consequently it receives an impres- back to G. Now the figures 7 and 8 exlntnt an appa-
• tXTI  A  1 »l.„ nnmliprpfl o. it lets
Fig. it, 12
Fig. 13-
"Fig- 7* 8> 9
sion. When A arrives at the space numbered 3, it lets
go the sheet of paper, while the prominent part of the
carriage G strikes the lever P, and raises the inking-
piece, which applies itselt against one ol the distributing-
rollers. In this manner therefore the cylinder A re¬
turns empty, and the cylinder B inked, and in the
mean time the workman places another sheet of paper
ready in the space numbered I. Thus it is that the
operation proceeds in the printing of one sheet after
another. . ,
The preceding description is not encumbered with
an account of the apparatus by which the paper is
taken up and laid down. This may be done in several
ways : Pig. n. and 12. represent one of the methods.
DE is a lever, moving on the centre pin C, and having
its end D pressed upwards by the action ot tlm spring
G. The shoulder which contains the pin C is .fixed
in another piece F, which is inserted in a groove in the
surface of the cylinder A (fig. 6.), so that it is capable
of moving in and out, in a direction parallel to the
axis of that cylinder. As that cylinder proceeds, it
meets a pin in the table-, which (letter P, fig. n.) act¬
ion- on the inclined plane at the other end ot the lever,
throws the whole inwards, in the position represented in
fig. 12. in which case the extremity D shoots inwards,
and applies itself against the side of the cylinder.
In fig. 13. is a representation of part of the table } the
dotted square represents a sheet of paper, and the four
small shaded squares denote holes in the board, with pins
standing beside them. When the lever HE (fig- !2.)
shoots forward, it is situated in one of these holes, and
advances under the edge of the paper, which con¬
sequently it presses and retains against the cylinder
with its extremity D. Nothing more remains to be
said respecting the taking up, but that the cylinder
is provided with two pair of these clasps or levers,
which are so fixed as to correspond with four holes
represented in fig. 13. It will be easy to understand
how the paper is deposited in the compartment JS1 3,
(ficr. 6.). A pin P (fig. 12.) rising out of the plat¬
form or table, acts against a pin E, projecting sidewise
out of the lever, and must of course draw the slider
and its lever to the original position; the paper con¬
sequently will be let go, and its disengagement is
rendered certain by an apparatus fixed in the compart¬
ment numbered 3 (fig. 6.) of exactly the same.kind as
that upon the cylinder, and which, by the action of a
pin duly placed in the surface of the cylinder A, takes
the paper from the cylinder in precisely the same man¬
ner as that cylinder originally took it up in the com¬
partment numbered 1 (fig. 6.).
Fig. 7, 8, and 9, represent a simpler apparatus for ac¬
complishing the same purpose. If A a B 6 (fig. .9.) be
supposed to represent a thick plate ot metal of a circular
form, with two pins, A and B, proceeding sidewise or
perpendicularly out of its plane, and diametrically oppo¬
site to each other, and G another pin proceeding in the
direction of that plane, then it is obvious that any force
applied to the pin A, so as to press it into the position a
(bv turning the plate on its axis or centre X), w.ill at
the same time cause the pin Gto acquire the position g;
and, on the other hand, when B is at 6, or the dotted re¬
presentation of the side-pin, if any pressure be applied to
ratus of this kind, applied to the cylinder A 5 and that
cylinder, by rolling over the pins P and2?, properly fixed
in the table to re-act upon the apparatus, will cause
its prominent part G either to apply to the cylinder
and clasp the paper, or to rise up and let it go. Hie
compartment numbered 3 (fig. 6.) must of course ha.ve
an apparatus of the same kind to be acted upon by pins
from A, in order that it may take the paper from that
cylinder.
There is one other circumstance belonging to this
machine which remains to be explained. When the
carriage E (fig* ^ ) goes out in the direction of the
numbers I, 2, 3» 4> both rollers, A and B, press the
form of letter in their passage j but in then return
back again the roller A, having no paper upon it,
would itself become soiled, by taking a faint impression
from the letter, if it were not prevented from touching
it: the manner of effecting this may be understood from
fig. 14. The apparatus there represented is fixed upon Fig- R
the outside of the carriage E, near the lower corner, in
the vicinity of the roller A; the whole of this projects
sidewise beyond the ledge of the table, except the small
truck or wheel B. The irregularly-triangular piece,
which is shaded by the stroke of the pen, carries this
wheel, and also a catch moveable on the axis or pin E.
The whole piece is moveable on the pin A, which con¬
nects it to the carriage. CD, or the part which is
shaded by dotting, is a detent, which serves to hold the
piece down in a certain position. It may be observed,
that both the detent and the triangular piece are fur¬
nished each with a claw, which holds in one direction,
but trips or yields in the other, like the jacks of a harp¬
sichord, or resembling certain pieces used in clock and
watch making, as is clearly represented in the figure.
These claws overhang the side of the table, and their
effect is as follows : There is a pin C (fig. 6.) between
the compartments of the table numbered 2 and 3, but
which is marked F in fig. 14. where GH represents
the table. In the outward run of the carriage these
claws strike that pin, but with no other effect than that
they yield for an instant, and as instantly resume their
original position by the action of their respective slender
back springs. When the carnage returns, the claw of
the detent indeed strikes the pin, but with as little effect
as before, because its derangement is instantly removed
by the action of the back spring of the detent itself;
but, when the claw of the triangular piece takes, the
pin, the whole piece is made to revolve on its axis or
pin A, the wheel B is forced down, so as to lift that
end of the carriage, and the detent, catching on the
piece at C, prevents the former position from being re¬
covered. The consequence of this is, that the carriage
runs upon the truck B (and its corresponding truck on
the opposite side) instead of the cylinder A, which is
too much raised to take the letter, and soil itself j bet
as soon as the end of the carriage has passed clear ot
the letter, another pin R (fig. 6.) takes the claw of the
detent, and draws it off the triangular piece ; at which
instant the cylinder A subsides to its usual place, ami
performs its functions as before. This last pin R does
not affect the claw of the triangular piece, because it is
placed too low and the claw of the detent is made the
longest, on purpose that it may strike this pin.
Fig. 10. represents an instrument for printing floor-
' cloths, paper-hangings, and thelike, with a stiff paint and
a brush. D is a copper or metallic cylinder fixed in a
frame A, like a garden-roller; its carved part is thin
and is cut through in various places, according to the
desired pattern. A strong axis passes through the cy¬
linder, and its extremities are firmly attached to the
frame A. To this axis is fixed a vessel or box of the
same kind, and answering the same purpose as the box
KL in fig. 5. It carries a cylinder P, which revolves
m the colour; another cylinder E, which revolves in
contact with Pj and a third cylinder B, whose exterior
surface is covered with hair, after the manner of a
brush, and revolves in contact with E. This cylinder
B is adjusted by its axis, in such a manner that its
brush-part sweeps in the perforated parts of the metallic
cylinder D. The circle C represents a cog-wheel fixed
concentric to the cylinder D, and revolving with it 5 this
wheel takes another wheel concentric to, and fixe’d to
B 5 hence the action is as follows : When the metallic
cylinder is wheeled or rolled along any surface, its cog¬
wheel C drives the brush B in the contrary direction°-
and this brush cylinder, being connected by coo-s or
otherwise with E and P, causes these also to revolve and
supply it with colour. As the successive openings of the
cylinder D, therefore, come in contact with the°ground,
the several parts ol the brush will traverse the uncovered
part of that ground, and paint the pattern upon it. The
wheel G, being kept lightly on the ground, serves to
determine the line of contact, that it shall be the part
opposite to B, and no other.
Chinese Printing, is performed from wooden planks
or blocks, cut like those used in printing of callico pa¬
per, cards, &c. , 1
Rolling-press Printing, is employed in taking off
prints 01 impressions from copperplates engraven,etched
or scraped, as in mezzotintos. See Engraving. *
I his art is said to have been as ancient as the year
1540, and to owe its origin to Finiguerra, a Florentine
goldsmith, who, pouring some melted brimstone on an
engraven plate, found the exact impression of the engra¬
ving left in the cold brimstone, marked with black&ta-
ken out of the strokes by the liquid sulphur: upon this
he attempted to do the same on silver plates with wet
paper, by rolling it smoothly with a roller ; and tin’s
succeeded : but this art w'as not used in England till the
reign of King James I. when it was brought from Ant-
weip by Speed. I he form of the rolling-press, the
composition of the ink used therein, and the mannerof
applying both in taking off prints, are as follows :
The rolling-press AL, fig. 15. maybe divided into
two parts, the body and carriage : the body consists of
two wooden cheeks PP, placed perpendicularly on a
stand or foot LM, which sustains the whole press,
from the foot likewise are four other perpendicular
pieces, c, c, c, c, joined by other cross or horizontal
enes, d, d, d, which serve to sustain a smooth even plank
01 table HIK, about four feet and a half long, two feet
and a half broad, and an inch and a half thick. Into the
cheeks go two wooden cylinders or rollers, DE, EG,
about six inches in diameter, borne up at each end by
the dheeks, whose ends, which are lessened to about
two inches diameter, and called trunnions, turn in the
cheeks about two pieces of wood in form of half-
moons, lined with polished iron to facilitate the mo¬
tion. Lastly, To one of the trunnions of the upper rol- fnntm r
ler is fastened a cross, consisting of two levers AB, or
pieces of wood, traversing each other, the arms of v—^
which cross serve instead of the bar or handle of the
fetter-press, by turning the upper roller, and when the
plank is between the two rollers, giving the same mo-
and\lkwarL^^ ^ *
of“ USe? f°r copperplates, is a composition made
and iv^v SU°f PnaRheS aiK jPnCOtS> the bones of sl>eep
and ivory all well burnt, and called Frankfort Hack
mixed with nut-oil that has been well boiled, and ground
Kt^r„rbfe’ater,hesMera™“s^
, TheT|eth0A0f prInt‘ng from copperplates is as fol-
ws . They take a small quantity of this ink on a rub-
ber made of linen-rags, strongly bound about each
other, and therewith smear the whole face of the plate
as it lies on a grate over a charcoal fire. The plate be¬
foul SU IC1<;ntIy 11?Ijed’ they flrst wipe it over with a
foul rag, then with the palm of their left hand and
. en With thnt of the right; and to dry the hand an
O i ard the wiping, they rub it from time to time in
w him', i 11 II'1""? tl,e I,la,e perfectly clean, yet
without taking he ink out of the engraving, the ad-
dress °f the workman consists. The plate thus prepa-
L lfidS f °“ 10 « a'’k °n ‘ll<! prcSS ! ov<■1' ,lle Pfe'c
IS laid the paper, first well moistened, to receive the
impression ; and oyer the paper two or three folds of
flannel. Things thus disposed, the arms of the cross
aie pulled, and by that means the plate with its furni¬
ture passed through between the rollers, which pinching
very strongly, yet equally, press the moistened paper
till ink &tl°keS °f the engraving> whence it licks out
thei impr,esTsjon taken from a copperplate,
bee the last article, and Engraving. 1
. thf facility of being multiplied, prints have de- Strutt',
rived an advantage over paintings by no means inconsi--0^ «/
tierabJe. Ihey are found to he more durable : which EnSravers-
may, however, m some degree be attributed to the dif¬
ferent methods m which they are preserved. Many of
, , jest Pa'ntjngs of the early masters have generally
had the misfortune to be either painted on walls, or de¬
posited in Jarge and unfrequented, and consequently
damp and destructive buildings j whilst a print, passing,
at distant intervals, from theportefeuille ono collector
to that of another, is preserved without any great exer¬
tion of its owner: And hence it happens, that whilst
the pictures of Raphael have mouldered from their walls
or deserted the canvas, the prints of his friend and co¬
temporary A.ark Antonio Raimondi continue in full
perfection to this day, and give us a lively idea of the
beauties of these paintings, which, without their assist¬
ance had been lost to us for ever; or at least, could
have been only known to us, like those of Zeuxis and
Apelles, by the descriptions which former writers on
these subjects have left us.
Independent of the advantages which prints affords us
when considered as accurate representations of paint¬
ings, and imitations of superior productions, they are
no less valuable for their positive merit, as immediate
representations of nature. For it must be recollected,
that the art of engraving has not always been confined
to the copying of other productions, but has frequent-
3 B 2 jy
P R I
[ 33° 1
P R I
iv itself aspired to originality, and lias, in this light,
produced more instances of its excellence than in the
o'her. Albert Durer, Goltzius, and Rembrandt,
amongst the Dutch and Germans-, Parmigiano and
Della Bella amongst the Italians, and Callot amongst
the French, have published many prints, the subjects ot
which, there is great reason to suppose, were never
painted. These prints may therefore be considered as
original pictures of those masters, deficient only in those
particulars in which a print must necessarily be interior
to a painting. , .
The preceding distinction may perhaps throw some
light on the proper method of arranging and classing a
collection of prints, which has been a matter of no small
difficulty. As an art imitating another, the princi¬
pal should take the lead, and the design, composition,
and drawing, in a print, being previous requisites, to the
manner of execution and finishing *, prints engraved al¬
ter paintings should be arranged under the name ot the
painter ; and every person who looks upon engraving
only as auxilary to painting, will consequently adopt
this mode of arrangement. But when engraving is
considered as an original art, as imitating nature with¬
out the intervention of other methods, then it will cer¬
tainly be proper to regulate the arrangement according
to the names of the engravers.
Prints, method of cleaning. Ihe following method
of cleaning prints, is recommended as safe and eltica-
cious. „ ,
“ Provide a certain quantity of the common muria¬
tic acid, for example three ounces, in a glass bottle,
with a ground stopper, of such a capacity that it may
be only half full. Half an ounce of minium must then
be added; immediately after which the stopper is to
be put in, and the bottle set in a cold and dark place.
The heat, which soon becomes perceptible, shews the
beginning of the new combination. The minium aban¬
dons the greatest part of its oxygen with which the
fluid remains impregnated, at the same time that it ac¬
quires a fine golden yellow, and emits the detestable
smell of oxygenated muriatic acid. It contains a small
portion of muriate of lead > but this is not at all noxious
in the subsequent process. It is also necessary to be ob¬
served, that the bottle must be strong, and the stopper
not too firmlv fixed, otherwise the active elastic vapour
might burst it. The method of using this prepared acid
is as follows: , „ .
“ Provide a sufficiently large plate of glass, upon
which one or more prints may be separately spread out.
Near the edges let there be raised a border of solt white
wax half an inch high, adhering well to the glass and
flat at top. In this kind of trough the print is to be
placed in a bath of fresh urine, or water containing a
small quantity of ox-gall, and kept in this situation lor
three or four hours. The fluid is then to be decanted
off and pure warm water poured on, which must be
changed every three or four hours until it passes limpid
and clear. The impurities are sometimes of a resinous
nature, and resist the action of pure water. When this
is the case, the washed print must be left to dry, and
alcohol is then to be poured on and left for a time.
After the print is thus cleaned, and all the moisture
• drained off, the muriatic acid prepared with minium is
to be poured on in sufficient quantity to cover the
print 3 immediately after which another plate of glass is
to be laid in contact with the rim of wax, in order to Prin^
prevent the inconvenient exhalation of the oxygenated
•J In this situation the yellowest print will be seen^ ^
•, • • 1 ! 4. \ o xror'xr cnAvt 11 m
acid. xu mio cu.-j ; JT .
to recover its original whiteness in a very shoit time.
One or two hours are sufficient to produce the desired
effect j but the print will receive no injury if it be left
in the acid for a whole night. Nothing more is neces¬
sary to complete the work, than to decant off the re¬
maining acid, and wash away every trace of acidity, by
repeated effusions of pure water. The print being then
left to dry (in the sun if possible) will be found white,
clear, firm, and in no respect damaged, either in the
texture of the paper, or the tone and appearance of the
impression.”
It is farther recommended to those who shall adopt
the whole process for clearing prints, to make the first
trial with a print of little value, and in this way he will
discover what portion of water should be employed in
diluting the acid to prevent the corrosive action of the
latter on the paper. Nichol. Joui'n. ii. 265* 4*°-
PRIOR, in general, something before or nearer the
beginning than another, to which it is compared.
Prior, more particularly denotes the superior of a
convent of monks, or the next under the abbot. See
Abbot.
Priors are either claustral or conventual. Conventual
are the same as abbots. Claustral prior, is he who go¬
verns the religious of an abbey or priory in cornmendam,
having his jurisdiction wholly from the abbot.
Grand Prior, is the superior of a large abbey, where
several superiors are required.
Prior, Matthew, an eminent Knglish poet, was
born at London in 1664. His father dying while lie
was very young, an uncle, a vintner, having given him
some education at Westminster school, took him home
in order to breed him up to his trade. However, at
his leisure hours he prosecuted his study of the clas¬
sics and particularly of his favourite Horace. This in¬
troduced him to some polite company who frequented
his uncle’s house j among whom the earl of Dorset took
particular notice of him, and procured him to be sent to
St John’s college in Cambridge, where, m 1686, fie
took the degree of A. B. and afterwards became fel¬
low of that college. Upon the revolution, Mr Prior
was brought to court by the earl of Dorset-, and in 1690
he was made secretary to the earl of Berkeley, plenipo¬
tentiary at the Hague -, as he was afterward to the am¬
bassador and plenipotentiaries at the treaty of Ryswick
in 1697 -, and the year following to the earl of Portland,
ambassador to the court of France. He was in 1697
made secretary of state for Ireland : and in 1700 was
appointed one of the lords commissioners of trade and
plantations. In 1710, he was supposed to have had a
share in writing The Examiner. In 1711, he was made
one of the commissioners of the customs j and was sent
minister plenipotentiary to France, for the negotiating a
peace with that kingdom. Soon after the accession of
George I. to the throne in 1714, he presented a memo¬
rial to the court of France, requiring the demolishing of
the canal and new works at Mardyke. The year to -
lowing be was recalled -, and upon his arrival was taken
up bya warrant from the house of commons, and strictly
examined by a committee of the privy-council. Robert
Walpole, Esq. moved the house ot commons tor an
impeachment against him j and Mr Prior was ordered
P R I
>fiorj into close custody. In 1717, he was excepted out of
ioriek the act of grace 5 however, at the close of that year,
he was set at liberty. The remainder of his days he
spent in tranquillity and retirement, and died in 1721.
His poems are well known, and justly admired. He
is said to have written the following epitaph for him¬
self:
“ Nobles and heralds, by your leave,
Here lie the bones of Matthew Prior,
The son of Adam and of Eve :
Let Bourbon or Nassau go higher.”
PRIORIES, Alien, were cells of the religious houses
in England which belonged to foreign monasteries : for
when manors or tithes were given to foreign convents,
the monks, either to increase their own rule, or rather
to have faithful stewards of their revenues, built a small
convent here for the reception of such a number as they
thought proper, and constituted priors over them.—
Within these cells there was the same distinction as in
those priories which were cells subordinate to some
great abbey 5 some of these were conventual, and, ha¬
ving priors of their own choosing, thereby became entire
societies within themselves, and received the revenues
belonging to their several houses for their mvn use and
benefit, paying only the ancient apport (a), acknow¬
ledgement, or obvention, at first the surplusage, to the
foreign house ; but others depended entirely on the fo¬
reign houses, who appointed and removed their priors
at pleasure. ’I hese transmitted all their revenues to
the foreign head houses ; for which reason their estates
were generally seized to carry on the wars between
England and France, and restored to them again on re¬
turn of peace. These alien priories were most of them
founded by such as had foreign abbeys founded by them¬
selves or by some of their family.
The whole number is not exactly ascertained j the
Monasticon hath given a list of 100 : Weever, p. 338.
says no.
Some of these cells were made indigenous or deni-
zoa, or endenized. The alien priories were first seized
by Edward I. 1285, on the breaking out of the war
between France and England ; and it appears from a
roll, that Edward II. also seized them, though this is
not mentioned by our historians j and to these the act
of restitution, 1 Edw. III. seems to refer.
In 1237, Edward III. confiscated their estates, and
let out the priories themselves with all their lands and
tenements, at his pleasure, for 23 years ; at the end of
which term, peace being concluded between the two
nations, he restored their estates 1361, as appears by
his latters patent to that of Montacute, county of So¬
merset, printed at large in Rymer, vol. vi. p. 311. and
translated in Weever’s Funeral Monuments, p. 339. At
other times he granted their lands, or lay pensions out
of them, to divers noblemen. They were also seque¬
stered during Richard H.’s reign, and the head mona¬
steries abroad had the king’s licence to sell their lands
to other religious houses here, or to any particular per¬
sons who wanted to endow others.
P R I
Henry I\ . began his reign with showing some fa- Priorks
vour to the alien priories, restoring all the conventual II
ones, only reserving to himself in time of war what they Flison-
paid in time of peace to the foreign abbeys. *
They were all dissolved by act of parliament 2
Henry V. and all their estates vested in the crown,
except some lands granted to the college of Fother-
inghay. The act of dissolution is not printed in the
statute book, but it is to be found entire in Rymer’s
Fccdera, ix. 283. and in the Parliament Rolls, vol.
iv. p. 22. In general, these lands were appropriated
to religious uses. Henry VI. endowed his foundations
at Eton and Cambridge with the lands of the alien
priories in pursuance of his father’s design to appro¬
priate them all to a noble college at Oxford. Other's
were granted in fee to the prelates, nobility, or private
persons. Such as remained in the crown were granted
by Henry VI. 1440, to Archbishop Chichley, &c.
and they became part of his and the royal foundations.
See Some Account of A lie n -Priories, &c. in two vo¬
lumes octavo.
PRIORITY, the relation of something considered
as prior to another.
Priority, in Law, denotes an antiquity of tenure,
in comparison of another less ancient.
PRXSCIANUS, an eminent grammarian, born at
Ctesarea, taught at Constantinople with great reputa¬
tion about the year 525. Laurentius Valla calls Pris-
cian, Donatus, and Servius, triumviri in re grammatica;
and thinks none of the ancients who wrote after them
fit to be mentioned with them. He composed a wrork
De arte grammaiica, which was first printed by Aldus
at ^ enice in 1476 ; and another, De naturalibus ques-
tionibus, which he dedicated to Chosroes king of Per¬
sia : beside which, he translated Dionysius’s descrip¬
tion of the ivorld into Latin verse. A person who
writes false Latin, is proverbially said “ to break Pris-
cian’s head.”
PRISCILLIANISTS, in church history, Christian
heretics, so called from their leader Priscillian, a Spa¬
niard by birth, and bishop of Avila. He is said to have
practised magic, and to have maintained the principal
errors of the Manichees j but his peculiar tenet was,
That it is lawful to make false oaths in order to support
one’s cause and interests.
PRISM, in Geometry, is a solid body, whose two
ends are any plane figures which are parallel, equal,
and similar 5 and its sides, connecting those ends, are
parallelograms.
PRISMOID, is a solid body, somewhat resembling
a prism, but its ends are any dissimilar parallel plane
figures of the same number of sides, the upright sides
being trapezoids. If the ends of the prismoid be bound¬
ed by dissimilar curves, it is sometimes called a cylin-
droicl.
PRISON, a gaol, or place of confinement.
Lord Coke observes, that a prison is only a place of
safe custody, salva custodia, not a place of punishment.
If this be the case, prisons ought not to be, what they
have been in most, and still are in some places of Eu¬
rope,
[ 381 ]
(a) Apportas or apportagium ^from portare'), an acknowledgement, oblation, or obvention, to the mother house
01' church. Du Cange.
p r i r 382 ] phi
Prison, rope, loathsome dungeons. Any place where a person
—y—..I.* is confined may be said to be a prison } and when a pro¬
cess is issued against one, he must, when arrested there¬
on, either be committed to prison, or be bound in a re¬
cognizance with sureties, or else give bail, according to
the nature of the case, to appear at a certain day in
court, there to make answer to what is alleged against
him. Where a person is taken and sent to prison, in a
civil case, he may be released by the plaiutift in the
suit; but if it be for treason or felony, he may not re¬
gularly be discharged, until he is indicted ol the fact
and acquitted. See Indictment.
But a prison is not only to be considered as a place
of safe custody, according to its original design, but also
as a place of temporary punishment for certain crimes,
and perhaps this punishment might be substituted more
frequently than it is, for transportation and death.
Probably this is done in no country to better purpose
than in Pennsylvania 5 and no where has imprisonment
been more abused than in Venice under the old govern-
ment. ... . .
By the laws of Pennsylvania, imprisonment is im¬
posed, not merely as an expiation for past olfences, hut
also for the reformation of the criminal’s morals. The
regulations of the gaol are calculated to produce this
effect in the speediest manner possible, so that such a
building may rather be denominated a penitentiary house
than a gaol. When a criminal is committed to prison,
he is made to wash ; his hair is shorn, and he is furnish¬
ed with clean apparel, if he has no decent clothes of his
own. He is then put into a solitary cell, where he is
excluded from the sight of every living being except
the gaoler, whose duty is to attend to his mere necessi¬
ties, but not to converse with him upon any account.
If committed for an atrocious crime, he is even debar¬
red from the light of heaven. The treatment of each
prisoner vanes in proportion to the nature ot his crime,
and his symptoms of repentance. The longest period ol
confinement is for a rape, which is wot to be less than
ten years, nor to exceed 21 ; and for high treason it is
not to be under 6, nor above 12.
The prisoners must bathe twice in the week, having
proper conveniences within the prison, and they are re-
-gularly supplied with a change of linen. Prisoners in
solitary confinement subsist upon bread and water j and
such as labour are allowed broth, puddings, &c. 'I hey
are allowed meat in small quantities twice a week, and
110 beverage except water is brought into the prison.
One room is set apart for shoe-makers, another lor tay-
lors, and so of every other trade. There are stone-cut¬
ters, smiths, nailers, &c. in the yards. Such a prison
has all the advantages of the rasping house of Amster¬
dam, without any of its enormous defects.
The following account of the common prison at Ve¬
nice, is given by Dr Mosely. who visited this horrible
place in September 1787.
“ I was conducted (says he) through the prison by one
of its inferior dependants. We had a torch with us.
We crept along narrow passages as dark as pitch. In
some of them two people could scarcely pass each other.
The cells are made of massy marble } the architecture
of the celebrated Sansovini.
“ The cells are not only dark, and black as ink, but
being surrounded and confined with huge walls, the
smallest breath of air can scarcely find circulation in
2
them. They are about nine feet square on the floor, pr;w.
arched at the top, and between six and seven feet highyv
in the highest part. There is to each cell a round
hole of eight inches diameter, through which the pri¬
soner’s daily allowance of twelve ounces of bread and a
pot of water is delivered. There is a small iron door
to the cell. The furniture of the cell is a little straw
and a small tub ; nothing else. The straw is renewed
and the tub emptied through the iron door occasion¬
ally.
“ The diet is ingeniously contrived for the perdura.
tion of punishment. Animal food, or a cordial nutri
tious regimen, in such a situation, would bring on dis¬
ease, and defeat the end of this Venetian justice. Nei¬
ther can the soul, if so inclined, steal away, wrapt up
in slumbering delusion, or sink to rest; from the ad¬
monition of her sad existence, by the gaoler’s daily re¬
turn.
“ I saw one man who had been in a cell thirty
years j two who had been twelve years j and several
who had been eight and nine years in their respective
cells.
« By my taper’s light I could discover the prisoners
horrid countenances. They were all naked. The man
who had been there thirty years, in face and body was
covered with long hair. He had lost the arrangement
of words and order of language. W hen I spoke to him,
he made an unintelligible noise, and expressed fear and
surprise } and, like some wild animals in deserts, which
have suffered by the treachery of the human race, or
have an instinctive abhorrence of it, he would have fled
like lightning from me if he could.
“ One whose faculties were not so obliterated •, who
still recollected the difference between day and night;
whose eyes and ears, though long closed with a silent
blank, still languished to perform their natural func-
tiions—implored, in the most piercing manner, that I
would prevail on the gaoler to murder him, or to give
him some instrument to destroy himself. I told him I
had no power to serve him in this request. He then
entreated I would use my endeavours with the inquisi¬
tors to get him hanged, or drowned in the Canal’ Or-
fano. But even in this I could not serve him : death
was a favour I had not interest enough to procure for
him.
“ This kindness of death, however, was, during
my stay in Venice, granted to one man, who had
been ‘ from the cheerful ways of man cut off’ thirteen
years.
“ Before he left his dungeon I had some conversa¬
tion with him ; this was six days previous to his execu¬
tion. His transport at the prospect of death was sur¬
prising. He longed for the happy moment. No saint
ever exhibited more fervour in anticipating the joys of
a future state, than this man did at the thoughts ot be¬
ing released from life, during the four days mockery 01
his trial.
“ It is the Canal’ Orfano where vessels from lurkey
and the Levant perform quarantine. This place is the
w'atery grave of many who have committed political or
personal offences against the state or senate, and of ma¬
ny who have committed no offences at all. They are
carried out of the city in the middle of the night, tied
up in a sack with a large stone fastened to it, and thrown
into the water. Fishermen are prohibited, on forfeiture
son
P R I
teers
Janb
Law
of their lives, against fishing in this district. The pre¬
tence is the plague. This is the secret history of people
being lost in Venice.
^ “ The government, with age, grew feeble ; was a-
fraid of the discussion of legal process and of public
executions; and navigated this rotten Bucentaur of
the Adriatic by spies, prisons, assassination, and the
Canal’ Orfano.” ’
PRISONER, a person restrained or kept in prison
upon an action civil or criminal, or upon commend-
nient: and one may be a prisoner on matter of record
or matter of fact. A prisoner upon matter of record
is he who, being present in court, is by the court com¬
mitted to prison , and the other is one carried to prison
upon an arrest, whether it be by the sheriff; constable,
or other officer.
PRISTIS, the Sawfish, is generally considered as
a species of the squalusor shark genus, comprehendino-
under it several varieties. See Squalus, Ichthyo¬
logy Index. But Mr Latham is of opinion that it
ought to be considered as a distinct genus, and that the
characteristics of the several varieties are sufficient to
constitute distinct species.
PRIVATEERS, are a kind of private men of war
the persons concerned wherein administer at their own
costs a part of a war, by fitting out these ships of
force, and providing them with all military stores;
and they have, instead of pay, leave to keep what
they take from the enemy, allowing the admiral his
share, &e.
Piivateers may not attempt any thing against the
laws ol nations ; as to assault an enemy in a port or
haven, under the protection of any prince or republic,
whether he be friend, ally, or neuter; for the peace
of such places must be inviolably kept; therefore, by
a treaty made by King William and the States of Hol¬
land, before a commission shall be granted to any pri¬
vateer, the commander is to give security, if the ship
be not above 150 tons, in 1500k and if'the ship ex¬
ceeds that burden, in 3000I. that they will make sa¬
tisfaction for all damages which they shall commit in
their courses at sea, contrary to the treaties with that
state, on pain of forfeiting their commissions; and the
ship is made liable.
Besides these private commissions, there are special
commissions for privateers, granted to commanders of
ships, &c. who take pay ; who are under a marine
C 383 ]
P it 1
Privy-
CounciL
which being adjudged prize, and the tenth part paid to Privateers
the admiral, &c. wholly belong to the owners of the *
privateers and the captors, in proportions agreed on be¬
tween themselves.
PRIVA1ION, in a general sense, denotes the ab¬
sence or want of something; in which sense darkness is
only the privation of light.
PRIVATIVE, in Grammar) a particle, which, pre¬
fixed to a word, changes it into a contrary sense. Thus
among the Greeks, the « is used as a privative; as in
atheist, acephalus, &c The Latins have their
privative in ; as, incorrigibilis, indeclinabi/is, &c 
I he English, French, &c. on occasion borrow both the
Latin and Greek privatives.
v TRIVERNUM, (Livy, Virgil) ; a town of the
V olsci, m Latium, to the east of Setia. P river nates,
the people. Whose ambassadors being asked, What
pumshment they deserved for their revolt ? answered,
y\ hat those deserve who deem themselves worthy of
1 )ei ty. And again, being asked by the Roman con¬
sul, should the punishment be remitted, What peace
was to be expected with them P If you granted a good
peace, you may hope to have it sincere and lasting; but
it a bad one, you may well expect it of short continu¬
ance. At which answer, the Romans were so far from
being displeased, that by a vote of the people they had
the freedom of the city granted them. Privernas, -atis,
the epithet. The town is now called Piperno Vecchio,
situated in the Campania of Rome. E. Lona- 10 0
N. Lat. 41. 30. 6 ' *
PRIVET. See Ligustrum, Botany Index.
PRIVILEGE, in Law, some peculiar benefit grant¬
ed to certain persons or places, contrary to the usual
course of the law.
Privileges are said to be personal or real.
Personal privileges are such as are extended to peers,
ambassadors, members of parliament, and of the convo¬
cation, &c. See Lords, Ambassador, Parlia¬
ment, Arrest, &c.
A real privilege is that granted to some particular
place as the king’s palace, the courts at Westminster,
the universities, &c.
Privileges of the Clergy. See Clergy.
PRIVY, in Law, is a partaker, or person having
an interest, in any action or thing. In this sense they
say, privies in blood : every heir in tail is privy to re¬
cover the land entailed. In old law-books, merchants
1- . r 1 , 1 '      '-uvci me itiuu emaiieu. xn oiu law-books, men
isctphne ; and if they do not obey their orders, may privy are opposed to merchants strangers. Coke
tie punished with death: am tho .
lie punished with death : and the' wars in later ages
have given occasion to princes to issue these commis¬
sions, to annoy the enemies in their commerce, and
under such supplies as might strengthen them or
engthen out the war j and likewise to prevent the se-
paration of ships of greater force from their fleets or
squadrons.
Ships taken by privateers were to be divided into five
P^rts ; four parts whereof to go to the persons interest-
ed in the privateer, and the fifth to his majesty : and
as a farther encouragement, privateers, &c. destroying
any French man of war or privateer, shall receive, for
every piece of ordnance in the ship so taken, 10I. re¬
ward, &c.
By a particular statute lately made, the lord admiral,
or commissioners of the admiralty, may grant commis¬
sions to commanders of privateers, for taking ships, 8tc,
tions four kinds of privies. Privies^in blood, as tire
heir to his father ; privies in representation, as execu¬
tors and administrators to the deceased ; privies in
estate, as he in reversion and he in remainder, donor
and donee, lessor and lessee: lastly, privy in tenure,
as the lord by escheat; i. e. when land escheats to the
lord for w'ant of heirs.
PRIVY-Council. See Council. The king’s will is
the sole constituent of a privy-counsellor ; and it also
regulates their number, which in ancient times was
about twelve. Afterwards it increased to so large a
number, that it was found inconvenient for secrecy
and dispatch ; and therefore Charles II. in 1679, li¬
mited it to 30 ; whereof 15 were principal officers of
state, and to be counsellors ex officio ; and the other 15
were composed of 10 lords and five commoners of the
king’s choosing. Since that time, however, the number
has
■ vp«i-pfl in this tribunal; which usually exercises its judi
has been much augmented, and now continues i - th it in a committee of the whole privy-council
a 4. flip ancient ottice Oi loru J .. . , c_ tu„ „
t 384 ]
PRO
Pi ivy-
Council.
ttugiucuicu, a,.... ^ ri 1
nite. At the same time also the ancient ottice ot lord
president of the council was revived, in the person of
Anthony earl of Shaftesbury. Privy-counsellors are
made by the king’s nomination, without either paten
or grant j and, on taking the necessary oaths they be¬
come immediately privy-counsellors during t le 1 ^ 0
the king that chooses them, but subject to removal at
his discretion. „ ^ . . 11 „<.*
Any natural horn subject of England is capable ot
being a member of the privy-council j taking the pio-
per oaths for security of the government, and the test
for security of the church. By the act of settlemen ,
12 and I3 W. III. cap. 2. it is enacted, that no person
horn out of the dominions of the crown of England,
unless born of English parents, even though natura¬
lized by parliament, shall he capable of being of the
privy-council. The duty of a privy-counsellor appears
from the oath of office, which consists of seven articles.
I. To advise the king according to the best of his cun¬
ning and discretion. 2. To advise lor the king s
honour and good of the public, without partiality,
through aflection, love, meed, doubt, or dread. 3.
To keep the king’s counsel secret. 4. To avoid cor¬
ruption. C. To help and strengthen the execution ot
what shall he there resolved. 6. To withstand all per¬
sons who would attempt the contrary. And lastly,
in general, 7. To observe, keep, and do all that a
good and true counsellor ought, to do to his sovereign
The privy-council is the primum mobile of the state,
and that which gives the motion and direction to all
the inferior parts. It is likewise a court of justice ot
great antiquity, the primitive and ordinary way of go¬
vernment in England being by the king and privy-
council. It has been frequently used by all om kings
for determining controversies of great importance :
the ordinary judges have sometimes declined giving
judgment till they had consulted the king and privy-
council ; and the parliament have frequently referred
matters of high moment to the same, as being by long
experience better able to judge of, and, by their se¬
crecy and expedition, to transact some state affairs, than
the lords and commons. At present, the privy-coun¬
cil takes cognizance of few or no matters except such
as cannot well he determined by the known laws and
ordinary courts *, such as matters of complaint and sud¬
den emergencies : their constant business being to con¬
sult for the public good in affairs of state. 11ns power
of the privy-council is to inquire into all offences against
the government, and to commit the ofienders to sate
custody, in order to take their trial in some of the
courts of law. But their jurisdiction herein is only to
inquire, and not to punish; and the persons committed
by them are intitled to their habeas corpus by statute 16
Car. I. cap. 10. as much as if committed by an ordinary
justice of the peace. .
In plantation or admiralty causes, which arise out ot
the jurisdiction of this kingdom, and in matters ot lu¬
nacy and idiocy, the privy-council has cognizance, even
in questions of extensive property, being the court of
appeal in such causes j or, rather, the appeal lies to the
king’s majesty himself in council. From all the domi¬
nions of the crown, excepting Great Britain and Ire¬
land, an appellate jurisdiction (in the last resort) is
3
vesica in uji& iiiuuuaij .........— j ^
cial authc'iity in a committee of the whole privy-council,
who hear the allegations and proofs, and make their re¬
port to his majesty in council, by whom the judgment
is finally given. .
Anciently, to strike in the house of a privy-counsel¬
lor, or elsewhere in his presence, was grievously punish¬
ed : by 3 Hen. VII. cap. 14.^ any of the king’s ser¬
vants of his household conspire or imagine to take
away the life of a privy-counsellor, it is felony, though
nothing shall be done upon it *, and by 9 Ann. cap. 16.
it is enacted, that any persons who shall unlawfuby at¬
tempt to kill, or shall unlawfully assault, and strike, or
wound, any privy counsellor in the execution of his of¬
fice, shall'he felons, and suffer death as such. With
advice of this council, the king issues proclamations
that bind the subject, provided they be not contrary to
law. In debates, the lowest delivers his opinion first,
the king last; and thereby determines the matter. A
council is never held without the presence of a secretary
The dissolution of the privy-council depends upon
the king’s pleasure ; and he may, whenever he thinks
proper, discharge any particular member, or the whole
of it, and appoint another. By the common law also
it was dissolved ipso facto by the king’s demise, as deri¬
ving all its authority from him. But now, to prevent
the inconveniencies of having no council in being at the
accession of a new prince, it is enacted, by 6 Ann.
cap 7. that the privy-council shall continue for six
months after the demise of the crown, unless sooner de¬
termined by the successor. Blackst.Com. bock 1. p. 229,
^The officers of the privy-council are four clerks of
the council in ordinary, three clerks extraordinary, a
keeper of the records, and two keepers of the council-
chamber. See President. .
PRIvy Seal, a seal which the king uses previously
to such grants, &c. as are afterwards to pass the great
The privy seal is also sometimes used in matters of
less consequence, which do not require the great sea .
Lord Privy Seal. See Keeper of the Privy Seal.
Clerics of the Privy Seal. See Clerk.
Privy'Chamber. See Chamber.
PRIZE, or Prise, in maritime affairs, a vessel taken
at sea from’the enemies of a state, or from pirates; and
that either by a man of war, a privateer, &.c. having a
commission lor that purpose.
Vessels are looked on as prize, if they fight under
any other standard than that of the state from rvluch
they have their commission ; if they have no cnar^r'
party, invoice, or hill of lading abroad ; if loaded with
effects belonging to the king’s enemies, or with con¬
traband goods. .. ., 1
In ships of war, the prizes are to be divided among
the officers, seamen, &c. as his majesty shall appoin^
by proclamation ; but among privateers, the division 13
according to the agreement between the owners.
By stat. 13 Geo. II. c. 4. judges and officers fading
of their duty in respect to the condemnation of F’zes,
forfeit 500I. with full costs of suit; one moiety to the
king, and the other to the informer. _
PROA, Flying, in navigation, is a name give
a vessel used in the South seas, because Wj* a br^
Privv
Cotinci
Proa,
Pift
1*1*7’
PRO
Proa,
, . . . C "385
trade-wind it sails near 20 miles an hour. In the con-
ability. struction of the proa, the head and stern are exactly
-v ' alike, but the sides are very different ; the side intend¬
ed to be always the lee-side being flat; and the wind¬
ward side made rounding, in the manner of other vessels •
and to prevent her over-setting, which, from her small
breadth, and the straight run of her leeward side
would, without this precaution, infallibly happen, there
is a frame laid out from her to windward, to the end
of which is fastened a log, fashioned into the shape of
a small boat, and made hollow. The weight of the
frame is intended to balance the proa, and the small
boat is by its buoyancy (as it is always in the water)
to prevent her oversetting to windward; and this frame
is usually called an outrigger. The body of the ves¬
sel is made of two pieces joined endwise, and sewed to¬
gether with bark, for there is no iron used about her •
she is about two inches thick at the bottom, which, at
the gunwale, is reduced to less than one. The ’sail
is made of matting, and the mast, yard, boom, and out-
liggeis, are all made of bamboo. See Anson's Voyage
quarto, p. 341. J e ’
PROBABILITY, is a word of nearly the same
impo.t with likelihood. It denotes the appearance of
truth, or that evidence arising from the preponderation
of argument which produces opinion. (See Opinion).
Locke classes all arguments under the heads of demon’
strahve and probable: Hume with greater accuracv di¬
vides them into demonstrations^ proofs, and probabili¬
ties. Demonstration produces science; proof, belief;
and probability, opinion.
Haidly any thing is susceptible of strict demonstration
besides the mathematical sciences, and a few propositions
m metaphysical theology. Physics rest upon principles,
capable, some of them, of complete proof by experience,
and others of nothing more than probability by analogical
reasoning. \\ hat has uniformly happened, we expect
with the fullest confidence to happen again in similar
circumstances ; what has frequently happened, we like¬
wise expect to happen again ; but our expectation is not
confident. Uniform experience is proof; frequent expe¬
rience is probability. The strongest man has always been
able to lift the greatest weight; and, therefore, knowing
that one man is stronger than another, we expect, with
confidence, that the former will lift more than the lat-
ter. The best disciplined army has generally proved
victorious, when all other circumstances wereequal. We
therefore expect that an army of veterans will, upon fair
ground, defeat an equal number of new levied troops :
but as sudden panics have sometimes seized the oldest
soldiers, this expectation is accompanied with doubt,
and the utmost that we can say of the expected event is,
that it is probable; whereas in the competition between
the two men, we look upon it as morally certain. (See
Metaphysics, Part I. chap. vii. sec. 3.). When two
or three persons of known veracity attest the same thing
as consistent with their knowledge, their testimony
amounts to proof, if not contradicted by the testimony
of others ; if contradicted, it can, at the utmost, amount
only to probability. In common language we talk of
circumstantial proofs and presumptive proofs ; but the
expressions are improper, for such evidence amounts to
nothing more than probability. Of probability there
are indeed various degrees, from the confines of certain-
own to the confines of impossibility ; and a variety
Vol. XVII. Part I. /
]
P R O
of circumstances tending to il.e same point, though they P,oHbilil.
amount not to what, in strictness oflanguage,should bo " ?
called prmf, afford to the mind a very high degree of
evidence, upon which, with the addition of one direct'
Probity.
testimony, the laws of many countries take away the
Jite ot a man. ]
Probability of an Event, in the Doctrine of Chan¬
ces, is greater or less according to the number of chances
by which it may happen or fail. (See Expectation),
a he probability of life liable to rules of computation.
ln the Encyclopedic Methodique, we find a table of the
probabilities of the duration of life, constructed from
that which is to be found in the seventh volume of the
oupplemens a PHzstoire de M. de Buffon; of which the
following is an abridgement.
Of 23994 children born at the same time there will
probably die
f 7 In one '
| 3 Remaining | or 15996
In eight years
-■
7998
Remaining 4 or 11997
7- 7 In thirty-eight years
J Remaining | or 7998
17 In fifty years
1 j Remaining or 5998
II997
IS996
1994
1 7 1° sixty -one years
Remaining -J or 3999
l9995
~ > In seventy years
Try J Remaining Tr3 or 2399
11^ 7 In eighty years
V ReTmai"ing ^ °r 599
lief l In ninety years
xlrr j Remaining or 80
In a hundred years
Remaining Toivo or 2.
LITY.
21595
22395
239r4
23992
See Bills of Morta-
PROBATE of a will or testament, in Law, is the
exhibiting and proving of last wills and testaments be¬
fore the ecclesiastical judge delegated by the bishop,
who is ordinary of the place where the party died.
PROBATION, in the universities, is the examina¬
tion and trial of a student who is about to take his de¬
grees.
Probation, in a monastic sense, signifies the year
of a novitiate, which a religions must pass in a convent,
to prove his virtue and vocation, and whether he can
bear the severities of the rule.
Probation, in Scots Law. See Law Index.
PROBATIONER, in the church of Scotland, a
student in divinity, who bringing a certificate from a
professor in an university of his good morals, and his
having performed his exercises to approbation, is ad¬
mitted to undergo several trials ; and, upon his ac¬
quitting himself properly in these, receives a licence to
preach.
PROBA1UM est fit is provedf, a term frequent¬
ly subjoined to a receipt for the cure of some disease.
PROBE, a surgeon’s instrument for examining the
circumstances of wounds, ulcers, and other cavities
searching for stones in the bladder, &c.
I ROBIIY means honesty, sincerity, or veracity ;
and consists in the habit ot actions useful to society, and
in the constant observance ot the laws which justice
3 C and
Probity
II
Process.
PRO [386
and conscience impose on us. The man who obeys all
1
PRO
the laws of society with an exact punctuality is not
therefore a man of probity } laws can only respect the
external and definite parts of human conduct, but pro¬
bity respects our more private actions, and such as it is
impossible in all cases todefine*, and it appears to be in
morals what charity is in religion. Probity teaches us
to perform in society those actions which no external
power can oblige us to perform, and is that quality in
the human mind from which we claim the performance
of the rights commonly called imperfect. See Moral
Philosophy.
PROBLEM, in Logic, is a proposition that neither
appears absolutely true nor false ; and, consequently,
may he asserted either in the affirmative or negative.
Problem, in Geometry, is a proposition, wherein
some operation or construction is required; as to divide
a line or angle, erect or let fall perpendiculars, &c.
See Geometry.
PROBOSCIS, in Natural History, is the trunk or
snout of an elephant, and some other animals and in¬
sects. .
Flies, gnats, &c. are furnished with a proboscis or
trunk ; by means of which they suck the blood of ani¬
mals, the juice of vegetables, &c. for their food.
PROBUS, Marcus Aurelius, was the son of a
hardener, and became, by his great valour as a soldier,
and his eminent virtues, emperor of Rome, to which
dignity he was raised by the army. Haying subdued
the barbarous nations who made incursions into different
parts of the empire, where they committed horrid cruel¬
ties, he managed the affairs of government with great
wisdom and clemency. He was massacred in the year
282, and the 7th of his reign, by some soldiers who
were weary of the public works at which he made them
labour.
PROCATARCTIC CAUSE, in Medicine, the pre¬
existing, or predisposing cause or occasion oi a disease.
PROCELEUSMATICUS, in the ancient poetry,
n foot consisting of four short syllables, or two pyrrhy-
chinses; as hominihus.
PROCELL ARIA, a genus of birds, belonging to
the order of anseres. See Ornithology Index. Clu-
sins makes the procellaria pelagica or stormy petrel the
Camilla ol the sea.
Vel marc per medium fluctu suspensa tumenti
Ferret iter, celeres nec tingeret aquore plantas. A IRG.
She swept the seas ; and, as she skimm’d along
Her Hying feet unbath’d on billows hung. HryDF.N.
These birds are the cypselli of Pliny, which lie places
among the apodes of Aristotle ; cot because they want¬
ed feet, hut were x.ux.67roliot, or had bad or useless ones ;
an attribute he gives to these species, on a supposition
that they were almost always on the wing.
PROCESS, in Law, denotes the proceedings in any
cause, real or personal, civil or criminal, from the origi¬
nal writ to the end thereof.
In a more limited sense, process denotes that by
which a man is called first into any temporal court.
It is the next step for carrying on the suit, after suing
out the original writ. See Suit and Writ.
It is the method taken by the law to compel a com¬
pliance with the original writ, of which the primary
step is by giving the party notice to obey it. This no- pro,fSj
tice is given upon all real praecipes ; and also upon all
personal writs for injuries not against the peace, by
summons; which is a warning to appear in court at the
return of the original writ, given to the defendant byElacht,
two of the sheriff’s messengers ca\\e& summoners, either Comrowj
in person, or left at his house or land : in like manner
as in the civil law’ the first process is by personal cita¬
tion, in jus vocando. This warning on the land is given,
in real actions, by erecting a white stick or wand on the
defendant’s grounds (which stick or wand among the
northern nations is called the haculus nunciatorius), and
by statute 31 Eliz. c. 3. the notice must also be pro¬
claimed on some Sunday before the door of the parish-
church.
If the defendant disobeys this verbal monition, the
next process is by writ of attachment, or pone; so called
from the words of the writ, pone per vadium et salvos
plegios, “ put by gage and safe pledges A. B. the de¬
fendant,” Stc. This is a writ not issuing out of chan¬
cery, but out of the court of common-pleas, being
grounded on the non-appearance of the defendant at
the return of the original writ; and thereby the sheriff
is commanded to attach him, by taking gage, that is,
certain of his goods, which he shall forleit 11 he doth
not appear; or by making him find safe pledges or
sureties, which shall be amerced in case of his non-ap¬
pearance. This is also the first and immediate process,
without any previous summons, upon actions of trespass
vi et armis, or for other injuries, which though not for¬
cible, are yet trespasses against the peace, as deceit and
conspiracy ; where the violence of the wrong requires a
more speedy remedy, and therefore the original writ
commands the defendant to be at once attached, with¬
out anv precedent warning.
If, after attachment, the defendant neglects to appear,
he not only forfeits this security, but is moreover to be
farther compelled by writ oi'distringas, or distress in¬
finite : which is a subsequent process issuing from the
court of common-pleas, commanding the sheriff to di¬
strain the defendant from time to time, and continually
afterwards, by taking his goods and the profits of his
lands, which are called issues, and which he lorfeits to
the king if he doth not appear. But the issues may be
sold, if the court shall so direct, in order to defray the
reasonable costs of the plaintiff. In like manner, by the
civil law, if the defendant absconds, so that the citation
is of no effect, mittitur adversarius in possessionem bo-
norum ejus.
And here, by the common as well as the civil law,
the process ended in case of injuries without force : the
defendant if he had any substance, being gradually strip¬
ped of it all by repeated distresses, till he rendered obe¬
dience to the king’s writ; and, if he had no substance,
the law held him incapable of making satisfaction, and
therefore looked upon all farther process as nugatory.
And besides, upon feodal principles, the person ol a
feudatory was not liable to be attached for injuiies
merely civil, lest thereby bis lord should he deprived ot
bis personal services. But, in cases of injury accompa¬
nied with force, the law, to punish the breach oi the
peace and prevent its disturbance for the future, provided
also a process against the defendant’s person, incase he
neglected to appear upon the former process oi attach¬
ment, or had no substance wherebv to be attached; sub¬
jecting
PRO
,eess, jecting his body to imprisonment by the writ of cajjias
Uy——' ad respondendum. But this immunity of the defendant’s
person, in case of peaceable though fraudulent injuries,
producing great contempt of the law in indigent wrong¬
doers, a capias was also allowed, to arrest the person in
actions of account, though no breach of the peace he
suggested, by the statutes of Marlbridge, ^2 Hen. III.
c. 23. and Westm. 2. 13. Edw. I. c. 11. jn actions of
debt and detinue, by statute 25 Edw. III. c. 17. and
in all actions on the case, by statute 19 Hen. VII. c. 9.
Before which last statute a practice had been introduced
of commencing the suit by bringing an original writ of
trespassywere clausum fregit, by breaking the plaintiff’s
close, vi et artnis 3 which by the old common law sub¬
jected the defendant’s person to be arrested by writ of
capias:' and then afterwards, by connivance of the court,
the plaintiff might proceed to prosecute for any other
less forcible injury. This practice (through custom ra¬
ther than necessity, and for saving some trouble and ex¬
pence, in suing out a special original adapted to the par¬
ticular injury) still continues in almost all cases, except
inactions of debt} though now, by virtue of the sta¬
tutes above cited and others, a capias might be had upon
almost every species of complaint.
If therefore the defendant, being summoned or at¬
tached, makes default, and neglects to appear} or if
the sheriff returns a nihil, or that the defendant hath
nothing whereby he may be summoned, attached, or
distrained, the capias now usually issues : being a writ
commanding the sheriff to take the body of the defen¬
dant, if he may be found in his bailiwick or county, and
him safely to keep, so that he may have him in court
on the day of the return, to answer to the plaintiff of
a plea of debt, or trespass, &c. as the case may be.
I his writ, and all others subsequent to the original
writ, not issuing out of chancery, but from the court
into which the original was returnable, and being ground¬
ed on what has passed in that court in consequence of
the sheriff’s return, arecaWcAjudicial, natoriginal, writs;
they issue under the privy seal of that court, and not
under the great seal of England } and are tested, not in
the king’s name, but in that of the chief justice only.
And these several writs being grounded on the sheriff’s
return, must respectively bear date the same day on
which the writ immediately preceding wras returnable.
Ihis. is the regular and orderly method of process.
But it is now usual in practice to sue out the capias in
j the first instance, upon a supposed return of the sheriff }
especially it it be suspected that the defendant, upon
notice of the action, will abscond} and afterwards a fic¬
titious original is drawn up, with a proper return there¬
upon, in-order to give the proceedings a colour of re¬
gularity. When this capias is delivered to the sheriff,
he by his under-sheriff grants a warrant to his inferior
officers or bailiffs to execute it on the defendant. And,
it the sheriff of Oxfordshire (in which county the injury
is supposed to be committed and the action is laid) can¬
not find the defendant in his jurisdiction, he returns
that he is not found, non est inventus, in his bailiwick:
whereupon another writ issues, called a testatum capias,
uirected to the sherifi of the county where the defendant
is supposed to reside, as of Berkshire, reciting the form-
fn- writ, and that it is testified, testatum est, that the de-
endant lurks or wanders in his bailiwick, where he is
commanded to take him, as in the former capias. But
f 387 ]
p 11 o
here also, when the action is brought in one count v p!0ceiS.
and tne defendant Jives in another, it is usual, for sa- 
vmg trouble, time, and expence, to make out a testa¬
tum capias at the first ; supposing not only an original,
but also a former capias, to have been granted ; which
in fact never was. And this fiction, being beneficial
to all parties, is readily acquiesced in, and is now be¬
come the settled practice } being one among many in¬
stances to illustrate that maxim of law, that in fictionc
juris consist it cec/uitas.
But where a defendant absconds, and the plaintiff
would proceed to an outlawry against him, an original
writ must then be sued out regularly, and after that a
capias. And if the sheriff cannot find the defendant
upon the first writ of capias, and returns a non est inven*
tus, there issues out an alias writ, and after that a plu^
ries, to the same effect as the former: only after these
words “ we command you,” this clause is inserted, “ as
we have formerly,” or, “ as we have often commanded
you } . sicut alias,” or, i,i sicut piuries prcecipimus.’1
And if a non cst inventus is returned upon all of them,
then a writ of exigent or exigi facias may he sued out,
which requires the sheriff to" cause the defendant to be
proclaimed, required or exacted, in five county-courts
successively, to render himself} and if he does, then to
take him, as in a capias: but if he does not appear, and
is returned ivuinto cxactus, he shall then be outlawed by
the coroners of the county. Also by statute 6 Hen. VIII.
c. 4. and 31 Eliz. c. 3. whether the defendant dwells
within the same or another county than that wherein the
exigent is sued out, a writ of proclamation shall issue
out at the same time with the exigent, commanding the
sheriff of the county, wherein the defendant dwells, to
make three proclamations thereof in places the most
notorious, and most likely to come to his knowledge, a
month before the outlawry shall take place. Such out¬
lawry is putting a man out of the protection of the law,
so that he is incapable to bring an action for redress of
injuries} and it is also attended with a forfeiture of all
one’s goods and chattels to the king. And therefore,
till some time after the conquest, no man could he out¬
lawed but for felony : hut in Bracton’s time, and some¬
what earlier, process of outlawry was ordained to lie in
all actions for trespasses vi ct armis. And since, by a
variety of statutes (the same which allow the writ of
capias before mentioned) process of outlawry doth lie in
divers actions that are merely civil; providing they be.
commenced by original and not by bill. If after out¬
lawry the defendant appears publicly, he may be arrest¬
ed by a writ of capias utlagatimi, and committed till the
outlawry be reversed. Which reversal may be had by
the defendants appearing personally in court (and in
the king’s bench without any personal appearance, so
that he appears by attorney, according to statute 4 & $
W. & M. c. 18.) } and any plausible cause, however
slight, will in general he sufficient to reverse it, it being
considered only as a process to compel an appearance.
But then the defendant must pay full costs, and put the
plaintiff in the same condition as if he had appeared be¬
fore the writ of exigi facias was awarded.
Such is the first process in the court of common pleas.
In the king’s bench they may also (and frequently do)
proceed in certain causes, particularly in actions of eject¬
ment and trespass, by original writ, with attachment and
capias thereon 5 returnable, not at Westminster, where
3C2 tii<L
PRO
[ 388 ]
PRO
Process, the common pleas are now fixed in consequence otmag-
1 '"v—■" ' nacharta,bvi\.ubicunquefiicri7nusviAvgha,vi\\cxesoe\^T
the king shall tlien be in England j the king’s bench
being removeable into any part ot England at the plea¬
sure and discretion ol the crown. 13ut the more usual
method of proceeding therein is without any original,
but by a peculiar species of process entitled a bill oj
Middlesex ; and therefore so entitled, because the court
now sits in that county } for if it sat in Kent, it would
then be a bill of Kent. For though, as the justices of
this court have, by its fundamental constitution, power
to determine all offences and trespasses, by the common
law and custom of the realm, it needed no original
writ from the crown to give it cognizance of any mis-
demesnor in the county wherein it resides j yet as, by
this court’s coming into any county, it immediately su¬
perseded the ordinary administration of justice by the
general commissioners of eyi'e and of oyer and terminer,
a process of its own became necessary, within the county
where it sat, to bring in such persons as were accused ot
committing any forcible injury. 1 he bill of Middlesex
(which was formerly always founded on a plaint of
trespass quare clausum fregit, entered on the records of
the court) is a kind of capias, directed to the sherifi ot
that county, and commanding him to take the defendant,
and have him before our lord the king at Westminster on
a day prefixed, to answer to the plaintiff of a plea of
trespass. For this accusation of trespass it is that gives
the courtof king’s bench jurisdiction in other civil causes,,
since, when once the defendant is taken into custody ot
the marshal, or prison-keeper of this court, for the suppo¬
sed trespass, he, being then a prisoner of this court, may
here be prosecuted for any other species ot injury, ^et,
in order to found this jurisdiction, it is not necessary that
the defendant be actually the marshal’s prisoner; for,
as soon as he appears, or puts in bail, to the process,
he is deemed by so doing to be in such custody of the
marshal as will give the court a jurisdiction to proceed.
And, upon these accounts, in the bill or process, a
complaint of trespass is always suggested, whatever else
may be the real cause of action, ibis bill of Middle¬
sex must be served on the defendant by the sheriff, if
he finds him in that county : but if he returns, non est
inventus, then there issues out a writ of latitat, to the
sheriff of another county, as Berks : which is similar
to the testatum capias in the common pleas, and recites
the bill of Middlesex and the proceedings thereon, and
that it is testified that the defendant latitat et discurnt,
lurks and wanders about in Berks j and therefore com¬
mands the sheriff to take him, and have his body in
court on the day of the return. But as in the common
pleas the testatum capias may be sued out upon only a
supposed, and not an actual preceding, capias ; so in
the king’s bench a latitat is usually sued out upon
only a supposed, and not an actual, bill of Middlesex.
So that, infact, a latitat may be called the first process
in the court of king’s bench, as the testatum capias is in
the common pleas. Yet, as in the common pleas, if the
defendant lives in the county wherein the action is laid,
a common capias suffices ; so in the king’s bench like¬
wise, if he lives in Middlesex, the process must still be
by bill of Middlesex only.
In the exchequer the first process is by writ of quo
minus, in order to give the court jurisdiction over
pleas between party and party. In which writ the
plaintiff is alleged to be the king’s farmer or debtor, Process)
and that the defendant hath done him the injury com-
plained of, quo minus sufjiciens existit, by which he is the
less able to pay the king his rent or debt. And upon
this the defendant may be arrested as upon a capias
from the common pleas.
Thus differently do the three courts set out at first,
in the commencement of a suit, in order to entitle the
two courts of king’s bench and exchequer to hold plea
in subjects causes, which by the original constitution of
Westminster-hall they were not empowered to do. Af¬
terwards, when the cause is once drawn into the respec¬
tive courts, the method of pursuing it is pretty much the
same in all of them.
If the sheriff had found the defendant upon any of
the former writs, the capias latitat, &c. he was ancient¬
ly obliged to take him into custody, in order to produce
him in court upon the return, however small and minute
the cause of action might be. For, not having obeyed the
original summons, he had shown a contempt of the court,
and' was no longer to be trusted at large. But when
the summons fell into disuse, and the capias became in
fact the first process, it was thought hard to imprison a
man for a contempt which was only supposed : and there¬
fore, in common cases, by the gradual indulgence of the
courts (at length authorised by statute 1 2 Geo. I. c. 29.
which was amended by statute 5 Geo. II. c. 27* and
made perpetual by statute 21 Geo. II. c. 3O the sheriff
or his officer can now only personally serve the defend¬
ant with the copy of the writ or process, and with no¬
tice in writing to appear by his attorney in court to de¬
fend this action •, ■which in effect reduces it to a mere
summons. And if the defendant think proper to ap¬
pear upon this notice, his appearance is recorded, and
he puts in sureties for his future attendance and obedi¬
ence *, which sureties are called common bail, being
the same two imaginary persons that were pledges for
the plaintiff ’s prosecution, John Doe and Richard Boe.
Or, if the defendant does not appear upon the return of
the writ, or within four (or in some cases eight) days
after, the plaintiff may enter an appearance for him, as
if he had really appeared j and may file common bail
in the defendant’s name, and proceed thereupon as if the
defendant had done it himself.
But if the plaintiff will make affidavit, or assert up¬
on oath, that the cause of action amounts-to ten pounds
or upwards, then in order to arrest the defendant, and
make him put in substantial sureties for his appearance,
called special bail, it is required by statute 13 Car. II.
stat. 2. c. 2. that the true cause of action should be ex¬
pressed in the body of the writ or process j else no se¬
curity can be taken in a greater sum than 40I. This
statute (without any such intention in the makers) had
like to have ousted the king’s bench of all its jurisdic¬
tion over civil injuries without force ; for as the bill
of Middlesex was framed only for actions of trespass, a
defendant could not be arrested and held to bail there¬
upon for breaches of civil contracts. But to remedy
this inconvenience, the officers of the king’s bench de¬
vised a method of adding what is called a clause p
etiam to the usual complaint of trespass 5 the billot
Middlesex commanding the defendant to be brought m
to answer the plaintiff of a plea of trespass, and also to a
bill of debt : the complaint or trespass giving cogniz¬
ance to the court, and that of debt authorising the ar¬
rest.
PRO
. . . , . [389
rest. In mutation of which, lord chief justice North,
a few years afterwards, in order to save the suitors of
his court the trouble and expence of suing out special
originals, directed, that in the common pleas, besides
the usual complaint of breaking the plaintiff’s close, a
clause of ac etiam might be also added to the ivrit of
capias, containing the true cause of action j as, “ that
the said Charles the defendant may answer to the plain¬
tiff of a plea of trespass in breaking his close : and also,
ac etiam may answer him, according to the custom of
the court, in a certain plea of trespass upon the case, up¬
on promises, to the value of 20I. &c.” The sum sworn
to by the plaintiff is marked upon the back of the writ j
and the sheriff, or his officer the bailiff, is then obliged
actually to arrest or take into custody the body of the
defendant, and, having so done, to return the writ with
a cepi corpus indorsed thereon. See Arrest.
When the defendant is regularly arrested, he must
either go to prison, for safe custody ; or put in special
bail to the sheriff. For, the intent of the arrest being
only to compel an appearance in court at the return of
the writ, that purpose is equally answered, whether the
sheriff detains his person, or takes sufficient security for
his appearance, called bail (from the French word bail¬
er, “ to deliver),” because the defendant is bailed, or
delivered, to his sureties, upon their giving security for
his appearance ; and is supposed to continue in their
friendly custody instead of going to gaol. See Bail.
The method of putting in bail to the sheriff is, by en¬
tering into a bond or obligation, with one or more sure¬
ties, (not fictitious persons, as in the former case of
common bail, but real, substantial, responsible bonds¬
men), to insure the defendant’s appearance at the return
of the writ; which obligation is called the bail-bond.
The sheriff, if he pleases, may let the defendant go with¬
out any sureties j but that is at his own peril: for, after
once taking him, the sheriff is bound to keep him safe¬
ly, so as to be forthcoming in court 5 otherwise an ac¬
tion lies against him for an escape. But on the other
hand, he is obliged, by statute 23 Hen. VI. e. 10. to
take (if it be tendered) a sufficient bail-bond ; and, by
statute 12 Geo. I. c. 29. the sheriff shall take bail for no
other sum than such as is sworn to by the plaintiff', and
indorsed on the back of the writ.
Upon the return of the writ, or within four days af¬
ter, the defendant must appear according to the exi¬
gency of the writ. This appearance is effected by put¬
ting in and justifying bail to the action ; which is com¬
monly called putting in bail above. If this be not done,
and the bail that were taken by the sheriff below are
responsible persons, the plaintiff may take an assignment
from the sheriff of the bail-bond (under the statute 4 and
5 Ann. c. 16.) and bring an action thereupon against
the sheriff’s bail. But if the bail so accepted by the
sheriff be insolvent persons, the plaintiff may proceed
against the sheriff himself, by calling upon him, first to
return the writ (if not already done), and afterwards to
bring in the body of the defendant. And if the sheriff
does not then cause sufficient bail to be put in above, he
will himself be responsible to the plaintiff.
_ The bail above, or bail to the action, must be put in
either in open court, or before one of the judges there¬
of; or else, in the country, before a commissioner ap¬
pointed for that purpose by virtue of the statute 4 W^.
and M. c. 4. which must be transmitted to the court.
] PRO
These bail, who must at least be two in number, must
enter into a recognizance in court, or before the judge
or commissioner, whereby they do jointly and severally
undertake, that if the defendant be condemned in the
action, he shall pay the costs and condemnation, or ren¬
der himself a prisoner, or that they will pay it for him :
which recognizance is transmitted to the court in a slip
of paichment, intitled a bail-piece. And, if required,
tho bail vaxvsXjustify themselves in court, or before the
commissioner in the country, by swearing themselves
housekeepers, and each of them to be worth double the
sum for which they are bail, after payment of all their
debts.. I his answers in some measure to the stipulatio
or satisdatio of the lloman laws, which is mutually given
by each litigant party to the other : by the plaintiff that
he will prosecute his suit, and pay the costs if he loses
his cause ; in like manner as our law still requires no¬
minal pledges of prosecution from the plaintiff': by the
defendant, that he shall continue 111 court, and abide the
sentence of the judge, much like our special bail; but
with this difference, that the fidejussores were there ab¬
solutely b0und judicatum solvere, to see the costs and
condemnation paid at all events : whereas our special
bail may be discharged, by surrendering the defendant
into custody within the time allowed by law; lor which
purpose they are at all times entitled to a warrant to ap¬
prehend him.
Special bail is required (as of course) only upon ac¬
tions of debt, or actions on the case in trover, or for mo¬
ney due, where the plaintiff' can swear that the cause of
action amounts to ten pounds: but in actions where the
damages are precarious, being to be assessed ad libitum
by a jury, as in actions for words, ejectment, or trespass,
it is very seldom possible for a plaintiff to swear to the
amount of his cause of action ; and therefore no special
bail is taken thereon, unless by a judge’s order, or the
pai ticular directions of the court, in some particular spe¬
cies of injuries, as in cases of mayhem or atrocious bat¬
tery ; or upon such special circumstances as make it ab¬
solutely necessary that the defendant should be kept
within the reach of justice. Also in actions against
heirs, executors, and administrators, for debts of the de¬
ceased, special bail is not demandable j for the action
is not so properly against them in person, as against the
effects of the deceased in their possession. But special
bail is required even of them, in actions for a devastavit,
or wasting the goods of the deceased; that wrong being
of their own committing.
Thus much for process; which is only meant to
bring the defendant into court, in order to contest the
suit, and abide the determination of the law. When
he appears either in person as a prisoner, or out upon
bail, then follow the pleadings between the parties. See
Pleadings.
Process upon an Indictment. See Prosecution.
The proper process on an indictment for any petty
misdemeanor, or on a penal statute, is a writ of venire
fascias, which is in the nature of a summons to cause the
party to appear. And if by the return to such venire
it appears that the party hath lands in the county where¬
by he may be distrained, then a distress infinite shall be
issued from time to time till he appears. But if the
sheriff returns, that he hath no lands in his bailiwick,
then (upon his non-appearance) a writ of capias shall
issue, which commands the sheriff to take his body, and
have
Procei*.
P II o
[ 39° ]
PRO
Process
have him at the next assizes and if he cannot he ta¬
ken upon the first capias, a second and a third shall issue,
called an alias and a pluries capias. But, on indict¬
ments for treason or felony, a capias is the lirst process .
and, for treason or homicide, only one shall be allowed
to issue, or two in the case of other lelonies, by statute
25 Edw. III. c. 14. though the usage is to issue only
one in any felony j the provisions ol this statute being
in most cases found impracticable. And so in the case
of misdemesnors, it is now the usual practice for any
judge of the court of king’s bench, upon certificate ot
an indictment found, to award a writ of capias immedi¬
ately, in order to bring in the defendant. But if he ab¬
sconds, and it is thought proper to pursue him to an
outlawry, then a greater exactness is necessary, r 01, m
such case, after the several writs have issued in a regular
number, according to the nature of the respective crimes,
without any effect, the offender shall be put in the exi¬
gent in order to his outlawry ‘. that is, he shall be ex
acted, proclaimed, or required, to surrender at five coun¬
ty courts-, and if he be returned quinto exactus, and does
not appear at the fifth exaction or requisition, then he is
adjudged to be outlawed, or put out of the protection of
the law ; so that he is incapable of taking the benefit of
it in any respect, either by bringing actions or otherwise.
The punishment tor outlawries upon indictments for
misdemesnors, is the same as for outlawries upon civil
actions } viz. forfeiture of goods and chattels. But an
outlawry in treason or felony amounts to a conviction
and attainder of the offence charged in the indictment,
as much as if the offender had been found guilty by his
country. His life is, however, still under the protection
•of the law, as hath elsewhere been observed (see Ho¬
micide) : that though anciently an outlawed felon was
said to have caput lupinum, and might be knocked on
the head like a wolf, by any one that should meet him
because, having renounced all law, he was to he dealt
with as in a state of nature, when every one that should
find him might slay him : yet now, to avoid such inhu¬
manity, it is holden that no man is intitled to kill him
wantonly or wilfully *, but in so doing is guilty of mur¬
der, unless it happens in the endeavour to apprehend
him. For any person may arrest an outlaw on a crimi¬
nal prosecution, either of his own head, or by writ or
warrant of capias utlagatum, in order to bring him to
execution. But such outlawry may be frequently re¬
versed by writ of error, the proceedings therein being
(as it is fit they should be) exceedingly nice and circum¬
stantial 5 and if any single minute point be omitted or
misconducted, the whole outlawry is illegal, and may be
reversed upon which reversal the party accused is ad¬
mitted to plead to, and defend himself against, the in¬
dictment. .. i v r.
Thus much for process to bring in the 0 fencer alter
indictment found 5 during which stage ot the prosecu¬
tion it is that writs of certiorari facias are usually had,
though they may be had at any time before trial, to cer¬
tify and remove the indictment, with all the proceedings
thereon, from any inferior court of criminal jurisdiction
into the court of king’s bench 5 which is the sovereign
ordinary court of justice in causes criminal. And this
is frequently done for one of these four purposes } either,
x. To consider and determine the validity of appeals or
indictments and the proceedings thereon and to quash
or confirm them as there is cause or, 2. Where it is
5
surmised that a partial or insufficient trial will probably
be had in the court below, the indictment is removed, ||
in order to have the prisoner or defendant tried at the froelani
bar of the court of king’s bench, or before the justices , tl011^
of nisiprius: or, 3. It is so removed, in order to plead
the king’s pardon there : or, 4. To issue process of out¬
lawry against the offender, in those counties or places
where the process of the inferior judges will not reach
him. Such writ of certiorari, when issued and deliver¬
ed to the inferior court for removing any record or other
proceeding, as well upon indictment as otherwise, super¬
sedes the jurisdiction of such inferior court, and makes
all subsequent proceedings therein entirely erroneous and
illegal unless the court of king’s bench remands the re¬
cord to the court below, to be there tried and determined.
A certiorari maybe granted at the instance of either the
prosecutor or the defendant: the former as a matter of
right, the latter as a matter of discretion j and therefore
it is seldom granted to remove indictments from the jus¬
tices of gaol-delivery, or after issue joined, or confession
of the fact in any of the courts below.
At this stage of prosecution also it is, that indictments
found by the grand jury against a peer, must in conse¬
quence of a writ of certiorari, be certified and transmit¬
ted into the court of parliament, or into that of the lord
high steward of Great Britain } and that, in places of
exclusive jurisdiction, as the two universities, indictments
must be delivered (upon challenge and claim of cog¬
nizance) to the courts therein established by charter,
and confirmed by act of parliament, to be there respec¬
tively tried and determined. See Plea.
•Process, in Chemistry, the whole course of an expe¬
riment or series ot operations, tending to produce some¬
thing new.
Process, in Anatomy, denotes any protuberance or
eminence in a bone.
PROCESSION, a ceremony in the Romish church,
consisting of a formal march of the clergy and people,
putting up prayers, &c. and in this manner visiting some
churclt, &c. They have also processions of the host or
sacrament, &c. See Host.
PROCHE1N AMY, in Laiv, the person next a-km
to a child in non-age, and who, in that respect, is allow¬
ed to act for him, and be his guardian, See. if he hold
land in soccage.
To sue, an infant is not allowed to make an attorney \
but the court will admit his next friend as plaintiff, or
his guardian as defendant. .
PROCKIA, a genus of plants belonging to the poly-
anclria class j and in the natural method ranking with
those of which the order is doubtful. See Botany In¬
dex. . . ,
PROCLAMATION, a public notice given of any
thing of which the king thinks proper to advertise Ins
subjects.
Proclamations are a branch of the king s preroga¬
tive * j and have then a binding force, when (as bir* SceJ
Edward Coke observes) they are grounded upon and
enforce the laws of the realm. For though the ma¬
king; of laws is entirely the work of a distinct part, the
legislative branch of the sovereign power, yet the man¬
ner, time, and circumstances of putting those laws in
execution, must frequently be left to the discretion 0
the executive magistrate. And therefore bis constitu¬
tions or edicts, concerning those points which we ca
Proclamations,
PRO
lama
m
i
jpius.
Proclamations, are binding upon the subject, wliere they
do not either contradict the old laws, or tend to esta¬
blish new ones j but only enforce the execution of such
laws as are already in being, in such manner as the
~ king shall judge necessary. Thus the established law
is, that the king may prohibit any of his subjects from
leaving the realm : a proclamation therefore forbidding
this in general for three weeks, by laying an embargo
upon all shipping in time of war, will be equally bind¬
ing as an act of parliament, because founded upon a pri¬
or law. But a proclamation to lay an embargo in time
of peace upon all vessels laden with wheat, (though in
the time of a public scarcity), being contrary to law,
and particularly to statute 22 Car. II. c. 13. the ad¬
visers of such a proclamation, and all persons acting
under it, found it necessary to be indemnified by a spe¬
cial act of parliament, 7 Geo. III. c. 7. A proclama¬
tion for disarming Papists is also binding, being only
in execution of what the legislature has first ordained :
but a proclamation for allowing arms to Papists, or for
disarming any Protestant subjects, will not bind; be¬
cause the first would be to assume a dispensing power,
the latter a legislative one 5 to the vesting of either of
which in any single person the laws of England are ab¬
solutely strangers. Indeed, by the stat. 31 lien. VIII.
c. 8. it was enacted, that the king’s proclamations
should have the force of acts of parliament; a statute,
which was calculated to introduce the most despotic ty¬
ranny : and which must have proved fatal to the liber¬
ties of this kingdom, had it not been luckily repealed
in the minority of his successor, about five years after.
By a late act of parliament the king is empowered to
raise regiments of Roman Catholics to serve in the pre¬
sent war.
PROCLUS, surnamed Diadocus, a Greek philo¬
sopher and mathematician, was born in Lycia, and lived
about the year 500. He was the disciple of Syrianus,
and had a great share in the friendship of the emperor
Anastasias. It is said, that when Vitalian laid siege to
Constantinople, Proclus burnt his ships with large bra¬
zen speculums. This philosopher was a Pagan, and
wrote against the Christian religion. There are still ex¬
tant his Commentaries on some of Plato’s books, and
other of his works written in Greek.
PROCONSUL, a Roman magistrate, sent to govern
a province with consular authority.
The proconsuls w'ere appointed out of the body of
the senate ; and usually as the year of any one’s con¬
sulate expired, he was sent proconsul into some pro¬
vince.
The proconsuls decided cases of equity and justice,
either privately in their pretorium or palace, where they
received petitions, heard complaints, granted writs un¬
der their seal, and the like ; or else publicly, in the com¬
mon hall, with the usual formalities observed in the court
rd judicature at Rome. They had besides, by virtue of
their edicts, the power of ordering all things relating
to the tributes, taxes, contributions, and provisions of
corn and money, &c. Their office lasted only a year.
See Consul,
PROCOPIUS, a famous Greek historian, born in
Ctesaria, acquired great reputation by his wrorks in the
icign of Justinian, and was secretary to Belisarius du-
Ling all the wars carried on by that general in Persia,
Africa, and Italy. He at length became senator, ob-
f 39' ]
PRO
tained the title ol illustrious, and was made pretor of
Constantinople.
I ROCREAIION, the begetting and bringing forth
young. See Generation and Semen.
PROC I'OR, a person commissioned to manage an¬
other person’s cause in any court of the civil or eccle¬
siastical law.
1 roctor, in the English universities. See Univer¬
sity.
PROCURATION, an act or instrument by which a
person is empowered to treat, transact, receive, &c. in
another person’s name.
PROCURATOR. See Proctor.
PROCA ON, in Astronomy, a fixed star of the second
magnitude, situated in canis minor, or the little dog.
PRODIGALITY, means extravagance, profusion,
waste, or excessive liberality, and is the opposite ex¬
treme to the vice of parsimony. By the Roman law, if
a man by notorious prodigality was in danger of wasting
his estate, he wras looked upon as non compos, and com¬
mitted to the care ol curators, or tutors, by the pnetor.
And by the laws ot Solon, such prodigals were branded
with perpetual infamy.
1 ROLUC1, in Arithmetic and Geometry, the factum
of two or more numbers, or lines, &c. into one another:
thus 5X4—20 the product required.
PROEDRI, among the Athenians, were magistrates,
who had the first seats in the public assemblies, and whose
office it was to propose at each assembly the things to be
deliberated upon and determined. Their office alw’ays
ended with the meeting. Their number was nine, so
long as the tribes were ten in number.
PRO! ANATION, the acting disi •espectfully to sa¬
cred things.
PROfANE, a term used in opposition to holy; and
in general is applied to all persons who have not the sa¬
cred character, and to things which do not belong to the
service of religion.
PROFESSION means a calling, vocation, or known
employment. In Knox’s Essays, vol. i. page 234, we
find an excellent paper on the choice of a profession,
which that elegant writer concludes thus: “All the
occupations ol life (says he) are found to have theirad-
vantagesand disadvantages admirably adapted to preserve
the just equilibrium of happiness. This we may confi¬
dently assert, that, whatever are the inconveniences of
any ol them, they are all preferable to a life of inac¬
tion ; to that wretched listlessness, which is constrained
to pursue pleasure as a business, and by rendering it the
object of severe and unvaried attention, destroys its very
essence.”
Among the Romanists profession denotes the entering
into a religious order, whereby a person offers himself
to God by a vow of inviolably observing obedience, cha¬
stity, and poverty.
PROFESSOR, in the universities, a person who
teaches or reads public lectures in some art or science
from a chair for that purpose.
PROFILE, in Architecture, the draught of a build¬
ing, fortification, &c. wherein are expressed the several
heights, widths, and thicknesses, such as they would ap¬
pear were the building cut down perpendicularly from
the roof to the foundation. Whence the profile is also
called the section, sometimes orthographical section, and
by A itruvius also sciagraphy,
Profire,,
Procopius
II
Profile.
PRO
[ 392 3
PRO
Profile
II .
Prognostic.
Profile, in this sense, amounts to the same with eleva¬
tion ; and stands opposed to plan or ichnography.
Profile is also used for the contour or outline or a
figure, building, member of architecture, or the like j
as a base, a cornice, &c. Hence profiling is sometimes
used for designing, or describing the member with rule,
compass, &c.
Profile, in sculpture and painting.—& head, a por¬
trait, &c. are said to be in profile, when they are repre¬
sented sidewise, or in a side-view as, when in a portrait
there is but one side of the face, one eye, one cheek,
&c. shown, and nothing of the other.—On almost all
medals, the faces are represented in profile.
PROFLUVIUM, in Medicine, denotes a flux, or li¬
quid evacuation of any thing. .
PROGNOSTIC,among physicians, signifies a judge¬
ment concerning the event of a disease j as whether it
shall end in life or death, be short or long, mild oi ma¬
lignant, &c. - , ,
PROGRAMMA, anciently signified a letter sealed
with the king’s seal.
Programma is also an university term lor a billet or
advertisement, posted up or given into the hand, by way
of invitation to an oration, &.c. containing the argu¬
ment, or so much as is necessary for understanding thereof.
PROGRESSION, in general, denotes a regular ad¬
vancing, or going forwards, in the same course and man-
Progression, in Mathematics, is either arithmetical
or geometrical. Continued arithmetic proportion is
where the terms do increase and decrease by equal de¬
ferences, and is called arithmetic progression:
Prognos
Progn;
sion,
[i^
d.
^ C a, a-{-d, a-\-2d, a-\-yl, &c. increasing! ^ t]ie difference
Thus j a, a—d, a—2d, a—3d, &c. decreasing $ J
T , C 2, 4, 6, 8, 10, &c. increasing! , the difference 2.
In numbers | I0^ ^ ^ &c. decreasing 3 y
Geometric Progression, or Continued Geometric Proportion, is when the terms do increase or decrease by equal
ratios : thus,
a, ar, arr, arrr, &c. increasing!
a
„ „ ' l from a continual \ multiplication 7 b
4l, &c. decreasing $" \ Staton J
rr rrr
■ from a
6;: 3t ,1 'l 3i: 6t 1 —{*at,°nh2-
See the articles Fluxions, Geometry, and Series.
PROJECTILES.
T^HIS is the name for that part of mechanical philo-
thescience. J- sophy which treats of the motion of bodies any¬
how projected from the surface of this earth, and influ¬
enced by the action of terrestrial gravity.
Effect of It is demonstrated in the physical part of astronomy,
gravity on that a body so projected must describe a conic section,
projected i,avin(T the centre of the earth in one focus j and that it
bodies. wlu describe round that focus areas proportional to the
times And it follows from the principles of that sci¬
ence, that if the velocity of projection exceeds 36700
feet in a scond, the body (if not resisted by the air)
would describe a hyperbola-, if it be just 36700, it would
describe a parabola 5 and if it be less than this it would
describe an ellipsis. If projected directly upwards, m the
first case, it would never return, but proceed tor ever-,
its velocity continually diminishing, but never becoming
less than an assignable portion of the excess of the initial
velocity above 36700 feet in a second-, in the second
case, it would never return, its velocity would diminish
without end, but never be extinguished. In the third
case it would proceed till its velocity was reduced to an
assignable portion of the difference between 36700 and
its initial velocity, and would then return, regaining its
velocity by the same degrees, and in the same places, as
it lost it. These are necessary consequences of a gravity
directed to the centre of the earth, and inversely propor¬
tional to the square of the distance. But in the greatest
projections that wfe are able to make, the gravitations
are so nearly equal, and in directions so nearly parallel,
that it would be ridiculous affectation to pay any regard
to the deviations from equality and parallelism. A bul¬
let rising a mile above the surface of the earth loses only
0f its weight, and a horizontal range ol 4 miles
makes only 4' of deviation from parallelism.
Let us therefore assume gravitation as equal and pa¬
rallel. The errors arising from this assumption are
quite insensible in all the uses which can be made ol this
^ The theory itself will ever be regarded with some ve¬
neration and affection by the learned. It was the first
fruits of mathematical philosophy. Galileo was the first
who applied mathematical knowledge to the motions ot
free bodies, and this was the subject on which he exer¬
cised his fine genius. 3
Gravity must be considered by us as a constant or u-comtai
niform accelerating or retarding force, according as it urn 0
produces the descent, or retards the ascent, ot a body.
A constant or invariable accelerating force is one which
produces an uniform acceleration j that is, which in
equal times produces equal increments ol velocity, an
therefore produces increments of velocity proportions
to the times in which they are produced. Forces are 0
themselves imperceptible, and are seen only m their e •
fects; and they have no measure but the effect, or w a
measures the effect; and every thing which we can dis¬
cover with regard to those measures, we must affirm wu
regard to the things of which we assume them as
measures. Therefore,
tai
veil
rec<
bits
Uor
peri
vari
atol
. tie
b 5
b ate
if 0fJ
< tain.
Hi
i 5
t Claries
t ^vn from
6
The f<te
. =,a?i-
Infalli
heasct
tained
„t P R O J E
The motion of a falling body, or of a body moiectcd
directly downwards is uniformly accelerated ; and that
of a body projected directly upwards is uniformly re!
tarded . that is, the acquired velocities are as the times
in which they are acquired by falling, and the extin-
Sguisw!^ ^ 38 ‘he tiln- “ are
Cor. I If bodies simply fall, „„t being projected
downwards by an external force, the times of the falls
are proportional to the final velocities ; and the times of
ascents, which terminate by the action of gravity alone
are proportional to the initial velocities, ’
2. Ihe spaces described by a heavy body falling from
rest are as the squares of the acquired velocities ; and
the differences of these spaces are as the differences of
the squares of the acquired velocities : and, on the other
hand^the heights to which bodies projected upwards
will use, before their motions be extinguished, are as
the squares of the initial velocities.
3. The spaces described by falling bodies are propor¬
tional to the squares of the times from the beginning of the
fall, and the spaces described by bodies projected directly
upwards are as the squares of the times of the ascents.
4‘i ii?6 rPa|Ce describefl b.V a body falling from rest is
one half of the space which the body would have uni¬
formly described m the same time, with the velocity ac-
quired by the fall.-—And the height to which a body
W! 1 rise in opposition to the action of gravity, is one
half of the space which it would uniformly describe in
the same time with the initial velocity.
In like manner the difference of the spaces which a
ing or using ody describes in any equal successive
parts of its fall or rise, is one half of the space which it
would uniformly describe in the same time with the
dmeience of the initial and final velocities.
This proposition will be more conveniently expressed
for our purpose thus: J r
A body moving uniformly during the time of any
fail with the velocity acquired thereby, will in that time
describe a space double of that fall j and a body mo-
jected directly upwards will rise to a height which is
one half of the space which it would, uniformly con¬
tinued, describe m the time of its ascent with the initial
velocity of projection.
These theorems have been already demonstrated in a
popular way, in the article Gunnery. But we would
recommend to our readers the 39th prop, of the first
book of Newton’s Principia, as giving the most general
investigation of this subject j equally easy with these
moie loose methods of demonstration, and infinitely su¬
perior to them, by being equally applicable to every
variation of the accelerating force. See an excellent
application of this proposition by Mr Robins, for defin¬
ing t ie motion of a ball discharged from a cannon, in
the article Gunnery, N° i5.
5- It is a matter of observation and experience, that
a heavy boay falls 16 feet and an inch English measure
m a second of time j and therefore acquires the velocity
032 feet 2 inches per second. This cannot be ascer-
amed directly, with the precision that is necessary. A
second is too small a portion of time to be exactly mea¬
sured and compared with the space described ; but it
is done with the greatest accuracy by comparing the
motion of a falling body with that of a pendulum. The
vol xmSrVi.t0 ‘he time of falli“8through
C T I L E S.
half the length of the pendulum, as the circumference
of a circle is to its diameter. The length of a pendu-
um can be ascertained with great precision; and it can
he lengthened or shortened till it makes just 86400
vibrations in a day: and this is the wav in which the
cerSned1 ^ ^ ^ accurately as-
As all other forces are ascertained by the accelera¬
tions which they produce, they are conveniently mea¬
sured by comparing their accelerations with the accele-
ration of gravity This therefore has been assumed by
all he later and best writers on mechanical philosophy
as the unit by which every other force is measured It
gives us a perfectly distinct notion of the force which
retains the moon in its orbit, when we say it is the
tfe^a tr^W ^ °f the m°0n at the s«btce of
the earth. M e mean by this, that if a bullet were here
mark =600 a?-7ng Stee1,>'ard’ ail(1 H^'d it out to the
aik 3600 5 if it were then taken to the distance of the
moon, it would pull it out only to the mark 1. And
we make this assertion on the authority of our having
from II t rl a ^ tHe distance °r the mo°n fall!
from hat distance part 0f 16 feet in a second.
e do not, therefore, compare the forces, which are
wThCeP tk • T;-We COmpare {he ^derations,
which are their indications, effects, and measures.
I ins has made philosophers so anxious to determine Two modes
vi h precision, the fall of heavy bodies, in order to have °™eter-
exact value of the accelerating power of terrestrial niininS the
gravity. Now we must here observe, that this measure
throubh ‘rTei" !tW° WayS: We maytake tbe space ^
through which the heavy body falls in a second; or we
may take the velocity which it acquires in consequence
of gravity having acted on it during a second. The
fast is the proper measure ; for the last is the immediate
effect on the body. The action of gravity has changed
the state of the body—in what way P By giving it a de¬
termination to motion downwards, this both points out
le klll(I and the degree or intensity of the force of
gravity. Ihe space described in a second by falling
is not an invariable measure; for, in the successive se¬
conds, the body falls through 16, 48, 80, 112, &c.
feet, but the changes of the body’s state in each second
is the same. At the beginning it had no determination
to move with any appreciable velocity; at the end of
ie first second it had a determination by which it
would have gone on for ever (had no subsequent force
acted on it) at the rate of 32 feet per second. At the
end of the second second, it had a determination by
which it would have moved for ever, at the rate of 64
feet per second. At the end of the third second, it
had a determination by which it would have moved
for ever, at the rate of 96 feet per second, &c. &c.
Ihe difference of these determinations is a determination
to the rate of 32 feet per second. This is therefore
constant, and the indication and proper measure of the
constant or invariable force of gravity. The space fal¬
len through in the first second is of use only as it is
one half of the measure of this determination ; and as
halves have the proportion of their whole?, different ac¬
celerating forces may be safely affirmed to be in the pro-
portion of t lift ST151.P.ftS tlimufirti TirKi*-.]-*   * I*   1 •
393
h ,vi may ug actieiy aiiiimeu to be in the pro-
portion of the spaces through which they uniformly im- 8
pel bodies in the same time. But we should always re- Mistakes of
collect, that this is but one half of the true measure 0f math«i»a-
the accelerating force. Mathematicians of the first rank Subject
' 3-0 have
394
P R O J E C
have committed great mistakes by not attending to this j
and it is necessary to notice it just now, because cases will
occur in the prosecution of this subject, where we shall be
very apt to confound our reasonings by a confusion in the
use of those measures. Those mathematicians who are
accustomed to the geometrical consideration ol cmvi i-
neal motions, are generally disposed to take the
flection from the tangent as the measure of the detiectmg
force ; while those who treat the same subject algebrai¬
cally by the assistance of fluxions, take the change of
velocity, which is measured by twice Wk deflection. _ I he
Plate reason is this : when a body passes through the point b
CCCCXLI. of a curve ABC, fig. I. il the deflecting orcc w
fig- i. cease at that instant, the body would describe th i t -
o-ent BD in the same time in which it describes the are.11
BC of the curve, and DC is the deflection, and is
therefore taken for the measure of the deflecting force.
But the algebraist is accustomed to consider the curve
by means of an equation between the abscissae H a,
H l> He, and their respective ordinates Aa, B 0, b c ;
and’he measures the deflections by the changes made on
the increments of the ordinates. Thus the increment of
the ordinate A o, while the body describes the arch A
of the curve, is BG. If the deflecting force were to
cease when the body is at B, the next increment would
have been equal to BG, that is, it would have been BI 5
but in consequence of the deflection, it is only C r : there¬
fore he takes EC for the measure of the deflection, and of
the deflecting force. Now EC is ultimately twice DC ;
and thus the measure of the algebraist (derived solely
from the nature of the differential method, and without
any regard to physical considerations) happens to coin¬
cide with the true physical measure. 1 here is therefore
great danger of mixing these measures. Of this we^can-
Particular- not give a more remarkable instance than Leibnitz’s at-
ly of Leib- tenipt to demonstrate the elliptical motion of the planets
nitz- in the Leipsic Acts, 1689. He first considers the sub¬
ject mechanically, and takes the deflection or DC for
the measure of the deflecting force. He then intro¬
duces his differential calculus, where he takes the dif¬
ference of the increments for the measure j and thus
brings himself into a confusion, which luckily compen¬
sates for the false reasoning in the preceding part of
his paper, and gives his result the appearance of a
demonstration of Newton’s great discovery, while, in
fact, it is a confused jumble of assumptions, self-con¬
tradictory, and inconsistent with the very laws of me¬
chanics which are used by him in the investigation.
Seventeen years after this, in having been cri¬
ticised for his bad reasoning, or rather accused of an
envious and unsuccessful attempt to appropriate New¬
ton’s invention to himself, he gives a correction of his
paralogism, which he calls a correction of language.
But he either had not observed where the paralogism
lay, or would not let himself down by acknowledging
a mistake in what he wished the world to think his own
calculus (fluxions) *, he applied the correction where no
fault had been committed, for he had measured both
the centrifugal force and the solicitation of gravity in the
same way, but had applied the fluxionary expression to
the last and not to the first, and, by so doing, he com¬
pletely destroyed all coincidence between his result and
the planetary motions. We mention this instance, not
only as a caution to our mathematical readers, but also
as a very curious literary anecdote. This dissertation of
tiles.
Leibnitz is one of the most obscure of his obscure writ¬
ings but deserves the attention of an intelligent and
curious reader, and cannot fail of making an indelible
impression on his mind, with relation to the modesty,
candour, and probity of the author. It is preceded
by a dissertation on the subject which we are now en¬
tering upon, the motion of projectiles in a resisting me¬
dium. Newton’s Principia had been published a few
years’before, and had been reviewed in a manner shame¬
fully slight, in the Leipsic Acts. _ Both these subjects
make the capital articles of that immortal work. Mr
Leibnitz published these dissertations, without (says he)
having seen Newton’s book, in order to show the world
that he had, some years before, discovered the same
theorems. Mr Nicholas Eatio carried a copy of the
Principia from the author to Hanover in 1686, where
he expected to find Mr Leibnitz j he was then absent,
but Eatio saw him often before his return to France in
1687, and does not say that the book was not given him.
Bead along with these dissertations Dr Keill’s letter U)
John Bernoulli and others, published in the JournalLite-
raire de la Hayee 1714, and to John Bernoulli in 1719. I0
Newton has been accused of a similar oversight by Newtom
John Bernoulli, (who indeed calls it a mistake in prin-cased of
ciple) m his Proposition x. book 2. on the very sob-
ject we are now considering. But Dr Keill has shown
it to be only an oversight, in drawing the tangent on
the wrong side of the ordinate. For in this very pro¬
position Newton exhibits, in the strictest and most beau¬
tiful manner, the difference between the geometrical
and algebraical manner of considering the subject-, and
expressly warns the reader, that his algebraical symbol
expresses the deflection only, and not the variation of „
the increment of the ordinate. It is therefore in the But fob
last degree improbable that he would make this mis¬
take. He most expressly does not j and as to the real
mistake, which he corrected in the second edition, the
water of this article has in bis possession a manuscript
copy of notes and illustrations on the whole Principia,
written in 1693 by Dr David Gregory, Savilian professor
of astronomy at Oxford, at the desire of Mr Newton,
as preparatory for a new edition, where he has rectified
this and several other mistakes in that work, and says
that Mr Newton had seen and approved of the amend- „
ments. We mention these particulars, because MrHuincei
Bernoulli published an elegant dissertation on this sub- of Bern
ject in the Leipsic Acts in 1713 j in which he charges^
Newton (though with many protestations of admiration NewtQS
and respect) with this mistake in principleand says,
that he communicated his correction to Mr Newton, by
his nephew Nicholas Bernoulli, that it might be cor¬
rected in the new edition, which he heard was in the
press. And he afterwards adds, that it appears by
some sheets being cancelled, and new ones substituted
in this part of the work, that the mistake would have
continued, had he not corrected it. We would desire
our readers to consult this dissertation, which is ex¬
tremely elegant, and will be of service to us in this arti¬
cle -, and let them compare the civil things which is here
said of the vir incomparabilis, the omni laude major,
the summus Ncwtonus, with what the same author, in
the same year, in the Leipsic Acts, but under a or
rowed name, says of him. Our readers will have
no hesitation in ascribing this letter to this author.
For, after praising John Bernoulli as summus gcometra,
’ r 0 natus
projectile
I.I
. urate
i .sure of
t accele-
ve pow-
f gravi-
^ 14
I rral
fi ulie de-
bo,.
Hattis ad summorum geometarum paralogismos corrigen-
dos, summi candoris ut et modestice, he betrays himself
by an unguarded warmth, when defending J. B.’s de¬
monstration of the inverse problem of centripetal forces
by calling it ME AM demonstrationem.
Let our readers now consider the scope and inten¬
tion of this dissertation on projectiles, and judge whether
the author’s aim was to instruct the world, or to acquire
fame, by correcting Newton. The dissertation does
not contain one theorem, one corollary, nor one step of
argument, which is not to be found in Newton’s first
edition ; nor has he gone farther than Newton’s single
proposition the xth. To us it appears an exact com¬
panion to Ins proposition on centripetal forces, which he
boasts of having first demonstrated, although it is in
every step a transcript of the 42d of the first Book of
Newton’s Principia, the geometrical language of New¬
ton being changed into algebraic, as he has‘in the pre¬
sent case changed Newton’s algebraic analysis into a
very elegant geometrical one.
We hope to be forgiven for this long digression. It
is a very curious piece of literary history, and shows
the combination which envy and want of honourable
principle had formed against the reputation of our illu¬
strious countryman ; and we think it our duty to em¬
brace any opportunity of doing it justice.—To return
to our subject:
The accurate measure of the accelerative power of
gravity, is the fall 16feet, if we measure it by the
space, or the velocity of 32 J feet per second, if we take
the velocity. It will greatly facilitate calculation, and
will be sufficiently exact for all our purposes, if we take
16 and 32, supposing that a body falls 16 feet in a se¬
cond, and acquires the velocity of 32 feet per second.
Then, because the heights are as the squares of the
times, and as the squares of the acquired velocities, a
body will fall one foot in one fourth of a second, and
will acquire the velocity of eight feet per second. Now
let h express the height in feet, and call it the pro¬
ducing height j v the velocity in feet per second, and
call it the produced velocity, the velocity due j
and t the time in seconds.-—We shall have the follow¬
ing formulae, which are of easy recollection, and will
serve, without tables, to answer all questions relative to
projectiles.
I. v=8A///,= 8x4/,-32;
yA
s.
or the height through which a hod, must fall to acquire .s
this velocity. y In bo(Iie„
projected
^=56 . ~=7, = ^/h . 7’=/?, =49 feet. uPwards.
395
or 561=3i36 . ^^=49 feet.
II. —3.
32
HI. v^=4=r4*
IV. — 16P.
Espies
‘ir use
ing
64’
To give some examples of their use, let it be requi¬
red, ^
I* T0 the time of falling through 256 feet.
Here /i=r256, y'256=16, and —=4. Answer 4".
2. To find the velocity acquired by falling four se-
conds. ?~4.32X4=i28 feet per second.
3* 10 find the velocity acquired by falling 625 feet.
• \lh=25 • 8y^h=20o feet per second.
4* 1o find the height to which a body will rise
wien projected with the velocity of 56 feet per second,
J. Suppose a body projected directly downwards with ,.„,i I? .
the velocity of to feet per second ; what will be its ve-“do™.
ocity after four seconds P In four seconds it will have wards,
acquired, by the action of gravity, the velocity of 4 X 32
01 128 feet, and therefore its whole velocity will be 128
feet per second. ^
6. To find how far it will have moved, compound its
motion of projection, which will be 40 feet in four se¬
conds, with the motion which gravity alone would have
given it in that time, which is 256 feet 5 and the whole
motion will be 296 feet.
7. Suppose the body projected as already mentioned,
and that it is required to determine the tim’e it will take
to go 296 feet downwards, and the velocity it will have
acquired.
Find the height x, through which it must fall to ae-
qmre the velocity of projection, 10 feet, and the time
tj of falling from this height. Then find the time a of
falling through the height 296+*, and the velocity v
acquired by this fall. The time of describing the 296
feet will be ss y, and v is the velocity required.
I rom such examples, it is easy to see the way of an¬
swering every question of the kind.
Writers on the higher parts of mechanics always,, 18
compute the actions of other accelerating and retarding ial°rfomn-~
fences by comparing them with the acceleration of gra-ke.
vity, and in order to render their expressions more gene¬
ral, use a symbol, such as g for gravity, leaving the rea¬
der to convert it into numbers. Agreeably to this
view, the general formulae will stand thus :
IIII. h=~. =!
I. v= V2g h, i^e. y/2 \Zg</h, =g t,
s vV 2g g
2g7 2 ‘
In all these equations, gravity, or its accelerating
powei, is estimated, as it ought to be, by the change
of velocity which it generates in a particle of matter in
an unit of time. But many mathematicians, in their
investigations of curvilineal and other varied motions,
measure it by the deflection which it produces in this
time from the tangent of the curve, or by the incre¬
ment by which the space described in an unit of time
exceeds the space described in the preceding unit. This
is but one half of the increment which gravity would
have produced, had the body moved through the whole
moment with the acquired addition of velocity. In this
sense of the symbol g, the equations stand thus :
I. V=2\/gf\=2gt
ILt=A-=Te
IV. h=—, =gt*, and vV/——
4g 2\/g
It is also very usual to consider the accelerating force
3 D 2 of
396
19
Bodies pro
jected ob¬
liquely.
Fig;. 2.
20
Describes
a parabo¬
la.
PRO
of eravitv as the unit of comparison. Tins renders the
expressions much more simple. In this way, v expresses
not the velocity, but the height necessary for acquiring
it, and the velocity itself is expressed by To re¬
duce such an expression of a velocity to numbers, we
must multiply it by ^2g, or by 2s/g, according as we
make g to be the generated velocity, or the space fallen
through in the unit of time. .
- This will suffice for the perpendicular ascents or de¬
scents of heavy bodies, and we proceed to consider their
motions when projected obliquely. Ihe circumstance
which renders this an interesting subject, is, that the
flight of cannon shot and shells are instances of such
motion, and the art of gunnery must in a great measure
depend on this doctrine. 1
Let a body B (fig. 2.), be projected in any direc¬
tion BC, not perpendicular to the horizon, and with
any velocity. Let AB be the height producing this
velocity ; that is, let the velocity be that which a
heavy body would acquire by falling freely through AB.
It is required to determine the path of the body, and
all the circumstances of its motion in this path ?
1. It is evident, that by the continual action of gra¬
vity, the body will be continually deflected^ from the
line BC, and will describe a curve line B\ G, concave
towards the earth.
2. This curve line is a parabola, of which the verti¬
cal line ABE is a diameter, B the vertex of this dia¬
meter, and BC a tangent in B.
Through any two points V, G of the curve draw
YC, GH parallel to AB, meeting BC in C and H,
and draw VE, GK parallel to BC, meeting AB in E,
K. It follows, from the composition of motions, that
the body would arrive at the points V, G of the curve
in the same time that it would have uniformly described
BC, BH, with the velocity of projection; or that it
would have fallen through BE, BK, with a motion uni¬
formly accelerated by gravity ; therefore the times of
describing BC, BH, uniformly, are the same with the
times of falling through BE, BK. But, because the
motion along BH is uniform, BC is to BH as the time
of describing BC to the time of describing BH, which
we may express thus, BC : BH“T, BC : i, BH, ~
T, BE : T, BK. But, because the motion along BK
is uniformly accelerated, we have BE : BKrrT*
BE : T», BK, =BC* : BH1, = EV1 : KG1; there¬
fore the curve BVG is such, that the abscissae BE,
BK are as the squares of the corresponding ordinates
EV, KG ; that is, the curve BVG is a parabola, and
BC, parallel to the ordinates, is a tangent in the
point B.
3. If through the point A there be drawn the ho¬
rizontal line AD dy it is the directrix of the para¬
bola.
Let BE be taken equal to AB. The time of falling
through BE is equal to the time of falling through
AB ; but BC is described with the velocity acquired
by falling through AB : and therefore by N° 4. of per¬
pendicular descents, BC is double of AB, and EV is
double of BE ; therefore EV2=:4 BE1, =4 BE X AB,
—BE X 4 AB, and 4 AB is the parameter or latus rec¬
tum of the parabola BVG, and AB being one-fourth of
the parameter, AD is the directrix.
4. The times of describing the different arches BV,
E C T I L E S.
VG of the parabola are as the portions BC, BH of
the tangent, or as the portions AD, A </ of the direc¬
trix, intercepted by .the same vertical lines AB, CV,
HG; for the times of describing BV, BVG are the
same with tfiose of describing the corresponding parts
BC, BH of the tangent, and are proportional to these
parts, because the motion along BH is uniform ; and
BC, BH are proportional to AD, Ad.
Therefore the motion estimated horizontally is uni¬
form.
5. The velocity in any point G of the curve is the
same with that which a heavy body would acquire by
falling from the directrix along dG. Draw the tangent
GT, cutting the vertical AB in T; take the points c,
fy equidistant from A and dy and extremely near them,
and draw the verticals a by fg; let the points a,fy con¬
tinually approach A and d, and ultimately coincide
with them. It is evident that B b will ultimately be to
g G, in the ratio of the velocity at B to the velocity at
G ; for the portions of the tangent ultimately coincide
with the portions of the curve, and are described in
equal times ; but B & is to g G as BH to TG: there¬
fore the velocity at B is to that at G as BH to TG.
But, by the properties of the parabola, BH1 is to
TG1 as AB to d G; and AB is to dG as the square
of the velocity acquired by falling through AB to the
square of the velocity acquired by falling through d G ;
and the velocity in BH, or in the point B of the para¬
bola, is the velocity acquired by falling along AB ;
therefore the velocity in TG, or in the point G ot
the parabola, is the velocity acquired by falling along
d G. _ 2r
These few simple propositions contain all the theory The paw
of the motion of projectiles in vacuo, or independent^
on the resistance of the air ; and being a very easy and^ bu8t,
neat piece of mathematical philosophy, and connected i ttieus<
with very interesting practice, and a very respectable praetice
profession, they have been much commented on, and
have furnished matter for many splendid volumes. But
the air’s resistance occasions such a prodigious diminu¬
tion of motion in the great velocities of military pro¬
jectiles, that this parabolic theory, as it is called, is
hardly of any use. A musket ball, discharged with the
ordinary allotment of powder, issues from the piece
with the velocity of 1670 feet per second : this velo¬
city would be acquired by falling from the height of
eight miles. If the piece be elevated to an angle of
450, the parabola should be of such extent that it would
reach 16 miles on the horizontal plain ; whereas it does
not reach above half a mile. Similar deficiencies are
observed in the ranges of cannon shot. < n
We do not propose, therefore, to dwell much on this A. short
theory, and shall only give such a synoptical view of it view of
as shall make our readers understand the more general
circumstances of the theory, and be masters of the lan¬
guage of the art.
Let OB (fig. 3.) be a vertical line. About the Fig. 3
centres A and B, with the distance AB, describe the
semicircles ODB, AHK, and with the axis AB, and
semiaxis GE, equal to AB, describe the semi-ellipse
AEB : with the focus B, vertex A, diameter AB, and
tangent AD, parallel to the horizon, describe the para¬
bola APS.
Let a body be projected from B, in any direction
BC
P R O J E
BC, with the velocity acquired by falling through AB
By what has already been demonstrated, it will describe
a parabola BVPM. Then, 6
1. ADL parallel to the horizon is the directrix of
every parabola which can be described by a body pro¬
jected from B with this velocity. This is evident.
2. The semicircle AHK is the locus of all the* foci
of these parabolas: For the distance BH of a point B
of any parabola from the directrix AD is equal to its
distance BF from the focus F of that parabola j there¬
fore the foci of all the parabolas which pass through
B, and have AD for their directrix, must be in the cir¬
cumference of the circle which has AB for its radius
and B for its centre. ’
3. If the line of direction BC cut the upper semi¬
circle in C, and the vertical line CF be drawn, cutting
the lower semicircle in F, F is the focus of the para-
bola B\PM, described by the body which is projected
in the direction BC, with the velocity acqired by fall
ing through BA: for drawing AC, BF, it is evident
that ACIB is a rhombus, and that the angle ABF is
bisected by BC, and therefore the focus lies in the line
BI ; but it also lies in the circumference AFK and
therefore in F. ’
If C is in the upper quadrant of ODB, F is in the
upper quadrant of AFK 5 and if C be in the lower
quadrant of ODB (as when BC is the line of direction)
then the focus of the corresponding parabola B t; M is
in the lower quadrant of AHK, as at/
4. The ellipsis AEB is the focus of the vertex of
m7DATPa-rakolas’ and t!)e vertex V of any one of them
B VPM is in the intersection of this ellipsis with the
vertical CF: for let this vertical cut the horizontal
lines AD, GE, BN, in 6, A, N. Then it is plain that
Na is half of NO, and aV is half of COj therefore
JMV is half of NC, and V is the vertex of the axis.
If the focus is in the upper or lower quadrant of the
circle AHK, the vertex is in the upper or the lower
quadrant of the ellipse AEG.
5* BFi be drawn through the focus of any one
parabolas, such as BVM, cutting the parabola
7t>g the Parabo,a touches the parabola
APS in P ; for drawing P parallel to AB, cutting
the directrix O * of the parabola APS in x, and the di¬
rectrix AL of the parabola BVM in then PBrzPx •
but BF—BA, —AO, —x2: therefore PJ—PF, and
the point P is in the parabola BVM. Also the tan¬
gents to both parabolas in P coincide, for they bisect
the angle x PB ; therefore the two parabolas having a
common tangent, touching each other in P.
Cor. All the parabolas which can be described by a
body projected from B, with the velocity acquired by
fa Img through AB, will touch the concavity of the pa-
labola APS, and lie wholly within it.
6. P is the most distant point of the line BP which
can be hit by a body projected from B with the veloci¬
ty acquired by falling through AB. For if the direction
is more elevated than BC, the focus of the parabola de¬
scribed by the body will lie between F and A, and the
parabola will touch APS in some point between P and
j and being wholly within the jiarabola APS, it
must cut the line BP in some point within P. The
same thing may be shown when the direction is less ele¬
vated than BC.
7* Ihe parabola APS is the focus of the greatest
C T I L E S.
ranges on any planes BP, BS, &c. and no point
without this parabola can be struck. J °
8. The greatest range on any plane BP is produced
when the line of direction BC bisects the angle OBP
formed by that plane with the vertical: for the para¬
bola described by the body in this case touches APS in
P, and its focus is in the line BP, and therefore the
tangent BC bisects the angle OBP.
Cor. I he greatest range on a horizontal plane is made
with an elevation of 450.
9. A point M in any plane BS, lying between B and
o, may be struck with two directions, BC and B c •
and these directions are equidistant from the direction
t which gives the greatest range on that plane : for
“ abou.t the centre M, with the distance ML from the
directly AL, ,ve describe a circle LF/J it will cut the
circle AHK m two points F and /; which are evident¬
ly the foci of two parabolas BVM, Bi,M, havino the
directrix AL and diameter ABK. The intersection
Of the circle ODB, with the verticals FC,/'c deter¬
mine the directions BC, B c of the tangents. Draw
PAuoel a"d j°in Cc Ff: then OB t
— v CiiSb, and B t is the direction which gives the
greatest range on the plane BS : but because Ff is the
chord of the circles described round the centres B and
M, bf is perpendicular to BM, and C c to A t, and
tlie arches C t, c t are equal; and therefore the angles
t-'.n (, c B t are equal.
Thus we have given a general view of the subject,
which shows the connection and dependence of every
circumstance which can influence the result j for it is evi¬
dent that to every velocity of projection there belongs
a set of parabolas, with their directions and ranges-
and every change of velocity has a line AB correspond!
ing to it, to which all the others are proportional. As
the height necessary for acquiring any velocity increa¬
ses or diminishes in the duplicate proportion of that
velocity, it is evident that all the ranges with given ele¬
vations will vary in the same proportion, a double ve¬
locity giving a quadruple range, a triple velocity giving
a noncuple range, &c. And, on the other hand, when
the ranges are determined beforehand (which is the
usual case), the velocities are in the subduplicate pro¬
portion of the ranges. A quadruple range will require
a double velocity, &c.
397
On the principles now established is founded the or- r. ■ 2 •
dinary theory of gunnery, furnishing rules which are to priacTpafly6
direct the art of throwing shot and shells, so as to hit directs the
the mark with a determined velocity. practical
But we must observe, that this theory is of little ser-8Unner‘
vice for directing us in the practice of cannonading.
Here it is necessary to come as near as we can to the
object aimed at, and the hurry of service allows no time
foi geometrical methods of pointing the piece after each
discharge. The gunner either points the cannon di¬
rectly to the object, when within 200 or 300 yards of
it, in which case he is said to shoot point blank (pointer
au blunc, i. e. at the white mark in the middle of the
gunners target) ; or, if at a greater distance, he esti¬
mates to the best of his judgment the deflection corres¬
ponding to his distance, and points the cannon accord¬
ingly. In this he is aided by the greater thickness at
the breech of a piece of ordnance. Or lastly, when
the intention is not to batter, but to rake along a line
occupied
398
P ft O
occupied by the enemy, the cannon is elevated at a con¬
siderable angle, and the shot discharged with a small
force, so that it drops into the enemy’s post, and bounds
along the line. In all these services the gunner is di¬
rected entirely by trial, and we cannot say that this pa¬
rabolic theory can do him any service. .
The principal use of it is to direct the bombardier in
throwing shells. With these it is proposed o break
down or set fire to buildings, to break through the vault¬
ed roofs of magazines, or to intimidate and kill tioops
by bursting among them. These objects are always un¬
der cover of the enemy’s works, and cannot be touche
by a direct shot. The bombs and carcasses are there¬
fore thrown upwards, so as to get over the defences and
produce their effect. . , .
These shells are of very great weight, frequently ex¬
ceeding 200 lbs. The mortars from which they are
discharged must therefore be very strong, that they may
resist the explosion of gunpowder which is necessary lor
throwing such a mass of matter to a distance •, they are
consequently unwieldy, and it is found most convenient
to make them almost a solid and immoveable lump.
Very little change can be made in their elevation, anc
therefore their ranges are regulated by the velocities
given to the shell. These again are produced by the
quantities of powder in the chargeand experience (con¬
firming the best theoretical notions that we can iorm ot
the subject) has taught us, that the ranges are near y
proportional to the quantities of powder employed, only
not increasing quite so fast. This method is much ea¬
sier than by differences of elevation •, for we can select
the elevation which gives the greatest range on the given
plane, and then we are certain that we are employing
the smallest quantity of powder with which the service
can be performed : and we have another advantage, that
the deviations which unavoidable causes produce in the
real directions of the bomb will then produce the small¬
est possible deviation from the intended range. This is
the case in most mathematical maxima.
In military projectiles the velocity is produced by the
explosion of a quantity of gunpowder j but in our theory
it is conceived as produced by a fall from a certain height,
by the proportions of which we can accurately determine
in practice, its quantity. Thus a velocity of 1600 feet per second
is produced by a fall from the height ot 4000 leet, or
1433 yards.
The height CA (fig. 4.) for producing the velocity
of projection is called, in the language of gunneiy, the
IMPETUS. We shall express it by the symbol h.
The distance AB to which the shell goes on any
plane AB is called the amplitude of the range, r.
JECTILES.
The angle DBA, made by the vertical line and the
plane AB^ may be called the angle of position of that
plane, p.
The angle DAB, made by the axis or direction of
the piece, and the direction of the object, may be called
the angle of elevation of the piece above the plane
AB, e.
The angle ZAD, made by the vertical line, and the
direction of the piece, may be called the zenith dis¬
tance, ss. .
The relations between all the circumstances of velo¬
city, distance, position, elevation, and time, may be in¬
cluded in the following propositions. _ ,
I. Let a shell be projected from A, with the velocity Reiatl
acquired by falling through CA, with the intention ofbetwes
hitting the mark B situated in the given line AB. jhcT':
Make ZAzzqAC, and draw BD perpendicular to the^1Kf*
horizon. Describe on ZA an arch ot a cucle ZDA,
containing an angle equal to DBA, and draw AD to
the intersection of this circle with DB j then will a
body projected from A, in the direction AD, with the
velocity acquired by falling through CA, hit the mark
B.
For, produce CA downwards, and draw Er parallel
to AD, and draw ZD. It is evident from the con¬
struction that AB touches the circle in B, and that the
angles ADZ, DBA, are equal, as also the angles A ZD,
DAB ; therefore the triangles ZAD, ADB are simi¬
lar.
Therefore BD : DA—DA : AZ,
And DA*=BD x AZ j
Therefore BF,=:A1 X AZ,=rAF X 4AC.
24
The mov¬
ing force
in theory
different
from that
Fig. 4.
Therefore a parabola, of which AF is a diameter, and
AZ its parameter, will pass through B, and this para¬
bola will be the path of the shell projected as already
mentioned.
Remark. When BD cuts this circle, it cuts it in two
points D, d; and there are two directions which wifi
solve the problem. If B,D/ only touches the circle in
D', there is but one direction, and AB' is the greatest
possible range with this velocity. If the vertical line
through B does not meet the circle, the problem is im¬
possible, the velocity being too small. M hen B'D'
touches the circle, the two directions AD' and A <f
coalesce into one direction, producing the greatest range,
and bisecting the angle ZAB ; and the other two di¬
rections AD, A d, producing the same range AB, are
equidistant from AD', agreeably to the general propo¬
sition.
It is evident that AZ : AD~S,ADZ : S,AZD,—S,DBA : S,DAB,— S,/?
And AD : DB=S,DBA : S,DAB,=
And DB : ABrrS,DAB : S,ADB,= S,e
Therefore AZ : ABrrS*,^ X X S, 2> ,* ,/i . S, e X *
Or 4/* : r=S\p : S, e X S, K, and 4 A X S, e X S> *=r X SV
S,6'
S,e
S,2)
Hence we obtain the relations wanted.
m, 7 r X S*,/> 4/z X X
Thus A = -5 4—, and r=   --
zlS.e X S.25
rXSV,
And S, z— r7X,V~ > an(l e
4/; X S,e’ * ’ 4^ X
The only other circumstance in which we are interest¬
ed is the time of the flight. A knowledge of this isToc '•
necessary for the bombardier, that he may cut the flises^
of his shells to such lengths as that they may burst at
very instant of their hitting the mark.
Now AB : DB-Sin, ADB : Sin, DAB, =S, z :
S, e, and DB=^^. But the time of the flight is
’ ’ b, Z
’ the
^ ti<
1
PROJECTILES.
the same with the time of falling through DB, and 16
feet : DB=i" : t"\ Hence and we have
i6S,«
the following easy rule.
From the sum of the logarithms of the range, and of
the sine of elevation, subtract the sum of the logarithms
of 16, and of the sine of the zenith distance, half the
remainder is the logarithm of the time in seconds.
This becomes still easier in practice ; for the mortar
should be so elevated that the range is a maximum : in
which case ABrrDB, and then half the difference of
the logarithms of AB and of 16 is the logarithm of the
time in seconds.
’ll theory Such are the deductions from the general propositions
cj uinery which constitute the ordinary theory of gunnery. It
"'"1 remains to compare them with experiment.
In such experiments as can be performed with great
accuracy in a chamber, the coincidence is as great as
can be wished. A jet of water, or mercury, gives us
tlie finest example, because we have the whole parabola
exhibited to us in the simultaneous places of the suc¬
ceeding particles. ^ et even in these experiments a de¬
viation can be observed. When the jet is made on a
horizontal plane, and the curve carefully traced on Si
perpendicular plane held close by it, it is found that the
distance between the highest point of the curve and the
mark is less than the distance between it and the spout,
and that the descending branch of the curve is more
perpendicular than the ascending branch. And this
difference is more remarkable as the jet is made with
greater velocity, and reaches to a greater distance. This
is evidently produced by the resistance of the air, which
diminishes the velocity, without affecting the gravity of
the projectile. It is still more sensible in the motion of
bombs. These can be traced through the air by the
light of their fuzes j and we see that their highest point
is always much nearer to the mark than to the mortar •
on a horizontal plane.
The greatest horizontal range on this plane should
be when the elevation is 450. It is always found to be
much lower.
1 he ranges on this plane should be as the sines of
twice the elevation.
A ball discharged at the elev. 190.5' ranged 448 yards
at 9.45 330
It should have ranged by theory 241
. The range at an elevation of 430 should be twice the
impetus. Mr Robins found that a musket-ball, dischar¬
ged with the usual allotment of powder, had the velo¬
city of 1700 feet in a second. This requires a fall of
45Ij6 feet, and the range should be 90312, or ijf
miles; whereas it does not much exceed half a mile. A
24 pound ball discharged with 16 pounds of powder
should range about 16 miles ; whereas it is generally
short of 3 miles.
Such facts show incontrovertibly how deficient the
parabolic theory is, and how unfit for directing the prac-
deiic 7 ark^er,sk A very simple consideration is
t' iftli ^ efficient for rendering this obvious to the most unin-
‘L strutted. T he resistance of the air to a very light body
may greatly exceed its weight. Any one will feel this
m trying to move a fan very rapidly through the air ;
therefore this resistance would occasion a greater devia¬
tion from uniform motion than gravity would in that
0(^- Its path, therefore, through the air may differ
this
IT
she
™ he
more from a parabola than the parabola itself deviates
from the straight line.
It is for such cogent reasons that we presume to say,
that the voluminous treatises which have been published
on this subject are nothing but ingenious amusements
for young mathematicians. Few persons who have been
much engaged in the study of mechanical philosophy
have missed this opportunity in the beginning of their
studies. I he subject is easy. Some property of the
pai abola occurs, by which they can give a neat and
systematic solution of all the questions; and at this time
of study it seems a considerable essay of skill. They are
tempted to write a book on the subject; and it finds
readers among other young mechanicians, and employs
all the mathematical knowledge that most of the young
gentlemen of the military profession are possessed of.
But these performances deserve little attention from the
practical artillerist. All that seems possible to do for
his education is, to multiply judicious experiments on
real pieces of ordnance, with the charges that are used
in actual service, and to furnish him with tables calcu¬
lated from such experiments.
. These observations will serve to justify us for having
given so concise an account of this doctrine of the pa¬
rabolic flight of bodies. ^
But it is the business of a philosopher to inquire intocau^ of
the causes of such a prodigious deviation from a well-this defici-
lounded theory, and having discovered them, to ascer-ettcy"
tain precisely the deviations they occasion. Thus we
shall obtain another theory, either in the form of the
parabolic theory corrected, or as a subjuct of indepen¬
dent discussion. This we shall now attempt.
I he motion of projectiles is performed in the atmo- Effect of
sphere, fhe air is displaced, or put in motion. What-^he atino.
ever motion it requires must be taken from the bullet.SP1“:K'’
The motion communicated to the air must be in the pro-
, portion of the quantity of air put in motion, and of the
velocity communicated to it. If, therefore, the displaced
air be always similarly displaced, whatever be the velo¬
city of the bullet, the motion communicated to it, and
lost by the bullet, must be proportional to the square of
the velocity of the bullet and to the density of the air
jointly. Therefore the diminution of its motion must be
greater when the motion itself is greater, and in the
very great velocity of shot and shells it must be prodi-
digious. It appears from Mr Robins’s experiments that
a globe of 44 inches in diameter, moving with the velo¬
city of 25 feet in a second, sustained a resistance of 315
grains, nearly ^ of an ounce. Suppose this ball to move
800 feet in a second, that is 32 times faster, its resist¬
ance would be 32x32 times | of an ounce, or 768
ounces 01-48 pounds. This is four times the weight of
a ball of cast iron of this diameter; and if the initial
velocity had been 1600 feet per second, the resistance
would be at least 16 times the weight of the balk It is
indeed much greater than this.
This resistance, operating constantly and uniformly oompai^d
on the ball, must take away four times as much from ^*
its velocity as its gravity would do in the same time.°f ssav^r’
We know that in one second gravity would reduce the
velocity 800 to 768 if the ball were projected straight
upwards. This resistance of the air would therefore re¬
duce it in one second to 672, if it operated uniformly;
but as the velocity diminishes continually by the resist¬
ance, and the resistance diminishes along with the velo¬
city,
399
4oo P R O J E C
city, the real diminution will be somewhat less than 128
feet. We shall, however, see afterwards that in one
second its velocity -will be reduced fram 8o<3 to 6 7.
From this simple instance, we see that the resistance ot
the air must occasion great deviation from parabolic mo-
and consi- In order to judge accurately of its effect, we must
dered as a cong^er it as a retarding force, in the same way as we
retarding consl(ler „rjivity. The weight W of a body is the ag-
f°rCe' Predate of the action of the force of gravity g on each
particle of the body. Suppose the number of equa par-
ticks, or the quantity of matter, of a body to be M,
then W is equivalent to g M. In like manner, the re¬
sistance R, which we observe in any experiment, is the
aggregate of the action of a retarding force ly on each
particle, and is equivalent to R'M : and as g is equal to
—- so 11/ is equal to -rr. We shall keep this distinc-
]VI’ ivi
tion in view, by adding the differential mark' to the
letter R or r, which expresses the aggregate resistance.
The resist- If we, in this manner, consider resistance as a retard-
ance of the ing force, we can compare it with any other such force
air not uni- w means of the retardation which it produces in similar
form- circumstances. We would compare it with gravity by
comparing the diminution of velocity which its uniform
action produces in a given time with the diminution
produced in the same time by gravity. But we have
no opportunity of doing this directly, for when the re¬
sistance of the air diminishes the velocity of a body, it
diminishes it gradually, which occasions a gradual dimi¬
nution of its own intensity. This is not the case with
gravity, which has the same action on a body in motion
or at rest. We cannot, therefore, observe the uniform
action of the air’s resistance as a retarding force. We
must fall on some other way of making the comparison.
We can state them both as dead pressures. A ball may
be fitted to the rod of a spring stillyard, and exposed to
impulse of the wind. This will compress the stillyard
to the mark 3, for instance. Perhaps the weight ol the
ball will compress it to the mark 6. We know that
half this weight would compress it to 3. We account
this equal to the pressure of the air, because they ba¬
lance the same elasticity of the spring. And in this way
we can estimate the resistance by weights, whose pres¬
sures are equal to its pressure, and we can thus compare
it with other resistances, weights, or any other pressures.
In fact, we are measuring them all by the elasticity of
the spring. This elasticity in its different positions is
supposed°to have the proportions of the weights which
keep it in these positions. Thus we reason from the na¬
ture of gravity, no longer considered as a dead pressuie,
but as a retarding force ; and we apply our conclusions
to resistances which exhibit the same pressures, but
which we cannot make to act uniformly. This sense of
the words must be carefully remembered whenever we
speak of resistances in pounds and ounces.
Gravity The most ‘lire01 aml convenient way of stating the
and resist- comparison between the resistance of the air and the
Ance com- accelerating force of gravity, is to take a case in which
pared whenwe know tiiat tiiey arg equal. Since the resistance is
tIlcy,are here assumed as proportional to the square of Uie velo-
C<1Ua ’ city, it is evident that the velocity may be so increased
that the resistance shall equal or exceed the weight of
the body. If a body be already moving downw’ards with
this velocity, it cannot accelerate 5 because the accele¬
rating force of gravity is balanced by an equal retarding
. 4
TILES.
force of resistance. It follows from this remark, that
this velocity is the greatest that a body can acquire by
the force of gravity only. Nay, we shall afterwards see
that it never can completely attain it $ because as it ap¬
proaches to this velocity, the remaining accelerating
force decreases faster than the velocity increases. It
may therefore be called the limiting or terminal velo¬
city by gravity.
Let a be the height through which a heavy body
must fall, in vacuo, to acquire its terminal velocity in
air. If projected directly upwards with this velocity,
it will rise again to this height, and the height is half
the space which it would describe uniformly, with this
velocity, in the time of its ascent. Therefore the re¬
sistance to this velocity being equal to the weight of
the body, it would extinguish this velocity, by its uni-
form action, in the same time, and after the same dis¬
tance, that gravity would.
Now let g be the velocity which gravity generates
or extinguishes during an unit of time, and let u be
the terminal velocity of any particular body. The tbeo-
rems for perpendicular ascents give us u ancl a
being both numbers representing units of space j there¬
fore, in the present case, we have r'——' I'or the whole
resistance r, or r'M, is supposed equal to the weight, or
to g M; and therefore r' is equal ta g, 2 az=
—. There is a consideration which ought to have place
g.
here. A body descends in air, not by the whole of its
weight, but by the excess of its weight above that of
the air which it displaces. It descends by its specific
gravity only as a stone does in water. Suppose a bo¬
dy 32 times heavier than air, it will be buoyed up by
a force equal to — of its weight j and instead of ac-
32
quiring the velocity of 32 feet in a second, it will only
acquire a velocity of 31, even though it sustained no
resistance from the inertia of the air. Let p be the
weight of the body and tt that of an equal bulk of air:
the accelerative force of relative gravity on each particle
will be 1—~ i an(l relative accelerating force
P
might be distinguished by another symbol y. But in
all cases in which we have any interest, and particulai-
ly in military projectiles, — is so small a quantity that
it would be pedantic affectation to attend to it. It is
much more than compensated when we make g—^2
feet instead of 32,V which it should be.
Let e be the time of this ascent in opposition to gra¬
vity. The same theorems give us 2 a; and since
the resistance competent to this terminal velocity is
equal to gravity, e will also be the time in which it
would be extinguished by the uniform action of the re¬
sistance j for which reason we may call it the extinguish¬
ing time for this velocity. Let R and E mark the re¬
sistance and extinguishing time for the same body mov¬
ing with the velocity 1.
Since the resistances are as the squares of the veloci¬
ties, and the resistance to the volcity u is —, R will
’ 20
be
be =r
2a
PROJECTILES.
Moreover, the times in which the same ve-
40 t
locity will be extinguished by different forces, acting
uniformly, are inversely as the forces, and gravity would
1
extinguish the velocity I in tile time-I — rin these mea ' u“ tlle Sl?1,llar clrcumstances fur any other magnitude;
t..n tnese mea- and, to avoid unnecessary complications, we shall always
v I 2a   _ suunose the bodies tn be anbe^o • i.-'
by the same number. It is a number of units, of time,
or of length. ’
Having ascertained these leading circumstances forThc com-
an unit of velocity, weight, and bulk, we proceed to de-parison
duce the similar circumstances for any other magnitude - mad?
anrl- to nvmrl   i* * • 1 „ , ? ncrai.
^ '  —we bnaii always
sures) to ± “ Therefore we have the following LTrld felly.t0 ^ SphereS’ diferi"8 111 di“-
First, then, let the velocity be increased in the ratio
or i to v.
2a
proportion L (=E) : anJ 2a
equal to E, the time in which the velocity i will be ex¬
tinguished by the uniform action of the resistance com¬
petent to this velocity.
The velocity i would in this case be extinguished af¬
ter a motion uniformly retarded, in which the space de¬
scribed is one-half of what would be uniformly describ¬
ed during the same time with the constant velocity i.
Therefore the space thus described by a motion which
begins with the velocity r, and is uniformly retarded
by the resistance competent to this velocity, is equal to
die height through which this body must fall in vacuo
in order to acquire its terminal velocity in air.
All these circumstances may be conceived in a man¬
ner which, to some readers, will be more familiar and
palpable. The terminal velocity is that where the re¬
sistance ot the air balances and is equal to the weight
of the body. The resistance of the ak to any particular ''1UU ^ * 10 meretore the retarding power of
body is as the square of the velocity 5 therefore let R be the resistance changes in the proportion of 1 to When
the whole resistance to the body moving with the velo- , . d
citv I. and r the reslsfanr*. iia .v,^:— j.i._ ^ 1 the diameter %vas I, the resistance to a velocity 1 was
The resistance will now be ~ — r
2a’
The extinguishing time will be — — c — — and
v v ’
ev—2a ; so that the rule is general, that the space
along which any velocity will be extinguished by the
uniform action of the corresponding resistance, is equal
to the height necessary for communicating the terminal
velocity to that body by gravity. For e> v is twice the
space through which the body moves while the velocity
v is extinguished by tbe uniform resistance.
In the 2d place, let the diameter increase in tbe pro¬
portion of 1 to d. Tbe aggregate of the resistance
changes in the proportion of tbe surface similarly resist¬
ed, that is, in tbe proportion of 1 to d\ But the quan¬
tity ot matter, or number of particles among which this
resistance is to be distributed, changes in the propor¬
tion of i to c/3. Therefore the retarding power of
.  ^ njwiug wixij ujc veio-
city I, and v the resistance to its motion with the termi¬
nal velocity a; we must have rnrHxa’, and this must
be =W the weight. Therefore, to obtain the terminal
velocity, divide the weight by the resistance to the ve¬
locity 1, and the quotient is the square of the terminal
W
velocity, or =ra2: And this is a very expeditious me¬
thod of determining it, if R be previously known.
Then the common theorems give a, the full necessary
for producing this velocity in vacuo zz—. and the time
2g
The time in which this
1
It must now be —.
2a 2ad
diminished resistance will extinguish the velocity 1
must increase in the proportion of the diminution of
force, and must now be E d, or 2 a d, and the space
uniformly described during this time with the initial ve¬
locity 1 must he 2a d; and this must still be twice tbe
height necessary for communicating the terminal veloci¬
ty w to this body. We must still have g— - ^ ; and
2 a d*
nf ifo foilj , therefore w* = 2gad, and tc— ^/2 2: ad— 2 V a^Hi
of tbe tall _ —e, and ea—2c, =r the space uniformly t?.,*   /~T— rpi f ^ * V v •
, < ^ But a—2g a. Iberefore the terminal velocity to
described with the velocity a during the time of the fall, for this body is rra'^/d; and the height necessary for
or its equal, the time of the extinction by the uniform communicating it is a d. Therefore the terminal velo-
action ot the resistance r ; and, since r extinguishes it in city varies in the subduplicate ratio of the diameter of
the time e, R, which is a* times smaller, will extinguish the ball, and the fall necessary for producingit varies in
it in the time aV, and R will extinguish the velocity 1, the simple ratio of the diameter. The extinguishing-
which is a times less than a, in the time u e, that is, in E d b
the time 2a; and the body, moving uniformly during
tie time 2a, ~E, with the velocity i, will describe
the space 2a,- and, it the body begin to move with the
velocity i, and be uniformly opposed by the resistance
R, it will be brought to rest when it has described the
snnpA n • on si •  • _ i j i • . i
time lor the velocity v must now be
If, in the 3d place, the density of the ball be increased
in the proportion of 1 to m, the number of particles
among which the resistance is to be distributed is in¬
creased in the same proportion, and therefore the retard-
lllCT fnrpp m flip 1C Aniiollv ,wl   1
snacfl • nnrl il • , creasetlinUiesanieProP01't1on,andthereforetheretard-
velocitv’T will I" ,wCh t1he.reSl1Sta.nCe the forc« ofthe resistance is equally diminished; and if
action 1? ha\ vel°city by its uniform the density of the air is increased in the proportion of 1
f’.n .etlua 0. *ie ^ight through which that body to n, tbe retarding force of the resistance increases in the
same proportion : hence we easily deduce these general
action, is equal to the height through which that body
must fall m vacuo in order to acquire its terminal velo-
city in air. And thus every thing is regulated by the
time E in which the velocity 1 is extinguished by the
umtoi-m action of the corresponding resistance, or by 2a,
w ich isthe space uniformly described during this time,
wit the velocity I. And E and 2 a must be expressed
Vol. XVII. Part II. f
expressions.
The terminal velocity — a d™—~ tj^g a d™
n n
The producing fall in vacuo -=zad
n
3 E
The
402
P R 0 J E C
The retarding power of resistance to any velocity =
2 a d ™'
Y.dm
36
Units ne-
ceisary by
which tha
quantities
may be
measured-
37
Sir Isaac
Newton’s
endeavours
in this way
The extinguishing time for any velocity
And thus we see that the duel circumstances ate ie
gulated by the terminal velocity, or are conveniently
1C To render1 the deductions from these premises perspi¬
cuous, and for communicating distinct notions or ideas
it will be proper to assume some convenient units, y
which all these quantities may be measured j and as
this subject is chiefly interesting in the case of nnlitaiy
projectiles, we shall adapt our units to this purpose.
Therefore, let a second he the unit ol time, a loot the
unit of space and velocity, an inch the unit of diameter
of a ball or shell, and a pound avoirdupois the unit ot
pressure, whether of weight or of resistance j therefore g
is 32 feet. , , ,
The great difficulty is to procure an absolute measure
of r, or «, or o; any one of these will determine the
^SiTlsaac Newton has attempted to determine r by
theory, and employs a great part of the second book of
the Principia in demonstrating, that the resistance to a
sphere moving with any velocity, is to the force which
would generate or destroy its whole motion m the time
that it would uniformly move over T of its diameter
with this velocity, as the density of the air is to the den¬
sity of the sphere. This is equivalent to demonstrating
that the resistance of the air to a sphere moving through
it with any velocity, is equal to half the weight of a co¬
lumn of air having a great circle of the sphere for its
base, and for its altitude the height from which a body
must fall in vacuo to acquire tins velocity. 1 his appears
from Newton’s demonstration •, for, let the speci.ic gia-
vity of the air be to that of the ball as I to then,
because the times in which the same velocity will he ex-
tinguished by the uniform action of diflerent forces are
inversely as the forces, the resistance to this velocity
would extinguish it in the time of describing T m d, d
being the diameter of the ball. Now t is to m as the
weight of the displaced air to the weight or the ball, or
as | of the diameter of the ball to the length of a co¬
lumn of air of equal weight. Call this length a; n is
therefore equal to \ m d. Suppose the bail, to fall
from the height a in the time £, and acquire the velo¬
city u. If it moved uniformly with this velocity during
this time, it would describe a space = 20, or 4 ^
Now its weight would extinguish this velocity, or de¬
stroy this motion, io the same time, that is, in the time
of describing 4 m d; hut the resistance of the air would
do this in the time of describing 4 m d; that is, in twice
the time. The resistance therefore is equal to half the
. weight of the ball, or to half the weight of the column
of air whose height is the height producing the velocity.
But the resistances to different velocities are as the
squares of the velocities, and therefore, as their produ¬
cing heights j and, in general, the resistance of the air
to a sphere moving with any velocity, is equal to the
half weight of a column of air of equal section, and
whose altitude is the height producing the velocity.
The result of this investigation has been acquiesced iu by
all Sir Isaac Newton’s commentators. Many faults
TILES.
have indeed been found with his reasoning, and even ,8
with his principles j and it must be acknowledged that His mult
although this investigation is by far the most ingenious
of any’in the Principia, and sets his acuteness and ad-^J™
dress in the most conspicuous light, his reasoning is liable 0U8>
to serious objections, which his most ingenious commen¬
tators have not completely removed. However, th«
conclusion has been acquiesced m, us we have alieady
stated, but as if derived from other principles, or by
more logical reasoning. We cannot, however, say that
the reasonings or assumptions of these mathematicians
are much better than Newton’s: and we must add, that
all the causes of deviation from the duplicate ratio of the
velocities, and the causes of increased resistance, which
the latter authors have valued themselves for discovering
and introducing into their investigations, were pointed
out by Sir Isaac Newton, but purposely omitted by him,
in order to facilitate the discussionfn re difficillima. (See
Schd. prop. 37. book ii.). .. f '
It is known that the weight of a cubic toot ot water
is 62^ pounds, and that the medium density of the air
is *1. of water ; therefore, let a be the height produ¬
cing the velocity (in feet), and d the diameter of the
ball (in inches), and *• the periphery of a circle whose
diameter is 1 j the resistance of the air will be =g^
9T I a 11
V-X X. — Xd
X4 144 2
ad'
- pounds, very nearly, rr
v
—a
49284x64 3i54i7
4928-2-
pounds
We may take an example. A hall of cast iron weigh¬
ing 12 pounds, is 44" inches in diameter. Suppose this
ball to move at the rate of 25x0" f£et *n a second (the
reason of this choice will appear afterwards). The
height which will produce this velocity in a falling body
is 94 feet. The area of its great circle is 0.11044 feet,
or ro'SoVe 0He foot* Suppose water to be 840 times
heavier than air, the weight of the air incumbent on
this great circle, and 9^ feet high, is 0.081151 pounds :
half of this is 0.0405755 or t4‘§4’5‘'!4o'» or neai‘ly yr
a pound. This should be the resistance of the air to
this motion of the ball. ... 39
In all matters of physical discussion, it is prudent tojjccessii
confront every theoretical conclusion with experiment, of expo
This is particularly necessary in the present instance, be-Be¬
cause the theory on which this proposition is founded is
extremely uncertain. Newton speaks of it with the
most cautious diffidence, and secures the justness of the
conclusions by the conditions which he assumes in his
investigation. He describes with the greatest precision
the state of the fluid in which the body must move, so
as that the demonstrations may be strict, and leaves it to
others to pronounce, whether this is the real constitu¬
tion of our atmosphere. It must be granted that it is
not; and that many other suppositions have been intro¬
duced by his commentators and followers, in order to
suit his investigation (tor we must assert that little 01^
nothing has been added to it) to the circumstances of
the case. ■
Newton himself, therefore, attempted to compare fosNewto8
propositions with experiment. Some were made hy^u
dropping halls from the dome oi St 1 aul s cathedral;
and all these showed as great a coincidence with bis
theory as they did with each other: but the irregulari-
J 1 ties
P R O J E
tie? were too great to allow him to say with precision
what was the resistance. It appeared to follow the pro¬
portion of the squares of the velocities with suflicient ex¬
actness j and though he could not say that the resistance
was equal to the weight of the column of air having the
height necessary fer communicating the velocity, kwas
always equal to a determinate part of it; and might be
stated —n a, n being a number to be fixed by nume¬
rous experiments.
One great source of uncertainty in his experiments
seems to have escaped his observation : the air in that
dome is almost always in a state of motion. In the sum¬
mer season there is a very sensible current of air down¬
wards, and frequently in winter it is upwards : and this
current bears a very great proportion to the velocity of
the descents. Sir Isaac takes no notice of this.
He made another set of experiments with pendulums ;
and has pointed out some very curious and unexpected
circumstances of their motions in a resisting medium.
There is hardly any part of his noble work in which his
address, his patience, and his astonishing penetration,
appear in greater lustre. It requires the utmost intense¬
ness of thought to follow him in these disquisitions ; and
we cannot enter on the subject at present; some notice
will be taken of these experiments in the article Resist¬
ance, of fluids. Their results were much more uni¬
form, and confirmed his general theory ; and as we
have said above, it has been acquiesced in by the first
41 mathematicians of Europe.
atility of But the deductions from this theory were so inconsist-
pracdce,ent W‘t‘1 ^ 0j)ferve<^ motions of military projectiles,
when the velocities are prodigious, that no application
could be made which could be of any service for deter-
42 mining the path and motion of cannon shot and bombs ;
eat- and although Mr John Bernoulli gave, in 1718, a most
t°f elegant determination of the trajectory and motion of a
[ themati- Projected in a fluid which resists in the duplicate
I ns, &c. ratio of the velocities (a problem which even Newton
did not attempt), it has remained a dead letter. Mi-
Benjamin Robins, equally eminent for physical science
and mathematical genius, was the first who suspected
the true cause of the imperfection of the usually received
theories; and in 1737 he published a small tract, in
which he showed clearly, that even the Newtonian theo¬
ry of resistance must cause a cannon ball, discharged
with a full allotment of powder, to deviate farther from
the parabola, in which it would move in vacuo, than
the parabola deviates from astraight line. But he farther
asserted, on the authority of good reasoning, that in such
great velocities the resistance must be much greater than
this theory assigns; because, besides the resistance arising
from the inertia of the air which is put in motion by the
ball, there must be a resistance arising from a condensa¬
tion of the air on the anterior surface of the ball, and a
rarefaction behind it: and there must be a third resist¬
ance, arising from the statical pressure of the air on its
anterior part, when the motion is so swift that there is a
vacuum behind. Even these causesof disagreement with
the theory had been foreseen and mentioned by Newton
(see tbe Scholium to prop. 37. hook ii. Pi'incip.') ; but
the subject seems to have been little attended to. The
eminent mathematicians had few opportunities of making
experiments ; and the professional men, who were in the
service of princes, and had their countenance and aid in
C T I L E S. 40^
this matter, were generally too deficient in mathemati¬
cal knowledge to make a proper use of their opportuni¬
ties. The numerous and splendid volumes which these
gentlemen have been enabled to publish by the patro¬
nage of sovereigns are little more than prolix extensions
of the same theory of Galileo. Some of them, how¬
ever, such as St Remy, Antonini, and Le Blond, have
given most valuable collections of experiments, ready
for the use of the profound mathematician.
^ I wo or three years alter this first publication, MrObserva-
Itobins hit upon that ingenious method of measuring t>®ns of Mr
the great velocities of military projectiles, which has Robil?s 0,1
handed down his name to posterity with great honour. t
And having ascertained these velocities, lie discovered ance?^ "
the prodigious resistance of the air, by observing the
diminution of velocity which it occasioned. This made
him anxious to examine what was the real resistance to
any velocity whatever, in order to ascertain what was
the law of its variation ; and he was equally fortunate
in this attempt. His method of measuring the resist¬
ance has been fully described in the article Gunnery
N° 9, &c.
It appears (Robins’s Math. WorJcs, vol. i. page 203.)
that a sphere of 4I-inches in diameter, moving at the
rate of 257- feet in a second, sustained a resistance of
0-°49I4 pounds, or °f a pound. This is a
greater resistance than that of the Newtonian theory,
which gave in the proportion of 1000 to
1211, or very nearly in the proportion of five to six in
small numbers. And we may adopt as a rule in all mo¬
derate velocities, that the resistance to a sphere is equal
to tVo °f the weight of a column of air having the
great circle of the sphere for its base, and for its" alti¬
tude the height through which a heavy body must fall
in vacuo to acquire the velocity of projection.
This experiment is peculiarly valuable, because the
ball is precisely the size of a 12 pound shot of cast iron ;
and its accuracy may be depended on. There is hut
one source of error. The whirling motion must have
occasioned some whirl in the air, which would continue
till the ball again passed through the same point of its
revolution. The resistance observed is therefore pro¬
bably somewhat less than the true resistance to the velo¬
city of 25^- feet, because it was exerted in a relative ve¬
locity which was less than this, and is, in fact, the re¬
sistance competent to this relative and smaller velocity. 44
—Accordingly, Mr Smeaton, a most sagacious natu-and of MV
ralist, places great confidence in the observations of a^ou^e
Mr Rouse of Leicestershire, who measured the resistance
by the effect of the wind on a plane properly exposed
to it. He does not tell us in what way the velocity of
the wind was ascertained ; but our deference for his
great penetration and experience disposes us to believe 44
that this point was well determined. The resistance oh-They differ
served by Mr Rouse exceeds that resulting from Mr^^y*n
Robins’s experiments nearly in the proportion of 7 to Jo* ciusi0ngn'
Chevalier de Borda made experiments similar to those
of Mr Robins, and his results exceed those of Ro¬
bins in the proportion of 5 to 6. These differences
are so considerable, that we are at a loss what measure
to abide by. It is much to be regretted, that in a sub¬
ject so interesting both to the philosopher and tbe
man of the world, experiments have not been multipli¬
ed. Nothing would tend so much to perfect the science
3 E 2 of
404
P R 0 J E
of cunnery; and indeed till this be done, all the labours
of mathematicians are of no avail. Their investigations
must remain an unintelligible cipher, ti t ns ey
supplied. It is to be hoped that Dr1C.h^lesT?H".tt°,“
of Woolwich, who has so ably extended Mr Robins s
Examination of the Initial Velocities of Mihtary Pio-
iectiles, will be encouraged to proceed to this part ot
this subject. We should wish to see, m the hrst place,
a numerous set of experiments for ascertaining the re¬
sistances in moderate velocities j and, in order to ayoi
all error from the resistance and inertia of the machine,
which is necessarily blended with the resistance ot the
ball, in Mr Robins’s form of the experiment, and is se¬
parated with great uncertainty and risk of error, we
would recommend a form of experiment somewhat dit-
ferent.
Let the axis and arm which carries the ball be con-
46 ^ vu.  —
*f“greeted with wheelwork, by which it can be i" ">°-
ment re. tion, and gradually accelerated. Let the ball be ao
commend- connected with a bent spring, that this shall gradually
ed* compress it as the resistance increases, and leave a mark
of the degree of compression ; and let all this part ot the
apparatus be screened from the air except the ball, ihe
velocity will be determined precisely by the revolutions
of the arm, and the resistance by the compression ot the
spring. The best method would be to let this part ot
the apparatus be made to slide along the revolving arm,
so that the ball can be made to describe larger and lar¬
ger circles. An intelligent mechanician will easily con¬
trive an apparatus of this kind, held at any distance
from the axis by a cord, which passes over a pulley in
the axis itself, and is then brought along a perforation
in the axis, and comes out at its extremity, where it is
fitted with a swivel, to prevent it from snapping by be-
in twisted. Now let the machine be put in motion.
The centrifugal force of the ball and apparatus will
cause it to fly out as far as it is allowed by the chord*,
and if the whole is put in motion by connecting it with
some mill, the velocity may be most accurately ascer¬
tained. It may also be fitted with a bell and hammer
like Gravesande’s machine for measuring centrifugal
forces. Now by gradually veering off more cord, the
distance from the centre, and consequently the velocity
and resistance increase, till the hammer is disengaged
and strikes the bell.
Another great advantage of this form of the experi¬
ment is, that the resistance to very great velocities may
be thus examined, which was impossible in Mr Robins’s
way. This is the great desideratum, that we may leaxn
in what proportion of the velocities the resistances in¬
crease. . .
In the same manner, an apparatus, consisting ot Ur
Lynd’s Anemometer, described in the article Pneuma¬
tics, N° 311, &c. might be whirled round with pro¬
digious rapidity, and the fluid on it might be made
clammy, winch would leave a mark at its greatest ele¬
vation, and thus discover the resistance of the air to ra¬
pid motions.
Nay, we are of opinion that the resistance to very
rapid motions may be measured directly in the conduit
pipe of some of the great cylinder bellows employed in
blast furnaces : the velocity of the air in this pipe is
ascertained by the capacity of the cylinder and the
strokes of tbe’piston. We think it our duty to point out,
2
C T I L E S.
to such as have the opportunitiesof trying them, methods
which promise accurate results for ascertaining this most
desirable point.
We are the more puzzled what measure to abide by, Tbe ^
because Mr Robins himself, in his practical proposi-0f Robin £
tions, does not make use of the result of his own expe-oxpeii-
riments, but takes a much lower measure. We must™, a,
content ourselves, however, with this experimental mea-^^^
sure, because it is as yet the only one of which any ac-pe^ 0,
count can be given, or well-founded opinion iormed.
Therefore, in order to apply our formulae, we must Applied d
reduce this experiment, which was made on a ball of the font #
4-^ inches diameter, moving with the velocity of 253- *•
feet per second, to what would be the resistance to a
ball of one inch, having the velocity 1 foot. This will
evidently give us R= beinS diminished in
4,5aX25-2
the duplicate ratio of the diameter and velocity. This
3.81973
gives us R=o,00000381973 pounds, or ^
of
1000000
a pound. The logarithm is 4.58204. The resistance
here determined is the same whatever substance the ball
be of*, but the retardation occasioned by it will depend
on the proportion of the resistance to the vis insita of
the. ball *, that is, to its quantity of motion. _ This in
similar velocities and diameters is as the density of the
ball. The balls used in military service are of cast iron
or of lead, whose specific gravities are 7,207 and 11,37
nearly, water being I. There is considerable variety
in cast iron, and this density is about the medium.
These data will give us
W, or weight of a ball 1 inch in
For Iron.
diameter
Log. of W
E"
Log. of E
«, or terminal velocity
Log. u - ~
a, or producing height
lbs. 0.13648
9-l3509
1116".6
3.04790
189.03
2.27653
558.3
For Lead
0.21533
9-33310
i76iw.6
3'2459I
237-43
2-31553
880.8
These numbers are of frequent use in all questions on
this subject.
Mr Robins gives an expeditious rule for readily find¬
ing a, which he calls F (see the article Gunnery), by
which it is made 900 feet for a cast iron ball of an inch
diameter. But no theory of resistance which he pro¬
fesses to use will make this height necessary for produ¬
cing the terminal velocity. His F therefore is an em¬
pirical quantity, analogous indeed to the producing
height, but accommodated to his theory of the trajec¬
tory of cannon-shot, which he promised to publish, but
did not live to execute. We need not be very anxious
about this j for all our quantities change in the same
proportion with R, and need only a correction by a
multiplier or divisor, when R shall be accurately esta¬
blished.
We may illustrate the use of these formula? by an ex¬
ample or two. . -,7
1. Then, to find the resistance to a 24 pound ball Ex-amp
moving with the velocity of 1670 feet in a second, of dew *
which is nearly the velocity communicated by idlbs.
of powder. The diameter is 5,603 inches.
Log.
405
Log. R
Log. d1
Log. 1670*
projectile
s.
+4.58204
+1.49674
+6.44548
Log. 334.4 lbs.—r - . 2.52426
But it is found, by unequivocal experiments on tbe
retardation of such a motion, that it is 504 lbs. This
is owing to the causes often mentioned, the additional
resistance to great velocities, arising from the condensa¬
tion of the air, and from its pressure into the vacuum
left by the ball.
2. Required the terminal velocity of this ball P
Log. R
Log. d*
+4.58204
+ 1.49674
5°
6.07878=a
1.38021=6
5-30I43
2.65071
Log. resist, to veloc. 1 - _
Log. W. - - .
Diff. of a and 6, =log.
Log. 447.4
As the terminal velocity u, and its producing height
enter into all computations of military projectiles
-- have inserted the following Table for the usual sizes
sTewton of canno+slK,t, computed both by the Newtonian theo-
RobiHs.1? of resistance, and by the resistances observed in Ro¬
bin’s experiments.
* jle of
t ninal
’ jcity
1 arding
i sTewion
a,
we
M 111
• ■—  »    ouujtui, gives a
much smaller measure of resistance, and consequently a
J’wl greater terminal velocity: but his theory is a
mistake from beo-innincr to eml Mo
Newton.
bj
1
2
3
4
6
9
12
18
24
32
Term Vel.
289.9
324-9
348.2
365-3
39°.8
418.1
438.6
469.3
492.4
512.6
540-5
2626.4
3298-5
3788.2
4I7°-3
4472.7
54^3-5
6010.6
6883.3
75/6.3
8024.8
9129.9
Robins.
Term. Vel.
263.4
295.2
316.4
331-9
355-i
379-9
398.5
426.5
447-4
465.8
49r-5
2168.6
2723-5
3127.9
3442.6
394°-7
4511-2
4962.9
5683.5
62^5.7
6780.4
7538.3
Diam.
Inch.
I.94
2-45
2.80
3.08
3- 52
4.04.
4- 45
5- 09
5.61
6.21
6- 75
bled to compare the results with many experiments, and
the agreement is very flattering. But we shall soon see
that little dependence can be had on such comparisons.
VVe notice these things here, because Mr Muller being-
head of the artillery school in Britain, his publications
have become a sort of text-books. We are miserably
deficient in works on this subject, and must have re-
course to the foreign writers.
We now proceed to consider these motions through The mo-
icn "bole course 5 and we shall first consider them ast,ons con-
anected by the resistance only 5 then we shall considersidered
the perpendicular ascents and descents of heavy bodies \hr-"ghI ,
through the air; and, lastly, their motion in a cnrrili-^r«
neal trajectory, when projected obliquely. This must
be done by the help of the abstruser parts of fluxionary
mathematics. To make it more conspicuous, we shalf
by way of introduction, consider the simply resisted rec¬
tilineal motions geometrically, in the manner of Sir
Isaac Newton. As we advance, we shall quit this track,
and prosecute it algebraically, having by this time ac-
quired distinct ideas of the algebraic quantities. ^
e must keep in mind the fundamental theorems of Preliminary
varied motions. observa-
1. The momentary variation of the velocity is pro-tioIis‘
poitional to the force and the moment of time jointly,
and may therefore be represented by z±:v—f ’t, where v
is the momentary increment or decrement of’the velo-
Clty *4/+6 accelerating or retarding force, and t the
moment or increment of the time t.
2. The momentary variation of the square of the ve¬
locity is as the force, and as the increment or decrement
of the space jointly 5 and may be represented byrtz;^
=:/s. The first proposition is familiarly known. The
second is the 39th of Newton’s Principia B I It is 54
demonstrated i„ the article Optics, and is the most ex-tTons
tensively useful proposition in mechanics. fected bv
These things being premised, let the straight lineresIstailefe
^ ffisr. c') renresent. thp initi'al \t i 1 . only.
Mr Muller, in his writings on this subject, gives a
.— ......... . uu(. 1U3 uieury is a
mistake from beginning to end (See his Supplement to
his Treatise of Artillery, art. 150, &c.). In art. 148. he
assumes an algebraic expression for a principle of mecha¬
nical argument 5 and from its consequence draws erro¬
neous conclusions. He makes the resistance of a cylin¬
der one third less than Newton it; and his rea¬
son is false. Newton’s measure is demonstrated by his
commentators Le Seur and Jaquier to be even a little
too small, upon his own principles, (Not. 277. Prop. 36.
B. II.). Mr Muller then, without any seeming reason,
introduces a new principle, which he makes the chief
support of his theory, in opposition to the theories of
other mathematicians. The principle is false, and even
absurd, as we shall have occasion to show by and by.
In consequence, however, of this principle, he is ena-
(fig' 5) represent the initial velocity V,”and Jet -
CO, perpendicular to AC, be the time in which this Fig' 5
velocity would be extinguished by the uniform action
of the resistance. Draw through tbe point A an equi¬
lateral hyperbola AeB, having OF, OCD for its as-
symptotes ; then let the time of the resisted motion be
represented by tbe line CB, C being the first instant of
the motion. If there be drawn perpendicular ordinates
HRj &c- to the hyperbola, they will be pro¬
portional to the velocities of the body at the instants
*>+ D, &c. and the hyperbolic areas AC* e> ACg-f
ACDB, &c. will be proportional to the spaces describ¬
ed during the times C *, C g, CB, &c.
For, suppose the time divided into an indefinite num¬
ber of small and equal moments, C c, D d, &c. draw
the ordinates ac, b d, and tbe perpendiculars bp, a ec.
Then, by tbe nature of the hyperbola, AC : ac—O c :
OC ; and AC—a c : ac=0 c—OC : OC, that is, A a
: a c=C c : OC, and A « : C c~a c : OC = AC • a c :
AC-OC ; in like manner, B/3 : D </=BD-6D : ED-
OD. Now F> c/=C c, because the moments of time
were taken equal, and the rectangles AC-CO, BD-HO
are equal, by the nature of the hyperbola; therefore
A a . B p— AC ' a c \ BO ' b d \ but as the points c, d
continually approach, and ultimately coincide with C,
D, the ultimate ratio of AC • a c to B.D 'b d\s that 0/
AB* to BD2; therefore the momentary decrements of
AC ,
406
P B O
AC and BB are as AC* and BD*. Now, because the
resistance is measured by the momentary diminution ot
velocity, these diminutions are as the squares oj the ve¬
locities 5 therefore the ordinates of the hyperbola and
the velocities diminish by the same law ”, and the initial
velocity was represented by AC : therefore the veloci¬
ties at all the other instants *,£, D, are properly repre¬
sented by the corresponding ordinates. Hence,
1. Since the abscissae of the hyperbola are as the
times, and the ordinates are as the velocities, the areas
■will be as the spaces described, and AC x e is to gj
as the space described in the time C * to the space
described in the time C £ (1st Theorem on varied mo-
t,0T The rectangle ACOF is to the area ACDB as
the space formerly expressed by 2 a, or E to the space
described in the resisting medium during the time CU :
for AC being the velocity V, and OC the extinguishing
time <?, this rectangle is —e V, or E, or 2 «, of our lor-
mer disquisitionsand because all the rectangles, such
as ACOF, BDOG, &c. are equal, this corresponds
with our former observation, that the space uniformly
described with any velocity during the time in which it
would be uniformly extinguished by the corresponding
resistance is a constant quantity, viz. that in which we
always had e v— E, or 2 a.
3. Draw the tangent A * j then, by the hyperbola
C *r=CO: now C * is the time in which the resistance to
the velocity AC would extinguish it j for the tangent
coinciding with the elemental arc A fl of the curve, the
first impulse of the uniform action of the resistance is
the same with the first impulse of its varied action. Ly
this the velocity AC is reduced to a c. If this opera¬
ted uniformly like gravity, the velocities would diminish
uniformly, and the space described would be represent¬
ed by the triangle AC *.
This triangle, therefore, represents the height through
which a heavy body must fall m vacuo, in oidei to ac
quire the terminal velocity.
4. The motion of a body resisted in the duplicate ra¬
tio of the velocity will continue without end, and a
space will be described which is greater than any as¬
signable space, and the velocity will grow less than any
that can be assigned; for the hyperbola approaches
continually to the assymptote, hut never coincides with
j(;# There is no velocity BD so small, but a smaller
ZP will be found beyond it •, and the hyperbolic space
may be continued till it exceeds any surface tnat can be
assigned.
5. The initial velocity AC is to the final velocity
BD as the sum of the extinguishing time and the time
of the retarded motion, is to the extinguishing time
alone: for AC: BD=OD (or OC+CD) : OC 5 or
V : vrze :
6. The extinguishing time is to the time of the re¬
tarded motion as the final velocity is to the velocity
lost during the retarded motion: lor the rectangles
AFOC, BDOG are equal-, and therefore AVGF and
BVCD are equal, and YC:VA=VG:YBj there-
„ V—v , v
ioxet~e , andcmf
j E C t 1 L E s.
then DO : CO=:w : ff,
DC=
m—n
CO,
t—e
and DC : CO=r?«—n : 7?, and
Therefore any velo-
m—n
v ' Y —u.
Any velocity is reduced in the proportion of m
. For, let AC : BD=m : n ;
to n in the time e
n n
city is reduced to one half in the time in which the ini¬
tial resistance would have extinguished it by its uniform
action. _ , Si
Thus may the chief circumstances of this motion beAn°the
determined by means ot the hyperbola, the ordinates
and abscissae exhibiting the relations ot the times andj^^'
velocities, and the areas exhibiting the relations ot both motion
to the spaces described. But we may render the con¬
ception of these circumstances infinitely more easy and
simple, by expressing them all by lines, instead of this
combination of lines and surfaces. We shall accom¬
plish this purpose by constructing another curve LKP,
having the line iML^, parallel to OD, for its abscissa,
and of such a nature, that if the ordinates to the hyper¬
bola AC, e fg, BD, &c. be produced till they cut
this curve in E, />, w, E-, &c. and the abscissa in xj, s,
h, &c. the ordinates t p, h, n, 5 K, &c. may be pro¬
portional to the hyperbolic areas e A C x, f A C g,
^ A <? K. Let us examine what kind of curve this will
be.
Make OC : O *=0* : Og-; then (Hamilton’s Cb-
nics, IV. 14. Cor.), the areas ACxe, exgf are. equal :
therefore drawing s, perpendicular to OM, we
shall have (by the assumed nature ot the curve Jj p K),
Ma—sG and if the abscissa OD be divided into any
number of small parts in geometrical progression (rec¬
koning the commencement of them all from O), the
axis V i of this curve will be divided by its ordinates
into the same number of equal parts ; and this curve
will have its ordinates LM, p $,nt, &c. in geometri¬
cal progression, and its abscissae in arithmetical progres-
fii°n-
Also, let KN, MV touch the curve in K and L, and
let OC be supposed to be to O c, as OD to O c/, and
therefore C c to D as OC to OD j and let these lines
C c, D 0? be indefinitely small 5 then (by the nature of
the curve) L 0 is equal to K r : lor the areas a AC c,
BD (/ are in this case equal. Also A: 0 is to & r, as LM
to KI, because c C : cl DrrCQ : DO :
Therefore IN : IIv=:7‘ K : r A:
IK : MLrrr k : ol
ML : MV=o / : 0 L
aud IN : MN=r K : 0 L
That is, the subtangent IN, or MV, is of the same mag¬
nitude, or is a constant quantity in every part of the
curve.
Lastly, the subtangent IN, corresponding to the
point K of the curve, is to the ordinate K ? as the
rectangle BDOG or ACOF to the parabolic area
BDCA.
For let fg h n be an ordinate very near to BD ? iv;
and let hn cut the curve in n, and the ordinate Ivl u>
q j then we have
K<y: : IN, or
T) g : q «z=DO : IN;
but BD : ACrrCO : DO j
therefore B D . Dg': AC . q n—( O ; IN.
Therefore the sum of all the rectangles BD . Dg is tf>
the sum of all the rectangles AC , q ft, as CO to IN *>
bu*
PROJECTILES!.
but the sum of the rectangles BD . is the space
S5 ,
l whole
n ced to
a aple
a; meti-
ci ompu-
U. a.
ACDB ; and, because AC is given, the sum of the rect¬
angles AC . q n is the rectangle of AC and the sum of
all the lines qn •, that is, the rectangle of AC and KL :
therefore the space ACDB : AC . RL=CO : IN and
ACDB x IN=AC . CO . RL ; and therefore IN • RL
-AC . CO : ACDB.
Hence it follows thatQL expresses the areaBVA, and
in general, that the part of the line parallel to OM,
which lies between the tangent KN and the curve L/oIv"
expresses the corresponding area of the hyperbola which
lies without the rectangle BDOG.
And now, by the help of this curve, we have an easy
way of convincing and computing the motion of n body
through the air. For the subtangent of our curve now
represents twice the height through which the ball must
fall in vacuo, in order to acquire the terminal velocity j
and therefore serves for a scale on which to measure all
the other representatives of the motion.
But it remains to make another observation on the
curve L p K, which will save us all the trouble of
graphical operations, and reduce the whole to a very
simple arithmetical computation. It is of such a na¬
ture, that when MI is considered as the abscissa, and is
divided into a number of equal parts, and ordinates are
drawn from the points of division, the ordinates are a
series of lines in geometrical progression, or are conti¬
nual proportionals. Whatever is the ratio between the
first and second ordinate, there is the same between the
second and third, between the third and fourth, and so
on; therefore the number of parts into which the ab¬
scissa is divided is the number of these equal ratios
which is contained in the ratio of the first ordinate to
the last : For this reason, this curve has got the name
ot the logistic or logarithmic curve; and it is of immense
use in the modern mathematics, giving us the solution
of many problems in the most simple and expeditious
manner, on which the genius of the ancient mathema¬
ticians had been exercised in vain. Few of our readers
are ignorant, that the numbers called logarithms.ave of
equal utility in arithmetical operations, enablino- us
not only to solve common arithmetical problems with
astonishing dispatch, but also to solve others which are
quite inaccessible in any other way. Logarithms are no¬
thing more than the numerical measures of the abscissa
of this curve, corresponding to ordinates, which are
measured on the same or any other scale by the natural
numbers ; that is, if ML ^ be divided into equal parts,
and from the points of division lines be drawn parallel to
MI, cutting the curve L K, and from the points of
intersection ordinates be drawn to MI, these will divide
Ml into portions, which are in the same proportion to
the ordinates that the logarithms bear to their natural
numbers.
In constructing this curve we were limited to ho par¬
ticular length of the line LR, which represented the
8pace ACDB ; and all that we had to take care of was,
that when OC, O*, O g were taken in geometrical pro¬
gression, M s, M t should be in arithmetical progression.
Ihe abscissae having ordinates equal lops, n t, &c. might
have been twice as long, as is shown in the dotted curve
which is drawn through L. All the lines which serve to
hieasure the hyperbolic spaces would then have been
oubled. But N1 would also have been doubled, and
our proportions would have still held good ; because this
subtangent is the scale of measurement of our figure as
L or 2 a is the scale of measurement for the motions’
bince then we have tables of logarithms calculated
for every number, we may make use of them instead
ot this geometrical figure, which still requires consi¬
derable trouble to suit it?to every case. There are two
sets ot logarithmic tables in common use. One is call¬
ed a. table of hyperbolic or natural logarithms. It is
suited to such a curve as is drawn in the figure, where
the subtangent is equal to that ordinate r t, which cor¬
responds to the side 3- O of the square w 0 a O inserted be¬
tween the hyperbola and its assymptotes. This square
is the unit ot surface, by which the hyperbolic areas
are expressed ; its side is the unit of length, by which
thejines belonging to the hyperbola are expressed ; r «
is_i, or the unit of numbers to which the logarithms
are suited, and then IN is also 1. Now the square
being unity, the area BACD will he some number ;
being also unity, OD is some number : Call it .r.
I hen, by the nature of the hyperbola, OB : O 55- ==
7T 0 : DB
1 — 1
-, so that DB is —,
X X
That is, x
Now calling Dr/*, the area BD d by which is the
fluxion (ultimately) of the hyperbolic area, is —. Now
in the curve Jj p K, MI has the same ratio to NI that
BACD has to 0aO7t: Therefore, if there be a scale of
which NI is the unit, the number on this scale cor¬
responding to MI lias the same ratio to 1 which the
number measuring BACD has to 1 ; and I /, which
corresponds to BD d b, is the fluxion (ultimately) of
MI : Therefore, if MI be called the logarithm of .r,
x .
- is properly represented by the fluxion of MI. In
short the line MI is divided precisely as the line of
numbers on a Gunter’s scale, which is therefore a
line of logarithms ; and the numbers called logarithms
are just the lengths ot the different parts of this line
measured on a scale of equal parts. Therefore, when
we meet with such an expression as — viz. the fluxion
iC
of a quantity divided by the quantity itself, we consider
it as the fluxion of the logarithm of that quantity, be¬
cause it is really so when the quantity is a number ; and
it is therefore strictly true that the fluent of — is the hy-
x J
perholic logarithm of x.
Certain reasons of convenience have given rise to ano¬
ther set of logarithms ; these are suited to a logistic
curve whose subtangent is only tVoV/o of the ordinate
t v, which is equal to the side of the hyperbolic square,
and which is assumed for the unit of number. We shall
suit our applications of the preceding investigation to
both these, and shall first use the common logarithms
whose subtangent is 0,43429.
The whole subject will be best illustrated by takingIllustn
an example of the different questions which maybe pro- by exa
posed.
u%
Recollect that the rectangle ACOF is —2 a, or —, or
S
L*
407
40 8
PROJECTILES.
E, for a ball of cast-iron one inch diameter, and it it
u'd
has the diameter d, it is , or 2 « d, or E d.
I. It may be required to determine what will be the
space described in a given time £ by a ball setting on
with a given velocity V, and what will be its velocity v
at the end of that time. T1,, ,, .
Here we have NI : Ml^ACOF : BDCA J now
NI is the subtangent of the logistic curve j MI is he
difference between the logarithms of OD and OL , that
thp difference betweeen the logarithms ot e+t and c.
. u a ,
ACOF is 2 ad, or —, or E a.
g
Therefore by common logarithms 0,43429
e-^—log. ez=2ad : S, = space described,
or 0,43429 : log. = 2a diS,
log.
and S. =r
2a d
X log.
6 4* ^
e
0,43429
by hyperbolic logarithms S—iad X l°g
Let the ball be a 12 pounder, and the velocity
be 1600 feet, and the time 20 seconds. We must brst
. 2ad
find e, which is
spaces, showing the motion during each successive se¬
cond ; the fourth column is the velocity at the end of
the time t; and the last column is the differences of ve¬
locity, showing its diminution in each successive second.
We see that at the distance of 1000 yards the velocity
is reduced to one half, and at the distance of less than
a mile it is reduced to one-third.
II. It may be required to determine the distance at
which the initial velocity V is reduced to any other
quantity v. This question is solved in the very same
manner, by substituting the logarithms of V and v for
those of e-\-t and e; for AC : BDrzOD : OC, and
AC , OD . V
therefore log. ^zrlog.^r, or log. —_ log. ^ •
Thus it is required to determine the distance in which
the velocity 1780 of a 24 pound ball (which is the me¬
dium velocity of such a ball discharged with 16 pounds
of powder) will be reduced to 1500.
Here d is 5.68, and therefore the loga¬
rithm of 2c(/is - - +3*7^7r
J^og. 0.07433, of which the log. is 4-8.87116
Log. 0.43429
—9.63778
Therefore, log. 2 o
log. d (4,5)
log. V. (1600)
4-3.03236
4-0.65321
—3‘204i5
Log. of 3",035=5 -
And <?4-£ is 23"03, of which the log. is
from which take the log. of e
0.48145
1.36229
0.48145
Log. 1047.3 feet, or 349 yards . 3.02009
This reduction will be produced in about -J of a se¬
cond.
III. Another question may be to determine the time
which a ball, beginning to move with a certain veloci¬
ty, employs in passing over a given space, and the dimi¬
nution of velocity which it sustains from the resistance
of the air.
We may proceed thus :
d : 8=0,43429 : log. —, =f. Then to log.
2a
remains the log. of
e+t
0.88084 a(j^ an(j we obtain log. and e-\-t; from
This must he considered as a common number by
. . 2ad
which we are to multiply
c.43429
' Therefore add the logarithms oilad
1 eJrt
-log. ——
log. 0.43429
+ 3-68557
4- 9.94490
— 9.63778
which if we take e we have t. Then to find v, say
e^t : e = V ; t>. . S*.
We shall conclude these examples by applying this Applica
last rule to Mr Robins’s experiment on a musket bullet
of 4 of an inch in diameter-, which had its velocity re-^ Ro(
‘ Log. S. 9833 feet - < ■
For the final velocity,
< OD : OC=AC : BD, or e+t : <?=V i
23",03 : 3",o3=i6oo : 21 o£, =v.
The ball has therefore gone 3278 yards, and its ve¬
locity is reduced from 1600 to 21O.
It may be agreeable to the reader to see the gradual
progress of the ball during some seconds of its motion.
V.
duced from 1670 to 1425 by passing through 100 feetSeefio
of air. This we do in order to discover the resistance lim'tti
 which it sustained, and compare it with the resistance to bW*.
90260 a velocity of 1 foot per second. 1
We must first ascertain the first term of our analogy.
The ball was of lead, and therefore 2a must be multi¬
plied by d and by m, which expresses the ratio of the
density of lead to that of cast iron, d is 0.75, and m is
11^=: 1.577.
7.21
Therefore
3*03236
T. S. Diff.
Diff.
log. 2 a
d 0.87 co6
0.19782
m
3'
4"
5"
6"
i383
2456
3336
4080
4725
5294
1073
880
744
645
569
1203
964
804
690
604
537
397
239
160
and 20^=1274.2
Log. 2adm 3.10524
”4
86
Now 1274.2 : 100=0.43429 : o.o34o8=log
e+t
67
e= ^^^=0.763, and its logarithm =9.88252,
The first column is the time of the motion, the second
is the space described, the third is the differences of the
which, adeled to 0.03408, gives 9.91660, which is the
log. of e-M, =0.825, from which take e, and there
6 1 remains
Rec
62
projectiles.
of a second, for the time
remains o'/.o62, or —
1000
of passage. Now, to find the remaining velocity, say
409
825 : .763 = 1670 : 1544, =v.
But in Mr Robins’s experiment the remaining velo¬
city was only 1425, the hall having lost 245 j whereas
by this computation it should have lost only 126. It
appears, therefore, that the resistance is double of what
it would have been if the resistance increased in the
duplicate proportion of the velocity. Mr Robins says
it is nearly triple, But he sujiposes the resistance to
slow motions much smaller than his own experiment so
often mentioned, fully warrants.
The time <?, in which the resistance of the air would
extinguish the velocity is Gravity, or the
weight of the bullet, would have done it in or C2'1 •
32 d 1
therefore the resistance is -i|_ times, or nearly 68 times
its weight, by this theory, or 5.97 pounds. If we cal¬
culate from Mr Robins’s experiment, we must say log.
—- : 0.43429=100 : e V, which will be 630.23, and
630.23
—0,,-3774> antl
52
gives 138 for the
1670 ' r' 0.3774
proportion of the resistance to the weight, and makes
the resistance 12.07 pounds, fully double of the other.
It is to be observed that with this velocity, which
greatly exceeds that with which the air can rush into
a void, there must be a statical pressure of the atmo¬
sphere equal to 6^ pounds. This will make up the dif¬
ference, and allows us to conclude that the resistance
arising solely from the motion communicated to the air
follows very nearly the duplicate proportion of the ve¬
locity.
.Tlie next experiment, with a velocity of 1690 feet,
gives a resistance equal to 157 times the weight of the
bullet, and this bears a much greater proportion to the
former than I69o* does to 1670*, which shows, that
although these experiments clearly demonstrate a pro¬
digious augmentation of resistance, yet they are by no
means susceptible of the precision which is necessary
tor discovering the law of this augmentation, or for a
good foundation of practical rules 3 and it is still great¬
ly to be wished that a more accurate mode of investi¬
gation could be discovered.
. Thus we have explained, in great detail, the princi¬
ples and the process of calculation for the simple case of
tiie motion of projectiles through the air. The learn¬
ed reader will think that we have been unreasonably
prolix, and that the whole might have been comprised
m less room by taking the algebraic method. We ac¬
knowledge that it might have been done even in a few
lines. But we have observed, and our observation has
been confirmed by persons well versed in such subjects,
^ cases where the fluxionary process introduces
the fluxion of a logarithm, there is a great want of di¬
stinct ideas to accompany the hand and eye. The so-
ntion comes out by a sort ol magic or legerdemain, we
cannot tell either or why. We therefore thought
1 onr duty to furnish the reader with distinct conceptions
ot the things and quantities treated of. For this reason,
a er jWmg, in Sir Isaac Newton’s manner, how the
spaces described in the retarded motion of a projectile
VOL. XVII. Part II. f
followed the proportion of the hyperbolic areas we
shewed the nature of another curve, where lines could
nath°of?|W nCh m tlle very same manner as the
path of the projectile increases j so that a point describ¬
ing the abscissa MI of this curve moves precisely as
ie projectile does. Then, discovering that this line is
the same with the line of logarithms on a Gunter’s
scale, we shewed how the logarithm of a number really
represents the path or space described by the projectile.
Having thus, we hope, enabled the reader to con-
ceive distinctly the quantities employed, we shall leave
geometrical method, and prosecute the rest of the
subject in a more compendious manner.
culareaare\in thj TXt plaCe’ t0 consitler fl’e perpendi-Ofthepcr-
cular ascents and descents of heavy projectiles, where Pedicular
tlie resistance of the air is combined with the action 0f fscents ot‘
gravity: and we shall begin with the descents heavypro-
Let a, as before, be the terminal velocity, and g the* '
w;th ThatUlgiP°-Ver °f Plvity : When the body moves
w the velocity u, the resistance is equal to g; and
in every other velocity v, we must have : v* — •
g V9 o’
—T, =r, for the resistance to that velocity. In the
descent the body js urged by gravity g, and opposed
by the resistance^!; therefore the remaining acce¬
lerating force, which we shall call /, is g —
g u*—g v> gru*—v*\
’0r-H—>=/
g v
or
u*
Now the fundamental theorem for varied motions is
fs—a v, and s~ r: U- v
J g
j r—, and s rr
*—-7T
g + C* N°w the fluent of —^— '{
.*   —v* „
= —hyperb. log. ofy'aW. For the fluxion of
-» and this divided by the
sTu'—
■V* is
y/ u*—1
quantity Vu>—v\ of which it is the fluxion, gives
precisely — , which is therefore the fluxion of
Its hyperbolic logarithm. Therefore S- u v
    g ^
Where L means the hyperbolic lo¬
garithm of the quantity annexed to it, and A may be
used to express its common logarithm. (See article
Fluxions).
Hie constant quantity C for completing the fluent
is determined from this consideration, that the space
described is 0, when the velocity is 0: therefore C 
— XL vV= 0, and C = —XL , and the
* &   ~
complete fluent S = x ^ ^ — v%t
g
u* ^ f ux
=—x L V-1—— =
- O' 'If* 7 7*
X A
g . ' f~v' ‘ 0’43429<§' , u-~v
or (putting M for 0.43429, the modulus or subtangent
of the common logistic curve) =~r-—x
3 F ^
u*~v*
This
4io
, and
P r 0 J E C
This equation establishes the relation between the
space fallen through, and the veloc.ty acqmred_by the
. £■ S T / U% -
fall. We obtain by it r-_.lW u%—y* ’
S_T or, which is still more conveni-
ux if—v*’
M x 2^ s _ JU?_— that is. eaual to
ent for us,  ^ u'—v" ’ 4
the logarithm of a certain number: therefore having
found the natural number corresponding to the fractio
consider it as a logarithm, and take out the
number corresponding to it: call this n. Then, since
n is equal to
we have nu'—nv1 — «*,
and nv*—v?—nv', or n v' — u' X n — v, and v
if X”—1
To expedite all the computations on this subject, it
will be convenient to have multipliers ready computed
for M X 2£, and its half, .
viz. 27,794, whose log. is - -
and 13,897 " " " r,•’
But v may be found much more expeditiously by
observing that J is lhe seca''t of an arc''
0f a circle whose radius is «, and whose sine is v, or
whose radius is unity and sine = ^: therefore, consi¬
dering the above fraction as a logarithmic secant, look
for it in the tables, and then take the sine ol the arc ot
which this is the secant, and multiply it by u; the pro¬
duct is the velocity required. .
We shall take an example of a ball whose terminal
velocity is 6894 feet, and ascertain its velocity after a
fall of 1848 feet. Here,
7/2=47C200 and its log.
u =689}
£ =32 - - -
S =1848
Then log. 27,794 ' - -
log. S
log. if -
= 5.67688
2.83844
3.26670
+ 1-44396
-j- 5.26670
— 5.67688
Log. of 0,10809 = log. n
9-°3378
XjOg. ui U, luuwy  .Wg. ~ V_
0,10809 is the logarithm of 1,2826— ft, and n 1
0,2826, and ——  = 323>6% := rl, an^ v
323>6-
In like manner, 0,054045 (which is half of 0,10809)
will be found to be the logarithmic secant of 28 , whose
sine 0,46947 multiplied by 689^ gives 324 for the ve¬
locity.
The process of this solution suggests a very perspicu¬
ous manner of conceiving the law of descent j and it
may be thus expressed :
M is to the logarithm of the secant of an arch whose
sine is—, and radius 1, as 2a is to the height through
u
which the body must fall in order to acquire the velo¬
city v. Thus, to take the same example.
tiles.
1. Let the height h be sought which will produce the
velocity 323,62 the terminal velocity of the ball being
u* . 323,62
689,44. Here 2 a, or y is 14850, antl 689,34“"
o 46947, which is the sine of 28°. The logarithmic
secant of this arch is 0,05407. Now M or 0,43429 :
0,05407=14850: 1848, thelielShtwante“' , , ,
2. Required the velocity acquired by the body by
falling 1848 feet. Say 14850 : 1848 = 0,43429 :
o o C407. Look for this number among the logarith¬
mic secants. It will be found at 28°, of which the lo¬
garithmic sine is - - ■ ^'q^q 1
Add to this the log. of w - - 2.83844
The sum - - . - . 2:-5xoo5
is the logarithm of 323,62, the veloc.ty required.
We mav observe, from these solutions, that the ac¬
quired velocity continually approaches to, but never
equals, the terminal velocity. For it is always expres¬
sed by the sine of an arch of which the terminal veloci-
tv is the radius. We cannot help taking notice here Errow
of a very strange assertion of Mr Muller late professor^ jt
of mathematics and director of the royal academy at
Woolwich. He maintains, in his 1 realise on Lunnery,
his Treatise of Fluxions, and in many of his numerous
works, that a body cannot possibly move through the
air with a greater velocity than this-, and he makes this
a fundamental principle, on which he establishes a theo¬
ry of motion in a resisting medium, which he asserts
with great confidence to be the only just theory; say¬
ing, that all the investigations ot Bernoulli, Euler, Ro¬
bins, Simpson, and others, are erroneous. ^ e use this
strong expression, because, in his criticisms on the works
of those celebrated mathematicians, be lays aside good
manners, and taxes them not only with ignorance, bu
with dishonesty -, saying, for instance, that it required
no small dexterity in Robins to confirm by his experi¬
ments a theory founded on false principles 3 a«d jhat
Thomas Simpson, in attempting to conceal his obliga¬
tions to him for some valuable propositions, by chan¬
ging their form, had ignorantly fal en into gross errors.
^ Nothing can be more palpably absurd than this asse -
tion of Mr Muller. A blown bladder will have but a
small terminal velocity *, and when ^ing with tW
velocity, or one very near it, there can be no doubt that
it will be made to move much swifter by a smart stroke.
Well the assertion true, it would be impossible for a
nortion of air to be put into motion through the re >
for to terminal velocity is nothing Yet tins author
makes this assertion a principle of argument, saying,
that it is impossible that a ball can issue from the mouth
of a cannon with a greater velocity than this ; and tta
Robins and others are grossly mistaken, when t y g
them velocities three or four times greater, and resist
ances which are 10 or 20 times greater than is possib ;
mid by thus compensating his small velocities by stilt
II5; resistance's, be confirms his theory by many
periments adduced in support ol the others,
son whatever can be given lor the assertion.
-a r   4- U ^ l- tut h n n r,
the first who observed that
there was a limil to the velocity which gravity “U
communicate to a body ; and this limit was «
his commentators to be a term to which i ' , f *
convenient to refer all its other motions. It there^
6i
] don of
ody pro
ed
became an object of attention j and Mr Muller, through
inadvertency, or want of discernment, has fallen into
this mistake, and with that arrogance and self-conceit
which mark all his writings, has made this mistake a
fundamental principle, because it led him to establish a
novel set of doctrines on this subject. He was fretted
at the superior knowledge and talents of Mr Simpson,
his inferior in the academy, and was guilty of several
mean attempts to hurt his reputation. But they were
unsuccessful.
We might proceed to consider the motion of a body
• projected downwards. While the velocity of projection
is less than the terminal velocity, the motion is deter¬
mined by what we have already said : for we must com¬
pute the height necessary for acquiring this velocity in
the air, and suppose the motion to have begun there.
But if the velocity of projection be greater, this method
fails. We pass it over (though not in the least more
difficult than what has gone before), because it is of
mere curiosity, and never occurs in any interesting case.
We may just observe, that since the motion is swifter
than the terminal velocity, the resistance must be great¬
er than the weight, and the motion will be retarded.
The very same process will give us for the space describ-
V being the velocity of pro-
PKOJECTILES.
If 3
Bkion
bi teen
tliime
ci scent
aupace
<i< ibed,
the present case, becomes
edS=~xIv, ,
g v*—u
jection, greater than u. Now as this space evidently
increases continually (because the body always falls),
but does not become infinite in any finite time, the frac-
tion — — does not become infinite: that is, v3 does
not become equal to u*: Hherefore although the velocity
V is continually diminished, it never becomes so small
as u. 1 herefore « is a limit of diminution as well as of
augmentation.
We must now ascertain the relation between the time
of the descent and the space described, or the velocity
acquired. For this purpose we may use the other fun¬
damental proposition of varied motions f t~v, which, in
p ir—v* •
  /—
tzzvi therefore t —
u% v u uv , u f% uv
(article Fluxions)Therefore
± u fu-^v tt f U -i- V
~XLv '——> —-jrf—X  • This fluent
g u — V u—V
needs no constant quantity to complete it, or rather
C=:o,' for tmust be rro when urro. This will evi¬
dently be the case: for then L J is T */—, —
u—v
L*, =o.
. J U -j- V A L+V .
and LV or ^^ , is always an abstract
number, multiplying this time.
We may illustrate this rule by the same example. In
what time will the body acquire the velocity 323,62?
Here u + v — 1012,96, u—v — 365,72 j ’ therefore
u
22122, an(i ~ (in feet and seconds) is
Now, for greater perspicuity, convert the
41 F
vT-X Aa/—^-sig
signify
But how does this quantity n— ’
J M^* • ' u—v
time ? Observe, that in whatever numbers, or by what¬
ever units of space and time, u and g are expressed,
“ expresses the number of units of time in which the ve¬
locity u is communicated or extinguished by gravity j
/«+ v
V -—=0.
. u lu
'=wr x a v -
+ ^ .
 into a proportion : thus
21",542
equation .
u—v
M i /u-\-v u
^ and we have °»43429 : 0,22122
“ 21 542 • 10",973 the time required.
This is by far the most distinct way of conceiving
the subject 5 and we should always keep in mind that
the numbers or symbols which we call logarithms are
really parts ot the line MI in the figure of the logistic
curve, and that the motion of a point in this line is pre¬
cisely similar to that of the body. The Marquis Po-
leni, in a dissertation published at Padua in 1725, has
with great ingenuity constructed logarithmics suited to
all the cases which can occur. Herman, in his Pharo-
nomia, has borrowed much of Poleni’s methods, but has
obscured them by an affectation of language geometri¬
cally precise, but involving the very obscure notion of
abstract ratios.
It is easy to see that is the cotangent of
the ^ complement of an arch, whose radius is 1, and
whose sine is —: For let IvG (fig. 6.) be “?/, and Fig,
BE—d; then KD=:a-f7;, and DA=r«—v. Join KB
and BA, and draw CG parallel to KB. Now GA is
the tangent of 4 BA, =4 complement of HB. Then,
by similarity of triangles, GA : AC—All— : BK—
V^AD rvODKrzV^z/—v : Vu4-v and (== cotan.
GA v
yBA)— j therefore look for-— among the na-
u—v u 0
• V
tural sines, or for log. - among the logarithmic sines,
and take the logarithmic cotangent of the half comple¬
ment of the corresponding arch. This, considered as a
common number, will be the second term of our pro¬
portion. This is a shorter process than the former.
By reversing this proportion we get the velocity cor¬
responding to a given time.
To compare this descent of 1848 feet in the air Fall of a
with the fall of the body in vacuo during the same *J°dy >u aw
time, say 21",542* :848 : 1926,6, which,3’^
makes a difference of 79 feet. of onet«
• vacuo,
Coi\ 1. The time iu which the body acquires the
velocity u by falling through the air, is to the time of
acquiring the same velocity by falling in vacuo, as u.
L ~ to i> j for it would acquire this velocity in
3 F 2 vacuo
412
projectiles.
vacuo during the time —, and it acquires it in the air in
  &
wT fu+v
the time -L/v  •
g u—v
2. The velocity which the body acquires hy falling
through the air in the time lS to ^ie ve^°‘
city which it would acquire in vacuo during the
same time, as ^ to « L *J v : ■^or t^ie ve^oc^y
a
which it would acquire in vacuo during the time -
Here — will be found the tangent of 30.48!, the lo-
a
garithmic secant of which is 0,06606. Ihis, multi¬
plied by^-, gives 2259 feet for the height. It would
have risen 2640 feet in a void. 66
Suppose this body to lall down again. We can Velocity
compare the velocity of projection with the velocity projectic
with which it again reaches the ground. The ascent compare
ya3 _j_ V2 . with wlii
 —— , which it reach
u . the grou
multiplies the constant factor in the ascent, is equal to
*Ju-\-v
must be a L */ 
u—
Ju-\-v
(because in any time
~ the velocity w is acquired).
Time of In the next place, let a body, whose terminal velo-
the ascent city is a, be projected perpendicularly upwards, with
of a body any velocity V. It is required to determine the height
projected to which it ascends, so as to have any remaining velo-
cularly.1" city alltl the time itS a8Cent \ as alf° tlle
and time in which its whole motion will be extin¬
guished.
c , • c v
We have now ^!  lor the expression ot J;
u*
for both gravity and resistance act now in the same di¬
rection, and retard the motion of the ascending body:
• • • a* vv
therefore ——^ and s——g X >
and ,=-^x/-^+C, =-!xW“'+'-'‘+
g if+v* g
C (see art. Fluxions). This must be =0 at the be¬
ginning of the motion, that is, when ■wzzV, that is
—— X Lv/,7>+V7" +C=o, or C=—X
S i
U r / :
and the complete fluent will be — X IJV a* + ‘l; —
  g  
  /a2 + V2 a* /a2 + V*
V^O-yXW M^X^V a2_j_^a-
Let h be the greatest height to which the body will
rise. Then s z= h
/a2 4-^ * /“a +
L J — mT X A a/ —
J , the multiplier in the descent. The first is
^ u'—v*' *
the secant of an arch whose tangent is "V7 5 the other is
the secant of an arch whose sine is v. These secants
are equal, or the arches are the same} therefore the ve¬
locity of projection is to the final returning velocity as
the tangent to the sine, or as the radius to the cosine of
the arch. Thus suppose the body projected with the
terminal velocity, or V—a; then V— If ^ =
689, ^=487. .
We must in the last place ascertain the relation ot
the space and the time.
Here ——T—- t=—v, and t= X —j, —
and t
—a r
= -T*f»
a*4-^2
-}- C. Now
when v ■= 0; and = — X
  g
mV  We ha,e
, therefore X =
^ a* + ■y* a2 ? \ u*-\-v*J a2
Therefore let n be the number whose common logarithm
. 2M^r 1 n u a2-J-^ 3 j , a2-[-W
is we shall have n— — and v — 
a1 u*-\-vx n
—a2 } and thus we obtain the relation of r and if, as in
the case of descents : but we obtain it still easier by ob¬
serving that u7, V2 is the secant of an arch whose
radius is a, and whose tangent is V, and that ^s/aa-|-‘a*
is the secant of another arch of the same circle, whose
tangent is v.
Let the same ball be projected upwards with the ve¬
locity 411,05 feet per second. Required the whole
height to which it will rise ?
u*
u u v
~~g X +
fart. Fluxions) / f % is an arch whose tangent
v ^ a2-]-^2
erj # W ^ \
— - and radius 1; therefore —~ Xarc* tan* r
u 7 g u
u
This must be = 0 when <y~V, or C Xarc* tan*
g
—=0, and C=-X arc. tan. —, and the complete flu-
u g g
u t *1) \
ent is fc-X ( arc*tan* arc.tan.-l. The quan-
g \ u a/
tities within the brackets express a portion of tbe arch
of a circle whose radius is unity j and are therefore ab¬
stract numbers, multiplying—, which we have shown to
be the number of units of time in which a heavy body
falls in vacuo from the height a, or in which it acquires
the velocity a.
We learn from this expression of the time, that how-
67
We learn trom tins expression 01 me ume, iu«it uy”'ximec
ever great the velocity of projection, and the height nsc€ni
to which this body will rise, may be, the time of itsmited
ascent is limited. It never can exceed the time of fal¬
ling from tbe height a in vacuo in a greater proportion
than that of a quadrantal arch to the radius, nearly the
proportion of 8 to 5. A 24 pound iron ball cannot
continue rising above 14 seconds, even if the resistance
to quick motions did not increase faster than the square
of the velocity. It probably will attain its greatest
height in less than 12 seconds, let its velocity be ever
so great.
In the preceding example of the whole ascent, v—o,
and
P R O J E
u V
and the time tzz-X arc. tan. —, or -
g u g
Now 30°. 48'=: 1848', and the radius 1
arc. 30°. 48'.
6S
is time
spared
I bodies
jjected
air and
’’atuo.
Net
ity
o!'fJler
- • ■ jg g  contains 3438 j
therefore the arch =o,53?6 J and ~ = 21",54.
Therefore ^=r2i,,,54 X0,5376,= ! 1",58, or nearly n*
seconds. The body would have risen to the same height
in a void in 10^ seconds.
Cor. 1. The time in which a body, projected in the
air with any velocity V, will attain its greatest height,
is to that in which it would attain its greatest height in
vacuo, as the arch whose tangent expresses the velocity
is to the tangent j for the time of the ascent in the air
is - X arch; the time of the ascent in vacuo is Now
& g
V . y
— is = tan. and V=«X tan. and —=~X tan.
£ . .. , . . .S’ .g-
It is evident, by inspecting fig. 6. that the arch AI
is to the tangent AG as the sector ICA to the tri¬
angle GCA; therefore the time of attaining the great¬
est height in the air is to that of attaining the greatest
height in vacuo (the velocities of projection being the
same), as the circular sector to the corresponding tri¬
angle.
If therefore a body be projected upwards with the
terminal velocity, the time of its ascent will be to the
time of acquiring this velocity in vacuo as the area of a
circle to the area of the circumscribed square.
2. The height H to which a body will rise in a void,
is to the height h to which it would rise through the
air when projected with the same velocity V as M-V* to
# a2-j-V*
* X A :— : for the height to which it will rise in
u
V*
vacuo is —, and the height to which it rises in the air is
M
Vi±
V*
therefore H
2g
ux ux A2_lV2
=:V’:—X2W —-J-, =V‘
«2 + V*
a* u' X V*
Mxi-^
=M'V* : a* x a
a*
Therefore if the body be projected with its terminal
velocity, so that \ =w, the height to which it will rise
• •• 30103
m the air is   of the height to which it will rise
43429
ln vacuo, or - in round numbers.
7
We have been thus particular in treating of the per¬
pendicular ascents and descents of heavy bodies through
the air, in order that the reader may conceive distinctly
the quantities which he is thus combining in his alge¬
braic operations, and may see their connection in na¬
ture with each other. We shall also find that, in the
present state of our mathematical knowledge, this simple
state of the case contains almost all that we can deter¬
mine with any confidence. On this account it were to
be wished that the professional gentlemen would make
many experiments on these motions. There is no way
that promises so much for assisting us in forming accu-
C T I L E S.
rate notions of the air’s resistance. Mr Robins’s me¬
thod with the pendulum is impracticable with great
shot 5 and the experiments which have been generally
resorted to for this purpose, viz. the ranges of shot and
shells on a horizontal plane, are so complicated in them¬
selves, that the utmost mathematical skill is necessary
for making any inferences from them j and they are
subject to such irregularities, that they may be brought
to support almost any theory whatever on this subject.
But the perpendicular flights are affected by nothing
but the initial velocity and the resistance of the air 5
and a considerable deviation from their intended direc¬
tion does not cause any sensible error in the conse¬
quences which we may draw from them for our purpose.
But we must now proceed to the general problem, nf ?°
to determine the motion of a body projected in any di-jique pro
recti on, and with any velocity. Our readers will be-jeclion. *
lieve beforehand that this must be a difficult subject,
when they see the simplest cases of rectilineal motion
abundantly abstruse : it is indeed so difficult, that Sir
413
Isaac Newton has not given a solution of it,’ and has™-71
tllOHOrlit Jl !  1 •  1 XillS pro-
thought himself well employed in making several ap-blem noT
proximations, in which the fertility of his genius appears solved by
in great lustre. In the tenth and subsequent proposi- Newton,
tions of the second book of the Principia, he shows what
state of density in the air will comport with the motion
of a body in any curve whatever: and then, by apply¬
ing this discovery to several curves which have some si¬
milarity to the path of a projectile, he finds one which
is not very different from what we may suppose to ob¬
tain in our atmosphere. But even this approximation
was involved in such intricate calculations, that it seem¬
ed impossible to make any use of it. In the second edi¬
tion of the Principia, published in 1713, Newton cor¬
rects some mistakes which he had committed in the first,
and carries his approximations much farther, but still
does not attempt a direct investigation of the path which
a body will describe in our atmosphere. This is some¬
what surprising. In prop. 14. &c. he shows how a
body, actuated by a centripetal force, in a medium of a
density varying according to certain laws, will describe
an eccentric spiral, of which he assigns the properties,
and the law of description. Had he supposed the den¬
sity constant, and the difference between the greatest
and least distances from the centre of centripetal force
exceedingly small in comparison with the distances
themselves, his spiral would have coincided with the
path of a projectile in the air of uniform density, and
the steps of his investigation would have led him imme¬
diately to the complete solution of the problem. For
this is the real state of the case. A heavy body is not
acted on by equal and parallel gravity, but by a gravity
inversely proportional to the square of the distance from
the centre of the earth, and in lines tending to that
centre nearly j and it was with the view of simplifying
the investigation, that mathematicians have adopted the
other hypothesis.
Soon after the publication of this second edition ofDisplL*
the Principia, the dispute about the invention of the among
fluxionary calculus became very violent, and the great British and
promoters of that calculus upon the continent were in forei£a
the habit of proposing difficult problems to exercise the
talents of the mathematician. Challenges of this kind
frequently passed between the British and foreigners.
Hr
4i 4
Dr Kelli of Oxford had keenly espoused the claim of
Sir Isaac Newton to this invention and had engaged 1
a very acrimonious altercation with the ce e ra e
Bernoulli of Basle. Bernoulli had published in the ^
Eruditorum Up sice an investigation of the law o >
by which a body moving in a resisting medium might
describe any proposed curve, reducing the whole to the
simplest geometry. This is perhaps the most elegant
specimen which he has given of his great talents Dr
Keill proposed to him the particular problem of he
trajectory and motion of a body moving through t
Sto-of the most difficult Bernoull, very soon
solved the problem in a way much more genera
had been proposed, viz. without any limitation either
the law of resistance, the law of the centripetal force, or
the law of density, provided only that they ^re^ ^
and capable of being expressed algebraically. Dr Brook
Taylor, the celebrated author of the Method of lucre
melts, solved it at the same time, in the limited form
Tn which it was proposed. Other authors since that
time have given other solutions. But they ar® a11 ^
indeed they must be) the same in substance with B -
noulli’s. Indeed they are all (Bernoulli’s not excepted)
the same with Newton’s first approximations, modified
by the steps introduced into the investigation of the
spiral motions mentioned above-, and we still think it
most strange that Sir Isaac did not perceive that the
‘variation of curvature, which he introduced m that
vestigation, made the whole difference between his ap¬
proximations and the complete solution. This we shafi
Lint out as we go along. And we now proceed to the
Bernoulli’s ^ oblem itself, of which we shall give Bernoulli s solu-
S0lnt,0n- tion, restricted to the case of uniform density and a re¬
sistance proportional to the square of the velocity.
This solution is more simple and perspicuous than any
that has since appeared.
would cause the body to describe uniformly in the time
/with the velocity which it generates in that time.
Let this be resolved into «N,by which it deflects the body
into a curvilineal path, and m n, by which it retards the
ascent and accelerates the descent of the body along the
tangent. The resistance of the air acts solely in retard¬
ing the motion, both in ascending and descending, and
has no deflective tendency. The whole action of gra¬
vity then is to its accelerating or retarding tendency as
/» N to w n, or (by similarity of triangles) as m M to
mo. Or i : y =,§• : a™1 the whoie retar(latIon ln
the ascent will be r+^. The same fluxionary symbol
cy.
will express the retardation during the descent, because
in the descent the ordinates decrease, and y is a nega¬
tive quantity.
The diminution of velocity is — v. This is propor¬
tional to the retarding force and to the time of its action
jointly, and therefore — > ^llt ^ie time
/ is as the space z divided by the velocity v \ therefore
_i=r+Sx2, = -^. and—= -
* v
25
r'% fy—fLJL gy. Because w N is the deflection
Fig. 7*
Problem. To determine the trajectory, and all the
circumstances of the motion of a body projected
through the air from A (fig. 7-).in the direction AB,
and resisted in the duplicate ratio of the velocity.
M l*
by gravity, it is as the force g and the square of the time
/jointly (the momentary action being held as uniform),
We have therefore w N, or — y=g A (Observe that
N is in fact only the half of—y J but g being twice
the fall of a heavy body in a second, we have —y strict-
z* ' - " g
ly equal to g /*). But tz— } therefore — y ,
Let the arch AM be put=«, the time of describing
it t, the’ abscissa AP=.r, the ordinate PM_y. Let
the velocity in the point M=t>, and let MN=*, be
described in the moment *; let r be the resistance of
the air, £ the force of gravity, measured by the ve¬
locity which it will generate in a second ; ami let a be
the height through which a heavy body must fall in va¬
cuo to acquire the velocity which would render the
resistance of the air equal to its gravity : so that we have
r-lL. because, for any velocity u, and producing
2a
and and — v* y = g The fluxion of
—!/
this equation [s—v* y — 2v‘i, v = 2g z but, be¬
cause %-.y = mU:mo, = m^ : mn, = y: z, wehave
z z ~ y y. Therefore 2gy y — 2g zz,z= v y
2vyv, and — 2vvy—vxy — 11 g V ih and
g y. But we have already — v v =■
• v y
v v zz. —4-
2y
U
height h, we have
Let M m touch the curve in M -, draw the ordinate
v N m, and draw M o, N n perpendicular to^ N^ and
Mw. Then we have MN =i, and Mo=a;, also m o
is ultimately =ry and M m is ultimately=MN or as.
74 Lastly, let us suppose x to be a constant quantity, the
Action oi ejernentary ordinates being supposed equidistant.
a^ven The action of gravity during the time / may be
measured by m N, which is half the space which it
3
time.
tJL-g j; therefore , ond £-»»y 4 =
2« # y a y
is 7 or o y = * y» for the fluxionary equation of the
U .. L'j
CUIVf we put this into the form of a proportion,
... . the lei
have a : ’z — y • y- Now this evidently establishes a re-oft|1(J
lation between the length of the curve and its yanation ufVe
of curvature 5 and between the curve itself and ts ev M^^
luta, which are the very circumstances introd^ on cU'vatl
P R O J E C
Newton into his investigation of the spiral motions. And
L. is evidently an equation connected
4^5
the equation
is  y
y
with the logarithmic curve and the logarithmic spiral.
But we must endeavour to reduce it to a lower order of
fluxions, before we can establish a relation between x,
and y.
Let p express the ratio of y to .v, that is, let p be =
t—, or p x—y. It is evident that this expresses the
x
inclination of the tangent at M to the horizon, and that
p is the tangent of this inclination, radius being unity.
Or it may be considered merely as a number, multiply¬
ing x, so as to make it z=.y. We now have y1 — pr #*,
and since iz*— -j- ^*, we have z* = .v2 -j- p1 —
1 +i>* X at*, and %—x ,^/1 -\-p*.
Moreover, because we have supposed the abscissa x
to increase uniformly, and therefore x to be constant,
we have y—a? p, and y=.xp. Now let q express the
ratio of p to a?, that is, make -^-r — q, ov q x zz p.
x
This gives us x q~p, and ** q—x p, —y.
, By these substitutions our former equation a y~% y
changes to a x* q xx x 1 -j- p*| x py or a y — p
s! 1 + P2> and, taking the fluent on both sides, we have
a y—f'p nA +i3* +C, C being the constant quantity
required for completing the fluent according to the li¬
miting conditions of the case. Now x =—, and—
£> q ‘ q
J Tt 1 ai 1 • Therefore a?— z=-J\-
Also, since y—pxy — —, we have 7/—
a pp
Ps/i+p'\+C
Alsoizri \/T+jF\ —- aP '/l+P'\
Pv/i+^l+C
The values of xy yy %f give us
/• .   > —‘y  
”=f-
a p p
PP
^ —— U M ——————— «■ ^
j Pv/i+^l-j-C j'p \/i+p'\+C
1 +PZ\P _.j' P y/i +P%
jfi P 1+Pt\+C J) P J1 ^-P^V
The process therefore of describing the trajectory is, \sty
to find q in terms of p by the area of the curve whose
abscissa is p and the ordinate is i-j-y*.
tiles.
ldy W e get x by the area of another curve whose
abscissa isy, and the ordinate is —.
q
3d, We gety by the area of a third curve whose ab¬
scissa is py and the ordinate is —.
q
T he problem of the trajectory is therefore complete¬
ly solved, because we have determined the ordinate, ab¬
scissa, and arch of the curve for any given position of 76
its tangent. It now only remains to compute the mag-To com-
nitudes of these ordinates and abscissae, or to draw them pute t.he,
by a geometrical construction. Butin this consists theoTth^ordi-
difhculty. Ihe areas of these curves, which express thenateand
lengths of x and y, can neither be computed nor*exhi-al)Scissa-
bited geometrically, by any accurate method yet disco¬
vered, and we must content ourselves with approxima¬
tions. These render the description of the trajectory
exceedingly difficult and tedious, so that little advantage
has as yet been derived from the knowledge we have got
of its properties. It will however greatly assist our con¬
ception of the subject to proceed some length in this
construction y for it must be acknowledged that very
few distinct notions accompany a mere algebraic opera¬
tion, especially if in any degree complicated, which we
confess is the case in the present question.
Let B m NR (fig. 8.) be an equilateral hyperbola, of Plate
which B is the vertex, BA the semitransverse axis, CCCCXLII*
which we shall assume for the unity of length. Let AV fig- 8.
be the semiconjugate axis = BA, = unity, and AS the
assymptote, bisecting the right angle BAY. Let PN,
fi n be two ordinates to the conjugate axis, exceedingly
near to each other. Join BP, AN, and draw B 5, N »
perpendicular to the assymptote, and BC parallel to AP.
It is well known that BP is equal to NP. Therefore
PN* =:BAa -j- AP*. Now since BA—1, if we make
AP—yi of our formulae, PN is ^ i-±p*y and Pyis=
p, and the area BAPNB p V1 -j-y*|: That is to
say, the number^j p +y?* (for it is a number) has
the same proportion to unity of number that the area
BAPNB has to BCVA, the unit of surface. This
area consists of two parts, the triangle APN, and the
hyperbolic sector ABN. APN zr -J- AP X PN, —
\ p x/l +p2, and the hyperbolic sector ABNzrBN y /3,
which is equivalent to the hyperbolic logarithm of the
number represented by A y when A /3 is unity. There¬
fore it is equal to 4 the logarithm of yi -j- ^y/7 -f-p*.
Hence wre see by the bye thaty p 1 y>*—
4P +y>* + £ hyperbolic logarithm ju + 1 + P*-
Now let AMD be another curve, such that its ordi¬
nates V my PD, &c. may be proportional to the areas
AB m V, ABNP and may have the same proportion
to AB, the unity of length, which these areas have to
ABCV, the unity of surface. Then VM : VCzr
V m BA : VCBA, and PD : P ^zzPNBA : VCBA,
&c. These ordinates will now represent^^ p \ -j-p*
with reference to a linear unit, as the areas to the
hyperbola represented it in reference to a superficial
unit.
Again,
416
P B O J E
Again, in every ordinate make PD : P 3—P ^ 1
and thus we obtain a reciprocal to PD, or to
C T I L E S.
will describe similar trajectories if the velocities are in
the subduplicate ratio ol the diameters. Ibis we shall^^75
tne SUDUUpiicaie ui ~ . To deter
find to be of considerable practical importance. But let ^ (]^
i ,  ! 4-1-*/-v in tnp fliflPr- .
y* /—;—r • 1 nl. —-p. This us now proceed to determine the velocity in the differ- velocity 5
’ ^ Vi +P » or equivale J ’ p Ji +p* ent polllts of the trajectory, and the time of describing different
its several portions. # points.
Recollect, therefore, that v2= and that
V  
will evidently he 4-, and POo^will be and the area
contained between the lines AF, AW^ and the curve
GEOH, and cut off by the ordinate PO, will represent
= «*i +p* and y = * p. This gives t>*=
—g-xi+p*
° Lastly, make PO : PQ=:AV : AP, =1 : p ! and
then PQ qp will represent and the area ALEQP
But p — qx. Therefore v' —
, _ —g X l+P% _
—agi+p'
if
will represent
But we must here observe, that the fluents expressed
by these different areas require what is called the cor-
rection to accommodate them to the circumstances ot
the case. It is not indifferent from what ordinate we
begin to reckon the areas. This depends on the initial
direction of the projectile, and that point of the abscis-
aa AP must be taken for the commencement oi an the
areas which gives a value of p suited to the initial di¬
rection. Thus, if the projection has been made from
Fig. 7. A (fig. 7.) at an elevation of 450, the ratio of the
fluxions * and y is that of equality, and therefore the
Fig- S. point E of fig. 8. where the two curves intersect and
have a common ordinate, evidently corresponds to this
condition. The ordinate EV passes through V, so that
AV 01* ;i=AB, =1, = tangent 450, as the case re¬
quires. The values of * and of y corresponding to any
other point of the trajectory, such as that which has AI
for the tangent of the angle which it makes with the
horizon, are now to be had by computing the areas
VEOP, VEQP.
Another curve might have been added, ot which the
ordinates would exhibit the fluxions of the arch of the
apsJ'+P
trajectory xs
^ V1+P,[ + C
V a sj—gs/1 +F
■, and v
- xf—s1+P\ -
^ f P 1 +^*I + C
.. : +7* _
Also t was found ——, — — , —
P V/l w If we now substitute for v its value
q v
. . f> , ^p
just found, we obtain t ——- —and t — / .
J s/—gq " ^/—hq
sj~
-S(l
p Va
a
f-
J—g j'p v/i+p*i+c’ sj—g
x
^j'p V^l+c
-, and of which the area
V/l+/l + C
•would exhibit the arch itself. And this would have
. . p J1+P1
been very easy, for it is *p ^7+7] + C ’
which is evidently the fluxion of the hyperbolic loga¬
rithm of/; P Ji+p'V But it is needless, since » r=
x y/i+p', and we have already got x. It is only in-
7? creasing PO in the ratio ofBA to BP. _
Consequen- And thus we have brought the investigation of this
eesof problem to considerable length, having ascertained the
knowing form of the trajectory. This is surely done when the
tfip. form J . 1 1 _i onrl flip nnsitinn
The greatest difficulty still remains, viz. the accom-
modating these formulae, which appear abundantly sim-^-jccon
pie, to the particular cases. It would seem at first modatinj
sight, that all trajectories are similar 5 since the ratio 0^!ie^0™
the fluxions of the ordinate and abscissa corresponding
any particular angle of inclination to the horizon seems cages
the same in them all : but a due attention to what has
been hitherto said on the subject will show us that vye
have as yet only been able to ascertain the velocity in
the point of the trajectory, which has a certain inclina¬
tion to the horizon, indicated by the quantity p, and the
time (reckoned from some assigned beginning) when the
projectile is in that point.
To obtain absolute measures of these quantities, the
term of commencement must be fixed upon. This will be
expressed by the constant quantity C, which is assumed
for completing the fluent of p 1 +/, which is the
basis of the whole construction. We there found q -»
the form of the arch) al)SCiss, and ordinate, and the position
hjetory^' of its tangent, is determined in every point. But it is
still very far from a solution, and much remains to be
done before we can make any practical application of it.
The only general consequence that we can deduce from
the premises is, that in every case where the resistance
in any point bears the same proportion to the force of
gravity, the trajectory will be similar. Therefore, two
balls, of the same density, projected in the same direction,
9 p s/1 -WA This fluent is in general q =
a
!, and the constant quantity C is to
Kb
be accommodated to some circumstances of the case.
Different authors have selected different circumstances.
Euler,
B luS
PEOJECTILES.
S3 Euler, in Ills Commentary on Robins, and in a disserta-
'd the”6* ti°n *n t^e ^emo,rs °f Academy of Berlin publish-
’plest ili 1753> takfs the vertex of the curve for the begin¬
ning of his abscissa and ordinate. This is the simplest
method of any, for C must then be so chosen that the
whole fluent may vanish when p=o, which is the case
in the vertex of the curve, where the tangent is paral¬
lel to the horizon. We shall adopt this method.
Therefore, let AP (fig. 9.) —.r, PM AM = 2;.
Put the quantity C which is introduced into the fluent
417
equal to It is plain that n must be a number j for
it must be homologous with p^/1 -f. p\ which is a
number. For brevity’s sake let us express the fluent of
p s/1 +p* by the single letter P j and thus we shall
P   .. -P PP
> ‘* = a X
have x=z a x T~
«/ 1
J'pj'^+P
</-
„ + P , y- « Xy -r—p
And ^nfULCl +p’)
Now the
»+P ' «+P
height h necessary for communicating any velocity <b is
2g(n+F) ’ - -+~p ' And lastly,
x'g'J ^«+P
These fluents, being all taken so as to vanish at the
veitex, where the computation commences, and where
^ is = 0 (the tangent being parallel to the horizon), we
obtain in this case hzr — rr: ” and n=. —.
n 2/1 2/1
Hence we see that the circumstance which modifies
all the curves, distinguishing them from each other, is
the velocity (or rather its square) in the highest point
of the curve, tor h being determined for any body
whose terminal velocity is u, n is also determined ; and
this is the modifying circumstance. Considering it geo¬
metrically, it is the area which must be cut off from
the area DMAP of fig. 8. in order to determine the
ordinates of the other curves.
We must further remark, that the values now given
relate only to that part of the area where the body is
descending from the vertex. This is evident j for, in
order that y may increase as we recede from the vertex,
its fluxion must be taken in the opposite sense to what
it was in our investigation. There w'e supposed y to in¬
crease as the body ascended, and then to diminish du¬
ring the descent j and therefore the fluxion ofy w is first
positive and then negative.
The same equations, however, will serve for the
ascending branch CNA of the curve, only changing
the sign of Pj for if we considery as decreasing during
the ascent, we must consider q as expressing ^ - , and
a V f P ^1 +P* . __ \/a /* p
J n—v ’ Vi Vand tl,e
height producing the velocity at
n—P
Hence we learn by the bye, that in no part of theReniark-
ascendmg branch can the inclination of the tangent be able pro-
such that P shall be greater than n; and that if we sup-Pcrty °f the
pose P equal to n in any point of the curve, the velo- Cl,rve or
city m that point will be infinite. That is to say there tl'aJeCt0,y-
is a certain assignable elevation of the tangent which
cannot be exceeded in a curve which has this velocity
in the vertex. 1 he best way for forming a conception
ot this circumstance in the nature of the curve, is to
invert the motion, and suppose an accelerating force,
equal and opposite to the resistance, to act on the body
m conjunction with gravity. It must describe the same
curve, and this branch ANC must have an assymptote
1-0, which has this limiting position of the tangent,
i or, as the body descends in this curve, its velocity
increases to infinity by the joint action of gravity and
this accelerating force, and yet the tangent never ap¬
proaches so near the perpendicular position as to make
P=rc. This remarkable property of the curve was
known to Newton, as appears by his approximations,
which all lead him to curves of a hyperbolic form, ha¬
ying one assymptote inclined to the horizon. Indeed
it is pietty obvious: For the resistance increasing faster
than the velocity, there is no velocity of projection so
gieat but that the curve will come to deviate so from
the tangent, that in a finite time it will become pa¬
rallel to the horizon. Were the resistance proportional
to the velocity, then an infinite velocity would produce
a rectilineal motion, or rather a deflection from it less
than any that can be assigned.
We now see that the particular form and magnitude On what
of this trajectory depends on two circumstances, a and Jts form and
n. a affects chiefly the magnitude. Another circum-maSnitude
stance might indeed be taken in, viz. the diminution ofdel>end®-
the accelerating force of gravity by the statical effect of
the air’s gravity. But, as we have already observed, this
is too trifling to be attended to in military projectiles.
y_
'v was made equal to p. Therefore the ra¬
dius of curvature, determined by the ordinary me-
;Q -v C1 +/?*) (\/i+/>a)
P
thods, is
*+r
, and, because —p is * Simpson>
P Fluxions,
6S, Sec.
for the descending branch of the curve, the
radius of curvature at M 1 \/1 + /;*
in the ascending branch at N, it is
*4/
therefore P, or / p \/ 1 + which is = -^- must be
, . a
taken negatively. Therefore, in the ascending branch,
we have AQ or x (increasing as we recede from A)—
° or y=a x/V— ; ’ AN or * =
Vol. XVII. Part II. f
n+P *> and*
It :„ax I+PiX\/T+p*
?7Hp '•
On both sides, therefore, when the velocity is infinitely
great, and P by this means supposed to equal or exceed
n, the radius of curvature is also infinitely great. We
also see that the two branches are unlike each other, and
that when p is the same in both, that is, when the tan¬
gent is equally inclined to the horizon, the radius of
curvature, the ordinate, the absciss, and the arch, are
all greater in the ascending branch. This is pretty ob-
3 G vious*
418
P R O J E C
vious. For as the resistance acts entirely in diminishing
the velocity, and does not affect the deflection occasionec
bv gravity, it must allow gravity to incuryate the pat
s« dfich the more (with the same inclination of its hne
of action) as the velocity is more diminished. 1 he
curvature, therefore, in those points which have the
same inclination of the tangent, is greatest in the de¬
scending branch, and the motion is swiftest m the
ascending branch. It is otherwise in a void, where both
sides are alike. Here u becomes infinite, or there is no
terminal velocity •, and n also becomes infinite, being
a
~~ 2h' n . . —
It is therefore in the quantity P, or ^ ^ V 1 »
that the difference between the trajectory in a void and
in a resisting medium consists j it is this quantity w 11c 1
expresses the accumulated change of the ratio of the
increments of the ordinate and absciss. In vacuo the
second increment of the ordinate is constant when the
first increment of the abscissa is so, and the whole
increment of the ordinate is as 1+^. And this ditte-
rence is so much the greater as P is greater in respect
of n. P is nothing at the vertex, and increases along
with the angle M'TP j and when this is a right angle,
P is infinite. The trajectory in a resisting medium
will come therefore to deviate infinitely from a para¬
bola, and may even deviate farther from it than the
parabola deviates from a straight line. '1 hat is, the di¬
stance of the body in a given moment from that point
of its parabolic path where it would have been in a
void, is greater than the distance between that point 0
the parabola from the point of the straight line where
it would have been, independent of the action of gra¬
vity. This must happen whenever the resistance is great¬
er than the weight of the body, which is generally the
case in the beginning of the trajectory in military pro¬
jectiles •, and this (were it now necessary) is enough to
show the inutility of the parabolic theory.
Although we have no method of describing this
8? trajectory” which would be received by the ancient
Several geometers, we may ascertain several properties of it,
ofTasoer- which will assist us in the solution of the problem. In
tained. particular, we can assign the absolute length of any part
of it by means of the logistic curve. For because P
-p zy/i -{-?*> vfe flave P \/1 "^P* ~ ^>’ ant^ ^iere*
«-f-P
and Am
tiles.
q its position at m; then AM = a X log-
_ a x ]0„. and therefore M w is = a X log.
° n
Thus we can find the values of a great num-
=/*
fore 25, which was
-f — ? may be expressed by logarithms ; or 2; — a
J n -\-V
M -}-P
x fiyp- l°g- °f
since at the vertex A, where ss
must be 0, P is also — 0.
Being able, in this way, to ascertain the length AM
of the curve (counted from the vertex), corresponding
to any inclination p of the tangent at its extremity M,
we can ascertain the length of any portion of it, such
as M/«, by first finding the length of the part A m, and
then of the part AM. This we do more expeditiously
thus. Let p express the position of the tangent in M,and
«+P‘
her of small portions and the inclination of the tan¬
gents at their extremities. Then to each of these por¬
tions we can assign its proportion of the abscissa and
ordinate, without having recourse to the values of x and y.
For the portion of absciss corresponding to the arch Mw,
whose middle point is inclined to the horizon m the
angle b, will be M m X cosine b, and the corresponding
portion of the ordinate will be X sin. b. Ihen we
obtain the velocity in each part of the curve by the
equation h=\ay. 1+/*; or, more directly the velocity
„ at M will be = Wly. tlle
length of the little arch by this, and the quotient will be
the time of describing Mm very nearly. Add all these
together, and we obtain the whole time of describing
the arch AM, but a little too great, because the mo¬
tion in the small arch is not perfectly uniform. I he
error, however, may be as small as we please, because
we may make the arch as small as we please J and ior
greater accuracy, it will be proper to take the p by
which we compute the velocity, a medium bet'v^«
the p for the beginning and that for the end of
H1 This is the method followed by Euler, who was one^
of the most expert analysts, if not the very first m Lu- thod pn
rope. It is not the most elegant, and the methods offerred.
some other authors, who approximate directly tothe areas
of the curves which determine the values of x and y, have
a more scientific appearance j but they are not ultimate¬
ly very different: For, in some methods, these areas are
taken piecemeal, as Euler takes the arch j and by the
methods of others, who give the value of the areas by
Newton’s method of describing a curve of the parabolic
kind through any number of given points, the ordinates
of these curves, which express x and y, must be taken
singly, which amounts to the same thing, with the
great disadvantage of a much more complicated calcu¬
lus, as any one may see by comparing the expressions
of x and y with the expressions of 25. As to those me-
-f C,or = aX thods which approximate directly to the areas or va¬
lues of * and y by an infinite series, they all, witho
exception, involve us in most complicated expres»io ,
with coefficients of sines and tangents, and am ig
signs, and engage us in a calculation almost endle».
And we know of no series which converges fast enoug
to give us tolerable accuracy, without such a num e
terms as is sufficient to deter any person from the at¬
tempt. The calculation of the arches is very moi -
rate, so that a person tolerably versant in arithmetical
operations may compute an arch with its velocity and
time in about five minutes. M e have therefo
sitation in preferring this method of Euler s to all that
we have seen, and therefore proceed to deteimin • •
other circumstances which render its application
general. jf
; app'ica
in made
ire gone
1
diole
is ar-
f
* flu-
P K 0 j £
If there were no resistance, the smallest velocity would
he at the vertex of the curve, and it would immediately
increase by the action of gravity conspiring (in however
' small degree) with the motion of the body. But in a
Resisting medium, the velocity at the vertex is diminish¬
ed by a quantity to which the acceleration of gravity
in that point bears no assignable proportion. It is there-
fofe diminished, upon the whole, and the point of smal¬
lest velocity is a little way beyond the vertex. For the
same reasons, the greatest curvature is a little way be¬
yond the vertex. It is not very material for our pre¬
sent purpose to ascertain the exact positions of those
points.
The velocity in the descending branch augments con¬
tinually : but it cannot exceed a certain limit, if the ve¬
locity at the vertex has been less than the terminal velo¬
city, for when the curve is infinite,^ is also infinite, and
h— ”p-> because a in this case is nothing in respect of
P, which is infinite; and becausep is infinite, the num¬
ber hyp. log. p x ^i +p\ though infinite, vanishes in
comparison with/7 x Vi +p'; so that in this case P—
£-/7l, and h—a, and v— the terminal velocity.
If, on the other hand, the velocity at the vertex has
been greater than the terminal velocity, it will diminish
continually, and when the curve has become infinite v
will be equal to the terminal velocity.
In either case we see that the curve on this side will
have a perpendicular assymptote. It would require a
long and pretty intricate analysis to determine the place
of this assymptote, and it is not material for our present
purpose. . The place and position of the other assymp¬
tote LO is of the greatest moment. It evidently di¬
stinguishes the kind of trajectory from any other. Its
position depends on this circumstance, that if/7 marks
the position of the tangent, rc—P, which is the deno¬
minator of the fraction expressing the square of the ve¬
locity, must be equal to nothing, because the velocity
13 Infinite : tberefbre, jn this place, P — «, 0r n -
+7 ^1 +P1- order, therefore,
to find the point L, where the assymptote LO cuts the
horizontal line AL, put P=r«, then will AL—at—■
y \J n—¥ pJ n—P /
. ^ ev*dent that the logarithms used in these expres¬
sions are the natural or hyperbolic. But the operations
may be performed by the common tables, by making
the value of the arch M m of the curve — v W
, r, M s *
^ “f“ Q q f ^
^TjTp, °cc* wbere M means the subtangent of the com¬
mon logarithms, or 0,43429; also the time of descri¬
bing this arch will be expeditiously had by taking a
medium p, between the values of
C T I L E S.
process we have only learned how to compute the mo¬
tion from the vertex in the descending branch till the
ball has acquired a particular direction, and the motion
to the vertex from a point of the ascending branch
where the ball has another direction, and all this de¬
pending on the greatest velocity which the body can
acquire by falling, and the velocity which it has in the
vertex of the curve. But the usual question is, “ What
Will be the motion of the ball projected in a certain
direction with a certain velocity ?”
The mode of application is this: Suppose a traiecto-
ry computed for a particular terminal velocity, produced
by the fall a, and for a particular velocity at the vertex
which will be characterized by n, and that the velocity
at that point of the ascending branch where the incli¬
nation of the tangent is 30° is 900 feet per second.
J hen, we are certain, that if a ball, whose terminal ve¬
locity is that produced by the fall a, be projected with
tfmveJocity of 900 feet per second, and an elevation of
3p , it will describe this very trajectory, and the velo¬
city and time corresponding to every point will be such
as is here determined.
Now this trajectory will, in respect to form, answer
an infinity of cases: for its characteristic is the propor-
tion of the velocity in the vertex to the terminal velo-
city. When this proportion is the same, the number n
will be the same. If, therefore, we compute the tra-
jectories for a sufficient variety of these proportions, we
shall hnd a trajectory that will nearly correspond to any
case that can be proposed : and an approximation suftf-
ciently exact will be had by taking a proportional me¬
dium between the two trajectories which come nearest
to the case proposed.
Accordingly a set of tables or trajectories have been
computed by the Engl.sh translator of Euler’s Com- tabu. “
mentary on Itobins’s Gunnery. They are in number 18, trajecto-
distinguished by the position of the assymptote of the rks-
ascending branch. This is given for 50, io°, 150, &c.
to 85°, and the whole trajectory is computed as far as it
can ever be supposed to extend in practice. The follow¬
ing table gives the value of the number « corresponding
to each position of the assymptote.
419
OLB
10
J5
20
25
30
35
40
OLB
0,00000
0,08760
0,17724
0,27712
d»37i85
0,48269
0,60799
°»75382
0,92914
45
5°
55
60
65
70
75
80
85
1,14779
M3236
1,82207
2j39°33
3,29040
4,88425
8,22357
17,54793
67,12291
and making the time =
^a
^1 -\~P , ^1 +(r
—,   and —
Vn-j-P */ iz-j-Q
X log.
'4-Q
Motiof
,.-*88
I* dee.
M«y/y ~ "js-^+p-
such then is the process by which the form and mag-
1 u e of the trajectory, and the motion in it, may be
e ermined. But it does not yet appear how this is to
fie applied to any question in practical artillery. In this
Since the path of a projectile is much less incurvated,
and more rapid in the ascending than in the descending
branch, and the difference is so much the more remark¬
able in great velocities; it must follow, that the range
on a horizontal or inclined plane depends most on the
ascending branch : therefore the greatest range will not
be made with that elevation which bisects the angle of
position, but with a lower elevation; and the deviation
from the bisecting elevation will be greater as the initial
3^2 velocities
420
projectiles.
velocities are greater. It Is very difficult to frame an
exact rule for determining the elevation which give
.n eatest range. We have subjoined a little table which
gives the proper elevation (nearly) correspond.ng to
the different initial velocities.
2 diirereni nnuai _ . .
It was computed by the following approximation,
which will be found the same with the series used iy
Newton in his Approximation. , .
Let * be the angle of elevation, a the height
producing the terminal velocity, /i the heigi pro
cing the initial velocity, and c the number whose hy¬
perbolic logarithm is i (i. e. the number 2,71S).
Then,
’ x * / * \
y = ,x (.a»-+iX^)-a(C“C0S'‘_1^
&C. Make y = v, and take the maximum by vary¬
ing
we obtain Sin. * = hyperbol. log.
2h
(i jLm 2/l—), which gives us the angle e.
\ ” a sine e I , .
• a sine e i
The numbers in the first column, multiplied by the
terminal velocity of the projectile, give us the initial
velocity ; and the numbers in the last column, being
multiplied by the height producing the terminal veloci¬
ty, and by 2,3026, give us the greatest ranges > Ihe
middle column contains the elevation. 1 he table is not
computed with scrupulous exactness, the question not re¬
quiring it. It may, however, be depended on within
one part of 2000. .... ,
To make use of this table, divide the initial velocity
hy the terminal velocity u, and look for the quotient in
the first column. Opposite to this will be found the ele¬
vation giving the greatest range ; and the number in the
last column being multiplied by 2,3026 X« (the height
producing the terminal velocity) will give the range.
Table of Elevations giving the grea test Range.
Initial vel.
8.3
antage
>t de
d from
0,6909
0,7820
0,8645
i,38i7
1,J641
1,7291
2,0726
2,346!
2,5936
2,7635
3,1281
34544
34581
3,9101
4>I452
44227
4,6921
4,8631
Elevation.
Range.
2,3026 a
43°-40
43 -20
42 .50
41 .40
40 .20
40 .10
39 -5°
37 -20
35 -5°
35 •—
34 -4°
34 -20
34
33
33
33
31
31
.20
•5°
•32
•3°
•5°
•5°
°,I75I
0,2169
0,2548
0,4999
°,5789
0,655!
o,7877
0,8967
o,9752
1,0319
i,i411
1,2298
1,2277
I»337I
i,3901
1,4274
1,5050
1,534!
But let us see what advantage we are likely to derive
from it. ,.
In the first place it is very limited in its applica¬
tion. There are few circumstances of general coinci¬
dence, and almost every case requires an appropriated
calculus. Perhaps the only general rules are the two
following: . ' . .
1. Balls of equal density, projected with the same
elevation, and with velocities which are as the square
roots of their diameters, will describe similar curves.—
This is evident, because, in this case, the resistance will
he in the ratio of their quantities of motion. Iherelore
all the homologous lines of the motion will be in the
proportion of the diameters. _
2. If the initial velocities of balls projected with the
same elevation are in the inverse subdupheate ratio of
the whole resistances, the ranges, and all the homo¬
logous lines of their track, will be inversely as those re-
sistances.
These theorems are of considerable use: for by means
of a proper series of experiments on one ball projected
with different elevations and velocities, tables may be
constructed which will ascertain the motions of an infi¬
nity of others. . . f 1 , s9
But when we take a retrospective view of what we shown fr
have done, ami consider the conditions tvhich »s- =
sumed in the solution of the problem, we shall find that ^
much yet remains before it can be rendered of great^
practical use, or even satisfy the curiosity of the man of
science The resistance is all along supposed to be in
the duplicate ratio of the velocity j but even theory
points out many causes of deviation from this law, such
as the pressure and condensation of the air, in the case
of very swift motions j and Mr Robins’s experiments are
sufficient to show us that the deviations must be ex¬
ceedingly great in such cases. Mr Euler and all sub¬
sequent writers have allowed that it may be three times
greater, even in cases which frequently occur j and Lu-
fer irives a rule for ascertaining with tolerable accuracy
what this increase and the whole resistance may amount
to. Let H be the height of a column of air whose
weight is equivalent to the resistance taken m the du¬
plicate ratio of the velocity. The whole resistance will
Such is the solution which the present state of our
Llution mathematical knowledge enables us to give of this cele-
icprob-brated problem. It is exact in its principle, am t re ap
plication of it is by no means difficult, or even operose.
be expressed by H+ This number 28845is the
height in feet of a column of air whose weight balances
its elasticity. We shall not at present call in ques ion
his reasons for assigning this precise addition, l ney
are rather reasons of arithmetical conven.ency than of
physical import. It is enough to observe, that it tin
measure of the resistance is introduced into the proce
of investigation, it is totally changed j ana it is not 00
much to say, that with this complication it requires tl
knowledge and address of a Euler to make even a p
tial and very limited approximation to a soffition.
Any law of the resistance, therefore, which is more
complicated than what Bernoulli has assumed, namefy,
that of a simple power of the velocity is abandoned by
all the mathematicians, as exceeding their abilities,
they have attempted to avoid the error arising from be
assumption of the duplicate ratio of the velocity, either
by supposing the resistance throughout the who
jectory to be greater than what it is !" gener^r
'they have divided the trajectory into diflere p
tions, and assigned different resistances to each, "bicn
P R O J E
vary, through the whole of that portion, in the dupli¬
cate ratio of the velocities. By this kind of patch-
work they make up a trajectory and motion which cor¬
responds, in some tolerable degree, with what ? With an
accmate tiieory ? !No , but with a series of experiments,
lor, in the first piace, every theoretical computation
that we make, proceeds on a supposed initial velocity ;
and this cannot be ascertained with any thing approach¬
ing to precision, by any theory of the action of gun¬
powder that we are yet possessed of. In the next place
our theories of the resisting power of the air are en¬
tirely established on the experiments on the flights of
shot and shells, and are corrected and amended till they
tally with the most approved experiments w'e can find.
We do not learn the ranges of a gun by theory, but the
theory by the range of the gun. Now the variety and
irregularity of all the experiments which are appealed to
are so gieat, and the acknowledged diflerence between
the resistance to slow and swift motions is also so great,
that there is hardly any supposition which can be'made
concerning the resistance, that will not agree in its re¬
sults with many of those experiments. It appears from
the experiments of Dr Hutton of Woolwich, in 1784,
1785, and 1786, that the shots frequently deviated to
the right or left of their intended track 200, 300, and
sometimes 400 yards. This deviation was quite acci¬
dental and anomalous, and there can be no doubt but
that the shot deviated from its intended and supposed
elevation as much as it deviated from the intended ver¬
tical plane, and this without any opportunity of mea¬
suring or discovering the deviation. Now, when we
have the whole range from one to three to choose among
for our measure of resistance, it is evident that the com
firmations which have been drawn from the ranges of
shot are but feeble arguments for the truth of any opi¬
nion. Mr Robins finds his measures fully confirmed
by the experiments at Metz and at Minorca. Mr
Muller finds the same. Yet Mr Robins’s measure both
of the initial velocity and of the resistance are at least
treble of Mr Aluller’s j but by compensation they give
the same results. The Chevalier Borda, a very expert
mathematician, has adduced the very same experiments
in support of his theory, in which he abides by the New¬
tonian measure of the resistance, which is about 4 of
90 Air Robins’s, and about \ of Aluller’s.
C eofiu What are we to conclude from all this? Simply this,
lr jhty* that we have hardly any knowledge of the air’s resist¬
ance, and that even the solution given of this problem
has not as yet greatly increased it. Our knowledge con¬
sists only in those experiments, and mathematicians are
attempting to patch up some notion of the motion of a
body in a resisting medium, which shall tally with them.
There is another essential defect in the conditions as¬
sumed in the solution. The density of the air is sup¬
posed uniform ; whereas we are certain that it is less
by one-fifth or one-sixth towards the vertex of the
curve, in many cases which frequently occur, than it is
at the beginning and end of the flight. This is an¬
other latitude given to authors in their assumptions of
the air’s resistance. The Chevalier de Borda has, with
considerable ingenuity, accommodated his investigation
to this circumstance, by dividing the trajectory into
portions, and, without much trouble, has made one
equation answer them all. AA'e are disposed to think
that his solution ol the problem (in the Alemoirs of the
c T I L E S.
42
Academy of Pans for 1769) corresponds better with
the physical circumstances of the case than any other.
But this process is there delivered in too concise a man-
ner to be mtelhgible to a person not perfectly familiar
with all the resources of modern analysis. AVe there¬
fore preferred John Bernoulli’s, because it is elementary
and rigorous. J
Aftei all, the practical artillerist must rely chiefly on v 9l-
the records of experiments contained in the books ofofauend7
practice at the academies, or those made in a more pub-inj- to ex-
lic manner, l.ven a perfect theory of the air’s resis-Pe“mem*'
tance can do him little service, unless the force of gun¬
powder were uniform. This is far from being the case
even in the same powder. A few hours of a damp day
will make a greater diflerence than occurs in any theory 1
and, in service it is only by trial that every thing is per-
ormed. If the first shell fall very much short of the
mark, a little more powder is added ; and, in cannonad-
mg, the correction is made by varying the elevation.
e hope to be forgiven by the eminent mathemati¬
cians tor these observations on their theories. They by
no means proceed from any disrespect for their labours.,
e aie not ignorant of the almost insuperable difficul¬
ty of the task, and we admire the ingenuity with which
some of them have contrived to introduce into their ana¬
lysis reasonable substitutions for those terms which would
itncei the equations intractable. But we must still
say, upon their own authority, that these are but inge¬
nious guesses, and that experiment is the touchstone by
which they mould these substitutions ; and when they
have found a coincidence, they have no motive to make
any alteration. Now, when we have such a latitude for
our measure of the air’s resistance, that we may take it
ol any value, from one to three, it is no wonder that
compensations of errors should produce a coincidence j
but where is the coincidence ? The theorist supposes the
ball to set out with a certain velocity, and his theory
gives a certain range; and this range agrees with obser¬
vation—but how ? Who knows the velocity of the ball
in the experiment ? This is concluded from a theory in¬
comparably more uncertain than that of the motion in a
resisting medium.
The experiments of Air Robins and Dr Hutton show,
in the most incontrovertible manner, that the resistance
to a motion exceeding 1100 feet in a second, is almost
three times greater than in the duplicate ratio to the re¬
sistance to moderate velocities. Euler’s translator, in
his comparison of the author’s trajectories with experi¬
ment, supposes it to be no greater! Yet the coincidence
is very great. The same may be said of the Chevalier
de Borda’s. Nay, the same may be said of Air Ro¬
bins’s own practical rules : for he makes his F, which
corresponds to our a, almost double of what these au¬
thors do, and yet his rules are confirmed by practice. Our
observations are therefore well founded.
But it must not be inferred from all this, that the The theory
physical theory is of no use to the practical artillerist. is still of
It plainly shows him the impropriety of giving the pro-some use in
jectile an enormous velocity. This velocity is of no ef.Practlce'
feet altei 200 or ^00 yards at farthest, because it is so
rapidly reduced by the prodigious resistance of the air.
Air Robins has deduced several practical maxims of the
greatest importance from what we already know of this
subject, and which could hardly have been even conjec¬
tured without this knowledge. See Gunnery.
Audi
422
93
and may be
brought to
greater per¬
fection.
94 ,
Tables cal
culated on
the prece¬
ding prin¬
ciples.
p R O J E C
And it mdst still he acknowledged, that tins branch
of physical science is highly interesting to the philoso¬
pher; nor should we despair of carrying it to a greater
perfection. The defects arise almost entirely from our
ignorance of the law of variation of the air’s resistance.
Experiments may he contrived much more conducive
to our information here than those commonly resorted
to. The oblique flights of projectiles are as we have
seen, of very complicated investigation* and ill ntted tor
instructing us j but numerous and well contrived expe¬
riments on the perpendicular ascents are ot great sim¬
plicity, being affected by nothing but the air s resist¬
ance.' To make them instructive, we think that the
following plan might be pursued. Let a set ot expe¬
riments be premised for ascertaining the initia veloci¬
ties. Then let shells be discharged perpendicularly
with great varieties of density and velocity, and let no¬
thin* be attended to but the height and the time j even
a considerable deviation from the perpendicular not
affect either of these circumstances, and the effect ot
this circumstance can easily be computed. I he height
can be ascertained with sufficient precision for very va¬
luable information by their light or smoke. It is evi¬
dent that these experiments will give direct imottna-
tion of the air’s retarding force *, and every experiment
gives us two measures, vii. the ascent and descent: and
the comparison of the times of ascent and descent, com¬
bined with the observed height in one experiment made
with a great initial velocity, will give us more informa¬
tion concerning the air’s resistance than 50 ranges. It
we should suppose the resistance as the square ot the ve¬
locity, this comparison will give in each experiment an
exact determination of the initial and final velocities,
which no other method can give us. These, with ex¬
periments on the time of horizontal flights, with known
initial velocities, will give us more instruction on this
head than any thing that has yet been done *, and till
something of this kind is carefully done, we presume
to say that the motion ol bodies in a resisting medium
will remain in the hands ^of the mathematicians as a
matter of curious speculation. In the mean time, the
rules which Mr Robins has delivered in his Gunnery
are very simple and easy in their use, and seem to come
as near the trdth as any we have met with. He has
not informed us upon what principles they are founded,
and we are disposed to think that they are rather em¬
pirical than scientific. But we profess great deference
for his abilities and penetration, and doubt not but that
he had framed them by means ot as scientific a discus¬
sion as his knowledge of this new and difficult subject
enabled him to give it. . #
We shall conclude this article, by giving two or three
tables, computed from the principles established above,
and which serve to bring into one point of view the
chief circumstances of the motion in a resisting medium.
Although the result of much calculation, as any person
who considers the subject will readily see, they must not
be considered as offering any very accurate results j or
that, in comparison with one or two experiments, the
differences shall not be considerable. Let any person
peruse the published registers of experiments which have
been made with every attention, and he will see such
enormous irregularities, that all expectations of perfect
-agreement with them must cease. In the experiments
at Woolwich iu 1735? which were continued for seve-
TILES.
ral days, not only do the experiments of one day diffci*
among themselves, but the mean of all the experiments
of one day differs from the mean of all the experiment*
of another no less than one-fourth of the whole. The
experiments in which the greatest regularity may be
expected, are those made writh great elevations. When
the elevation is small, the range is more affected by a
change of velocity, and still more by any deviation from
the supposed or intended direction of the shot.
The first table shows the distance in yards to which
a ball projected With the velocity 1600 will go, while
its velocity is reduced one-tenth, and the distance at
which it drops 16 feet from the line of its direction.
This table is calculated by the resistance observed in Mr
Robins’s experiments. rI he first column is the weight
of the ball in pounds. The second column remains the
•same whatever be the initial velocity 5 but the thud co¬
lumn depends on the velocity. It is here given for the
velocity which is very usual in military service, and its
use is to assist us in directing the gun to the maxk.—
If the mark at which a ball of 24 pounds is directed i*
474 yards distant, the axis of the piece nuist he pointed
.16 feet higher than the mark. I hese deflections from
the line of direction are nearly as the squares of the di¬
stances.
2
4
9
18
32
II.
92
121
I59
200
272
III.
i.,.—i
420
428
456
470
479
The next table contains the ranges in yards of a 2
pound shot, projected at an elevation of 450, with the
diflerent velocities in feet per second, expressed in the
first column. The second column contains the distances
to which the ball would go in vacuo in a horizontal
plane j and the third contains the tlistances to which it
will go through the air. The fourth column is added,
to show the height to which it rises in the air j and the
fifth shows the ranges corrected for the diminution of the
air’s density as the bullet ascends, and may therelorebe
called the corrected range.
I.
206
400
600
800
IOOO
1200
I4OO
1600
1800
2000
2200
24OO
2600
2800
3000
3200
II.
416
1664
374°
6649
10300
14961
20364
26597
33663
4I559
50286
59846
III. IV.
349
1121
18x2
2373
2845
3259
3640
3950
4235
4494
4720
49x7
5106
5293
5455
106
338
606
866
xxsS
1378
1606
1814
X992
2168
2348
2460
2630
2760
2862
V.
360
11 CO
1859
2435
29x9
3343
3734
4°50
4345
4610
4842
5°44
5238
543°
5596
5732
The
PROJECTILES
WrH K
PIATE CCCCJLJJ.
jfu/. JO.
4
f,
i
J
I
P R O J E
s The initial velocities can never be pushed as far as
L of the we have calculated for in this table j but we mean it
I table, for a table of more extensive use than appears at first
sight. Recollect, that while the proportion of the ve¬
locity at the veitex to the terminal velocity remains the
same, the curves will he similar: therefore, if the initial
velocities are as the. square-roots of the diameters of the
balls, they will describe similar curves, and the ranges
will be as the diameters of the balls.
Therefore, to have the range of a 12 pound shot, if
projected at an elevation of 45, with the velocity 1500 *,
suppose the diameter of the 12-pounder to be d, and
that of the 24-pounder andjet the velocities’be v
and V: Then say, d: 13 = 1500, to a fourth
proportional V. If the 24-pounder he projected with
the velocity V, it will describe a curve similar to that
described by the 12-pounder, having the initial velocity
1500. Therefore find (by interpolation) the range of
the 24-pounder, having the initial velocity V. Call this
R.. Then D : c/=R : r, the range of the 12-pounder
which was wanted, and which is nearly 3380 yards.
A^e see by this table the immense difiei*ence between
the motions through the air and in a void. We see
that the ranges through the air, instead of increasing in
the duplicate ratio of the initial velocities, really in¬
crease slower than those velocities in all cases of mili¬
tary service j and in the most usual cases, viz. from Soo
to 1600, they increase nearly as the square-roots of the
velocities.
A set of similar tables, made for different elevations,
would almost complete what can he done by theory,
and would be much more expeditious in their use than
Mr Euler’s Trajectories, computed with great labour
by his English translator.
The same table may also serve for computing the
ranges of bomb-shells. We have only to find what must
be the initial velocity of the 24 pound shot which cor¬
responds to the proposed velocity of the shell. This
must be deduced from the diameter and weight of the
shell, by making the velocity of the 24-pounder such,
that the ratio of its weight to the resistance may be the
same as in the shell.
C T I L E S. 423
That the reader may see with one glance the rela¬
tion of those diflerent quantities, we have given this
table, expressed in a figure (fig. 10.). The abscissa, Fig 10.
or axis DA, is the scale of the initial velocities in feet 9°
per second, measured in a scale of 400 equal parts jn Reloti°n
an inch. The ordinates to the curve ACG express the
yards of the range on a scale containing 800 yards in tities in it.
an inch. 1 he ordinates to the curve A * y express (by
the same scale) the height to which the ball rises in the
air.
The ordinate BC (drawn through the point of the
abscissa which corresponds to the initial velocity 2000)
is divided on the points 4, 9, 12, 18, 24, 32, 42, in the
ratio of the diameters of cannon-shot of diflerent weights:
and the same ordinate is produced on the other side of
the axis, till BO be equal to BA; and then BO is
divided in the subdnplicate ratio of the same diameters.
Dines are drawn from the point A, and from any point
D of the abscissa, to these divisions.
. ,^e see distinctly by this figure how the effect of the
initial velocity gradually diminishes, and that in very
great velocities the range is very little increased by its
augmentation. The dotted curve APQR, shows what
the ranges in vacuo would be.
By this figure may the problems he solved. Thus,
to find the range of the 12-pounder, with the initial
velocity 1500. Set off 1500 from B to F ; draw FH
parallel to the axis, meeting the line 12 A in H ; draw
the ordinate HK , draw HL parallel to the axis, meet-
ing 24 B in L ; draw the ordinate LM, cutting 12 B
in N. MN is the range required.
If curves, such as ACG, were laid down in the same
manner for other elevations, all the problems might lie
solved with great dispatch, and with much more accu¬
racy than the theory by which the curves are drawn
can pretend to.
Note, that Jig. 10. as given on Plate CCCCXLII, is
one-half less than the scale according to which it is
described ; but the practical mathematician will find no
difficulty m drawing the figure on the enlarged scale to
correspond to the description.
PROJECTION OF THE SPHERE.
Ste
pl Pi
R 11 of
tbei her,..
T^E PROJECTION of the SPHERE is a perspective
representation of the circles on the surface of the
sphere ; and is variously denominated according to the
different positions of the eye and plane of projection.
There are three principal kinds of projection ; the
stereographic, the orthographic, and gnomic. In the
tereographic projection the eye is supposed to be placed
on the surface of the sphere ; in the orthographic it is
supposed to be at an infinite distance ; and in the gno¬
mic projection the eye is placed at the centre of the
sphere. Other kinds of projection are, the globular,
Mercator's, scenographic, &c. for which see the articles
Geography, Navigation, Perspective, &c.
Definitions.
I. The plane upon which the circles of the sphere
are described, is called the plane of projection, or the
primitive circle. The pole of this circle is the pole Stereogra-
of projection, and the place of the eye is the projecting Phic Pr°-
point. jection of
2. The line of measures of any circle of the sphere is ^iie
that diameter of the primitive, produced indefinitely,
which passes through the centre of the projected circle.
Axiom.
The projection, or representation of any point, is
where the straight line drawn from it to the pro¬
jecting point intersects the plane of projection.
SECTION I.
Of the Stereographic Projection of the Sphere.
In the stereographic projection of the sphere, the
eye
424 ' projection of
Stereogra- eye is placed on the surface of the sphere in the pole of
phic Pro- the great circle upon which the sphere is to be project-
jection of ^ " The projection of the hemisphere opposite to the
the Sphere. fallg wlthin the primitive, to which the projection
' v is generally limited j it, however, may be extended to
the other hemisphere, or that wherein the eye is placed,
the projection of which falls without the primitive.
As all circles in this projection are projected either
into circles or straight lines, which are easily described,
it is therefore more generally understood, and by many
preferred to the other projections,
Proposition I. Theorem I.
Every great circle which passes through the projecting
point is projected into a straight line passing through
the centre of the primitive; and every arch of it,
reckoned from the other pole of the primitive, is pro¬
jected into its semitangent.
Plate Let ABCD (fig. I.) be a great circle passing through
ccccxliii. A, C, the poles of the primitive, and intersecting it in
fi£- I* the line of common section BED, E being the centre
of the sphere. From A, the projecting point, let there
be drawn straight lines AP, AM, AN, AQ, to any
number of points P, M, N, Q, in the circle ABCD :
these lines will intersect BED, which is in the same
plane with them. Let them meet it in the points p, m,
n, a; thenp, m, n, q, are the projections oi P, M, N,
Q: hence the whole circle A BCD is projected into the
straight line BED, passing through the centre of the
primitive. . . . „ .
Again, because the pole C is projected into C, anti
the point M into m ; therefore the arch CM is project¬
ed into the straight line E m, which is the semitan¬
gent of the arch CM to the radius AE. In like man¬
ner, the arch CP is projected into its semitangent, E
p, &c.
Corollaries.
1. Each of the quadrants contiguous to the project¬
ing point is projected into an indefinite straight line,
and each of those that are remote into a radius of the
primitive.
2. Every small circle which passes through the pro¬
jecting point is projected into that straight line which is
its common section with the primitive.
3. Every straight line in the plane of the primitive,
and produced indefinitely, is the projection of some
circle on the sphere passing through the projecting
point.
4. The projection of any point in the surface of the
sphere, is distant from the centre of the primitive, by
the semitangent of the distance of that point from the
pole opposite to the projecting point.
Proposition II. Theorem II.
Every circle on the sphere which does not pass through
the projecting point is projected into a circle.
If the given circle be parallel to the primitive, then
a straight line drawn from the projecting point to any
point in the circumference, and made to revolve about
the circle, will describe the surface of a cone ; which
being cut by the plane of projection parallel to the base,
the section will be a circle. See CoNic-Sections.
THE SPHERE. Sect.
But if the circle MN (fig. 2.) be not parallel to the Stereog;
primitive circle BD, let the great circle ABCD, pas- phic pi5
sing through the projecting point, cut it at right angles j^tion
in the diameter MN, and the primitive in the diameter
BD. Through M, in the plane of the great circle, letp^T
MF be drawn parallel to BD ; let AM, AN be joined,
and meet BD in m, ft. Then, because AB, AD are
quadrants, and BD, MF parallel, the arch AM is equal
to AF, and the angle AMF or Amn is equal to ANM.
Hence the conic surface described by the revolution of
AM about the circle MN is cut by the primitive in a
subcontrary position ; therefore the section is in this
case likewise a circle.
Corollaries.
1. The centres and poles of all circles parallel to the
primitive have their projection in its centre..
2. The centre and poles of every circle inclined to
the primitive have their projections in the line ol mea¬
sures. ...
3. All projected great circles cut the primitive in
two points diametrically opposite ; and every circle in
the plane of projection, which passes thiough the extre¬
mities of a diameter of the primitive, or through the
projections of two points that are diametrically oppo¬
site on the sphere, is the projection of some great
circle*
4. A tangent to any circle of the sphere, which does
not pass through the projecting point, is projected into
a tangent to that circle’s projection ; also, the circular
projections of tangent circles touch one another.
jj. The extremities oi the diameter, on the line of
measures of any projected circle, are distant from the
centre of the primitive by the semitangents of the least
and greatest distances of the circle on the sphere, from
the pole opposite to the projecting point.
6. The extremities of the diameter, on the line of
measures of any projected great circle, are distant fiom
the centre of the primitive by the tangent and cotan¬
gent of half the great circle’s inclination to the primi¬
tive.
7. The radius of any projected circle is equal to half
the sum, or half the difference of the semitangents of
the least and greatest distances of the circle from the
pole opposite to the projecting point, according as that
pole is ivithin or without the given circle.
Proposition III. Theorem III.
An angle formed by twro tangents at the same point
in the surface of the sphere, is equal to the angle
formed by their projections.
Let FGI and GH (fig. 3.) be the two tangents,Fig. >|
and A the projecting point ; let the plane AGI cut
the sphere in the circle AGL, and the primitive in the
line BML. Also, let MN be the line of common sec¬
tion of the plane AGH with the primitive : then the
angle FGHrrLMN. If the plane FGH be parallel
to the primitive BLD, the proposition is manifest. If
not, through any point K. in AG produced, let the
plane FKH, parallel to the primitive, be extended to
meet FGH in the line FH. Then, because the plane
AGF meets the two parallel planes BLD, FKH, the
lines of common section LM, FK are parallel; there-
foie
;ct I.
ereo^ra-
iic fro-
ition of
Sphere.
. , , iMT EJECTION OF THE SPHERE.
for tic angle AML=AkF. But since A is the pole
ttijD, the chords, and consequently the arches AB
AL, are equal, and the arch ABG is the sum of the
arches AL BGj hence the angle AML is equal to an
angle at the circumference standing upon AG and
therefore equal to ACI or FGK; consequently the
angle FGK—FKG, and the side FG=FK. In like
manner HGzzHK : hence the triangles GHF, KHF
are equal, and the angle FGHzrFKH = LMN.
— 2NIIG—NCG : hence ENC=:INE 4-INC—Nrr o ^ ^
Jnt to tT “ rig‘vang'e k""'1 tlltrefore^,C « a tan- ph"^
gent to the primitive at N ; but the arch ND is the Jection of
distance of the less circle from its nearest pole T) . the Sphere,
hence is the tangent, and EC the secant of theV,“ v
distance of the less circle from its pole to the radius of
the primitive. ~ 1 * * * *
Proposition VI. Theorem VI.
f 4.
Corollaries.
1. An angle contained by any two circles of the
sphere is equal to the angle formed by their projec¬
tions. For the tangents to these circles on the sphere
are projected into straight lines, which either coincide
with, or are tangents to, their projections on the primi¬
tive.
2. An angle contained by any two circles of the
sphere is equal to the angle formed by the radii of their
projections at the point of intersection.
Proposition IV. Theorem IV.
The centre of a projected great circle is distant from
the centre of the primitive ; the tangent of the incli¬
nation of the great circle to the primitive, and its ra¬
dius, is the secant of its inclination.
. ^et MNG (fig. 4.) be the projection of a great
circle, meeting the primitive in the extremities of the
dmmeter MN, and let the diameter BD, perpendicular
to MN, meet the prbjection in F, G. Bisect FG in
JH, and join NH. I hen, because any angle contained
by two circles of the sphere is equal to the angle formed
by the radii of their projections at the point of intersec¬
tion 4 therefore the angle contained by the proposed
great circle and the primitive is equal to the angle
LI\H, of which EH is the tangent, and NH the se¬
cant, to the radius of the primitive.
Corollaries.
the centre of the primitive,
gent, of half its inclination.
T "A M "VT , V .
Let MN (fig. 6.) be a great circle perpendicular tor.V A
he primitive ABCD, and A the projecting point; then &
aie tlie P^es of MN, and of ail its parallels m n,
i-*. meet 1,16 diameter BI) in F f
which will therefore be the projected poles of MN and
its parallels. The angle BEM is the inclination of the
circle MEN, and its parallels, to the primitive : and
because BC and MF are quadrants, and MC common
to both ; therefore PC=BM : and hence PEC is also
the inclination of MN and its parallels. Now EF is
the tangent of EAF, or of half the angle PEC the in-
clination ; and E/is the tangent of the angle EA f;
but EA / is the complement of EAF, and E f is the
cotangent of half the inclination.
Corollaries.
V Projection of that pole which is nearest to the
projecting point is without the primitive, and the pro¬
jection of the other within.
2. The projected centre of any circle is always be¬
tween the projection of its nearest pole and the centre of
the primitive ; and the projected centres of all circles
are contained between the projected poles.
Proposition VII. Theorem VII.
1. All circles which pass through the points M, N,
are the projections of great circles, and have their cen¬
tres in the line BG; and all circles which passthrough
the points F, G, are the projections of great circles,
and have their centres in the line HI, perpendicular to
2-If NF, NH be continued to meet the primitive in
BL is the measure of the great circle’s in¬
clination to the primitive ; and MT=2BL.
I !
t Proposition V. Theorem V.
I he centre of projection of a less circle perpendicular to
the primitive, is distant from the centre of the primi¬
tive, the secant of the distance of the less circle from
i I Jts barest pole; and the radius of projection is the
tangent of that distance.
fl'- T
I [ , e* (fig. 5.) be the given less circle perpendi-
cu ar to the primitive, and A the projecting point,
raw AM, AN to meet the diameter BD produced
an<^ ? ’ ^ien 18 ^ie projected diameter of
e ess circle : bisect GH in C, and C will be its
centie; join NE, NC. Then because AE, NI are
parallel, the angle INK-NEA ; but NEA=2NMA
Vol. XVII. Part II. 4.
Equal arches of any two great circles of the sphere
will be intercepted between two other circles drawn
on the sphere through the remote poles of those great
circles.
Let AGB, CFD (fig. 7.) be two great circles of the Fis- 7
sphere, whose remote poles are E, P; through which
draw the great circle PBEC, and less circle PGE, in¬
tersecting the great circles AGB, CFD in the po’ints
B, G, and D, F; then the arch BG is equal to the
arch DF.
Because E is the pole of the circle AGB, and P the
pole of CFD, therefore the arches EB, PD are equal;
and since BD is common to both, hence the arch ED
is equal to the arch PB. For the same reason, the
arches EF, PG are equal; but the angle DEF is
equal to the angle BPG : hence these triangles are
equal, and therefore the arch DF is equal to the arch
BG.
Proposition VIII. Theorem VIII.
If from either pole of aprojected greatcircle, two straight
lines be drawn to meet the primitive and the pro¬
jection, they will intercept similar arches of these
circles.
3 H Gn
426
Stereo 'ra- 0n the plane of projection AGB (fig. 7.) let tn®
phic lJro- great circle CFD be projected into cfd, and its pole I
jection of into p ; through p draw the straight lines 7? f/,/>/, then
^lierc; are the arches GB,/d similar. 1
' Since pd lies both in the plane AGB and ArBU,,
it is in their common section, and the point t> is also
in their common section ; therefore p d passes through
the point B. In like manner it may be shown that
the line p f passes through G. Now the points I), I
are projected into d,f: hence the arches FU,./rt are
similar 5 but GB is equal to FD, therefore the inter¬
cepted arch of the primitive GB is similar to the pro¬
jected arch fd.
PROJECTION OF THE SPHERE. Sect !
straight line EGH, meeting the diameter AB produ-Stereo;
ced if necessary in FI } then Irom the centre H, with phic 1
the radius HE, describe the oblique circle DIE, audit jeetioir
will he the projection of the great circle required. jhe
Or, make Div equal to 1 A j join EE, which inter¬
sects the diameter AB in I ; then through the three
points, D, I, E, describe the oblique circle DIE.
-»
Proposition XI. Problem III.
To find the poles of a great circle.
Corollary.
Hence, if from the angular point of a projected sphe¬
rical angle two straight lines be drawn through the
projected poles of the containing sides, the intercepted
arch of the primitive will be the measure of the spheri¬
cal angle.
Proposition IX. Problem I.
Fig. 8.
Fig. 9.
Fig. to.
To describe the projection of a great circle through two
given points in the plane ol the pi imitive.
Let P and B be given points, and C the centre of
the primitive. ... c .1
if When one point P (fig. 8.) is the centre of the
primitive, a diameter drawn through the given points
will be the great circle required. - .
2. When one point P (fig. 9.) is m the circumfe¬
rence of the primitive. Through P draw the diameter
PD * and an oblique circle described through the three
points P, B, D, will be the projection of the required
great circle. . ,
2 When the given points are neither in the centre
nor circumference of the primitive. Through either of
the given points P (fig. 10.) draw the diameter ED,
and at right angles thereto draw the diameter IG.
From F through P draw the straight line FPH, meet¬
ing the circumference in H : draw the diameter HI,
and draw the straight line FIK, meeting ED produced
in K ; then an arch, terminated by the circumference,
being described through the three points, P, B, K, will
be the great circle.
1. When the given great circle is the primitive, its
centre is the pole.
2. To find the pole of the right circle ACB (fig. 11.).
Draw the diameter PE perpendicular to the given cncle
AB ; and its extremities P, E are the poles of the circle
ACB.
3. To find the pole of the oblique circle DEF (fig. Fig. i
13'.). Join DF, and perpendicular thereto draw the
diameter AB, cutting the given oblique circle DEF
in E. Draw the straight line FEG, meeting the cir¬
cumference in G. Make GI, GU, each equal to AD j
then FI being joined, cuts the diameter AB in P, the
lower pole j through F and H draw the stiaight line
FH», meeting the diameter AB produced in p, which
will be the opposite or exterior pole.
Proposition XII. Problem IV.
To describe a less circle about any given point as a pole,
and at any given distance from that pole.
Proposition X. Problem II.
To describe the representation of a great circle about
any given point as a pole.
Fig. 11.
Let P be the given pole, and C the centre of the pri¬
mitive. ' , ...
1. When P (fig. 8.) is in the centre ol the primitive,
then the primitive will be the great circle required.
2. When the pole P (fig. II.) is in the circumfe¬
rence of the primitive. Through P draw the diameter
PE, and the diameter AB drawn at right angles to PE
will be the projected great circle required.
2. When the given pole is neither in the centre nor
circumference of the primitive. Through the pole I
(fig* 12.) draw the diameter AB, and draw the diame-
ccccxuv. ter J)E perpendicular to AB ; through E and P draw
the straight line EPF, meeting the circumference in F.
Make FG equal to FD } through E and G draw the
4
,. When the pole of the less circle is in the centre
of the primitive-, then from the centre of the primitive,
with the semitangent of the distance of the given circle
from its pole, describe a circle, and it will be the pro¬
jection of the less circle required.
2. If the piven pole is in the circumference of the
primitive, from C (fig. 14.) the centre of the primitive, Fig. 1
set ofFCE the secant of t^ie distance of the less circle
from its pole P then from the centre E, with the tan¬
gent of the given distance, describe a circle, and it will
be the less circle required. Or, make PG, PF each
equal to the chord of the distance of the less circle from
its pole. Through B, G draw the straight line BGD
meeting CP produced in D : bisect GD in H,^ and
draw HE perpendicular to GD, and meeting PD in
E • then E is the centre of the less circle.
3. When the given pole is neither in the centre nor
circumference of the primitive. Through P (fig. i5-)>Fig.
the given pole, and C the centre of the primitive, draw
the diameter AB, and draw the diameter DE perpen¬
dicular to AB ; join EP, and produce it to meet the
primitive inp-, make pY, pG, each equal to the chord
of the distance of the less circle from its pole join El
which intersects the diameter AB in H j from E throng 1
G draw the straight line EGI, meeting the diameter
AB produced in I bisect HI inK : Then a circle de¬
scribed from the centre K, at the distance KH or El,
will be the projection of the less circle.
Plate
Proposition XIII. Problem V.
To find the poles of a given less circle.
The poles of a less circle are also those of its parallel
ct I
reogra-
iic Pro-
tian of
Sphere.
if-
PROJECTION OF THE SPHERE.
• great circle. If therefore the parallel great circle he
given, then its poles being found by Prob. III. will be
those of the less circle. But if the parallel great circle
be not given, let HMIN (fig. 15.) be the given less
circle. Through its centre, and C the centre of the pri¬
mitive, draw the line of measures IAHB ; and draw the
diameter DE perpendicular to it, also draw the straight
line EHF meeting the primitive in F 5 make F/> equal
to the chord of the distance of the less circle from its
pole: join E^, and its intersection P with the diame¬
ter AB is the interior pole. Draw the diameter p CL
through E and L, draw EL^ meeting the diameter AB
produced in q; then q is the external pole. Or thus :
Join El intersecting the primitive in G; join also
EH, and produce it to meet the primitive in F •, bisect
the arch GH in p; from E to p draw the straight line
EPp, and P is the pole of the givep less circle.
427
line of chords will give the measure of the arch DE of stereo,,
the give,, less circle. pLieX.
jection of
1 KOFOSITION XVI. Problem VIII. the Sphere.
To measure any spherical angle.
1. If the angle is at the centre of the primitive, it is
measured as a plane angle.
2. W hen the angular point is in the circumference of
the primitive j let A (fig. 19.) be the angular point, Fi T
and ABE an oblique circle inclined to the primitive. & 9’
Through P, the pole of ABE, draw the line A.V p meet¬
ing the circumference in p: then the arch E p is the
measure of the angle BAD, and the arch AYp is the
measure of its supplement BAF : also p F is the mea¬
sure of the angle BAC, and p ED that of its supple- ,
ment.
Proposition XIV. Problem. VI.
To measure any arph of a great circle.
1. Arches of the primitive are measured on the line
of chords.
2. Bight circles are measured on the line of semi¬
tangents, beginning at the centre of the primitive. Thus,
jj, the measure of the portion AC (fig. 16.) of the right
circle DE, is found by applying it to the line of semi¬
tangents. The measure of the arch DB is found by
subtracting that of BC from 90°: the measure of the
arch AF, lying partly on each side of the centre, is ob¬
tained by adding the measures of AC and CF. Lastly,
To measure the part AB, which is neither terminated at
the centre or circumference of the primitive, apply CA
to the line of semitangents j then CB, and the difi'erence
between the measures of these arches, will be that of
AB.
Or thus : Draw the diameter GH perpendicular to
DE; then from either extremity, as 1), of this diame¬
ter, draw lines through the extremities of the arch in¬
tended to be measured j and the intercepted portion of
the primitive applied to the line of chords will give the
measure of the required arch. Thus IK applied to the
line of chords will give the measure of AB.
3. To measure an arch of an oblique circle : draw
lines from its pole through the extremities of the arch
to meet the primitive, then the intercepted portion of
the primitive applied to the line of chords will give the
measure of the arch of the oblique circle. Thus, let
AB (fig. 17.), be an arch of an oblique circle to be
measured, and P its pole 5 from P draw the lines PAD,
PBE meeting the primitive in B and E ; then the arch
DE applied to the line of chords will give the measure
of the arch of the oblique circle AB.
3. If the angular point is neither at the centre nor
circumference of the primitive. Let A (fig. 20.) bepio. 0
the angular point, and DAH, or GAF, the angle to~1S' ^
be measured, P the pole of the oblique circle DAF,
and p the pole of GAH : then from A, through the
points Pp, draw the straight lines APM, A p N, and
the arch MN will be the measure of the angle DAH j
and the supplement of MN will be the measure of the
angle HAF or DxlG.
Proposition XVII. Problem IX.
Io draw a great circle perpendicular to a projected
great circle, and through a point given in it.
Find the pole of the given circle, then a great circle
described through that pole and the given point will be
perpendicular to the given circle. Hence if the given
circle be the primitive, then a diameter drawn through
the given point will be the required perpendicular. If
the given circle is a right one, draw a diameter at right
angles to it; then through the extremities of this dia¬
meter and the given point describe an oblique circle,
and it will be perpendicular to that given. If the given
circle is inclined to the primitive, let it be represented
by BAD (fig. 21.), whose pole is P, and let A be the FjV
point through which the perpendicular is to be drawn : °'
then, by Prob. I. describe a great circle through the
points P and A, and it will be perpendicular to the ob¬
lique circle BAD.
Proposition XVIII. Problem X.
Through a point in a projected great circle, to describe
another great circle to make a given angle with the
former, provided the measure of the given angle is
not less than the distance between the given point and
circle.
Proposition XV. Problem VII.
To measure any arch of a less circle.
Let DEG (fig. 18.) be the given less circle, and
DE the.arch to be measured : find its internal pole P $
and describe the circle AFI parallel to the primitive,
and whose distance from the projecting point may be
equal to the distance of the given less circle from its
pole P: then join PD, PE, which produce to meet
the parallel circle in A and F. Now AF applied to a
Let the given circle lie the primitive, and let A (fig.
19.) be the angular point. Draw the diameter AE, DF
perpendicular to each other; and make the angle CAG
equal to that given, or make CG equal to the tangent
of the given angle; then from the centre G, with the
distance GC, describe the oblique circle ABE, and it
will make with the primitive an angle equal to that
given.
If the given circle be a right one, let it be APB (fig. Fio-. 22,
22.) and let P be the given point. Draw the diameter
3 H 2 GH
428
PROJECTION OF THE SPHERE.
Sect.
s GH perpendicular to AB j join GP, and produce it. to
Pro- a ; make H b equal to twice A a: and G b being joined
jeetion ot intersects A13 in C. Draw CD perpendicular to A13,
the Sphere ant| eqiuil to the cotangent of the given angle to the
' v radius PC \ or make the angle CPI) equal to the com¬
plement of that given : then from the centre D, with
the radius DP, describe the great circle I PE, and the
angle APF, or BPE, will be equal to that given.
Fig. 23. If APB (fig- 23O is an oblique circle. From the
angular point P, draw the lines PG, PC through the
centres of the primitive and given oblique circle.
Through C, the centre of APB, draw GCD at right
annles toPGj make the angle GPD equal to that
given ; and from the centre I), with the radius DP,
describe the oblique circle I1 PE, and the angle All,
or BPE, will be equal to that proposed.
Proposition XIX. Problem XI.
about « as a pole, describe the great circle EDF, cut* Stereos-
ting the primitive and given circle in L and D, and it phic M
will be the great circle required. jection
& the Sphi
Scholium.
It will hence be an easy matter to construct all the
various spherical triangles. The reader is, however,
referred to the article Spherical Tgigonometry, for
the method of constructing them agreeably to this pro¬
jection ; and also for the application to the resolution of
problems of the sphere. For the method of projecting,
the sphere upon the plane of the meridian, and of the
horizon, according to the stereographic projection, see
the article Geography.
SECTION II.
Any great circle cutting the primitive being given, to
describe another great circle which shall cut the
given one in a proposed angle, and have a given arch
intercepted between the primitive and given circles.
If the given circle be a l ight one, let it be represent-
CCGCXLVed by APC (fig. 24.) •, and at right angles thereto draw
fig. 24. the diameter BPM ; make the angle BPF equal to the
complement of the given angle, and PF equal to the
tangent of the given arch ; and from the centre of the
primitive with the secant of the same arch describe the
arch G g". Through I draw FG parallel to AC, meet*
jnp- Gg in G y then from the centre G, with the
tangent PF, describe an arch n 0, cutting APC in I,
and join GT. Through G, and the centre P, draw the
diameter HK *, draw PL perpendicular to HK, and
XL perpendicular to GI, meeting PL in L j then L
will be the centre of the circle HIK, which is that re-
quired.
But if the given great circle be inclined to the pri-
Fig. 25. mitive, let it be ADB (fig. 25.), and E its centre :
make the angle BDF equal to the complement of that
given, and DF equal to the tangent of the given arch,
as before. From P, the centre of the primitive, with
the secant of the same arch, describe the arch G#, and
from E, the centre of the oblique circle, with the ex¬
tent EF, describe an arch intersecting Gg-in G. Now
G being determined, the remaining part of the opera¬
tion is performed as before.
"When the given arch exceeds 90°, the tangent and
secant of its supplement are to be applied on the line
DF the contrary way, or towards the right 5 the former
construction being reckoned to the left.
Proposition XX. Problem XII.
Any great circle in the plane of projection being given,
to describe another great circle, which shall make gi¬
ven angles with the primitive and given circles.
Fig. 26. Let ADC (fig. 26.) be the given circle, and Q its
pole. About P the pole of the primitive, describe an
arch m n, at the distance of as many degrees as are in the
angle which the required circle is to make with the pri¬
mitive. About Q the pole of the circle ADC, and
at a distance equal to the measure of the angle which
the required circle is to make with the given circle
ADC, describe an arch 0 v, cutting m n in n. Then
Of the Orthographic Projection of the Sphere.
The orthographic projection of the sphere, is that in
which the eye is placed in the axis of the plane of pro¬
jection, at an infinite distance with respect to the dia¬
meter of the sphere ; so that at the sphere all the visual
rays are assumed parallel, and therefore perpendicular
to the plane of projection.
Hence the orthographic projection of any point is
where a perpendicular from that point meets the plane
of projection ; and the orthographic representation of
any object is the figure formed by perpendiculars drawn
from every point of the object to the plane of pro¬
jection.
This method of projection is used in the geometrical
delineation of eclipses, occultations, and transits. It is
also particularly useful in various other projections, such
as the analemma. See Geography, Sec.
•
Proposition I. Theorem I.
Every straight line is projected into a straight line. . If
the given line be parallel to the plane of projection,
it is projected into an equal straight line ; but if it
is inclined to the primitive, then the given straight
line will be to its projection in the ratio of the radius
to the cosine of inclination.
Let AB (fig. 27.) be the plane of projection, and Fig. 2^
let CD be a straight line parallel thereto : from the ex¬
tremities C, D of the straight line CD, draw the lines
CE, DF perpendicular to AB j then by 3. of xi. of
Eucl. the intersection EF, of the plane CEFD, with
the plane of projection, is a straight line : and because
the straight lines CD, EF are parallel, and also CE,
DF \ therefore by 34* i* Eucl. the opposite sides
are equal •, hence the straight line CD, and its projec¬
tion EF, are equal. Again, let GH be the proposed
straight line, inclined to the primitive; then the lines
GE, HF being drawn perpendicular to AB, the inter-
* cepted portion EF will be the projection of GH.
Through G draw GI parallel to AB, and the angle
IGH will be equal to the inclination of the given line
to the plane of projection. Now GH being the radius,
GI, or its equal EF, will be the cosine of IGH; hence
the given line GH is to its projection EF as radius to
the cosine or inclination.
Corollaries.
ict. II.
rthagra- COROLLARIES.
i|iic pro-
ctionof i. A straight line perpendicular to the plane ofpro-
Sphere. jectJ011 {s projected into a point.
2. Every straight line in a plane parallel to the pri¬
mitive is projected into an equal and parallel straight
line. &
3. A plane angle parallel to the primitive is projected
into an equal angle.
4. Any plane rectilineal figure parallel to the primi¬
tive is projected into an equal and similar figure.
5. The area of any rectilineal figure is to the area
of its projection as radius to the cosine of its inclina¬
tion.
Proposition II. Theorem II.
Every great circle, perpendicular to the primitive, is
projected into a diameter of the primitive j and every
arch of it, reckoned from the pole of the primitive,
is projected into its sine.
PROJECTION OF THE SPHERE. 429
tance of the parallel circle from the primitive, or the Orthopia-
sine of its distance from the pole of the primitive.
Proposition IV. Theorem IV.
phic pro¬
jection of
the Sphere.
An inclined circle is projected into an ellipse, whose
transverse axis is the diameter of the circle.
1. Let ELI (fig. 30.) he a great circle inclined to Fig. 30,
the primitive EBF, and EF their line of common sec¬
tion. From the centre C, and any other point K, in
EF, let the perpendicular CB, KI be drawn in the
plane of the primitive, and CL, KN, in the plane of
the great circle, meeting the circumference in L, N.
Let LG, ND be perpendicular to CB, KI; then G,
D are the projections of L, N. And because the tri¬
angles LCG, NKD are equiangular, CL*: CG*:: NK*:
DK* ; or EC* : CG* :: EKF : DK* : therefore the
points G, D are in the curve of an ellipse, of which
EF is the transverse axis, and CG the semiconjugate
axis.
■ 58. Let BFD (fig. 28.) be the primitive, and ABCD
a great circle perpendicular to it, passing through its
poles A, C ; then the diameter BED, which is their
line of common section, will be the projection of the
circle ABCD. For if from any point, as G, in the
circle ABC, a perpendicular GH fall upon BD, it will
also be perpendicular to the plane of the primitive:
therefore H is the projection of G. Hence the whole
circle is projected into BD, and any arch AG into EH
equal to GI its sine.
Corollaries.
1. Every arch of a great circle, reckoned from its in¬
tersection with the primitive, is projected into its versed
sine.
2. Every less circle perpendicular to the primitive is
projected into its line of common section with the pri¬
mitive, which is also its own diameter: and every arch
of the semicircle above the primitive, reckoned from the
middle point, is projected into its sine.
3. Every diameter of the primitive is the projection
of a great circle; and every chord the projection of a
less circle.
4. A spherical angle at the pole of the primitive is
projected into an equal angle.
Proposition III. Theorem HI.
A circle parallel to the primitive is projected into a
circle equal to itself, and concentric with the primi¬
tive.
'■9' Let the less circle FIG (fig. 29.) be parallel to the
plane of the primitive BND. The straight line HE,
which joins their centres, is perpendicular to the primi¬
tive; therefore E is the projection of H. Let any radii
HI and IN perpendicular to the primitive be drawn.
Then IN, HE being parallel, are in the same plane ;
therefore IH, NE, the lines of common section of the
plane IE, with two parallel planes, are parallel ; and
the figure I HEN is a parallelogram. Hence NErz
IH, and consequently FIG is projected into an equal
circle KNL, whose centre is E.
Corollary.
The radius of the projection is the cosine of the dis-
COROLLARIES,
1. In a projected great circle, the semiconjugate axis
is the cosine of the inclination of the great circle to the
primitive.
2. Perpendiculars to the transverse axis intercept
corresponding arches of the projection and the primi¬
tive.
3. The eccentricity of the projection is the sine of
the inclination of the great circle to the primitive.
Case 2. Let AQB (fig. 31.) be a less circle, incli-Fjg. 31.
ned to the primitive, and let the great circle LBM, per¬
pendicular to both, intersect them in the lines AB, LM.
From the centre O, and any other point N in the dia¬
meter AB, let the perpendiculars TOP, NQ, be drawn
in the plane of the less circle, to meet its circumference
in T, P, Q. Also from the points A, N, O, B, let
AG, NI, OC, BH, be drawn perpendicular to LM;
and from P, Q, T, draw PE, QD, TF, perpendicular
to the primitive; then G, I, C, H, E, D, F, are the
projections of these points. Because OP is perpendicu¬
lar to LMB, and OC, PE, being perpendicular to the
primitive, are in the same plane, the plane COPE is
perpendicular to LBM. But the primitive is perpen¬
dicular to LBM ; therefore the common section EC is
perpendicular to LBM, and to LM. Hence CP is a
parallelogram, and EC=OP. In like manner, FC,
HI, are proved perpendicular to LM, and equal to
OT, NQ. Thus ECF is a straight line, and equal to
the diameter PT. Let QR, DK be parallel to AB,
LM; then RO=NQ=DI=rKC, and PRxRT=EK
XKF. But AO : CG :: NO : Cl ; therefore AO* :
CG* : : QR* : DK*; and EC* ; CG2 ; : EKF :
DK*.
Corollaries.
1. The transverse axis is to the conjugate as radius to
the cosine of the circle’s inclination to the primitive.
2. Half the transverse axis is the cosine of half the
sum of the greatest and least distances of the less circle
from the primitive.
3. The extremities of the conjugate axis are in the
line of measures, distant from the centre of the primi¬
tive by the cosines of the greatest and least distances of
the less circle from the primitive.
4. If
43°
Oitliogra-
j>hic Pro¬
jection of
tlie Splicre.
Tig. 33.
fig. 34.
PROJECTION OF THE SPHERE.
Sect. II
4. If from the extremities of the conjugate axis of
any elliptical projection perpendiculars be drawn (in the
same direction if the circle do not intersect the primi¬
tive, but if otherwise in opposite directions), they wrl
intersect an arch of the primitive, whose chord is equal
to the diameter of the circle.
Proposition V. Theorem V.
The projected poles of an inclined circle are in its line
of measures distant from the centre of the primitive
the sine of the inclination of the circle to the pri¬
mitive.
Let ABCD (fig. 32.) be a great circle, perpendicu¬
lar both to the primitive and the inclined circle, and
intersecting them 111 the diameters AC , ISIN. T hen
ABCD passes through the poles of the inclined circle:
let these be P, Q ; and let P^, Q be perpendicular to
AC } p., q are the pro]ected poles 5 and it is evident that
pO = sine of BP, or MA, the inclination
Corollaries.
1. The centre of the primitive, the centre of the pro¬
jection, the projected poles, and the extremities of
the conjugate axis, are all in one and the same straight
line. . .
2. The distance of the centre of projection from the
centre of the primitive, is to the cosine of the distance
of the circle from its own pole, as the sine of the cir¬
cle’s inclination to the primitive is to the radius.
GV of the primitive equal to QP, and draw \ A at Orthogn
right angles to GC ; and in G g towards the opposite phicl'n
parts of C, take CB equal to AC j then, with the
greater axis BS, and less axis AB, describe an ellipse, i | ^
and it will be the projection of the oblique circle re¬
quired.
3. When the distance of the given point from the
primitive is equal to the cosine of the given inclination.
Every thing remaining as in the preceding case} let
A be the given point, and AC the cosine of an arch
GV, equal to the given arch QP } then drawing the
diameter RCS at right angles to ACB, the ellipse de¬
scribed with the given axis RS, AB will be the projec¬
tion of the inclined circle.
4. When the distance of the given point from the
centre of the primitive is less than the semidiameti 1 of
primitive, but greater than the cosine of the given in¬
clination.
Let D be the given point, through which draw the
diameter IC 2; and at the point D draw DL peipen-
dicular to DC meeting the primitive in L } also draw
LK, making with LD the angle DLK equal to the
complement of the given inclination. Let Llv meet
DC in K } then will DK be less than DC. On DC as Walker
a diameter describe a circle, and make DH equal to ^ r
DK} through H draw a diameter of the primitive1'
RCS, and describe an ellipse through the points R, D,
S, and it will be the projection of the inclined circle.
Proposition VIII. Problem III.
Proposition VI. Problem I.
Through two given points in the plane of the pnnn-
tive to describe the projection of a great circle.
To describe the projection of a circle perpendicular to
the primitive, and whose distance from its pole is
equal to a given quantity.
Let PA p B (fig. 33.) be the primitive circle, and
P, p the poles of the right circle to be projected.
Then if the circle to be projected is a great circle,
draw the diameter AB at right angles to the axis P p,
and it will be that required. But if the required pro¬
jection is that of a less circle, make PE, PF each equal
to the chord of the distance of the less circle from its
pole} join EE, and it will be the projection of the less
circle required.
Proposition VII. Problem II.
Through a given point in the plane of the primitive to
describe the projection of a great circle, having a
given inclination to the primitive.
1. When the given inclination is equal to a right
anode, a straight line drawn throngh the centre of the
primitive, and the given point, will be the projection
required.
2. When the given inclination is less than a right
angle, and the given point in the circumference of the
primitive. Let R (fig. 34). he a point given in the
circumference of the primitive, through which it is re¬
quired to draw the projection of a great circle, inclined
to the primitive in an angle measured by the arch QP
of the primitive.
Through the given point R draw the diameter RCS,
and draw GCg at right angles to it. Make the arch
1. If the two given points and the centre of the pri¬
mitive be in the same straight line, then a diameter of
the primitive being drawn through these points will be
the projection of the great circle required.
2. When the two given points are not in the same
straight line with the centre of the primitive} and one
of them is in the circumference of the primitive. -
Let DR (fig. 34.) be the two given points, of which
R is in the circumference of the primitive. Draw the
diameters RCS, and GC g, FDH perpendicular to it,
meeting the primitive in Gg F. Divide GC, £ C, in
A, B, in the same proportion as FH is divided in D }
and describe the ellipse whose axes are RS, AB, and
centre C; and it will be the projection required.
3. When the given points are within the primitive,
and not in the same straight line with its centre.
Let D, E (fig. 35.) be the two given points; lg'
through C the centre of the primitive draw the straight
lines ID, KE i; draw DL perpendicular to I /, and
EO perpendicular to K k, meeting the primitive in L,
O. Through E, and towards the same parts of C,
draw EP parallel to DC, and in magnitude a fourth
proportional to LD, DC, OE. Draw the diameter
CP meeting the primitive in R, S, and describe an el¬
lipse through the points D and R, or S, and it will also
pass through E. This ellipse will be the projection of
the proposed inclined circle.
Proposition IX. Problem IV.
To describe the projection of a less circle parallel to the
primitive, its distance from the pole of the primitive
being given. riom
[lii#
ect. n.
Irthogra- From the pole of the primitive, with the sine of the
l)lic Pi0- given distance of the circle from its pole, describe a
;eeCSp0he?e.C^]g’ and lt wiU be projection of the given less
Proposition X. Problem V.
About a given point as a projected pole to describe the
projection of an inclined circle, whose distance from
its pole is given.
Let P (fig. 36.) be the given projected pole, through
which draw the diameter G g, and draw the diameter
H b perpendicular thereto. From P draw PL per¬
pendicular to GP meeting the circumference in L ;
through which draw the diameter L /. Make LT,
LIv each equal to the chord of the distance of the less
ciicle from its pole, and join i K, which intersects L /,
Q- JI0m tl,e Points T, Q, K, draw the lines FA,
QS, KB, perpendicular to Gg; and make OK, OS,
each equal to QT, or QK. Then an ellipse described
through the points A, S, B, K will be the projection of
the proposed less circle.
37*
38..
Proposition XI. Problem VI.
To find the poles of a given projected circle.
1. If the projected circle be parallel to the primitive,
the centre of the primitive will be its pole.
2. It the circle be perpendicular to the primitive,
then the extremities of a diameter of the primitive drawn
at right angles to the straight line representing the pro¬
jected circle, will be the poles of that circle.
3. When the projected circle is inclined to the pri¬
mitive.
Let ARBS (fig. 36, 37.) be the elliptical projection
ot any oblique circle ; through the centre of which,
and C the centre of the primitive, draw the line of mea¬
sures CBA, meeting the ellipse in B, A, and the pri¬
mitive in G, g. Draw CH, BK, AT perpendicular
to G g, meeting the primitive in H, K, T. Bisect the
arch KT in L, and draw LP perpendicular to G g-;
a tmdci wil! be th? Pr.°.iected pole of the circle, of which
AKBS is the projection.
Proposition XII. Problem VII.
To measure any portion of a projected circle, and con¬
versely.
projection of the sphere. t
intercepted portion BF of the primitive will be the OrtlZ^
measure of the given arch DE of the less circle DEH. phic Pro
3- D the given less circle, of which an arch is to be jection of
measured, is perpendicular to the primitive. the sPhere.
Let ADEB (fig. 40.) be the less circle, of which ^ 
the measure of the arch DE is required. Through C ^ 4°‘
the centre of the primitive, draw the line of measures
M m, and from the intersection O of the given right
circle, and the line of measures, with the radius OA°or
OB describe the semicircle AFGB; through the points
D, L, draw the lines DF, EG parallel to the line of
measures, and the arch EG will be the measure of DE
to the radius AO. In order to find a similar arch in the
circumlerence of the primitive, join OF, OG, and at
the centre C of the primitive, make the angle m CH
equal to FOG, and the arch m H to the radius C m will
be the measure of the arch DE.
4. When the great projection is of a less circle incli¬
ned to the primitive.
. ^et (%• 41-) be the projection of a less circle Fig 41
inclined to the primitive, and DE a portion of that cir-
cle to be measured. Through O the centre of the pro¬
jected circle, and C the centre of the primitive, draw
the line of measures M m ; and from the centre O, with
the radius OK, or OS, describe the semicircle KGFS :
through the points D, E, draw the lines DF, EG
parallel to the line of measures, and EG will be the
measure of the arch DE to the radius OR, or OS
.loin OI OG, and make the angle m CH equal to
1 UG, and the arch m H of the primitive will he the
measure of the arch DE ol the inclined circle RDS.
1 he converse of this proposition, namely, to cut off
an arch from a given projected circle equal to a given
arch ol the primitive, is obvious.
The above operation would be greatly shortened by
using the line of signs in the sector.
. 11 seems unnecessary to insist farther on this projec¬
tion, especially as the reader will see the application of
it to the projection of the sphere on the planes of the
Meridian, Eavator, and Horizon, in the article Geo¬
graphy ; and to the delineation of Eclipses in the arti¬
cle Astronomy. The Ana lemma, Plate CCXXXV. in
the article Geography, is also according to this pro¬
jection ; and the method of applying it to the solution
ol astronomical problems is there exemplified.
SECTION III.
1.
cle.
When the given projection is that of a great cir- Gnomonic Projection of the Sphere.
Let ADBE (fig. 38.) be the given great circle,
either perpendicular or inclined to the primitive, of
which the portion DE is to be measured, and let M m
be the line of measures of the given circle. Through
the points D, E, draw the lines EG, DF parallel to
m , and the arch IG of the primitive will be the
measure of the arch DE of the great circle, and con¬
versely.
1 When the projection is that of a less circle paral¬
lel to the primitive.
c DE (fig. 39.) be the portion to be measured,
1 U'1, ?i ^le ess cjr(de DELI parallel to the primitive. From
ie centre C draw the lines CD, CE, and produce them
to meet the primitive in the points. B, F. Then the
te
In this projection the eye is in the centre of the
sphere, and the plane of projection touches the sphere
in a given point parallel to a given circle. It is named
gnomonic, on account of its being the foundation of di¬
alling : the plane of projection may also represent the
plane of a dial, whose centre being the projected pole,
the semiaxis of the sphere will be the stile or gnomon
of the dial.
As the projection of great circles is represented by
straight lines, and less circles parallel to the plane of
projection are projected into concentric circles : there¬
fore many problems of the sphere are very easily resol¬
ved. Other problems, however, become more intricate
on account of some of the circles being projected into
ellipses, parabolas, and hyperbolas.
Proposition
432
Gnomonic
I’rojection
of the
Sphere.
Fig. 42.
PROJECTION OF THE SPHERE.
Proposition I. Theorem I.
Every great circle is projected into a straiglit line per¬
pendicular to the line of measures 5 and whose distance
from the circle is equal to the cotangent of its inc 1-
nation, or to the tangent of its nearest distance Irom
the pole of the projection.
Let BAD (fig. 42-) be tbe g'iven cIre1*’ an(1] kt
the circle CBED be perpendicular to BAD, and to
the plane of projection j whose intersection Cl’ with
this last plane will be the line of measures. Now since
the circle CBED is perpendicular both to the given
circle BAD and to the plane of projection, the com¬
mon section of the two last planes produced will there¬
fore be perpendicular to the plane ol the circle CBL1
produced, and consequently to the line ot measures:
hence the given circle will be projected into that sec¬
tion ; that is, into a straight line passing through it,
perpendicular to C d. Now C d is the cotangent of the
angle C A, the inclination of the given circle, or the
tangent of the arch CD to the radius AC.
Corollaries.
1. A great circle perpendicular to the plane of pro¬
jection is projected into a straight line passing through
the centre of projection : and any arch is projected into
its correspondent tangent.
2. Any point, as D, or the pole of any circle, is pro¬
jected into a point d, whose distance from the pole of
projection is equal to the tangent ol that distance.
3. If two great circles be perpendicular to each
other, and one of them passes through the pole of pro¬
jection, they will be projected into two straight lines
perpendicular to each other.
4. Hence if a great circle be perpendicular to several
other great circles, and its representation pass through
the centre of projection $ then all these circles rvill be
represented by lines parallel to one another, and per¬
pendicular to the line of measures, for representation of
that first circle.
Proposition II. Theorem II.
If two great circles intersect in the pole of projection,
their representations will make an angle at the centie
of the plane of projection, equal to the angle made by
these circles on the sphere.
For since both these circles are perpendicular to the
plane of projection, the angle made by their intersec¬
tions with this plane is the same as the angle made by
these circles.
Proposition III. Theorem III.
Any less circle parallel to the plane ol projection is pro¬
jected into a circle whose centre is the pole of projec¬
tion, and its radius is equal to the tangent ot the dis¬
tance of the circle from the pole ol projection.
Sect. Ill
Gnomor
Corollary. ErojectL
. of the
If a circle be parallel to the plane of projection, and Sphere,
45 degrees from the pole, it is projected into a circle
equal to a great circle of the sphere ; and therefore may
be considered as the primitive circle, and its ladius the
radius of projection.
Proposition IV. Theorem IV.
A less circle not parallel to the plane of projection is
projected into a conic section, whose transverse axis
is in the line of measures ; and the distance ol its
nearest vertex from the centre of the plane ot pro¬
jection is equal to the tangent of its nearest distance
from the pole of projection j and the distance ol the
other vertex is equal to the tangent of the greatest
distance.
Any less circle is the base of a cone whose vertex ^
is at A (fig. 43.) ; and this cone being produced, its in- £‘4j
tersection with the plane of projection will he a conic
section. Thus the cone DAF, having the circle DF
for its base, being pioduced, will be cut by the plane
of projection in an ellipse whose transverse diameter is
df; and C d is the tangent of the angle CAD, and
c f the tangent of CAF. In like manner, the cone
AFE, having the side AE parallel to the line of mea¬
sures d f; being cut by the plane of projection, the
section will be a parabola, ol whichJ^is the nearest ver¬
tex, and the point into which E is projected is at an
infinite distance. Also the cone AFG, whose base is
the circle FG, being cut by the plane of projection,
the section will be a hyperbola ", of which/is the near¬
est vertex j and GA being produced gives d the other
vertex.
Corollaries.
1. A less circle will be projected into an ellipse, a
parabola or hyperbola, according as the distance of its
most remote point is less, equal to, or greater than, 90
degrees.
2. If H be the centre, and K &, / the focus of the
ttt^ A d—A/
ellipse, hyperbola, or parabola j then HK. — ^
for the ellipse *, H for the hyperbola j
and / n being drawn perpendicular to hJL f
n for the parabola.
2
Proposition V. Theorem V.
Let the plane TW (fig. 44.) be perpendicular^ to the Fig. 44.
plane of projection TV, and BCD a great circle of
the sphere in the plane TW. Let the great circle
BED be projected into the straight line b ek. Draw
CQS perpendicular to b k, and C m parallel to it and
equal to CA, and make QS equal to Q m ; then any
angle QS t is the measure of the arch Q £ ol the pro¬
jected circle.
Let the circle PI (fig. 42.) be parallel to the plane
GF, then the equal arches PC, C.L are projected into
the equal tangents GC, CH", and therefore C the point
of contact and pole of the circle PI and ot the projec¬
tion, is the centre of the representation G, H.
1
Join AQ : then because C m is equal to C A, the
angle QC m equal to QCA, each being a right angle,
and the side QC common to both triangles j therefore
Q m, or its equal QS, is equal QA. Again, since the
plane ACQ is perpendicular to the plane TV, and b Q
ect. IIL
nomoHic to the intersection CQ j theiefore b Q is perpendicular
rojection both to AQ and QS : hence, since AQ and QS
PROJECTION OF THE SPHERE.
are
:■ 44-
equal, all the angles at S cut the line b Q in the same
points as the equal angles at A. But by the angles at
A the circle BED is projected into the line b Q.
Therefore the angles at S are the measures of the parts
of the projected circle b Q ; and S is the dividing centre
thereof. *
Corollaries.
I- Any great circle Q £ is projected into a line of
tangents to the radius SQ.
2. If the circle b C pass through the centre of pro¬
jection, then the projecting point A is the dividing cen¬
tre thereof, and G ^ is the tangent of its correspondent
arch CB to CA the radius of projection.
Proposition VI. Theorem VI.
Let the parallel circle GLH (fig. 44.) be as far from
the pole of projection C as the circle FNI is from its
pole; and let the distance of the poles C, P be bisect-
, eJ by the radius AO : and draw b AD perpendicular
to AO ; then any straight line b Q t drawn through b
will cut ob tne arches h /, l n equal to each other in
the representations of these equal circles in the plane
of projection.
Corollary.
Hence, if from the projected pole of any circle a
perpendicular be erected to the line of measures, it
will cut Oil a quadrant from the representation of that
circle.
433
Gnomon k;
Projection
of die
Sphere.
Proposition VIII. Theorem VIII.
Let F n & (fig. 45.) be the projection of any circle FI,
and p the projection of its pole P. If C g be the
cotangent of CAP, and g B perpendicular to the
line ot measures g C, let CAP be bisected by A 0,
and the line 0 B drawn to any point B, and also p B
cutting Y n kin d; then the'angle p- 0 B is the mea¬
sure of the arch F d.
45*
I he arch PG is a quadrant, and the anpje p- 0 A=:
P A-f-o A P=g A C-foA p—g a C-f C A o=g A 0;
therefore g- Az=g 0; consequently 0 is the dividing cen-
tix 0 g 13, the representation of GA 5 and hence, by
i rop. v. the angle ^ o B is the measure of g B. But
since pg represents a quadrant, therefore/? is the pole of
g B ; and hence the great circle p dB passing through
the pole of the circles g B and F n will cut off equal
arches m both, that is F d=g B=angle g o B.
Corollary.
^ Let the projections of the less circles be described*
Then, because BD is perpendicular to AO, the arches
BO, DO are equal ; but since the less circles are
equally distant each from its respective pole, therefore
the arches FO, OH are equal; and hence the arch BF
ia equal to the arch DH. For the same reason the
arches BN, DL are equal; and the angle FBN is equal
to the angle LDH; therefore, on" the sphere, the
arches I N, HL are equal. And since the great circle
BNLD is projected into the straight line b Q n f, &c.
therefore n is the projection of N, and l that of L ;
hence/ra, h /, the projections of FN, TIL respectively,
are equal.
Proposition VII. Theorem VII.
HS- HYnk, h lg, (fig. 45.) be the projections of two equal
circles, whereof one is as far from its pole P as the
other from its pole C, which is the centre of projec¬
tion ; and if the distance of the projected poles C,/?
be divided in o, so that the degrees in (b o, o p he
equal, and the perpendicular o S be erected to the
line of measures g h. Then the line p n> C l drawn
from the poles C, /?, through any point Q in the line
0 S, ivill cut oft the arches F n, h l equal to each
other, and to the angle Q C/?.
Phe great circle A o perpendicular to the plane of the
primitive is projected into the straight line o S perpendi¬
cular to g-/?, by Prop. i. cor. 3. Let Q be the projec¬
tion of and since/? Q, CQ are straight lines, they are
therefore the representations of the arches P <7, C q of
great circles. Now since P y C is an isosceles spherical
triangle, the angles PCQ, CPQ are therefore equal ;
and hence the arches P C <7 produced will cut off
equal arches from the given circles FI, GH, whose re¬
presentations 1 «, h l are therefore equal: and since the
angle QC/? is the measure of the arch h /, it is also the
measure of its equal F n.
Vol. XVII. Part II.
The angle g 0 B is the measure of the angle g pB.
1 or the triangle g p B represents a triangle on the
sphere, wherein the arch which g B represents is equal
to the angle which the angle p represents ; because gp
is a quadrant; therefore g- 0 B is the measure of both.
Proposition IX. Theorem I.
To draw a great circle through a given point, and
whose distance from the pole of projection is equal to
a given quantity.
Let ADB (fig. 46.) be the projection, C its pole or FiV. 46.
centre, and P the point through which a great circle is ° ^
to be drawn : through the points P, C draw the straight
line PC A, and draw CE perpendicular to it: make the
angle CAE equal to the given distance of the circle
from the pole of projection C ; and from the centre C,
with tne 1 ad ms Ck, describe the circle El* G : through
P draw the straight line PIK, touching the circle EFG
in I, and it will be the projection of the great circle re¬
quired.
Proposition X. Problem II.
To draw a great circle perpendicular to a great circle
which passes through the pole of projection, and at a
given distance from that pole.
Let ADB (fig. 46.) be the primitive, and Cl the
given circle : draw CL perpendicular to Cl, and make
the angle CLI equal to the given distance: then the
straight line KP, drawn through I parallel to CL, will
be the required projection.
Proposition XI. Problem III.
At a given point in a projected great circle, to draw
another great circle to make a given angle with the
former; and, conversely, to measure the angle con¬
tained between two great circles.
Let P (fig. 47.) be the given point in the given great 47.
I 3 I circle
PROJECTION OF THE SPHERE.
of the
Sphere.
Clonic circle PB, and C the centre of the primitive :
Projection the points P, C draw the straight line 1 CG , and d ^
the radius of the primitive CA perpendicular theie ,
join PA; to which draw AG perpendicular: through G
draw BGD at right angles to GP, meeting PB in B ;
bisect the angle CAP by the straight line AO , join
BO, and make the angle BOD equal ^ that g*ven ’
then DP being joined, the angle BPD will he that re-
4 If the measure of the angle BPD be required, from
the points B, D draw the lines BO, DO, and the ang e
BOD is the measure of BPD.
Proposition XII. Problem 1^ •
To describe the projection of a less circle parallel to the
plane of projection, and at a given distance from its
pole.
Fi,r 46. Let ADB (fig. 46-) he the primitive, and C its cen-
” tre : set the distance of the circle from its pole, from
to H, and from H to D ; and dravy the straight line
AED, intersecting CE perpendicular to BC, in the
point E : with the radius CR describe the circle El G,
and it is the projection required.
Proposition XIII. Problem V.
To draw a less circle perpendicular to the plane of pro¬
jection.
Plate Let C (fig. 48.) be the centre of projection, and TI
CCCCXLVII. a great circle parallel to the proposed less cnee, at
%. 45- make the angles 1CN, TCO each equal to the distance
   Sect. I!
one half of H Q : then with the vertex j\ and focus Gnomon:
describe the parabola f m, for the projection of the gi- i'rojcctn
• 1 TT' P Of the:
ven circle IE. Sphere,:
Proposition XV. Problem ^ II. '—N—
To find the pole of a given projected circle.
Let DME (fig. 50.) be the given projected circle Fig. 5c.
whose line of measures is DI, and C the centre of pio-
jection ; from C draw the radius of projection CA, per¬
pendicular to the line of measures, and A will be the
projecting point : join AD, AT1, and bisect the angle
DAE by the straight line AP ; hence P is the pole.
If the given projection be an hyperbola, the angle
/AG (fig. 49.), bisected, will give its pole in the line
of measures ; and in a parabola, the angle/AE bisect¬
ed will give its pole.
Proposition XVI. Problem VIII.
To measure any portion of a projected great circle, or to
lay off any number of degrees thereon.
Let EP (fig. 51.) be tbe great circle, and IP a por-Fig.51.
tionthereofto be measured: draw ICD perpendicular to
IP ; let C be the centre, and CB the radius of projec¬
tion, with which describe the circle LBD ; make IA
equal to IB; then A is the dividing centre of EP;
hence AP being joined, the angle IAP is the measure
of the arch IP. .
Or, if IAP be made equal to any given angle, then
IP is*the correspondent arch of the projection.
Proposition XVII. Problem IX.
Fig. 49-
make tue angles ^ . . rpr iDf
of the less circle from its parallel great circle II; t
CL be the radius of projection, and from the extremity
L draw LM perpendicular thereto ; make C\ equal to
LM; or GF equal to CM: then with the vertex V and
* See Conic assymptotes CN, CO describe the hyperbola M \ K ;
Sections. or/wjth the focus F and CV describe the hyperbola, and
it will be the perpendicular circle described.
Proposition XIV. Problem ^ I.
To describe the projection of a less circle inclined to the
plane of projection.
Draw the line of measures dp (fig. 49O i and at C, the
centre of projection, draw CA perpendicular to dp, and
equal to the radius of projection: with the centre A, and
radius AC, describe the circle DCFG ; and draw LAE
parallel io dp: then take the greatest and least distances
of the circle from the pole of projection, and set them
from C to D and F respectively, for the circle DI ; and
from A, the projecting point, draw the straight lines AI/,
and ADd; then df will be the transverse axis of the
ellipse ; but if D fall beyond the line HE, as at G, then
from G draw the line GAD/ and // is the transverse
axis of an hyperbola : and it the point D tall in the line
HE, as at E, then the line AE will not meet the line of
measures, and the circle will be projected into a parabola
whose vertex is/: bisect d f in H, the centre, and tor
the ellipse take half the difference of the lines A/ A/
which laid from H will give K the focus : for the hy¬
perbola, half the sum of A/ A/ being laid trom 11,
will give k its focus: then with the transve’rse axis dj,
and focus K, or k, describe the ellipse d M/ or hyper¬
bola/ m, which will be the projection ot the inclined
circle: for the parabola, make EQ equal to I'/ and
draw/ n perpendicular to AQ, and make/A: equal to
To measure any arch of a projected less circle, or to lay
off any number of degrees on a given projected less
circle.
Let F 11 (fig. 52.) be the given less circle, and P its Fig. 52,
pole : from the centre of projection C draw CA perpen¬
dicular to the line of measures GH, and equal to the ra¬
dius of projection ; join AP, and bisect the angle CAP
by the straight line AO, to which draw AD perpendi¬
cular : describe the circle G l II, as far distant from the
pole of projection C as the given circle is from its pole
P; and through any given point n, in the projected cir¬
cle F n, draw D n l, then H l is the measure of the arch
F 7Z*
Or let the measure be laid from H to l, and the line
D / joined will cut off F rc equal thereto.
Proposition XVIII. Problem X.
To describe the gnomonic projection of a spherical
triangle, when three sides are given ; and to find the
measures of either of its angles. 1
Let ABC (fig. 53.) be a spherical triangle whose pjg. J
three sides are given : draw the radius CD (fig. 54-) Fig. 54
perpendicular to the diameter of the primitive El ; and
at the point D make the angles CDA, CDG, ADI,
equal respectively to the sides AC, BC, AB» of
spherical triangle ABC (fig. 53.), the lines DA, DG
intersecting the diameter EE, produced if necessary m
the points A and G : make DI equal to DG ; then
from the centre C, with the radius CG, describe an
arch ; and from A, with the distance AI, describe ano¬
ther arch, intersecting tlie former in B ; join AB, CtS,
and ACB will he the projection of the spherical tri¬
angle (fig. <;3-) 5 an(I Bie rectilineal angle ACii is tlie
measure of the spherical angle ACB (fig- 53-) •
Proposition.
Sect. Ill*
PROJECTION OF THE SPHERE.
Proposition XIX. Problem XL
J5nomonic
Projection
of the The three angles of a spherical triangle being given, to
project it, and to find the measures of the sides.
Sphere.
■ iff- 55-
Let ABC (fig. 55.) be the spherical triangle of
which the angles are given : construct another spherical
triangle EFG, whose sides are the supplements of the
given angles of the triangle ABC ; and with the sides
of this supplemental triangle describe the gnomonic pro¬
jection, &c. as before.
It may be observed, that the supplemental triangle
EFG has also a supplemental part EFg-; and when the
sides GE, GF, which are substituted in place of the
angles A, B, are obtuse, their supplements g-E, g F
are to be used in the gnomonic projection of the tri¬
angle.
Proposition XX. Problem XII.
of the triangle > and to find the measure of the re¬
maining parts.
Let the sides AC, CB, and the angle BAC of the
spherical triangle ABC (fig. 53.) be given : make the
angles CDA, CDG (fig. 56.) equal respectively to
the measures of the given sides AC, BC : draw L>K
perpendicular to AD, make KH equal to DK, and
the angle KHI equal to the given spherical angle
BAC;- draw the perpendicular KI, meeting HI m
I ; join AI j and from the centre C, with the distance
LG, describe the arch GB, meeting AI in B ; join
, > and wiU he the rectilineal projection of the
spherical triangle ABC (fig. 53.) and the measures
ot the unknown parts of the triangle may be found as
before.
435
Gnomonic
Projection
of tile
Sphere.
Proposition XXIII. Problem XV.
'Si 5C
Given two sides, and the included angle of a spheri¬
cal triangle, to describe the gnomonic projection of
that triangle, and to find the measures of the other
parts.
Let the sides AC, CB, and the angle ACB (fig.
53.), be given ; make the angles CDA, CDG (fig.
56.) equal respectively to the sides AC, CB (fig. 53.) j
also make the angle ACB (fig. 56.) equal to the
spherical angle ACB (fig. 53.), anil CB equal to CG,
and ABC will be the projection of the spherical tri¬
angle.
To find the measure of the side AB : from C draw
CL perpendicular to AB, and CM parallel thereto,
meeting the circumference of the primitive in Mj
make LX equal to LM } join AN, BN, and the angle
ANB will be the measure of the side AB.
To find the measure of either of the spherical angles,
as BAC : from D draw DK perpendicular to AD,
and make KH equal to KD : from K draw KI per¬
pendicular to CK, and let AB produced meet KI in
I, and join HI: then the rectilineal angle Kill is the
measure of the spherical angle BAC. By proceeding
in a similar manner, the measure of the other angle will
be found.
Given two angles, and a side opposite to one of them, to
describe the gnomonic projection of the triangle, and
to find the measures of the other parts.
Let the angles A, B, and the side BC of the tri¬
angle ABC (fig. 55.) be given: let the supplemental
triangle FEE be formed, in which the angles E, F G
are the supplements of the sides BC, CA° AB, respec¬
tively, and the sides EF, FG, GE, the supplements of
the angles C, A, B. Now at the centre C (fig. r6.)
make the angles CDA, CDK equal to the measures
of the sides GE, GF respectively, being the supple¬
ments of the angles B and A 5 and let the lines DA,
DK intersect the diameter of the primitive EF in the
points A and K : draw DG perpendicular to AD,
make GH equal to DG, and at the point H make the
angle GHI equal to the angle E, or to its supplement ;
and let El, perpendicular to CH, meet HI in I, and
join AI : then from the centre C, with the distance
CG, describe an arch intersecting AI in B 5 join CB,
and ABC will be the gnomonic projection of the gi¬
ven triangle ABC (fig. 55.) : the supplement of the
angle ACB (fig. 56.) is the measure of the side AB,
(fig- 55-) 5 the measures of the other parts are found5
as before.
Proposition XXL Problem XIII.
Two angles and the intermediate side given, to describe
the gnomonic projection of the triangle ; and to find
the measures of the remaining parts.
Let the angles CAB, ACB, and the side AC of the
spherical triangle ABC (fig. 53.), be given: make the
angle CDA (fig. 56.) equal to the measure of the given
side AC (fig. 53.) ; and the angle ACB (fig. 36.) equal
to the angle ACB (fig. 53.) ; produce AC to H, draw
DK perpendicular to A3), and make KH equal to KD;
draw KI perpendicular to CK, and make the angle
Kill equal to the spherical angle CAB : from I, the
intersection of KT, HI, to A draw IA, and let it in¬
tersect CB in B, and ACB will be tbe gnomonic pro¬
jection of the spherical triangle ACB (fig. 93.). The
unknown parts of this triangle may be measured by last
problem.
Proposition XXII. Problem XIV.
Two sides of a spherical triangle, and an angle oppo¬
site to one of them given, to describe the projection
It has already been observed, that this method of pro¬
jection has, for the most part, been applied to dialling
only. However, from the preceding propositions, it ap¬
pears that all the common problems of the sphere may
be more easily resolved by this than by either of the pre¬
ceding methods of projection ; and tbe facility with
which these problems are resolved by this method has
given it the preference in dialling. It may not per¬
haps be amiss in this place, to give a brief illustration
of it in this particular branch of science.
In an horizontal dial, the centre of projection Z
(fig- 57-) represents tbe zenith of the place for which Fig. ^7.
the dial is to be constructed ; ZA the perpendicular
height of the style : the angle ZPA, equal to the given
latitude, determines the distance ZP of the zenith from
the pole ; and AP the edge of the style, which by its
shadow gives the hour : the angle ZAP, equal also to
the latitude, gives the distance of the equator EQ from
the zenith : let E a be equal to EA, and a will be the
dividing point of the equator. Hence if the angles
E a I, E a II, &c. E a XI, E a X, &c» be made equal
1° 15°» 30°> ^•c* lfie equator will he divided into hours;
3 I 2 and
436
Gnomomc
1’rojection
oi' the
Sphere.
PROJECTION OF THE SPHERE.
and lines drawn from P to tliese points of division will
be hour lines. . > i •
If the dial is either vertical, or inclined to the hori¬
zon, then the point Z will he the zenith of that place
whose horizon is parallel to the plane ol the dial. Z.L
will be that latitude of the place and the hours on the
former dial will now be changed into others, by a quan¬
tity equal to the difference of longitude between the
given place and that for which the dial is to be con¬
structed. Thus, if it is noon when the shadow oi the
style falls on the line PX, then the difference oi meri¬
dians is the angle E a X, or 3c0. Hence, when a dial
is to be constructed upon a given plane, either perpen¬
dicular or inclined to the horizon, the decimation and
inclination of that place must be previously found.
In an erect direct south dial, its zenith z. is the
south point of the horizon, ZP is the distance oi this
point from the pole, and ZE its distance Irom the equa¬
tor. If the dial is directed to the north, Z represents the
north point of the horizon ', PZ the distance ol Z from
the pole under the horizon ; and ZE the elevation of
the equator above the horizon. _
If the dial is an erect east or west dial, the zenith Z
is the east or west points of the horizon, accordingly,
and the pole P is at an infinite distance, for the angle
ZAP is a right angle, and therefore the line At will
Sect. I[
not meet the meridian PZ. The line ZA produced is Gm>mo:
the equator, and is divided into hours by lines perpen- Projecti!
dicular to it.
If the plane of the dial is parallel to the equator, its
zenith Z coincides with one ol the poles of the equa¬
tor P", and hence the hour lines ol this dial are formed
by drawing lines from the point Z, containing angles
equal to 150.
In the preceding methods of projection of the sphere,
equal portions of a great circle on the sphere are re¬
presented by unequal portions in the plane of projec¬
tion, and this inequality increases with the distance from
the centre of projection. Hence, in projections of the
earth, those places towards the circumference of the
projection are very much distorted. In order to a/oid
this inconveniencv, M. de la Hire ^ proposed, that the * Hist
eye should he placed in the axis produced at the di-^OT;
stance of the sine ol 450 beyond the pole: In this case A
arches of the sphere and their projections are veiy near- gee ^ 1
]y proportional to each other. Hence in a map of theticle C-.i
earth agreeable to this construction, the axis, instead
of being divided into a line of semitangents, is divided
equally^ in like manner as the circumference. The map
of the world is constructed agreeable to this method of
projection.
Projection
11
Prolate.
PRO
PROJECTION, in Perspective, denotes the appear¬
ance, or representation of an object on the perspective
plane. . . . , , , • ,
The projection of a point is a point through which an
ontic ray passes from the objective point through the
plane to the eye •, or it is the point wherein the plane
cuts the optic ray.
And hence may he easily conceived what is meant
by the projection of a line, a plane, or a solid.
' Projection, in Alchemy, the casting of a certain
imaginary powder, called powder of projection, into a
crucible, or other vessel, full of some prepared metal,
or other matter ; which is to be hereby presently trans¬
muted into gold.
Powder oj' Projection, or of the philosophers stone,
is a powder supposed to have the virtue of changing any
quantity of an imperfect metal, as copper or lead, into
a more perfect one, as silver or gold, by the admixture
of a little quantity thereof.
The mark to which alchemists directed all their en¬
deavours, was to discover this powder of projection. See
Philosophers Stone, and Chemistry, History of.
PROJECTURE, in Architecture, the outjetting and
prominency, or embossing, which the mouldings and
other members have beyond the naked wall, column,
&c.
PROLAPSUS, in Surgery, a prolapsion or falling
out of any part of the body from its natural situation :
thus we say, prolapsus intestini, “ a prolapsion qf the in¬
testine,'” &c. See Surgery.
PROLATE, in Geometry, an epithet applied to a
spheroid produced by the revolution of a semi-ellipsis
about its larger diameter. See Spheroid.
PRO
PROLEGOMENA, in Philology, certain prepara-
torv observations or discourses prefixed to a book, &c.
containing something necessary for the reader to be ap¬
prised of” to enable" him the better to understand the L
book, or to enter deeper into the science, &c.
PROLEPSIS, a figure in Rhetoric, by which we
anticipate or prevent what might be objected by the ad¬
versary. See Oratory, N" 80.
PROLE PTIC, an epithet applied to a periodical dis¬
ease which anticipates, or whose paroxysm returns sooner
and sooner every time 5 as is frequently the case in agues.
PROLIFER FLOS, {proles, “ an offspring and
fero, “ to bear) j” a prolific flower, or a flower which
‘from its own substance produces another-, a singular de¬
gree of luxuriance, to which full flowers are chiefly in¬
cident. See Botany.
PROLIFIC, something that has the qualities neces¬
sary for generating.
The prolific powers of some individuals among man¬
kind are very extraordinary—Instances have been found
where children, to the number ot six, seven, eight, nine,
and sometimes sixteen, have been brought iorth alter
one pregnancy. The wife ol Emmanuel Gago, a la¬
bourer near Valladolid, was delivered, the 14th of June
1779, of five girls, the two first of whom were bap¬
tized : the other three were born in an hour after 5 two
of them were baptized ; but the last, when it came into
the world, had every appearance ot death. Jhe cele¬
brated Tarsin was brought to bed in the seventh month
of her pregnancy, at Argenteuil near Paris, 17th July
1779, of three boys, each 14 inches and a hall long,
and of a girl 13 inches: they were all four baptized,
but did not live 24 hours.
I he
Prole;
men;
11.
Proli
T&. A
PROJE-CTIOXofthe SPHERE. PL1TE CCCCWff.
, £-
FW-9- jFw.JO. "
A
PROJECTI ON of the SI’HUUE. /‘LIZ/; CCCCJLVZ
J^iq. 39.
Fuj. 40.
FY<?. 49.
G C H 4 F
43.
K H C I /
F'uz. 44.
Fig. 43.
/.b-f/rrAtv/t? Jiru4/j ■
PJlOJhCTION oftlie SPHERE. /'/////CCCCA7JZ/
48.
-Fu/. 49-
PRO
* mse
cd.
The public papers for the month of June 1770,
made mention of one Maria Ruiz, of the district of
Lucena in -AaiOialusia, who was successively delivered of
16 boys, without any girls; and seven of them were
still alive on the 17th of August thereafter. The fol¬
lowing, though a recent fact,"is almost incredible : In
the year I755> a Muscovite peasant, named James
and Ins wife, were presented to the empress
of Russia. This peasant Ijad been twice married, and
was then 70 years of age. His first wife was brought
to bed 21 times ; namely, four times of four children
each time ; seven times of three, and ten times of two ;
making in all 57 children, who were then alive. His
second wife, who accompanied him, had already been
delivered seven times, once of three children, and six
times of twins, which made 15 children for her share.
Thus the Muscovite patriarch had already had 72 chil¬
dren by two marriages. We are assured that the sul¬
tan Mustapha III. had issue by his concubines 580
male children. What number of female children he
had, and whether there were twins of both sexes, we
are not informed. Ihese facts suppose great fecundity ;
and whatever credit is given them, we must consider as
entirely fabulous what is reported concerning a countess
of Holland, who was delivered of 365 children, of a
very small size.
PROLIXITY in discourse, the fault of entering in¬
to too minute a detail, or being too long, precise, and
circumstantial, even to a degree of tediousness.
PROLOCUTOR of the convocation, the speaker or
chairman of that assembly. See Convocation.
PROLOGUE, in dramatic poetry, a discourse ad¬
dressed to the audience before the drama or play begins.
The original intention was to advertise the audience of
the subject of the piece, and to prepare them to enter
more.easily into the action, and sometimes to make an
apology for the poet.
PROMETHEUS, the son of Japetus, supposed to
have been the first discoverer of the art of striking fire
by flint and steel; which gave rise to the fable of his
f 437 ]
PRO
ronnse.
stealing fire from heaven : A renowned warrior ; but
wnose history is involved in fable. He flourished about
1687 B. C. The poetical account is, that he formed a
man of clay of such exquisite workmanship, that Pallas,
charmed with his ingenuity, offered him whatever in
heaven could contribute to finish his design ; and for this
purpose took him up -with her to the celestial mansions,
where he stole some fire from the chariot of the sun,
which he used to animate his image. At this theft
Jupiter was so enraged, that he ordered Vulcan to chain
him down on Mount Caucasus, and sent an eagle or vul¬
ture to prey on his liver; which every night was re¬
newed in proportion to the quantity eaten up in the day¬
time, until at last he was delivered by Hercules, who
killed the vulture.
Prometheus, in Ancient Astronomy, was the name
°f a constellation of the northern hemisphere, now cal¬
led Hercules Eugonasiji. See Astronomy.
PROMISE, in ordinary cases, is a declaration of
some intention to be put in execution ; but in morals is
a solemn asseveration by which one pledges his veracity
that he shall perform, or cause to be performed, the
thing which he mentions.
As such a declaration excites expectations in the
minds of those to whom it is made; and ae to frustrate
these expectations might rouse indignation, and be fol- Prc
lowed by consequences injurious to the person, the cha- ' v 
racter, or interest, of him who made it—it becomes a *
matter of prudence in the promiser to keep his word How il
And farther, as a certain degree of confidence is found
necessary to the very existence of civil society, and as £’
others may have acted on the GIH, nf I,;c •
others may have acted on the faith of his promise, it is
now not a matter of prudence only to keep his word—
A is a duty which he owes to all who have spent their
time, their money, or their labour, in consequence of
those expectations which he has warranted them to en¬
tertain.
It, then, being consonant to sound reason, necessary
to the existence of civil society, and in general the in¬
terest of both the promiser and promisee, that the words
of the promise should he fulfilled, it has become a
maxim m morals that a man is obliged to perform his
promise.
In many instances, the great difficulty concerning alnterjrn*.
pionnse is, how to explain it; for although the grounds1*011 ol a
of its obligation be those expectations which it hasprorai?c
raised, a question will occur, Is the promiser bound to difficult10*
answer fully all the expectations to which the different
constructions ol his words may have given birth ? Should
I, lor instance, desire a man to run with a letter to such
a place, and engage to satisfy him upon his return ; and
if on his return I gave him double of the usual hire in
like cases ; but it he be not satisfied with less than the
triple of such a sum, am I obliged to grant his demands ?
I bis will lead us to consider Rie rules by which a pro¬
mise should be -interpreted.
. If a promise were always to be deemed obligatory Whether
m the sense in which the promisee receives it, a rnaii ^ 1Rean-
would not know what he had promised ; the promisee, ot t^le
from a difference of views, associations, and interests’1>r°miSei-
might conceive a sense of which the promiser had ne-oug-lit to
ver dreamed ; might suppose engagements which were he taken,
never intended, which could not be foreseen, and, al¬
though foreseen, could not be performed. For these
reasons it is natural to think that the sense of the pro¬
miser should rather direct the interpretation. He knows
precisely what it is he has undertaken, and is unques¬
tionably the best judge of what meaning he affixed to
his words. His explanation should therefore be admit¬
ted, if information alone could give him a title to de¬
cide in the affair.
But something more than mere information, or a
knowledge of the cause, is expected from a judge, as
integrity is equally essential to his character. Doubts
may arise when the words will admit of various mean¬
ings, whether the promiser will be so candid as impar¬
tially to own the precise meaning which he had actually
annexed to his expressions : At any rate, if he wishes to
deceive, he might purposely use an ambiguous phraseo-
logy, and perform the promise in a sense of his own,
without satisfying the reasonable hopes of the promisee.
W hen the daughter of Tarpeius bargained with Ta-
tius to betray the citadel for what he and his Sabines
wore on their left hands, meaning their rings and their
golden bracelets, Tatius ^probably performed his pro¬
mise in the way which he intended, when he caused her
to be buried under their shields, which they carried al¬
so on their left hands. But who will say that here
were not treachery and a dishonourable abuse of that
confidence which had been reposed in him ?
It
Promise. It must therefore be obvious, that the import of a
i y ' promise, where its meaning is disputed, is not to be de-
5 tei mined by the sense of the promiser nor by the expee-
la doubtful tat;ons of t[ie promisee j and if it was said that the obb-
interoreta- gation of a promise arose from those expectations which
tion of nei- had been raised by it, the assertion now must be limited
ther is to to those expectations which were intentionally raised by
be trusted. tjie promiser, or those which to his knowledge the pro¬
misee was induced to entertain in consequence of that
declaration which had been made to him. Should there
still be a doubt about what expectations were intention¬
ally raised, and what should have been reasonably enter¬
tained, recourse must be had to the judgment or those
who are allowed to be persons of candour, and who are
acquainted with the characters of the men, and with
those circumstances in which the promise was made.
„ 6 . The following are. some of the cases in which a pro-
a mUe is not binding. As the obligation to perform Me
is not bind-promise arises from those expectations which are listen¬
ing. tionally raised by the promiser j it is plain that no pro¬
mise can be binding before acceptance, before the pro¬
mise has been communicated to the promisee, and be¬
fore he has entertained hopes of its performance. Ihe
case is similar where a promise is released, that is, where-
the performance is dispensed with by the promisee, and
where he entertains no expectations on account of anv
\vu,l it Is thing than the promiser has said to him. Should a third
released by person entertain hopes on account of the promise, he is
the promi- to cherish these hopes at his own hazard, having no en-
see- couragement from the promiser to do so : yet if this per¬
son has been warranted to hope by the promisee, the
promisee has renounced his privilege of releasing the
promise, and along with the promiser becomes bound
for its performance.
8 . A promise is not binding where the performance is
Where its un]awfu] an^ tlie performance is unlawful where it is
aace^Tun- contrary to former promises, or to any moral and reli¬
gious precept, which from the beginning to the end of
time is of perpetual and unalterable obligation. I bus
no man is bound by bis promise to give to me what he
has already promised to another •, and no man is bound
bv his promise to blaspheme God, to commit murder,
or to criminate the innocent. Such promises are un¬
lawfully made, and cannot be otherwise than unlawful¬
ly performed.
Some have even carried their scruples so tar as to
doubt, whether any promise unlawfully made, can be
doubS have Awfully performed. Should a man, during the lifetime
arisen. of his wife, happen to promise marriage to another, such
a man (they say) by the Christian religion has already
committed adultery in his heart: and should he after¬
wards become a widower, he is not bound, and he even
ought not, to fulfil his engagements, as this would be
putting his criminal intention into execution. Tins spe¬
cies of reasoning, we must confess, is to us unintelligi¬
ble. As the wife is dead, what now should prevent the
man from marrying the object of his affections ? Why,
say the casuists, he already is under a promise to marry
her, and his promise was made at a time when it should
not have been made. It is true, the performance, con¬
sidered by itself, is opposed by no law human or divine j
but then it originated in what was wrong j and however
much the Supreme Being and the bulk of the creation
may he out of the secret, we have discovered by the in¬
genious logic of casuistry, that evil can never spring
3
lawful
A case
where
out of good, nor good out of evil j but that the means pron:i(
and the end, the motive and the action, are always of' ^
the same complexion in morals. . Tcc;
When a promise is made, the particular circumstan- Erron^s
ces in which it is to he deemed obligatory are some- pronik
times mentioned. “ I promise (for instance) to lend
my friend 200 pounds within three days, provided a
certain creditor which I name do not make a demand
on me before that time. In other cases no circumstance
is foreseen by the promiser to prevent the fulfilling of
his engagement j and hence we have erroneous promi¬
ses, which proceed on the supposition that things are
true, possible, and lawful, which are not so. An eno-
ncous promise, which proceeds on the false represenui-
tion of the promisee, is not binding.
A London gentleman lately purchased an. estate in
the south of England at a public sale, believing the
description which he saw in the newspapers, and which
likewise was given by the auctioneer, to be true j but
finding afterwards that the estate nowise corresponded
to the^description, the law freed him from his engage-
ment, because the seller had evidently been guilty of
a breach of promise in not satisfying those expectations
which he had intentionally and even studiously excited
in the buyers. . . 1JJ
An erroneous promise, whose performance is impos-Apro je
sible, is not binding. Before the conclusion of the nothing
late war, a planter of Tobago, promised to send to his ^'
friend in England 12 hogsheads ol sugar from the nextance 1Q.
year’s produce of his estate-, but before that time To-possit
bago fell into the hands of the French, and the West
Indian found it impossible to answer the expectations of
his friend in England.
An erroneous promise, whose performance is unlaw-nor lq
ful, or, to speak more precisely, whose performance isj.^smr
contrary to a prior promise, or to any moral or reli¬
gious obligation, is not binding. A father, beheung
the accounts from abroad of his son’s death, soon al¬
ter bequeathes his fortune to his nephew. but the
son, the report ot whose death had been false, returns
home, and the father is released from the premise to
his nephew, because it was contrary to a prior promise,
which he had tacitly come under to his son. This prior
promise was implied in the whole of the lather s con¬
duct, and was expressed in signs as emphatic and as
unequivocal as those of language.. It had all the ef¬
fect too of the most solemn promise on the son, who,
to his father’s knowledge, was induced in consequence
of this promise to entertain the most sanguine hopes
of succeeding to his father, if he survived. The world
likewise could hear testimony that these expectations
were not rashly cherished. He was brought into exist¬
ence by means of his father, who was thereby under¬
stood to love him affectionately he was ushered in¬
to society as the representative of his family, and was
therefore supposed to be the heir of its wealth. Religion
itself supported his pretensions, pronouncing the father
worse than an infidel who neglects to show that atten¬
tion to his children which the world naturally expects
from a parent.—That the father’s promise was not re¬
leased from the mere circumstance that the mistake was
known to his nephew the promisee, will appear plain
from the following circumstance. Suppose the father
a landed proprietor, that the lease of one of his farms
has expired, and that he has long been expecting
PRO
■'roniise
]
PRO
sinn, interest, or opinion. For those reasons it annear-
snrpnsmg hot. an, person should ever imagine tbit the
obligation to perform a promise should depend entirely
mTty!‘e ‘JeaS W ' tlle 1,r0n’iser Winded of its
The best refutation of such an opinion are the sing,,.
Jar conclusions to winch it leads. °
Promise.
13
ility no
Itilii:
ill- I.
;14.
I pnn-
1 would
g uanc-
t ta vice
» :alse-
1
, [ 43O
to let it at 200I.; suppose that this sum is refused
'and that he agrees with the present tenant to mant a
new lease at i5ol.-the obligation here to perform
his promise is not dissolved by an after offer of 200I
though the tenant knew that 200I. had been expect¬
ed, am, that only from despairing of that sum his
landlord had granted the new lease at 1 jol. : the pro¬
mise is binding, because the performance is every wav A 1 no , T
lawful, contrary to no prior engagement, and opposed have embraced?! Tetsfnto? JUSt-Ce’ 'V!l° api,earS toThec»n*e-
to no principle in morals. The law of the land were In - , to, reasoning not very common, quences
the proprietor reluctant, would enfore the oblivion 0 trade ° ^ Sy8tr.he 1?oks 0!1 ™«rals as?n article}^?-
and exact obedience in the tone of authorilv • k? ’ , * V.lrtUC and v,ce» in l)is Chapter of Promises S'°Tt n-
bread,es of faith, were they pe mitted in Lcl^ cares and wrong^rlredTo” m0'' an'' '?SS 5 !"’<l ^S1"’ ^ rd-
ireuUdeatroy aN confidence, and annihilate the bonds what is re hlTrefftd U,e
community—\\ith respect to veracity, those “ rational
oMli'e wo'irf TgSb/ "■"» ^ewishes the affaire
or the world to be carried on, may, while they act as
rational and intelligent, break or perform their promises
at pleasure. He thinks it “ essential to various circum-
stances of human intercourse, that we should be known
to bestow a steady attention upon the quantities of con-
vemence or inconvenience, of good or evil, that might
ar.se to others from our conduct.” After this atten-
tion the disappointment of the promise is not to be
minded, though the expectations excited by these “ ra¬
tional and intelligent beings” may have “ altered the na-
ture of his situation and engaged him in undertakings
from which he would otherwise have abstained.” What
t.ie promiser takes to be the general utility and the fit¬
ness of things is to be his guide. And a breach of
prmnise will be attended with the following advantages-
good and evil have freq^en^^uSom the same a? denV? Pr°miSee’ °ther men’ wiil be ^ught to
tion. In Mandeville’s Hive, 1 g epend more upon heir own exertions, and less* upon
> the assistance of others, which caprice may refuse or
justice withhold. He and all others will he taught to
acqmre such ment-and to engage in such pursuits, as
shall oblige any honest man to come to their succour if
they should stand m need of assistance. This breach
of promise, with a view to the general utility, will so
tar from being criminal, form a part of that resolute
execution of justice which would in a thousand ways
increase the independence, the energies, and the virtue
of mankind *.” * n j ,
q . . * CrOdwin s
ouch are the views which determined this author to^nfiu^
consider “ the validity of promises” as “ inconsistent
with justice,” and as “ foreign to general good.” From
one, however, who relies with so much confidence on book id.
the promiser, it would certainly be desirable to know cliaP- 3-
whether the person, who violates his faith for the pul/
lie utility, is always to be candid. Where breach of£E“
faith promotes his own interest, ought he alone to de-has no right
cide on the validity of his promise P or where promises10 *ntrutfe
of social union :
Men live and prosper but in mutual trust;
A confidence of one another’s truth. Oroonoko.
r . difficulty which many have to encounter
erehy lo ^ wh™ err™neous promises ought or ought
»e of n.0t.t0 pe kept» arises ft'Gni their proceeding on a prin-
validityCiP e 0 wf]0se consequences they do not seem to be al-
jiomises, ways aware. There is seldom, they perceive, a virtu¬
ous action that is not attended with some happy effects :
and it will, perhaps, be generally allowed, that the com¬
parative merit of similar virtues may safely be estimated
by their utility: But to make utility, as some do, the
criterion of virtue, and pronounce an action vicious or
virtuous merely on account of those consequences which
they see may flow from it, is a dangerous maxim. Evil
has often sprung out of good, and good out of evil j and
That root of evil Avarice,
1 hat damn’d ill-natur’d baneful vice,
Was slave to Prodigality,
That noble suij whilst Luxury
Employ’d a million of the poor,
And odious Pride a million more.
Envy itself and Vanity
Were ministers of Industry :
That darling folly, Fickleness,
Li diet, furniture, and dress,
I hat strange ridiculous vice, was made
The very wheel that turn’d the trade.
• <^escnPt*on bere is not altogether false ; and these
indeed may be some'of the consequences that flow from
avarice, luxury, pride, vanity, and envy: but these
are,not a 11. —— To see at once all the consequences that
spnng from an action, the good and the bad, the par¬
ticular and general, the immediate and remote, would
require sometimes the foresight of Omniscience, and at
all tunes a knowledge superior to what is human. In
the I able of the Bees, the author’s object was to show
that private vices are public benefits 5 and he therefore
was naturally led by his argument to consider only such
consequences of vice as favoured his hypothesis. Pie
wanted candour. And that artifice which runs through
Jus P able happens to remind us, that while the remote
an tie general effects of an action may not be seen,
ae paiticular and immediate, which fall within our no-
aie apt to be viewed through the medium of pas-
are broken for the general good, is he to be guided byhis s?1.ieraes
his own visionary schemes of utility? Is he ^to act as ^hv0n
trustee for the public without any delegated power ? PU IC'
and shall the community submit to his decisions without
so much as putting the question, Who hath made thee
a ruler over us ? When a writer thus deviates so far
from the path of reason, it is natural to ask, what was
the ignisJatuus that misled him ? In the present case it
is pretty obvious. Being something of opinion with
the celebrated Turgot f, that romances are the only f Sec Note
books in which moral principles are treated in an im- book iii.
partial, manner, this gentleman, in his Chapter ofchaP' 6*
Promises, seems to have borrowed a part of his morality
from
Promise.
PRO
from tlie doggerels of Butler 5
f though from different motives, the political principles
of Sir Hudibras’s squire, that obedience to civil go¬
vernment is not due because it is promised, he has come
to exactly the same conclusion with respect to the obli¬
gation of keeping one’s word. But Ralph has reasone
with more ingenuity 5 and has shewn not only that the
public good, but the glory of the Lord, may be some¬
times promoted by a breach of taith.
* The
saints are
Godwin’s
rational
and intelli¬
gent be¬
ings.
The saints*, whom oaths and vows oblige,
Know little of their privilege }
Further, I mean, than carrying on
Some self-advantage of their own :
For if the dev’l, to serve his turn,
Can tell truth, why the saints should scorn,
When it serves theirs, to swear and he,
I think there’s little reason why:
Else h’ has a greater pow’r than they,
Which ’twere impiety to say :
W’ are not commanded to forbear,
Indefinitely, at all to swear;
But to swear idly, and in vain,
Without self-interest and gain •,
For breaking of an oath and lying
Is hut a kind of self-denying,
A saint-like virtue ; and from hence
Some have broke oaths by Providence :
Some, to the glory of the Lord, _
Perjur’d themselves and broke their word :——
For saints may do the same thing by
The spirit, in sincerity.
Which other men are tempted to,
And at the devil’s instance do. „ TT
Hudibras, Lanto 11,
x7 .
yiews of
utility an
unsafe
guide in
morals.
Here are new views of utility j which, were they to
he considered as of any weight, would increase the dif¬
ficulty of determining when an erroneous promise ought
to he kept. , .
But should views of utility be laid aside, and should
it be made an invariable rule that truth is on no account
to be violated, that deceit is never to be practised, and
that moral obligations are not to be dissolved for the
prospect of anv physical advantage } those doubts which
arise concerning the validity of erroneous promises will
soon disappear. Disagreeable perhaps and ridiculous
[ 440 ] PRO
1 1 nflouted always be the consequence of judging of the vice Proraiss
and having a P _ > ^ ^irtue 0f an action by its utility, and of estimating' v-
its utility by our limited views and erroneous concep¬
tions. ... . ,
As for extorted promises, it is curious to observe
how this question should always be started, whether or
not they ought to be kept? and another question
should seldom he thought of, whether or not they ought lS
to be made ? Fortitude was one of the cardinal virtues,Extom
among the ancients j and is deemed of such importance
in the Christian system, that the fearful are classed with
the unbelievers, and are thought unworthy of the fa¬
vour of the Deity, as being incapable of supporting those
trials to which heaven exposes the faithful as the truest l9
test of Christian virtue.—If a person should want theWhetl,,
necessary fortitude to be virtuous, it will be a poor exAmdmg
cuse for his baseness, that he has added deceit to his
cowardice : and surely it is not the business of morality,
when it has'found him guilty of one crime to giant
him a dispensation for committing two. The laws of
iurisprudence, it will readily be allowed, cannot favour
the claims of the promisee j because they ought never
to lend their support to oppression and violence. But
their acquital, should he violate his faith, will
means vindicate the character of the promise. Iheir
acquitting a woman from the charge of adultery, goes
a short way in restoring the fair reputation oi her inno-
cence
Let jurisprudence decide as it will, the man of honour
and the generous patriot can never he brought to re¬
spect the person who, struck with a panic, could betray
either himself or his friends. The magnanimous spirits
who could die for the truth will view with contempt
his pitiful deceit. Those unfortunate men who may
suffer from that very distrust which the breach of Ins
faith has begotten, will always detest him as a traitor
and enemy 5 and heaven itself cannot be supposed to re¬
ward that soldierwho deserts her cause, and relinquishes
the post which she has assigned him, at the sight of dan¬
ger
If we once begin to accommodate morality to the
dispositions and humours of mankind, it is hard to say
where this species of complaisance will end 1 he de¬
grees of timidity are so various, and some tempers by
nature so yielding, that repeated importunity or an ear¬
nest request will extort a promise. :
A young lady w*. frequently preyed by her d,,ngTh«l. !
soon disappear. Disagreeable perhaps and nd.culous ^ ' oJJ that she would niff-'
consequences may sonietimes arise marry after ids death. For some time she was able to"
from an honest and conscientious adherence to theii
promise •, but will any assert that the general good, that
burden of the song, will ever be endangered by too much
veracity. . • i -i r ti
So numerous inconveniences arise daily from tlie re-
o-ular operation of those great physical laws, which are
under the immediate direction of Providence, that those
philosophers who have adopted the principle of utility,
and are much surprised to see the universe so awkwardly
planned for the ease and comfort of them and their spe¬
cies, have been under the necessity of imputing many
events in nature to the malignity of some evil indepen¬
dent being \ or of allowing that things have, degenera¬
ted since they first came from the hands of the Crea¬
tor, and that they must now be exceedingly altered
from what they had been when He chose to pronounce
them all very good. Thus, absurdity or impiety must
4
marry aiiei mo   — be aec,
resist with becoming spirit his absurd request ; bu- uponnl0(3at »
his declaring oftener than once that he could not other-the r-
wise die in peace, she complied and promised. T00jntel.e
youno-, however, for this eflort of continence, she alter- inanhi
wards listened to the addresses of a second lover, and
found her heart insensibly engaged before she adverted
to the impropriety of a new attachment. . But propo¬
sals of marriage could scarcely fail to remind her ot her
promise and awaken her scruples. These she soon com¬
municated to her lover, with her firm resolution to re¬
main a widow, if the contrary measure, which, she
greatly preferred, and on which her earthly happiness
depended, were not removed by some spiritual counsel-
10 Upon this declaration it was agreed to take the advice
of their own minister, who was an eminent dissenting
clergyman
P B O
promise
PRO
[ 441 1
clergyman in the diocese of Oxford - hut this J .
,....... ;s
21
[oral laws
perior to
lysical in
' lint of oh'
ration.
number of arguments on each side of the question, and
committed them to a letter, which a learned gentleman
of our acquaintance had some time ago an opportunity
of seeing in manuscript. J
If the sentiments to which the bishop was inclined
could have been interred from his statement of argu¬
ments, he seemed to think that the promise was binding.
In our opinion, he ought to have a given positive deci¬
sion. It was no matter whether the promise was ex¬
torted or not : the promise was made 5 and the question
was now, whether or not was the performance lawful ?
That it was lawful appears evident. The lady was un¬
der a moral obligation to remain a widow ; and no
moral obligation, so far as we know, required her to
marry.
To be fruitful and multiply, indeed, is declared in
Scripture, and is found, to the woful experience of many
to be one of the general laws of our nature. But of
all those laws intended by nature to regulate the con-
ductof inferiarintelligences, the moral, which were meant
to be checks and correctors of those abuses to which
the physical are apt to be carried, are certainly the most
sacred and obligatory. To procreate his species, a man
is not then to be guilty of adultery, or of fornication,
or to listen to the lewd calls of incontinency. St Paul’s
observation, that it is better to marry than burn, can¬
not be allowed in this instance to have much weight,
lie has not defined what degree of amorous inflamma¬
tion constitutes burning, nor in what cases this burning
would be a sufficient warrant for marrying. In the
present instance he does not even consider marriage as
a duty ; he compares it with burning, and thinks it on-
Jy the least of the two evils. Not that marriage is evil
01 itself; for he that marrieth doth well : but there are
circumstances in which it would be inconvenient to mar¬
ry, and in which he that marrieth not is said to do bet¬
ter. But if those inconveniences be reasons sufficient to
deter from marrying, is that person to be held excusable
who, m order to gratify an animal passion, somewhat
refined, should violate an oath, and trample on a sacred
moral obligation ?
-The young lady might indeed declare that her earth¬
ly happiness was at an end if she were not permitted to
marry again : but what circumstance prevented her
irom marrying ? It was not the opinion of her own
pastor, or the bishop of Oxford : the truth is, it was
certain scruples of her own, which being unable of her¬
self to overcome, she had piously solicited the assistance
of others. It is certainly a misfortune that a devotion¬
al and amorous turn should always be so closely con-
nected in the females. Both, however, cannot always
be indulged. Who will say, that the motive is rational
R nci inclines one to cherish a passion which conscience
isapproves? Ihe virtue of continency might indeed
nave borne bard on this ladv’a rrmatlf.if;™ 1.
1 w wuLincuuy inipul inaeeti
ave borne hard on this lady’s constitution, and in her
^vay to immortal happiness might have formed a gate so
rait and narrow as it might hie difficult for her to pass
t irough : but after all, her case was not harder than that
° nuns, who lake the vows of perpetual chastity, and
en ure suderings of a similar nature, and in some instances
Vol. XVII. Part U.
Lvery promise, therefore, which is not released, nor
fraudulently obtained by the promisee, is to be held bind-
“’Vi Performance be lawful and possible. n
ihe Christian cannot, and a man of honour willA Prorrise
scarcely venture to reject this maxim, that a good man 0' a
ought not to change though he swear to his hurt. Yet TZT
a simple promise and a promissory oath are not very dif-
Jerent in point of obligation. Most people know, and
where any moral duty is concerned, they ought parti-
cu ai y to reflect, that this world is governed by an Al¬
mighty Being, who knows all things, who lives always ‘
and who is just to reward and to punish. The person
1 , " .   v. pun ism. 1 lie person
who makes a promissory oath does it avowedly under
an immediate sense of these truths; the
. .   ~. person who
makes a simple promise, though he certainly om-ht yet
may not reflect on these at the' time. The former
when he violates his oath, exhibits, only to outward
appearance, a greater contempt of the Divine power,
knowledge, and justice, than he who violates a simple
promise under an impression of the same truths. To
Him who knows the secrets of the heart, the breach of
the promise must appear as criminal as the breach of the
oath. See Assumpsit and Oath.
PROMONTORY, in Geography, a high point of
Jand or rock projecting into the sea ; the extremity of
which towards the sea is called a cape or headland.
See Geography Index.
1 ROM1 1ER, in the drama, an officer posted be¬
hind the scenes, whose business it is to watch attentively
the actors speaking on the stage, in order to suggest and
put them forward when at a stand, to correct them when
amiss, &c. in their parts.
PROMULGATED, or Promulged, somethin?-
published or proclaimed, and generally applied to a
law, to denote the publishing or proclaiming it to the
people.
PRONAOS, in ancient architecture, a porch to a
church, palace, or other spacious building. See the ar¬
ticle Porch.
PRONATION, among anatomists. The radius of
the arm has two kinds of motion, the one called/;ro-
nation, the other supination. Pronation is that where¬
by the palm of the hand is turned downwards ; and su¬
pination, the opposite motion thereto, is that whereby
the back of the hand is turned downwards. The pe¬
culiar muscles wdiereby pronation is performed, are call¬
ed prottatores, as those by which supination is performed
are termed supinaloi'es. See Anatomy, Table of the
Muscles, and Plates.
PRONG-Hoe, in husbandry, a term used to express
an instrument used to hoe or break the ground near and
among the roots of plants.
The ordinary contrivance of the hoe is very defective,
it being only made for scraping on the surface; but the
great use of hoeing being to break and open the ground,
beside the killing of the weeds, which the ancients, and
many among us, have thought the only use of the hoe,
3 K this
PRO [ 442 ]
, tills dull ana blunt instrument is by no means calculated gibberish
-llOC - * r»M  /tnu 1CtU At
Pr0nf'h<,e for the purposes it is to serve. The prong-hoe consists of
Pronuncia- two hooked points oi five or seven inches ong, an
tion struck into the ground will stir and remove it the same
U—*  depth as the plough does, and thus ansvver both the ends
of cutting up the weeds and opening the land. It is use¬
ful even in the horse-hoeing husbandry, because the hoe-
plough can only come within three or four inches of the
rows of the corn, turnips and the like ; whereas this in¬
strument may be used afterwards, and with the !a
may be raised and stirred -even to the very stalk oi the
plant. See AGRICULTURE.
PRONOUN, Pronomen, in Grammar, a declinable
part of speech, which being put instead of a noun, points
out some person or thing. See Grammar.
PRONUNCIATION, in Grammar, the manner oi
articulating or sounding the words of a language.
Pronunciation makes the most difficult part of written
grammar , in regard that a hook expressing itself to the
eyes, in a manner that wholly concerns the ears, seem,
next akin to that of teaching the blind to distinguish co¬
lours : hence it is that there is no part so defective m
grammar as that of pronunciation, as the writer has tre-
t f ^ _     * I» «-> •***-» r» ei e-i t* VI A 1 O I-* 51. Oi
geld, &c
Greek a
PRO
It is also generally hard before c, as in get, Pronuncia
but soft in many words derived from the tion,
nd Latin, as m geometry, genealogy, genus, &c.
Two gg are always hard, as in dagger, &.c. The sound
of g, when soft, is like that of> 10. In any part of a
word, ph sounds like /j as in philosophy, II* -*4e
sound of (in, at the end of French words, is like k, as m
risque, &c. I 2. The syllables ti and ci, if followed by
a vowel, sound like siav s/u; as m fiction, logician, &c.
1 o When cc occurs before i, the first is hard and the
latter is soft j as mflaccid, &c. 14. The letter p is not
pronounced at the beginning of syllables before .9and
as in psalm, ptarmics, &c. As to other peculiarities
reo-arding the pronunciation of single letters, many of
them have been taken notice of at the beginning of each,
in the course of this work. .
But it is not enough to know the just pronunciation
of single letters, but also of words : in order to which,
the accenting of words ought to he well understood j
since nothing is more harsh and disagreeable to the ear,
than to hear a person speak or read with wrong ac¬
cents. And indeed in English the same word is often
both a noun and a verb, distinguished only by the ac-
io give a 1 ust iiiea ui tuc «
it seems necessary to fix as nearly as possible all the seve¬
ral sounds employed in the pronunciation of that lan¬
guage. Cicero tells us, that the pronunciation under¬
went several changes among the Romans : and indeed it
is more precarious in the living languages, being, as IJu
Bos tells us, subservient to fashion in these. 1 he iMench
language is clogged with a difficulty in pronunciation
from which most others are free ; and it consists in this,
that most of their words have two different pronuncia¬
tions, the one in common prose, the other in verse.
As to the pronunciation of the Engli-h language, the
ingenious Mr Martin, in his Spelling-Book of Arts and
Sciences, lays down the following rules: 1. Hie final (v)
lengthens the sound of the foregoing vowelas in can,
cane; reb, robe; tun, tune, &c. 2. The final (f), in words
ending in re, is sounded before the r like u; massacre,
massa-cur; lucre, lu-cur, &c. 3. The Latin diphthongs
*», cc, are sounded like e; asJEtna, Etna; ctconomy eco¬
nomy, ike,: but at the end of the words oc sounds like 0;
as in toe, foe, &c. 4. Also the English improper diph¬
thongs, ea, eo, tit, ve, sound only the e and u; as tea or
te; f office, orfieffee; due or du; true or tru, See, though
sometimes eoand ea are pronounced likece, as in people,
fear, near, &c. 5. Sometimes the diphthong fie) is
pronounced like e in ceiling, like ee 10field, and, at the
end of words, always like y, as in lie, &C. j and ei is pro¬
nounced either like e or ai, as in deceit, reign, &c. 6^ 1 he
triphthong ean is pronounced like 0, in beau andjef eVeau;
and ieu sounds like u in lieu, adieu, &c. The sound
of c is hard before the vowels a, 0, u, as in call, cold, cup,
&c.also sometimes before h, as in chart, (hoi d, ikt-}
and before /and r, as in clear, creep, &c. It is other¬
wise generally soft, as in city, cell, cyder, child. &c. 8. n
French words eh is sounded like sh, as in chagreen, ma¬
chine ; and sometimes like yn, as in choir. 9. Hie
sound of g is hard before a, 0, v, l, r, as in gall, go, gum,
glean, (rrope; also before vi, as in guilt, guild, Sic.} and
beforeVz, as in ghost; sometimes before i, as in gibbous,
to a ]usi expressum ui vwmo,  o
accent on the syllable, as in torment, &c.} but in others
it should be marked double, as in ani'mal, because it is
pronounced as if the letter was wrote double, viz. ozzzzz-
Mr Sheridan’s Dictionary will be found extremely
useful as a directory in acquiring the pronunciation of
the English language; but care must be taken to avoid
his provincial brogue, which has certainly misled him m
several instances. Mr Walker’s Pronouncing Diction¬
ary, lately published, will likewise deserve the students
attention. It is a work of great labour and merit, and
is highly useful. It has indeed some faults and inaccu¬
racies, but it is notwithstanding, in all probability, the
best of the kind. , , , ,
Pronunciation is also used for the faith ami last
part of rhetoric, which consists in varying and regulat-
ing the voice agreeablv to the matter and words, so as
most effectually to persuade and touch the hearers. See
Oratory, Part IV.
PROOF, in Law and Logic, is that degree of evi¬
dence which carries conviction to the mind. ‘ It differs
from demonstration, which is applicable only to those
truths of which the contrary is inconceivable. It dif¬
fers likewise from probability, which produces for the
most part nothing more than opinion, while proof pro¬
duces belief. See Probability.
The proof of crimes was anciently effected among
our ancestors divers ways ; viz by duel or combat, fne,
water, &c. See Duel ard GrDEAL. .
Proof of Artillery and Small Arms, is a trial whe¬
ther they stand the quantity of powder allotted for that
purpose. The rule of the board of ordnance is, that
all guns, under 24-pounders, be loaded with powder as
much as their shot weighs ; that is, a brass 24 pounder
with 21 lb. a brass 32-pounder with 26 lb. 12 oz. and
a 42-pounder with 31 lb. 8 oz. j the hen 24 P0,|n er
with 18 lb. the 32-pounder with 21 lb. 8 oz. and the
42-pounder with 25 lb.
The brass light field-pieces are proved with powder
■'that weighs halt as much as their shot, except the 24.
pounder which is loaded with 10 lb. only. 4
Government allows 11 bullets of lead in the pound
for the proof of muskets and 14,5, or 29 in two pounds,
Proof,
Propaga¬
tion.
for service j 17 ,n the pound for the proof of carabines
and 20 tor service j 28 in the pound for the proof of
pistols, and 34 for service.
When guns of a new metal, or of lighter construc¬
tion, are proved} then, besides the common proof, they
are bred 220 or 300 times, as quick as they can be,
loaded with the common charge given in actual service.
Our light 6-pounders were fired 300 times in 3 hours
27 minutes, loaded with 1 lb. 4 oz.. without receivino-
any damage. ^
Proof of Powder, is in order to try its goodness and
strength. See Gunpowder.
Proof of Cannon, is made to ascertain their being
well cast, their having no cavities in their metal, and,
m a word, their being fit to resist the effort of their
charge of powder. In making this proof, the piece is
laid upon the ground, supported only by a piece of
wood in the middle, of about 5 or 6 inches thick, to
raise the muzzle a little ; and then the piece is fired
against a solid butt of earth..
Tools used in the Proof of Cannon, are as follows :
Searcher, an iron socket with branches, from 4 to 8
m number, bending outwards a little, with small points
at their ends : to this socket is fixed a wooden handle,
from 8 to 12 feet long, and i| inch in diameter. This
searcher is introduced into the gun after each firing,
and turned gently round to discover the cavities within :
if any are found, they are marked on the outside with
chalk } and then the
Searcher with one point is introduced : about which
point a mixture of wax and tallow is put, to take the
impression of the holes ; and if any are found of one-
fourth of an inch deep, or of any considerable length,
the gun- is rejected as unserviceable to the government.
Reliever, is an iron ring fixed to a handle, by means
of a socket, so as to be at right angles } it serves to dis-
engage the first searcher, when any of its points are re¬
tained in a hole, and cannot otherwise be got out.
When guns are rejected by the proof-masters, they or¬
der them to be marked X thus, which the contractors
generally alter JFP thus} and after such alteration, dis¬
pose of them to foreign powers for Woolwich proof.
The most curious instrument for finding the principal
defects in pieces of artillery, ivas lately invented by Lieu¬
tenant-general Desaguliers, of the royal regiment of ar¬
tillery. This instrument, grounded on the truest mecha¬
nical principles, is no sooner introduced into the hollow
cylinder of the gun, than it discovers its defects, and
more particularly that of the piece not being truly bor¬
ed } which is a very important one, and to which most
ol the disasters happening to pieces of artillery are in a
great measure to be imputed } for, when a gun is not
truly bored, the most expert artillerist will not be able
to make a good shot.
Proof of Mortars and Howitzers, is made to ascer-
tain their being well cast, and of strength to resist the
effort of their charge. For this purpose the mortar or
howitzer is placed upon the ground, with some part of
f-heii- trunnions or breech sunk below the surface, and
degrees011 ^ ^ eleVatI°n °f about 7°
The mirror is generally the only instrument to dis-
covei the defects m mortars and howitzers. In order  /*“
to use it, the sun must shine ; the breech must be placed
owards the sun, and the glass ove*-against the mouth
of the piece: it illuminates the bore and chamber suffi¬
ciently to discover the flaws in it.
. ^ Roof of Foreign Brass-Artillery. 1st, The Prus
sians. Their battering-train and garrison artillery are
proved with a quantity of powder equal to 4 the weight
of the shot, and fired 75 rounds as fast as in real ser-
vice} that is, 2 or 3 rounds in a minute. Their light
nel cl-train, from a 12-pounder upwards, are proved with
a quantity ot powder zr l-3d of the weight of the shot,
and fared 150 rounds, at 3 or 4 rounds in a minute.
1 rom a 12-pounder downwards, are proved with a
quantity of powder = i-5th of the shot’s weight, and
fired 300 rounds, at 5 or 6 rounds each minute, proper-
ly spunged and loaded. Their mortars are proved with
the chambers full of powder, and the shells loaded.
Ihree rounds are fired as quick as possible.
2d, The Dutch prove all their artillery by firing
each piece 5 times } the two first rounds with a quan¬
tity of powder zr 2-3ds of the weight of the shot; and
the three last rounds with a quantity of powder — £
the weight of the shot.
3d, The French the same as the Dutch.
Proof, in brandy and other spirituous liquors, is a
little white lather which appears on the top of the li¬
quor when poured into a class. This lather, as it dimi¬
nishes, forms itself into a circle called by the French
the chapelet, arid by the English the bead or bubble.
Proofs of Prints, were anciently a few impressions Nichols's
taken off in the course of an engraver’s process. -He °f Ho
proved a plate in different states, that he might ascertain gar<A*
how far his labours had been successful, and when they
were complete. The excellence of such early impres¬
sions, worked with care, and under the artist’s eye, occa¬
sioning them to be greedily sought after, and liberally
paid for, it has been customary among our modern print-
sellers to take off a number of them, amounting perhaps,
to hundreds, from every plate of considerable value ; and
yet their want of rareness has by no means abated their
price. On retouching a plate, it has been also usual, a-
mong the same conscientious fraternity, to cover the in¬
scription, which was immediately added after the first
proofs were obtained, with slips of paper, that a number
of secondary proofs might also be created.
Proof, in the sugar trade. See Sugar.
Proofs, in printing. See Printing.
PROPAGATION, the act of multiplying the kind.
See Generation.
Propagation of Plants. The most natural and the
most universal way of propagating plants is by seeds.
See Plants. But they may also be propagated hy sets,
pieces, or cuttings, taken from the parent plant. Wil¬
lows are very easily propagated by sets: such as rise to
be considerable timber trees being raised from sets seven
or eight feet long, sharpened at their larger ends, which
are thrust into the ground by the sides of ditches, on the
banks of rivers, or in any moist soil. The sallow trees
are raised from sets only three feet long. Die plane tree,
mint, &c. may be propagated in the same way. In pro-
3 K 2 viding
t'roga¬
tion
P:opeitt.
PRO [
vidinp the slip?, sprigs, or cuttings, however, care must
be taken to cut oil* such branches as have knots or ;loint3
two or three inches beneath them : small top sprigs ot
, two or three years growth are the best for this operation.
Plants are also propagated by parting their roots, each
part of which, properly managed, sends out fresh roots.
Another mode of propagating plants is by layering or
laving the tops of the branches in the ground.
'The method of layering is this: Dig a ring-trench
round the stool, of a depth suitable'to the nature of the
plant-, and having pitched upon the shoots to be layer¬
ed bend them to the bottom of the trench (either with
or Without plashing, as may be found most convenient),
and there peg them fast or, putting some mould upon
them, tread them hard enough to prevent then spring¬
ing up again—fill in the mould—place the top of the
layer in an upright posture, treading the mould hard
behind it; and cut it carefully off above the first, se¬
cond or third eye. Plants are also propagated by their
The number of vegetables that may be propagated
from an individual is very remarkable, especially in the
most minute plants. The annual product of one seed
even of the common mallow has been found to be no
less than 200,000 ; but it has been proved, by a strict
examination into the more minute parts of the vegetable
world, that the common wall moss produces a much
more numerous offspring. In one of the little heads of
this plant there have been counted 13,824 seeds. Now
allotting to a root of this plant eight branches, and to
each branch,six heads, which appears to be a very
moderate computation, the produce of one seed is
6x13824=82944; and 8x82944 gives 663,552
seeds as the annual produce of one seed, and that so
small that 13824 of them are contained in a capsule,
whose length is hut one-ninth of an inch, its diameter
Tint one 23d of an inch, and its weight but the 13th part
of a grain.
For the propagation or culture of particular plants,
see Agriculture,
PROPER, something natural and essentially be-
. longing to any thing.
PROPERTIUS, Sextus Aurelius, a celebrated
Xiatin poet, born at Mevania, a city of Umbria, now
called Bevagna, in the duchy of Spoletto. He went to
Rome after the death of his father, a Roman knight,
who had been put to death by order of Augustus, for
having followed Antony’s party during the triumvirate.
Propertius in a short time acquired great reputation by
his wit and abilities, and had a considerable share in the
esteem of Maecenas and Cornelius Gallus. He had also
Ovid, Tibullus, Bassus, and the other ingenious men of
his time for his friends. He died at Rome 19 B. C.
He is printed with almost all the editions of Tibullus
and Catullus : but the best edition of him is that which
was given separately by Janus Brouckhusius at Am¬
sterdam, 1702, in 4to, and again in 1714, 4to, cum
curis seettndis ejusdem. We have four books of his
Elegies or Amours with a lady called Hostia, or Hos-
tUia, to whom he gave the name of Cynthia.
PROPERTY, in a general sense, is a particular
virtue or quality which nature has bestowed on some
things exclusive of all others : thus, colour is a pro¬
perty of light; extension, figure, divisibility, and im¬
penetrability, are properties of body.
PRO
44+ 1
Property, in Law, is described to be the highest Pp. perr
I'ight which a person has or can have to any thing. ' v—-
"There is nothing which so generally strikes the ima-
gination, and engages the affections of mankind, as the
right of property ; or that sole and despotic dominion
which one man claims and exercises over certain external
things of the world, in total exclusion ot the right of any 2
other individual in the universe. And yet there are very xiie origi
few that will give themselves the trouble to considernalfound:
the original and foundation of this right. Pleased as^onoUb
we are with the possession, we seem afraid to look back
to the means by which it was acquired, as it fearlul of not gene
some defect in our title; or at best we rest satisfied with rally com.
the decision of the laws in our favour, without examin- sidtred.
ing the reason or authority upon which those lavys have
been built. We think it enough that our title is deri¬
ved by the grant of the former proprietor, by descent
from our ancestors, or by the last will and testament of
the dying owner: not caring to reflect, that (accurate¬
ly and strictly speaking) there is no foundation in na¬
ture or in natural law, why a set of words upon parch¬
ment should convey the dominion of land ; why the son
should have a right to exclude his fellow creatures from
a determinate spot of ground, because his father had
done so before him ; or why the occupier of a particu¬
lar field or of a jewel, when lying on his death-bed and
no longer able to maintain possession, should be entitled
to tell the rest of the world which of them should enjoy
it after him. These inquiries, it must be owned, would
be useless and even troublesome in common life. It is
well if the mass of mankind will obey the laws when
made, without scrutinizing too nicely into the reasons
of making them. But when law is to be considered
not only as a matter ot practice, but also as a rational
science, it cannot be improper or useless to examine
more deeply the rudiments and grounds of these positive
constitutions of society. _ 3
In the beginning of the world, we are informed by This ri
holy writ, that the all bountiful Creator gave to n‘an^in
“ dominion ever all the earth ; and over the fish of thegrautt
“ sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every li-
“ ving thing that moveth upon the earth.” This is the
only true and solid foundation of man’s dominion over
external things, whatever airy metaphysical notions may
have been started by fanciful writers upon this subject.
The earth, therefore, aud all things therein, are the ge¬
neral property of all mankind, exclusive of other beings,
from the immediate gift of the Creator. And, w7hile
the earth continued thinly inhabited, it is reasonable to
suppose, that all was in common among them, and that
every one took from the public stock to his own use such
things as his immediate necessities required. > , jj
These general notions of property were then sufficient
to answer all the purposes of human life; and might per-^
haps still have answered them, had it been possible forages 0:
mankind to have remained in a state of primaeval sim-world,
plicity: as may be collected from the manners of many
American nations, when first discovered by the Europe¬
ans ; and from the ancient method of living among the
first Europeans themselves, if we may credit either the
memorials of them preserved in the golden age of the
poets, or the uniform accounts given by historians ot those
times wherein craw £ omnia communia et indivisa omnibus,
veluti unum cunciis patrimOnium esset. Not that
communion of goods seems ever to have been applicable,
■" even
.
*
iiperty.
] PRO
> Hi to all men, is universally allowed to give the Pl.0Dertv
ia.rest and most reasonable title to an exclusive proper- " ' ■
. , p R ° [4+5
even m the earliest ages, to aught but the substance of common
the thing; nor could it be extended to thewse of it. For
by the law of nature and reason, he who first bJgan to ty therein
rrrty’ „ Thfe artide °f ^* r** «.«
1 -ti \ was Ujing it, and no longer : therefore a more early cons deration. Such as nm otherneces-
or, to rpoak w.th greater prectston the right of poSSea- contentej with the spontaneous protluct of the ea?tl a°U-
s,°n continued for the same time only that the ac, of pos- nought for a more solid refreshment in the He h of beast, C'C’-
r:°‘L.1, r !»r,m“> ^ •b^d by h«B&g. But the vein
s
f of per¬
il ent
p pty in
v ms
tl b.
no part of it was the permanent property of any man in
particular; yet whoever was in the occupation of any
determinate spot of it, for rest, for shade, or the like,
acquired for the time a sort of ownership, from which
it would have been unjust, and contrary to the law of
nature, to have driven him by force ; but the instant
that he quitted the use or occupation of it, another might
seize it without injustice. Thus also a vine or other
tree might be said to be in common, as all were equal¬
ly entitled to its produce ; and yet any private indivi¬
dual might gain the sole property of the fruit, which he
had gathered for his own repast. A doctrine well illu¬
strated by Cicero, who compares the world to a great
theatre, which is common to the public, and yet the
place which any man has taken is tor the time his own.
But when mankind increased in number, craft, and
ambition, it became necessary to entertain conceptions
of more permanent dominion ; and to appropriate to in¬
dividuals, not the immediate use only, but the very
substance of the thing to be used ; otherwise innume¬
rable tumults must have arisen, and the good order of
the world been continually broken and disturbed, while
a variety of persons were striving who should get the
first occupation of the same thing, or disputing which
of them had actually gained it. As human life also
grew more and more refined, abundance of convenien-
cies were devised to render it more easy, commodious,
and agreeable; as habitations for shelter and safety, and
raiment for warmth and decency. But no man would
be at the trouble to provide either, so long as he had
only an usufructuary property in them, which was to
cease the instant that he quitted possession ;—if, as soon
as he walked out of his tent, or pulled off his garment,
the next stranger who came by would have a right to
inhabit the one and to wear the other. In case of ha¬
bitations in particular, it was natural to observe, that
even the brute creation, to whom every thing else was
in common, maintained a permanent property in their
dwellings, especially for the protection of their young ;
that the birds of the air had nests, and the beasts of the
field had caverns, the invasion of which they esteemed a
very flagrant injustice, and would sacrifice their lives to
preserve them. Hence a property was soon established
in every man’s bouse and home-stall; which seem to have
been originally mere temporary huts or moveable cabins,
suited to the design of Providence for more speedily peo¬
pling the earth, and suited to the wandering life of their
owners, before any extensive property in the soil or
ground was established. And there can be no doubt,
but that moveables of every kind became sooner appro¬
priated than the permanent substantial soil : partly be¬
cause they were more susceptible of a long occupancy,
which might be continued for months together without
any sensible interruption, and at length by usage ripen
Jnto an established right; but principally because few
of them could be fit lor use, till improved and meliora*
ted by the bodily labour of the occupant ; which bodily
labour, bestowed upon any subject wnich before lay in
appointments incident to that method of provision indu¬
ced them to gather together such animals as were of a
more tame and sequacious nature; and to establish a per¬
manent property in their flocks and herds, in order to
sustain themselves in a less precarious manner, partly by
the milk of their dams, and partly by the flesh of the
young. The support of these their cattle made the ar- 7
tide ol water also a very important point. And there- Nature of
fore the book of Genesis (the most venerable monumentpalria,chaI
of antiquity, considered merely with a view to history) pr0F y‘
will furnish us with frequent instances of violent conten¬
tions concerning wells ; the exclusive property of which
appears to have been established in the first digger or oc¬
cupant, even insuch places where theground and herbage
in common. Thus we find Abraham, who
remained yet
was hut a sojourner, asserting his right to a well in the
country of Abimelech, and exacting an oath for his se¬
curity, “ because he had digged that well.” And Isaac,
about 90 years afterwards, reclaimed this his father’s
property; and, after much contention with the Phili¬
stines, was suffered to enjoy it in peace.
All this while the soil and pasture of the earth re¬
mained still in common as before, and open to every oc¬
cupant: except perhaps in the neighbourhood of towns,
where the necessity of a sole and exclusive property in
lands (for the sake of agriculture) was earlier felt, and
therefore more readily complied with. Otherwise, when
the multitude of men and cattle had consumed every
convenience on one spot of ground, it w as deemed a na¬
tural right to seize upon and occupy such other lands as
would more easily supply their necessities. This practice
is still retained among the wild and uncultivated nations
that have never been formed into civil states, like the
Tartars and others in the east; where the climate itself,
and the boundless extent ot their territory, conspire to
retain them still in the same savage state of vagrant
liberty, which was universal in the earliest ages, and
which Tacitus informs us continued among the Ger¬
mans till the decline of the Roman empire. We have
also a striking example of the same kind in the histo¬
ry of Abraham and his nephew Lot. When their joint
substance became so great, that pasture and other con-
venicncies grew scarce, the natural consequence was,
that a strife arose between their servants; so that it was
no longer practicable to dwell together. This conten¬
tion Abraham endeavoured to compose : “Let there
be no strife, I pray thee, between thee and me. Is not
the whole land before thee ? Separate thyself, I pray
thee, from me: if thou wilt take the left hand, then I
will go to the right; or if ih»u depart to the right
hand, then I will go to the left.” This plainly implies
an acknowledged right, in either, to occupy whatever
ground he pleased, that was not pre occupied by other
tribes. “ And Lot lifted up his eyes, and beheld all
the plain of Jordan, that it was well watered every v\ here, .
even as the garden of the Lord. Then Lot chose him
all the plain ol Jordan, and journeyed east; and Abra¬
ham dwelt in the had of Ciinaaa.”
Upon
PRO
[ 44<5 ]
PRO
Property. Upon the same principle was founded the' right of
^r—migration, or sending colonies to find out new habita¬
tions, when the mother-country was overcharged wit 1
inhabitants *, which was practised as well by the I hoe-
nicians and Greeks, as the Germans, Scythians, and
other northern people. And, so long as it was confined to
the stocking and cultivation ol desert uninhabited coun-
S tries, it keptstrictly withinthe limits ot the la wot nature.
Necessity But as the world by degrees grew more populous, it
of property became more difficult to find out new spots to in-
respectim*8,1abit’ without encroaching on former occupants ^ and
by constantly occupying the same individual spot, the
fruits of the earth were consumed, and its spontaneous
produce destroyed, without any provision tor a future
supply or succession, it therefore became necessary to
pursue some regular method of providing a constant sub¬
sistence •, and this necessity produced, or at least pro¬
moted and encouraged, the art ot agriculture. And the
art of agriculture, by a regular connection and conse¬
quence, introduced and established the idea of a more
permanent property in the soil than hail hitherto been
receivi d and adopte d. It was clear that the earth would
not produce her fruits in sufficient quantities without the
assistance of tillage j hut who would be at the pains of
tilling it, if another might watch an opportunity to seize
upon and enjoy the product ot his inelustry, art, and ia
hour? Had not therefore a separate property in lands,
as well as moveables, been vesteel in some individuals,
the world must have continued a forest, and men have
been mere animals of prey ; which, according to some
philosophers, is the genuine state of nature. Whereas
now (so graciously has Providence interwoven our duty
and our happiness together) the result ot this very ne¬
cessity has been the ennobling of the human species, by
giving it opportunities of improving in rational facul¬
ties, as well as of exerting its natural. Necessity begat
property: and in order to insure that property, recourse
wras had to civil society, which brought along with it a
long train of inseparable concomitants *, states, govern¬
ment, law*, punishments, anel tne public exercise of re¬
ligious duties. Thus connected together, it was found
that a part only of society was sufficient to provide, by
their manual labour, for the necessary subsistence of all j
and leisure was given to others to cultivate the human
mind, to invent useful arts, and lay the foundation of
science.
Properly The only question remaining is, How this property
acquired became actually vested 5 or what it is that gave a man
first by oc- an exclusive right to retain in a permanent manner that
cupancy. Specibc ]ami which before belonged generally to every
body, but particularly to nobody ? And as we before
observed, that occupancy gave the right to the temporary
use of the soil j so it is agreed upon all hands, that oc¬
cupancy gave also the original right to the permanent
property in the substance of the earth itself, which ex¬
cludes every one else hut the owner from the use of it.
There is indeed some difference among the writers on
natural law, concerningthe reason why occupancy should
convey this right, anel invest one with this absolute pro¬
perty : Grotius anel Puflendorf insisting, that this right
of occupancy is founded upon a tacit and implied as¬
sent of all mankind, that the first occupant shoulel be¬
come the owner •, and Barheyrac, Titius, Mr Locke,
and others, holding that there is no such implied assent,
neither is it necessary that there should be j lor that the
very act of occupancy, alone, being a degree of bodily
labour, is from a principle of natural justice, without any pr0p.
consent or compact, sufficient of itseli to gain a title. A l——v «j
dispute that savours too much of nice and scholastic re¬
finement. However, both sides agree in this, that oc¬
cupancy is the thing by which the title was in fact ori¬
ginally gained \ every man seizing to his own continu¬
ed use such spots of ground as he found most agreeable
to his own convenience, piovided he found them unoc¬
cupied by any one else. 1
Properly, both in lands and moveables, being thus By wh
originally acquired by the first taker, which taking"
amounts to a eleclaration, that he intends to appropi iateor
the thing to his own use, it remains in him, by the prin¬
ciple oi universal law, till such time as he does some
other act which shows an intention to abandon it; for
then it becomes naturally speaking, public 1 juris once
more, and is liable to be again appropiiateel by liie next
occupant. So if one is possessed ot a jewel, and casts it
into the sea ora public highway, this is such an express
dereliction, that a propeity will be vested in the first
fortunate finder that shall seize it to his own use. But
if he hides it privately in the earth, or other secret place,
and it is discovered, the finder acquires no property
therein ; for the owner had not by this act declared any
intention to abandon it, but rather the contrary : and
if he loses or drops it by accident, it cannot be collected
from thence that he designed to quit the possession; and
therefore in such cases the property still remains in the
loser, who may claim it again of the finder. ^ And this,
we may remember, is the eloctrine of the Lnglish law
with relation to TuEASURE-Trove. _ ,
But this method ot one man’s abandoning his pro¬
perty, anel another seizing the vacant possession, how¬
ever well-founded in theory, could not long subsist in
fact. It was calculated merely for the rudiments of
civil society, and necessarily ceased among the compli¬
cated interests and artificial refinements of polite and
established governments. In these it was found, that
what became inconvenient or useless to one man, was
highly convenient anti useful to another; who was ica-
dy to give in exchange for it some equivalent that was
equally desirable to the former proprietor. This mu¬
tual convenience introduced commercial trafhc, and
the reciprocal transfer of property by sale, grant, or
conveyance : which may be considered either as a con¬
tinuance of the original possession which the first occu¬
pant had; or as an abandoning of the thing by the
present owner, and an immediate successive occupancy
of the same by the new proprietor. The voluntary de¬
reliction of the owner, and delivering the possession to
another individual, amount to a transter ot the pioper-
ty ; the proprietor declaring his intention no longer to
occupy the thing himself, but that his own right ot oc¬
cupancy shall be vested in the new acquirer. Or, taken
in the other light, if I agree to part with an acre of my
land to Titius, the deed of conveyance is an evidence
of my intending to abandon the property ; and I itius,
being the only or first man acquainted with such my
intention, immediately steps in and seizes the vacant pos¬
session : thus the consent expressed by the conveyance
o-ives Titius a good right against me; and possession or
occupancy confirms that right against all the world be-
The most universal and effectual way of abamloninff cesc
property is by the death of the occupant : when, b°th dentil
the actual possession and intention of keeping posses-tie ;
How
sion PaIlt‘
I 'V
p R ° . [ 447 J
,erty. slon ceasing, die property, which is founded upon such into general law.
possession and intention, ought also to cease of course.
For, naturally speaking, the instant a man ceases to be*
he ceases to have any dominion : else, if he had a right
to dispose ofhis acquisitions one moment beyond his life
he would also have a right to direct their disposal for a
million of ages after him •, which would he highly ab¬
surd and inconvenient (a). All property must there¬
fore cease upon death, considering men as absolute indi¬
viduals, and unconnected with civil society: for then
by the principles before established, the next immediate
occupant would acquire a right in all that the deceased
possessed. But as, under civilized governments, which
are calculated 101 the peace ol mankind, such a consti¬
tution would be productive of endless disturbances, the
universal law of almost every nation (which is a kind of
secondary law of nature) has either given the dying per¬
son a power of continuing his property, by disposing of
his possessions by will ; or, in case he neglects to dispose
of it, or is not permitted to make any disposition at all
the municipal law of the country then steps in, and de¬
clares who shall be the successor, representative, or heir
of the deceased ; that is, who alone shall have a right to
enter upon this vacant possession, in order to avoid that
confusion which its becoming again common would oc¬
casion. And farther, in case no testament be permitted
by the law, or none be made, and no heir can be found
so qualified as the law requires, still, to prevent the ro¬
bust title of occupancy from again taking place, the doc-
tiine of escheats is adopted in almost every country j
whereby the sovereign of the state, and those who claim
under his authority, are the ultimate heirs, and succeed
to those inheritances to which no other title can be
formed.
uA1 The right of inheritance, or descent to the children
and relations of the deceased, seems to have been allow¬
ed much earlier than the right of devising by testament.
We are apt to conceive at the first view that it has na¬
ture on its side ; vet we often mistake for nature what
we find established by long and inveterate custom. It
is certainly a wise and effectual, but clearly a political,
establishment ; since the permanent right of property,
vested in the ancestor himself, was no natural^ hut mere¬
ly a civil, right. It is true, that the transmission of one’s
possessions to posterity has an evident tendency to make
a man a good citizen and a useful member of society :
it sets the passions on the side of duty, and prompts a
man to deserve well of the public, when he is sure that
the reward of his services will not die with himself, hut
be transmitted to those with wdioni he is connected by
the dearest and most tender affections. Yet, reasonable
as this foundation of the right of inheritance may seem,
it is probable that its immediate original arose not from
speculations altogether so delicate and refined, and, if
not from fortuitous circumstances, at least from a plainer
ami more simple principle. A man’s children or nearest
relations are usually about him on Ids death-bed. and
are the earliest witnesses of his decease. They became
therefore generally the next immediate occupants, till
at length in process of time this frequent usage ripened
PRO
, therefore also in the earliest Property
ages, on failure of c.nldren, a man’s servants born under   
ns rooi were allowed to be bis heirs; being immediate-
Jy on the spot when he died. For we find the old pa¬
triarch Abraham expressly declaring, that “ since God
bad given him no seed, bis steward Elitzer, one born in
Ins bouse, was his heir.”
W hile property continued only for life, testaments Last wills-
vyeie useless and unknown; and when it became inhe-or testa-
ritable, tde inheritance was long indefeasible, and thements
children or heirs at law were incapable of exclusion by
wail. 1 ill at length it was found, that so strict a rule
ol inheritance made heirs disobedient and headstrong
defrauded creditors of their just debts, and prevented
many provident fathers from dividing or-charging then-
estates as the exigence of their families required. This
introduced pretty generally the right of dkpodng of
one’s property, or a part of it, by testament; that is, by
written or oral instructions properly witnessed and au¬
thenticated, according to the pleasure of the deceased ;
which we therefore emphatically style his will. This
was established in some countries much later than in
others. In England, till modern times, a man could
only dispose of one-third of his moveables from bis wife
and children ; and in general, no will was permitted of
lands till the reign of Henry VIII. and then only of a
certain portion ; for it was not till after the Restoration
that the power of devising real property became so uni¬
versal as at present.
W ills, therefore, and testaments, rights of inheritance, are crti-
and successions, are all of them creatures of the civil or,;ures of the
municipal laws, and accordingly are in all respects re-civii.°.r
gidated by them ; every distinct country having differ-j™"icipal
ent ceremonies and requisites to make a testament com- ll"S
pletely valid; neither does anything vary more than Blackst.
the right of inheritance under different national establish- Comment.
ments. In England particularly, this diversity is carri¬
ed to such a length, as if it had been meant to point out
the power of the laws in regulating the succession to
property, and how futile every claim must be that has
not its foundation in the positive rules of the state. In
personal estates, the father may succeed to his children ;
in landed property, he never can be their immediate heir
by any the remotest possibility : in general, only the eld¬
est son, in some places only the youngest, in others all
the sons together, have a right to succeed to the inheri¬
tance : In real estates, males are preferred to females,
and the eldest male will usually exclude the rest; in the
division of personal estates, the females of equal degree
are admitted together with the males, and no right of
primogeniture is allowed.
This one consideration may help to remove the Scruples
scruples of many well meaning persons, who set up arespecting
mistaken conscience in opposition to the rules of law.llentabIc
If a man disinherits his son, by a will duly executed,removed:
and leaves his estate to a stranger, there are many who
consider this proceeding as contrary to natural justice ;
while others so scrupulously adhere to the supposed in¬
dention of'he deed, that if a will of lands be attested
by only two witnesses instead of three, which the law
requires,
•A) Fliis right, inconvenient as it certainly is, the law of Scotland gives to every man over his real estate bv
authorising him to entail it on his heirs for ever. See Law, clxxx. 9, 10, n. and Tailzie.
r
R W L
rrop ru-. require*, they ere apt to imagine that the heir is
\, —-v  ijound in conscience to relinquish Ins title to the
see. But both of them certainly proceed upon very er¬
roneous principles : as if, on the one hand, this son had
by nature a right to succeed to his father’s lands ; or
as if, on the other hand, the owner was by nature
entitled to direct the succession of his property alter
his own decease. Whereas the law of nature suggests,
that on the death of the possessor, the estate should
again become common, and be open to the next occu¬
pant, unless otherwise ordered, for the sake ot civil
peace, by the positive law of society. The positive
law of society, which is with us the municipal laws ot
England and Scotland, directs it to vest in such person
as the last proprietor shall by will, attended with ceitain
requisites, appoint 5 and, in defect ol such appointment,
to go to some particular person, who from the result ol
certain local constitutions, appears to be the heir at
law. Hence it follows, that, where the appointment is
regularly made, there cannot be a shadow of right in
any one but the person appointed ; and, where Unne¬
cessary requisites are omitted, the right of the heir is
equally strong, and built upon as solid a foundation, as
the right of the devisee would have been, supposing such
requisites were observed.
But, after all, there are some few things, which not¬
withstanding the general introduction and continuance
t- #» j xMi  !J . 1,1 — r»r»mmnn 1
16
Of things
that are
still in com
mon.
that wise and orderly maxim, of assigning to every Pf0pc
thing capable of ownership a legal and determinate I’ropii
owner. , . lS
Tn this age of paradox and innovation, much hasjjiere
been said of liberty and equality; and some few haveSoning
contended for an equalization of property.^ One ofthosev
the wildest declaimers on this subject, who is for abo-“nteni!
lishing property altogether, has (inadvertently we sup-jj^^,
pose) given a complete confutation, not only of hispr0pcrt
own arguments, hut also of the arguments of all who
have written, or, we think, can write, on the same side
of the question. After labouring to prove that it is
gross injustice in any man to retain more than is
absolutely necessary to supply him with food, clothes,
and shelter, this zealous reformer states an objection to
his theory, arising from the well-known allurements of
sloth, which, if the accumulation of property were not
permitted, would banish industry from the whole world.
The objection he urges fairly, and answers it thus : “ It
may be observed, that the equality for which we are
pleading is an equality that would succeed to a state
of greaf intellectual improvement. So bold a revolu¬
tion cannot take place in human affairs, till the general
mind has been highly cultivated. The present age of
mankind is greatly enlightened j hut it is to be feared
is not yet enlightened enough. Hasty and undigested
tumults may take place, under the idea of an equahza-
of nroDertv"must still unavoidably remain in common 5 tion of property *, but it is only a calm and clear con-
heiPn7su ^7erein nothing bu/an usufructuary pro- viction of justice, of justice mutually to be rendered and
perU is capable of being hfd : and therefore they still received, of happmess to be produced by the desertronof
helolm to the first orcupant, during the time he holds our most rooted habits, that can introduce an in\aria e
possession of them, and no linger. Such (among others) system of this sort. Attempts without this preparation
possession 01 mem, an h ^    y'[\\ be productive only of confusion. Their effect will
he momentary, and a new and more barbarous inequa¬
lity will succeed. Each man with unaltered appetite
will watch his opportunity to gratify his love of power,
or his love of distinction, by usurping on his inattentive
neighbours.”
These are just observations, and such as we have of- ine
ten made to ourselves on the various proposed reforma'"ance|
tions of government. The illumination which the au-
are the elements of light, air, and water ; which a man
may occupy by means of his windows, his gardens,
his mills, and other conveniences } such also are the
generality of those animals which are said to he ferec
natures, or of a wild and untameable disposition *, which
any man may seize upon and keep for his own use or
pleasure. All these things, so long as they remain in
possession, every man has a right to enjoy without dis¬
turbance 5 but if once they escape from his custody, or
he voluntarily abandons the use of them, they return to
the common stock, and any other man has an equal
right to seize and enjoy them afterwards.
Of similar Again, there are other tilings in which a permanent
whidi have property may subsist not only as to the temporary use,
been aj>- but also the solid substance ; and which yet would he
propriated. frequently found without a proprietor, had not the wis¬
dom of the law provided a remedy to obviate tills in¬
convenience. Such are forests and other waste grounds,
which were omitted to he appropriated in the general
distribution of lands : such also ai,“e wrecks, estrays, and
that species of wild animals, which the arbitrary con¬
stitutions of positive law have distinguished from the
-rest by the well-hnown appellation of game. With re¬
gard to these and some others, as disturbances and quar¬
rels would frequently arise among individuals contend¬
ing about the acquisition of this species of property by
first occupancy, the law has therefore wisely cut up
the root of dissension, b^ vesting the things themselves
in the sovereign of the state 5 or else in his representa¬
tives appointed and authorised by him, being usually
the lords of manors. And thus our legislature has uni¬
versally promoted the grand ends of civil society, the
peace and security of individuals, by steadily pursuing
5
thor requires before he would introduce his abolition of tare,
property, would constitute men more than angels ; for
to be under the influence of no passion or appetite, and
to he guided in every action by unmixed benevolence
and pure intellect, is a degree of perfection which we
can attribute to no being inferior to God. But it is
the object of the greater part of this writer’s book to
prove that all men must arrive at such perfection be*
fore his ideal republic can contribute to their happi¬
ness •, and therefore every one who is conscious of be¬
ing at any time swayed by passion, and who feels that
he is more attached to his wife or children than to
strangers, will look withont envy to the present inequa¬
lities of property and power, if he he an intelligent
disciple of Mr Godwin.
Literary Pbopehty. See CoPY-lhght,. ^ .pefi||
PBOPHECY is a word derived from and
in its original import signifies the prediction ci future
events. _ _ . . PM
As God alone can perceive with certainty the tuture^i
actions of free agents, and the remote consequences otsupd
those laws of nature which he himself established, Pr0'ljM
phecy, when clearly fulfilled, affords the most convincing^
evidence of an intimate and supernatural communion^
1 between
PRO
C 449 ]
PRO
9 word
5’crip-
* !i, vL
i 7.
-f Cor.
q siv.
’ 3-
tion. Together with the power of working miracles, it
is indeed the only evidence which can be given of such
a communion. Hence among the professors of every re-
pe pro- Hgious system, except that which is called the religion
! “‘""'J the'J! '■“ve been numberless pretenders to
,, pre- tbe, g‘ft .ol prophecy. The Pagan nations of antiquity
tiltd to had their oracles, augurs, and soothsayers. Modern
idolaters have their necromancers and diviners • and
the Jews, Christians, and Mahometans, hare thei/seers
and prophets.
The ill-founded pretensions of paganism, ancient and
modern, have been exposed under various articles of
this work. (See Divination, Magic, Necroman¬
cy, and Mythology). And the claims of the Ara¬
bian impostor are examined under the articles Alco¬
ran and Mahometanism ; so that at present we have
only to consider the use, intent, and truth, of the Jewish
and Christian prophecies.
Previous to our entering on this investigation, it may
^ be proper to observe, that in the Scriptures of tbe Old
i s mean-an<^ Testaments, the signification ol the word pro-
ii. phecy is not always confined to the foretelling of fu¬
ture events. In several instances it is of the same im¬
port with preaching, and denotes the faculty of illu¬
strating and applying to present practical purposes the
doctrines of prior revelation. Thus in Nehemiah it is
said, “ Ihou hast appointed prophets to preach and
whoever speaketh unto men to edification, and exhorta¬
tion, and comfort, is by St Paul called a prophet J.
Hence it was that there were schools of prophets in Is¬
rael, where young men were instructed in the truths of
religion, and fitted to exhort and comfort the people.
In this article, however, it is chiefly of importance to
confine ourselves to that kind of prophecy which, in
declaring truths either past, present, or future, required
the immediate inspiration of God.
Every one who looks into the history of the world
must observe, that the minds of men have from the be-
ginning been gradually opened by a train of events still
improving upon, and adding light to each other; as
that of each individual is, by proceeding from the first
elements and seeds oi science, to more enlarged views,
and a still higher growth. Mankind neither are nor
ever have been capable of entering into the depths of
knowledge at once ; of receiving a whole system of na¬
tural or moral truths together ; hut must he let into
them by degrees, and have them communicated by little
and little, as they are able to bear it. That this is the
case with respect to human science, is a fact which can¬
not be questioned ; and there is as little room to que¬
stion it with respect to the progress of religious know¬
ledge among men, either taken collectively or in each
individual. Why the case is thus in both, why all are
not adult at once in body and mind, is a question which
the religion ol nature is equally called upon with reve¬
lation to answer. The fact may not he easily accounted
for, but the reality ol it is incontrovertible.
Accordingly, the great object of the several revela¬
tions recorded in the Old Testament was evidently to
tent keeP alive a sense of religion in the minds of men, and
to train them by degrees for the reception of those
simple but sublime truths by which they were to be sa¬
ved. Ihe notions which the early descendants of A-
4am entertained of the Supreme Being, and of the re-
Vol. XVII. Part IL +
,5
Si'ice
aneli-
dtiy
1.
TMive.
;of
iatic
the .
Tesi,
gross; and we see them graduali; refined by a Ses7fW-
revelations or prophecies, each in succession more ex¬
plicit than that by which it was preceded, till the ad
vent of him who was the way, the truth, and the life"
and who brought to light life and immortality.
vhen a revelation was made of any important truth d 1
= ground3 °r which ,he n.ind of mL L ^2^.
ties lo comprehend, that revelation, though undouht.comp.nM
eclJy a prophecy, must have been so far from confirm-by rair£U
mg the truth of revealed religion in general, that itdeS*
could not gam credit itself, hut by some extrinsic evi¬
dence that it came indeed from God. Hence we find
Moses after it was revealed to him from the burning
hush that he should deliver his countrymen from Eirvo-
tian bondage, replying, “ Behold, they will not believe
me, nor hearken to my voice ; for they will say, the
l^ord hath not appeared unto thee.” This revelation
certainly constituted him a prophet to Israel; and there
cannot be x doubt but that he perfectly knew the divine
sourc e from which he received it; but he very naturally
ami reasonably concluded, that the children of Israel
would not believe that the Lord had appeared to hinv
unless he could give them some other proof of this pre¬
ternatural appearance than his own simple affirmation of
its reality. This proof he was immediately enabled to
give, by having conferred upon him the power of work¬
ing miracles in confirmation of bis prophecy. Apain
when Gideon was called to the deliverance of Israel’
the angel of the Lord came and said unto him, “ The
Lord is with thee, thou mighty man of valour : go in this
thy might, and thou shall save Israel from the hand of
the Midianites. Have not I sent thee ?” Here was a
prophecy delivered by the angel of the Lord to en¬
courage Gideon’s undertaking: hut he, being probably
afraid of some illusion of sense or imagination, demand¬
ed a sign that he was really an angel who talked with
him. A sign is accordingly given him, a miraculous
sign, with which he is satisfied, and undertakes the work
appointed him.
From these and many similar transactions recorded and o^it-
in the Old lestament, it appeals that prophecy was never .self can be
intended as evidence of an original revelation. It is 110 proof
indeed, by its very nature, totally unfit for such a pur-of f reYe"
pose ; because it is impossible, without some extrinsiclaUoD*
proof of its divine origin, to know whether any prophe¬
cy be true or false, till the era arrive at which it ought
to be fulfilled. When it is fulfilled, it affords complete
evidence that he who uttered it spake by the spirit of
God, and that the doctrines which lie taught of a reli¬
gious nature, were all either dictated by the same spirit,
or at least are true, and calculated to direct mankind in
the way of their duty.
The prophecies vouchsafed to the patriarchs in the jt j
most early periods of the world, were all intended to tended To”
keep alive in their minds a sense of religion, and to di-preserve a
reel their views to the future completion of that firstscnse ot re*
and greatest prophecy which was made to Adam im- llf’,0‘1 a*
mediately on his fall : but in order to secure credit to nion“ mca’
those prophecies themselves, they were always accom¬
panied by some miraculous sign that they were indeed
given by the God of truth, and not the delusions of
fanaticism or hypocrisy. Prophecy, in the proper sense
of the word, commenced with the fall; and the first
instance of it is implied in the sentence denounced upon
3 L the
Prophecy.
10
Probable
effects of
the .first
PRO
the original deceiver of mankind , - — »
between thee and the woman, and between thy seetL
and her seed : It shall bruise thy head, and thou shalt
bruise his heel.” . ,
This prophecy, though one of the most important
that ever was delivered, when considered by itself, is ex-
the.first ceedinMy obscure. That Adam should have under-
Mst stood it, as some of his degenerate sons have pretended
piTu. to do, in a literal sense, ,s absolutely .mposs.ble He
knew well that it was the great God ol heaten and
earth who was speaking, and that such a ^emg was
incapable of trifling with the wretchedness of Ins fallen
creature. The sentence denounced upon himself and
his wife was awful and severe. The woman was doom¬
ed to sorrow in conception } the man to sorrow am
travel all the days of his life. The ground was cur¬
sed for his sake 5 and the end of the judgment was
“ Dust thou art, and to dust thou shalt return. Had
our first parents been thus left, they must have looked
upon themselves as rejected by their Maker, delivere
u'p to trouble and sorrow in the world, and as having no
hone in any other. With such impressions on their minds
they could have retained no sense of religion ; for reli¬
gion, when unaccompanied by hope, is a state oi frenzy
and distraction : yet it is certain that they could have no
hope from any thing expressly recorded by Moses, ex¬
cept what they might draw from tins sentence passed
on their deceiver. Let us then endeavour to ascertain
what consolation it could afford them.
At that awful juncture, they must have been sensi > e
that their fall was the victory of the serpent, whom by
experience they had found to be an enemy to God and
to man. It could not therefore but be some comfort
to them to hear this enemy first condemned, and to see
that, however lie had prevailed against them, he had
gained no victory over their Maker. By this condem¬
nation they were secured from thinking that there was
anv malignant being equal to the Creator in power and
dominion j an opinion which, through the prevalency ot
evil gained ground in after times, and was destructive
of all true religion. The belief of God’s supreme do¬
minion being thus preserved, it was still necessary to
o-ive them such hopes as might induce them to love as
well as to fear him •, and these they could not but con¬
ceive when they heard from the mouth of their Creator
and Judge, that the serpent’s victory was not complete
even over themselves ; that they and their posterity
should be enabled to contest his empire 5 and that
thou oil they were to suffer much in the struggle, they
should yet finally prevail, bruise the serpent’s head, and
deliver themselves from his power and dominion.
This prophecy therefore was to our first parents a
light shining in a dark place. All that they could
certainly conclude from it was, that their case was not
desperate ; that some remedy, some deliverance from the
evil they were under, would in time appear-, but when or
where, or by what means they were to be delivered, they
could not possibly understand, unless the matter, was
further revealed to them, as probably it was at the insti¬
tution of sacrifice (see Sacrifice). Obscure, how¬
ever, as this promise or prophecy was, it served alter
the fall as a foundation for religion, and trust and con¬
fidence towards God in hopes of deliverance in time
from the evils of disobedience : and this appears to have
Piophec
[ 45° ] PRO
« j wiil put enmity as some well-meaning though weak advocates for Chris-
i will put j >t.an.ty have imag;ned, as a prediction pointing directly
to the cross of Christ. ...
As this prophecy was the first, so is it the only con¬
siderable one in which we have any concern from the
creation to the days of Noah. It was proportioned to
the then wants and necessities of the world, and was the
grand charter of God’s mercy after the fall. Nature
had no certain help for sinners-, her rights were lost
with her innocence. It was therefore necessary either
to destroy the offenders, or to raise them to a capacity
of salvation, by giving them such hopes as might ena¬
ble them to exercise a reasonable religion, bo iar the
light of this prophecy extended. By what means God
intended to work their salvation, he did not expressly
declare : and who has a right to complain that he did
not, or to prescribe to him rules in dispensing his mercy
to the children of men ? . “
Upon the hopes of mercy winch this prophecy gives The cm.
in very general terms, mankind rested till the b.rth <*££
Nnal,. At that period a new prophecy was delivered »«•
bv Lamcch, who foretels that ins son should comiort
them concerning the work and toil of the,r hands,
“ because of the earth which the Lord had cursed. \\ e
are to remember -that the curse pronounced upon the
earth was part of the sentence passed upon our first pa¬
rents 1 and when that part was remitted, if it ever was
remitted, mankind would acquire new and more lively
hopes that in God’s good time they should be freed Irom
the whole. But it has been shown by Bishop bherlock , * Ustm
that this declaration of Lamech’s was a prediction, thatMj
during the life of bis son the curse should be taken off 1 > •
from the earth : and the same prelate has proved with
o-reat perspicuity, and in the most satisfactory manner,
that this happy 'revolution actually took place after
the flood. The limits prescribed to an article ot this
kind will not permit us even to abridge his arguments. !
We shall only observe, that the truth of Ins conclusion |
is manifest from the very words of scripture; for when
God informs Noah of his design to destroy the world,
he adds, “ But with thee will I establish my covenant:
and as soon as the deluge was over, he declared that lie
“ would not again curse the ground any more tor man s
sake • but that while the earth should remain, seed-time
and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter,
and day and night, should not cease.” I rom this last
declaration it is apparent that a curse had been on tbe
earth, and that seed-time and harvest had often failed ;
that the curse was now taken off j and that m conse¬
quence of this covenant, as it is called, with Noah am
his seed and with every living creature, mankind should
not henceforth be subjected to toil so severe and so ge¬
nerally fruitless. r, _ ^ “
It may seem surprising perhaps to some, that after so A tom
great a revolution in the world as the deluge wiade tfo..;
God should say nothing to the remnant of mankind 01 i
the punishments and rewards of another life, hut should akd
make a new covenant with them relating merely to fruit¬
ful seasons and the blessings of the earth.. But m ie
scriptures we see plainly a gradual working oi provi¬
dence towards the redemption of the world from the
curse of the fall -, that the temporal blessings were hist
restored as an earnest and pledge of better things 0
follow; and that the covenant given to Noah ha ,
trom the evils of disobedience : and this appears to have to ow ^ ^ ^ ^ the hopes 0f futurk
been the sole purpose for which it was given, and not, stnctl) s^e &> o ^
4
PRO [451
’ropheoy. ty, winch were reserved to he the matter of another
—■/— covenant, in another age, and to he revealed by him"
whose provmce it was to « bring life and itamortalit^
to light through the gospel.” But if Noah and his
forefathers expected deliverance from the whole curse of
the fall, tne actual deliverance from one part of it was
.a very good pledge of a further deliverance to be ex¬
pected in time. Man himself was cursed as well as the
ground j he was doomed to dust: and fruitful seasons
are but a small relief compared to the greatness of his
loss. But when fruitful seasons came, and one part of
the curse was evidently abated, it gave great assurance
that the other should not last for ever, but that l.y
some means, still unknown to them, they should be
freed from the whole, and finally bruise the serpent’s
head, who, at the deluge, had so severely bruised man’s
heel.
13
amise to
rahanit
nesis
&c.
. UPon tliis assurance mankind rested for some genera¬
tions, and practised, as we have every reason to believe
a rational worship to the one God of the universe. At
last, however, idolatry was by some means or other in¬
troduced (see Polytheism), and spread so universally
through the world, that true religion would in all pro¬
bability have entirely failed, had "not God visibly inter¬
posed to preserve such a sense of it as was necessary for
the accomplishment of his great design to restore man¬
kind. Tins he did by calling Abraham from amidst
diis idolatrous kindred, and renewing to him the word
of prophecy : “ Get thee out of thy country (said he),
and from thy kindred, and from thy father’s house,
unto a land that I will shew thee. And I will make of
thee a great nation, and 1 will bless thee, and make thy
name great; and thou shall be a blessing. And I will
bless them that bless thee, and curse him that curseth
thee ; and in thee shall all the families of the earth be
blessed.” 1 hese magnificent promises are several times
repeated to toe father of the faithful, with additional cir¬
cumstances of great importance, such as, “ that be should
be multiplied exceedingly; that he should be a father
of many nations ; that kings should come out of him
and above all, that God would establish an everlasting;
covenant with him and his seed, to give him and them
all the land of Canaan for an everlasting possession, and
to be their God.”
Upon such of these promises, as relate to tempo¬
ral blessings we need not dwell. They are much of
the same nature with those which had been given be¬
fore to Lamecb, Noah, Shem, and Japbeth ; and all
the world knows how amply and literally they have
been fulfilled. 1 here was, however, so little probability
in nature of their accomplishment at the time when they
were made, that we find the patriarch asking, “ Where¬
by be should know f that be should inherit such an ex¬
tent of country ?” And as the promises that lie should
1 T R O
inherit it were fo^d to be a foundatioa for religio,, p,
.11.I confidence m God, a miraculous sign was given him 1 v -
that they came indeed from the spirit of truth This
removed from h.s mind every doubt, and made him give
the fullest credit, not only to them, but also to That
other promise, “ that in his seed should all the nations
oi the earth be blessed.”
What distinct notion he had of this blessing, or in
what manner he hoped it should be effected, we cannot
pietend to say. “ But that he understood it to be a
promise of restoring mankind, and delivering them from
the remaining curse of tl.e fall, there can be no doubt,
xle knew that death had entered by sin; he knew that
~od. ,mtl promised victory and redemption to the seed
or toe woman. Upon the hopes of this restoration the
religion of his ancestors was founded ; and when God
from whom this blessing on all men was expected, did
expressly promise a blessing on all men, and in this pro¬
mise founded bis everlasting covenant—what could A-
braham else expect but the completion in his seed of
that ancient promise and prophecy concerning the vic¬
tory to he obtained by the woman’s seed ? The curse of
the ground was expiated in the Hood, and the earth re¬
stored with a blessing, which was the foundation of the
temporal covenant with Noah ; a large share of which
Ood expressly grants to Abraham and his posterity par¬
ticularly, together with a promise to bring, by their
means, a new and further blessing upon the whole race
of men. 11 we lay these tilings to heart, we cannot
suppose that less could he expected from the new pro¬
mise or prophecy given to Abraham than a deliverance
lorn that part ol the curse still remaining on men :
JJust' thou art, and to dust thou shall return. In virtue
ol this covenant Abraham and his posterity had reason
to expect that the time would come when man should
be called from bis dust again. For this expectation they
had his assurance who gave the covenant, that he would
be tneir God for ever. Well might our Saviour then.* Sher-
tell the sons of Abraham, that even Moses at the bush lock’s Use
snowed the resurrection of the dead, when he called \\\q and Intent
Lord the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and0-^0?7'*'
the God of Jacob c2/-
1 hese promises made to Abraham were renewed to To Isaac
isaac and Jacob ; to the last ol whom it was revealed, aud Jacob,
not only that all . the nations of the earth should be
blessed in his seed, but that the blessing should spring
from his son Judah. It is, however, by no means evi¬
dent that any one of those patriarchs knew precisely by
what means (a) the curse ol the fall was to he entirely
removed, and ad men called from their dust again. It
was enough that they were convinced of the fact in ge¬
neral terms, since such conviction was a sufficient foun¬
dation or a rational religion ; and the descendants of
Abraham had no other foundation upon which to rest
their
(a) This they certainly could not know from the promises expressed in the very general terms in which they
are recorded in the book of Genesis. It is, however, not improbable that those promises, as they immediately re-
r |?n1’ wfre. conceive(l in terms more precise and particular ; and, at all events, Dr Warburton has proved
o e full conviction of every man who is not a determined unbeliever, that Abraham was commanded to sacri-
ce ns son Isaac, not only as a trial of bis obedience, but also that God might give him what he earnestly de-
, a soemcal representation of the means by which mankind were to be redeemed from death. The learned
a1" I I Lr O  1 I *  * 1 . • . * 1 • .1 . __
sired
w T " • . --f.—gi me jjjcaua uj wintn iiiduiviiiu were io ue reueemeu irom rieatli. i lie learned
mer thinks, and bis reasoning compels us to think with him, that to this transaction our Saviour alludes when
ie gays, “ Lour father Abraham rejoiced to see my day, and he saw it and was crlad.”
Your father Abraham rejoiced to see my day, and he saw it and was clad.
3 L 2
ceedin_
prophets
16
Were all
PRO [45
Prophecy, tlieir hopes, and pay a cheerful worship to the God ot
' v——' their fathers, till the giving ot the law to Moses. en
15 indeed they were incorporated into a society wit i mum-
The law of ci , jaws of t|ieir own> and placed under a theocratic
thetuc government-, the temporal promises made to their fa¬
thers were amply fulfilled religion was maintained a-
mong them by rewards and punishments equally distri¬
buted in this world (see Theology) : and a series ot
prophets succeeding one another pointed out with greater
and greater clearness, as the fulness of time approach¬
ed, the person who was to redeem mankind from the
power of death j by what means he was to work that
great redemption, and at what precise period he was to
make his appearance in the world. By these superna¬
tural interpositions of divine providence, the principles
of pure theism and the practice of true religion were
preserved among the children of Israel, when al! other
nations were sunk in the grossest idolatry, and wallowed
in the most abominable vices j when the far-famed &-
gyptians, Greeks, and Romans, fell down with adoration
to stocks and stones and the vilest reptiles and when
they had no well grounded hope of another life, an
were in fact without God in the world. .
w . n From this short deduction, we think ourselves intitled
intended to to conclude, that the prwuny use and intent of prophe-
keep alive under the various dispensations ot the * a
it sense of ment waS notj as \s too often supposed, to establish the
Tdi*'ion divine mission of Jesus Christ, but to keep alive in the
minds of those to whom it was given, a sense ot reli¬
gion, and a hope of future deliverance from the curse ot
the fall. It Was, in the expressive language ot bt L eter,
“ a light that shone in a dark place, unto which men
did well to take heed until the day dawned and the day-
star arose in their hearts.” But though this was cer¬
tainly the original intent of prophecy (tor Christ, had
tie never been foretold, would have proved himself to
he the son of God with power by his astonishing mi¬
racles, and his resurrection from the dead), yet it can¬
not be denied, that a long series of prophecies, given
in different and far distant ages, and having all their
completion in the life, death, and resurrection, ot Jesus,
concur very forcibly with the evidence of miracles to
prove that he was the seed of the woman ordained to
bruise the head of the serpent, and restore man to his
forfeited inheritance. To the Jews the force of this
evidence must have been equal, if not superior, to that
of miracles themselves ; and therefore we find the A-
postles and first preachers of the gospel, in their ad¬
dresses to them, constantly appealing to the law and the
prophets, whilst they urged upon the Gentiles the evi¬
dence of miracles.
In order to form a right judgment of the argument
XcETte for the truth of Christianity drawn from the sure word
beconsider-of prophecy, we must not consider the prophecies given
cd in con- in the Old Testament as so many predictions only inde-
pendent of each otherfor if we do, we shall totally lose
sight of the purpose for which they were originally gi¬
ven, and shall never bf able to satisfy ourselves when
confronted by the objections of unbelievers. It is easy
for men of leisure and tolerable parts to find difficulties
in particular predictions, and in the application ot them
made by writers, who lived manv hundred years ago,
and who had many ancient books and records of the
Jewish church, from which they drew many passages,
and perhaps some prophecies which book# and records
'1
The pro-
11 ection.
2 ] ' PRO
we have not to enable us to understand, and to jestify pr^J
their applications. But it is not so easy a matter to y-"*
show, or to persuade the world to believe, that a chain
of prophecies reaching through several thousand years,
delivered at different times, yet manifestly subservient
to one and the same administration ot providence irom
beginning to end, is the effect ol art and contrivance
and religious Iraud. In examining the several piophe-
cies recorded in the Old Testament, we are not to sup¬
pose that each of them expressly pointed out and clear-
ly characterized Jesus Christ. Had they done so, in¬
stead of being a support to religion in general, the pur¬
pose for which they were originally intended, they
would have had a very different effect* by making those
to whom they were given repine at being placed under
dispensations so very inferior to that ot tlie gospel. .We
are therefore to inquire only whether all the notices,-
which, in general and often metaphorical terms, God
aave to the fathers of his intended salvation, are perfect-
fy answered by the coming of Christ j and we shall find
that nothing has been promised with respect to that sub¬
ject which has not been performed in the amplest man¬
ner. If we examine the prophecies in this manner, we
shall find that there is not one of them, which the
Apostles have applied to the Messiah, that is not appli¬
cable in a rational and important sense to something in
the birth, life, preaching, death, resurrection, and as¬
cension of Jesus of Nazareth that as applied to him
they are all consistent with each other and that though
some few of them may be applied without absurdity to
persons and events under the Jewish dispensation, Christ
is the only person that ever existed in whom they all
meet as in a centre. In the limits prescribed us, it is
impossible that we should enter upon a particular proof
of this position. It has been proved by numberless wri¬
ters, and, with respect to the most important prophecies,
by none with greater success than Bishop Sherlock in
his Use and Intent of Prophecy in the several ages ot
the World; a work which we recommend to our read¬
ers as one of the most valuable on the subject in our own
or any other language. . iS
But admitting that it would have been improper, tor object!
the reason already hinted at, to have given a clear alldfr°™
precise description of Christ, and the Christian {sPen*0j prop]
sation, to men who were ordained to live under disjten-^
sations less pertect, how, it may be asked, comes it to
pass that many of the prophecies applied by the writers
of the gospel to our Saviour and his actions are still daik
and obscure, and so far from belonging evidently to him
and to him only, that it requires much learning and sa¬
gacity to show even now the connection between some
prophecies and the events ? , , . , . ^
In answer to these questions, the learned prelate just Ansue
referred to observes, “ That the obscurity of prophecy
does not arise from hence, that it is a relation or descrip¬
tion of something/wtare ; for it is as easy to speak ot
things future plainly, and intelligibly, as it is ot things
past or present. It is not, therefore, of the nature ot
prophecy to be obscure ; for it may easily be made,
when he who gives it thinks fit, as plain as history. 11
the other side, a figurative and dark description ot a
future event will be figurative and dark still when the
event happens •, and consequently will have all the ob¬
scurity of a figurative and dark description as well attet
as before the event. The prophet Isaiah describes the
pkey
. P. R 0 C 453
peace of Christ’s kingdom in the following manner:
‘ The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and The leopard
shall lie down with the kid, and the calf and the young-
lion, and the falling, together, and a little child shall
lead them.’ Nobody, some modern Jews excepted,
ever understood this literally j nor can it now be lite¬
rally applied to the state of the gospel. It was and is
capable of different interpretations : it may mean tem¬
poral peace, or that internal and spiritual peace that
tranquillity of mind, which sets a man at peace with
God, himself, and the world. But whatever the true
meaning is, this prophecy does no more obtrude one
determinate sense upon the mind since the coming of
Christ than it did before. But then we say, the state
of the gospel was very properly prefigured in this de¬
scription, and is as properly prefigured in a hundred
more of the like kind ; and since they all agree in a fair
application to the state ot the gospel, we strongly con¬
clude, that this state was the tiling foretold under such
expressions. So that the argument from prophecy for
the truth of Christianity does not rest on this, that the
event has necessarily limited and ascertained the parti¬
cular sense and meaning of every prophecy ; but in this,
that every prophecy has in a proper sense been complet¬
ed by the coming of Christ. It is absurd, therefore, to
expect clear and evident conviction from every single
prophecy applied to Christ; the evidence must arise
from a view and comparison of all together.” It is
doubtless a great mistake to suppose that prophecy was
intended solely or chiefly for their sakcs in whose time
the events predicted are to happen. What great occa¬
sion is there to lay in so long beforehand the evidence
of prophecy to convince men of things that are to hap¬
pen in their own times; the truth of which they may,
if they please, learn from their own senses P Yet some
people are apt to talk as if they thought the truth of
the events predicted depended very much on the evi¬
dence of prophecy : they speak, for instance, as if they
imagined the certainty and reality of our Saviour’s re¬
surrection were much concerned in the clearness of the
prophecies relating to that great and wonderful event,
and seem to think that they are confuting the truth of
his resurrection when they are pointing out the absurdi¬
ty of the prophecies relating to it. But can any thing
be more absurd ? For what ground or pretence is there
to inquire whether the prophecies foretelling that the
Messiah should die and rise again do truly belong to
Christ, unless we are first satisfied that Christ died ^and
rose again P
The part which unbelievers ought to take in this
question, if they would make any use of prophecy,
should be, to show from the prophets that Christ was
necessarily to rise from the dead ; and then to prove
that in fact Jesus never did rise. Here would be a plain
consequence. But if they like not this method, they
ought to let the prophecies alone; for if Christ did not
rise, there is no harm done though the prophets have
not foretold it. And if they allow the resurrection of
Christ, what do they gain by discrediting the prophets ?
The event will be what it is, let the prophets be what
they will.
These considerations show how far the gospel is neces¬
sarily concerned in prophetical evidence, and how clear
the prophecies should be. Christ claims to be the per¬
son foretold in the law and the prophets; and as truth
]
PRO
must ever be consistent with itself, this claim must be Pr„pW
true as well as all others. This is the part theu to be iZJS
tried on the evidence of prophecy : Is Christ that per¬
son described and foretold under the Old Testament or
not ? Whether all the prophecies relating to him be
plain or not plain, it matters little ; the single question
is, Are there enough plain to show us that Christ is the
person foretold under the Old Testament ? If there be,
we are at an end ot our inquiry, and want no farther
help from prophecy ; especially since we have seen the
day dawn and enjoyed the marvellous light of the gos¬
pel of God.
Lut so unreasonable are unbelievers, that whilst some OSje*dons
ot them object to the obscurity of the prophecies, from the
others have rejected them altogether on account of theirclran,ess °C
clearness, pretending that they are histories and notSO:"epr°'
predictions. The prophecies against which this objec-
tion has been chiefly urged are those of Daniel, which
were first called in question by the famous Porphyry.
He affirmed that they were not composed by Daniel,
whose name they bear, but by some author who lived
in Judea about the time of Antioclius Epiphanes;
because all to that time contained true history, but that
all the facts beyond that were manifestly false.
This method of opposing the prophecies, as a father answered, 1
oi the church rightly observes, is the strongest testimo-
ny of their tnsth : for they are so exactly fulfilled, that
to infidels the prophet seemed not to have foretold
things future, but to have related things past. To an
infidel of this age, if he has the same ability and know¬
ledge of history that Porphyry had, all the subsequent
prophecies of Daniel, except those which are still ful-
filhng, would appear to be history and not prophecy ; 22
for it entirely overthrows the notion of their beingfrom wliat
written in the days of A/Oiochus Epiphanes, or of the^8.^^11*
Maccabees, and establishes the credit of Daniel as a pro- tae'objec-
phet beyond contradiction, that there are several of tion wa»
those prophecies which have been fulfilled since that pe-lllstsUlrt€t,5
riod as well as before ; nay, that there are prophecies of
Daniel which are fulfilling at this very time in the
world.
Our limits will not permit us to enter into the objec¬
tions which have been made to this prophet by the au¬
thor of the Literal Scheme of Prophecy considered ;
nor is there occasion that we should enter into them.
'They have been all examined and completely answered
by Bishop Chandler in his Vindication of his Defence
of Christianity, by Mr Samuel Chandler in his Vindica¬
tion of the Antiquity and Authority of Daniel’s Prophe- 23
cies, and by Bishop Newton in his excellent Disserta-aru* froin
tions on the Prophecies. To these authors we refer thefacts 0.1 ^
reader; and shall conclude the present article with a1 tb
view of some prophecies given in very remote ages,
which are in this age receiving their accomplishment.
Of these the first is that of Noah concerning the ser¬
vitude ofthe posterity of Canaan. In the greater part
of original manuscripts, and in our version of the holy
scriptures, this prophecy is thus expressed: “ Cursed
be Canaan ; a servant of servants shall he be unto his
brethren but in the. Arabic version, and in some co¬
pies of the Septuagint, it is, “ Cursed be Ham the fa¬
ther of Canaan ; a servant of servants shall he be to his
brethren.” Whether the curse was really pronounced
upon Ham, which we think most probable, or only up¬
on his son Canaan, we shall find the prediction remark¬
ably
P K O
[ 454 1
P; R O
Propliec’
alilv fulfilled, not barely ages after the book of Genesis
was very generally known, but also at this very day.
It is needless to inform any man who has but looked
into the Old Testament, that when the ancient patri¬
archs pronounced either a curse or a blessing upon any
of their sons, they meant to declare the future fortunes,
not of that son individually, but of his descendants as a
tribe or a nation. Let us keep this in mind, and pro¬
ceed to compare with Noah’s prophecythe fortunes
of the descendants of Canaan, the fourth son of Ham,
and then the fortunes of the posterity of Ham by his
other sons. .
With the fate of the Canaamtes every reader is ac¬
quainted. They were conquered by Joshua several cen¬
turies after the delivery of this prophecy *, and such of
them as were not exterminated were by him and bolo-
mon reduced to a state of the lowest servitude to the Is¬
raelites, the posterity of Shem the brother of Ham. 11m
Greeks and Romans, too, who were the descendants of
Japbeth, not only subdued Syria and Palestine, but also
pursued and conquered such of the Canaanites as were
anywhere remaining, as for instance the Tyrians and
Cartha ‘inians, of whom the former were ruined by A-
lexander and the Grecians, and the latter by Scipio and
the Romans. Nor did the effects of the curse stop
there. The miserable remainder of that devoted people
have been ever since slaves to a foreign yoke •, first to the
Saracens who are descended from Shem, and afterwards
to the Turks who are descended from Japheth } and un¬
der the Turkish dominion they groan at this day.
If we take the prophecy as it stands in the Arabic
version, its accomplishment is stiil more remarkable.
The whole continent of Africa was peopled principally
by the posterity of Ham. And for how many ages have
the better parts of that country lain under the dominion
first of the Romans, then of the Saracens, and now oi
the Turks ? In what wickedness, ignorance, barbarity,
slavery, and misery, live most of its inhabitants ? and
of the poor negroes how many thousands are every year
sold and bought like beasts in the market, and conveyed
from one quarter of the world to do the work of beasts
in another ; to the full accomplishment indeed of the
prophecy, but to the lasting disgrace of those who are
from the love of gain the instruments of fulfilling it.
Nothing can be more complete than the execution of
the sentence as rvell upon Ham as upon Canaan } and
the hardiest infidel will not dare to say that it was pio-
nounced after the event.
The next prophecy which we shall notice is that o.
Abraham concerning the multitude of his descendants ;
which every one knows is still fulfilled in the Jews even
an their dispersed state, and therefore cannot have been
given after the event of which it speaks.
& Of the same kind are the several prophecies concern¬
ing Ishmael 5 of which some have been fulfilled, and
others are at present fulfilling in the most astonishing
manner. 01 this son ol A.biaham it was foretold, that
“ he should be a wild man ; that his hand should be
against every man, and every man’s hand against him }
that he should dwell in the presence of all his brethren ;
that he should be multiplied exceedingly, beget twelve
prinfces, and become a great nation.” i he sacred hi¬
storian who records these prophecies adds, that “ Cod
was with the lad, and he grew, and dwelt in the wilder¬
ness, and became an archer.”
To show how fully and literally all these prophecies. Proph
have been accomplished, would require more room than
we have to bestow'; and to the reader of history the la-,
hour would be superfluous. We shall therefore only re¬
quest the unbeliever to attend to the history of the
Arabs, the undoubted descendants of Ishmael ; and to
say how it comes to pass, that though they have been
robbers by land and pirates by sea for time immemorial,
though their hands have been against every man, and
every man’s hand against them, they always have dwelt,
and at this day dwell, in the presence of their brethren,
a free and independent people. It cannot he pretended
that no attempt has ever been made to conquer them j
for the greatest conquerors in the world have all in their
turns attempted it: but though some of tnem made
great progress, not one was ever ci owned with success,
it cannot be pretended that the inaccessibleness of their
country has been their protection j for then country has
been often penetrated, though it never was entirely
subdued. When in all human probability they have
been on the brink of ruin, they were signally and pro¬
videntially delivered. Alexander was preparing an ex¬
pedition against them, when he was cut off in the flower
of his age. Ponipey was in the career of his conquests
when urgent affairs called him elsewhere, iElius Cal¬
lus had penetrated far into their country, when a fatal
disease destroyed great numbers of his men, and obliged
him to return. Trajan besieged their capital city, but
was defeated by thunder and lightning and whirlwinds.
Severus besieged the same city twice, and was twice re¬
pelled from before it. The Turks, though they were
able to wrest from them their foreign conquests, have
been so little able to subdue the Arabs themselves, or
even to restrain their depredations, that they are obliged
to pay them a sort of annual tribute for the safe passage
of the pilgrims who go to Mecca to pay their devotions.
On these facts we shall not exclaim. He who is not
struck upon comparing the simple history of this singular
people with the prophecies so long ago delivered of them
and their great ancestor, whose love of liberty is compa¬
red to that of the wild ass, would rise wholly unmoved
from our exclamations. _ _ T, ,
A fourth prophecy of this kind, which cannot be al- ^
leged to have been uttered after the event, is the denun-theJ(
elation of Moses against the children of Israel in case ofpiajni
their disobedience j which is so literally fulfilled, that fore to
even at this moment- it appears rather a history of the
present state of the Jews, than a remote prediction of
their apostasy and punishment. “ And the Lord shall
scatter thee among all people from the one end of the
earth even unto the other. And among these nations
shalt thou find no case, neither shall the sole of thy foot
have rest j hut the Lord shall give thee there a tremb¬
ling heart and falling of eyes; and sorrow of mind. And
thy life shall hang in doubt before thee 5 and thou shaft
fear day and night, and shall have none assurance of thy
life,” (Deut. xxviii. 64, 65, 66.). “ And thou shall
become an astonishment, a proverb, and a bye-word,
among all nations, whither the Lord shall lead you.
(Deut. xxviii. 37.).
Similar to this denunciation, hut attended with some
circumstances still more wonderful, is the following pio-
diction of the prophet Hosea : “ The children of Israel
shall abide many days without a king, and without a
prince, and without a sacrifice, and without an image,
PRO
!
he
of it
phecy. and without an ephod, and without teraphim. After-
* wards shall the children of Israel return, and seek the*
Lord their God, and David their king; and shall fear
the Lord and his goodness in the latter days (b) ” In
this passage we find the state of the Jews for the last
1700 years clearly and distinctly described with all its
circumstances. From the time that they rejected their
Messiah all things began to work towards the destruc¬
tion of their politics both civil and religious 5 and with¬
in a few years from his death, their city, temple, and
government, were utterly ruined 5 and they themselves
not carried into a gentle captivity, to enjoy their laws,
and live under governors of their own, as they did in
Babylon, but they were sold like beasts in a market
and became slaves in the strictest sense; and from that
day to this have had neither prince nor chief among
them. Nor will any one of them ever be able, after all
their pretences, to prove his descent from Aaron, or to
say with certainty whether he is of the tribe of Judah
or of the tribe of Levi, till he shall discover that un¬
known country where never mankind dwelt, and where
the apocryphal Esdras has placed their brethren of the
ten tribes. This being the case, it is impossible they
can have either an altar, or a sacrifice, or a priesthood,
according to the institution of Moses, but are evidently
an outcast people living under laws which cannot be
fulfilled.
The cause of this deplorable condition is likewise as¬
signed with the same perspicuity : They are scattered
over the face ol the earth, because they do not acknow¬
ledge Christ for the Messiah 5 because they do not sub¬
mit to their own king, the true David. In the prophe¬
tic writings the name of David is frequently given to
the Messiah, who was to descend from that prince.
Thus Ezekiel, speaking of the kingdom of Christ, savs',
“I will set up one Shepheid over them, and he shall
feed them, even my servant David j he shall feed them,
and he shall be their shepherd.55 And Jeremiah says,
“ They shall serve the Lord their God, and David their
king, whom F will raise up unto them.”
I hat in these places, as well as in the passage under
consideration, the Messiah is meant, is undeniable ; for
David the son of Jesse was dead long before any of the
three prophets was born ; and by none of them it is said
■‘afterwards David their king shall come again $” but
“afterwards the children of Israel .shallreturn to David
their king,” they shall recover from their blind infatua¬
tion, and seek him whom they have not yet known.
By their not receiving Jesus for their Christ, they have
forfeited all claim to the divine favour, and are, of con¬
sequence, “ without a king, and without a chief, and
without a sacrifice, and without an altar, and without a
priesthood.”
The time, however, will come, when they shall re¬
turn and seek “ the Lord their God and David their
king;” when they shall tremble before him whom their
fathers crucified, and honour the son even as they ho-
C 455
PRO
?our tbel fatl,er- That this part of the prophecy will
m time be as completely fulfilled as the other has been
may be confidently expected from the wonderful preser¬
vation of the Jews for so many ages. Scattered as they
are over the whole earth, and hated as they are by all
nations, it might naturally be thought, that in process
ot time they would have coalesced with their conquer¬
ors, and have been ultimately absorbed and annihilated
by their union, so that no trace of them should now
have remained 5 yet the fact is, that, dispersed as they
have ever since been over the whole face of the globe
they have never, in a single instance, in any country, lost
their religious or natural distinctions j and they are now
generally supposed to be as numerous as they were under
the reigns of David and Solomon. This is contrary to
all history, and all experience, of the course of human,
allairs in similar cases 5 it has been boldly and justly
styled a standing miracle. Within 1000 or 1200 years
back, a great variety of extraordinary and important re¬
volutions have taken place among the nations of Eu¬
rope. In the southern part of this island the Britons
were conquered by the Saxons, the Saxons by the Danes
and the Danes and Saxons by the Normans ; but in a
few centuries these opposite and hostile nations were con¬
solidated into one indistinguishable mass. Italy, about the
same time that Britain was subdued by the Saxons was
conquered by the Goths and Vandals : and it is not easy
to conceive a more striking contrast than that which sub¬
sisted between the polished inhabitants of that delightful
country and their savage invaders ; and yet how soon
did all distinction cease between them ! In France, the
Roman colonies gradually assimilated with the ancient
Gauls; and in Spain, though the Moors continued for
several ages, and till their final expulsion, a distinct
people, yet after they were once reduced to a state of
subjection, their numbers very sensibly diminished ; and
such ot them as were suffered to remain after their last
overthrow have been long since so blended with the Spa¬
niards that they cannot noiv be distinguished. But with
regard to the dews, the wonder is, that though they do
not in any country where they are settled bear any pro¬
portion to the natural inhabitants, though they are uni¬
versally reduced to a state of the lowest subjection, and
even exposed to hatred, contempt, and persecution; yet
m no instance does there seem to be the least appearance
or probability of their numbers being diminished, in no
instance do they discover anydecay of attachment to their
religious principles. Whence then comes it that this
people alone, who, having no form of government or a
republic anywhere subsisting, are without the means by
which other people are kept united and distinct, should
still be preserved amongst so many different nations ?
How comes it, when they have been thus scattered in¬
to so many distant corners, like dust which cannot be
perceived, that they should still so long survive the dis¬
solution of their own state, as well as that of so many
others! To these questions the answer is obvious ; They
arer
Prophecy.
(b) Such is our translation of this remarkable prophecy ; but the Greek version of the Seventy has it, per¬
haps more properly, thus : “ The children of Israel shall abide many days without a king, and without a
chief, and without a sacrifice, and without an altar, and without a priesthood, and without prophecies. After¬
wards,” &.c.
Prophecy,
Prophet.
27
Of prophe¬
cies re¬
specting;
the Chri¬
stian
church.
PRO t
are preserved, tliat, as a nation, “ tliey may return ami
seek the Lord their God and David their king, and tear
' the Lord and his goodness in the latter days.
We might here subjoin many prophecies both irom
the Old and the New Testament, and especially trom
the writings of St Paul and St John, which so clearly
describe the various fortunes of the Christian chine 1,
her progress to that state of general corruption under
which she was sunk three centuries ago, and her gia^ua
restoration to her primitive purity, that they ca™ot- be
supposed to proceed from the cunning craftiness ot men,
orPto have been written after the events of which they
sneak. To do justice to these, however, would lequne
/volume, and many excellent volumes have been writ¬
ten upon them. The reader who wishes tor satisfaction
on so interesting a subject will do well to consult th
writings of MrSMede and Sir Isaac Newton together
with Bishop Newton’s Dissertations, and the Sermons of
Hurd, Halifax, and Bagot, preached at \\ arbur on s
lecture. We shall only observe, that one of the ablest
reasoners that Great Britain ever produced, after having
paid the closest attention to the predictions ot the New
Testament, hath been bold enough to pnt the truth ot
revealed religion itself upon the reality of that prophetic
spirit which foretold the desolation of Chnst s churci
and kingdom by antichrist. It (says he), in r
days of St Paul and St John, there was any foot¬
step of such a sort of power as this in the world 5 or it
there had BEEN any such power in the world j or it
there was THEN any appearance or probability that
could make it enter into the heart of man to imagine
that there EVER could be any such kind of power in
the world, much less in the temple or c/mrch of hod,
and if there be not now such a power actually and con¬
spicuously exercised in the world j and if any picture ot
this power, DRAWN AFTER THE event, can now de¬
scribe it more plainly and exactly than it was originally
described in the words of the prophecy—then may it,
with some degree of plausibility, be suggested, that the
prophecies are nothing more than enthusiastic imagma-
Upon the whole, we conclude with Bishop Sherlock,
that the various prophecies recorded in the Holy Scrip¬
tures were given, not to enable man to foresee with
clearness future events, but to support the several dis¬
pensations of religion under which they were respective¬
ly promulgated. The principal prophecies recorded m
the Old Testament led mankind to hope lor a complete
deliverance from the curse of the fall $ and therefore
tended to fill their minds with gratitude, and to enforce
a cheerful obedience to that God who in the midst of
judgment remembereth mercy. The prophecies, whe¬
ther in the Old or New Testament, that pourtray the
present state of the Jews, and the various fortunes of the
Christian church, as they are daily fulfilling in the pre¬
sence of all men, are the strongest possible proot of the
divinity of our holy religion, and supply to us in the
latter-days the place of miracles, by which it was at first
established.
PROPHET, in general, a person who loretels future
events •, but is particularly applied to such inspired per¬
sons among the Jews as were commissioned by God to
declare his will and purposes to that people. Among
the canonical books of the Old Testament we have the
writings of 16 prophets, four of whom are denominated
I
456 ] PRO
the greater prophets, viz. Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and
Daniel j so called from the length and extent of their
writings, which exceed those of the others, viz. Hosea,
Joel, Amos, Obadiah, Jonah, Micah, Nahum, Habak-
kuk, Haggai, Zecbariah, and Malachi, who are called
the lesser prophets, from the shortness of their writings.
The Jews do not place Daniel among the prophets, be¬
cause, they say, he lived the life of a courtier rather
than that of a prophet. An account of the several wri¬
tings of the prophets may be seen each under its parti¬
cular head. See the article Isaiah, &c.
Sons of the Prophets, in scripture history, an appel¬
lation given to young men who were educated in the
schools or colleges under a proper master, who was
commonly, if not always, an inspired prophet, in the
knowledge of religion and in sacred music, and thus
were qualified to be public preachers } which seems to
have been part of the business of the prophets on the
Sabbath days and festivals. It is probable that God
generally chose the prophets, whom he inspired, out of
these schools. See Prophecy.
PROPITIATION, in Theology, a sacrifice offered
to God to assuage his wrath and render him propitious.
Among the Jews there were both ordinary and public
sacrifices, as holocausts, &c. offered by way of thanks¬
giving ; and extraordinary ones, offered by particular
persons guilty of any crime, by way of propitiation.
The Romish church believe the mass to be a sacrifice
of propitiation for the living and the dead. I he re¬
formed churches allow of no propitiation but that one
offered by Jesus Christ on the cross. See Sacrifice.
PROPITIATORY, any thing rendering God pro¬
pitious j as we say propitiatory sacrifices, in contradi¬
stinction to sacrifices which were eueharisttcal. Among
the Jews the propitiatory was the cover or lid of the
ark of the covenant} which was lined both within and
withoutside with plates of gold, insomuch that there was
no wood to be seen. This propitiatory was a type or
figure of Christ, whom St Paul calls the propitiatory
ordained from all ages. See Ark of the Covenant.
PROPOLIS, the name of a certain substance more
tenacious than wax, with which the bees stop up all the
holes or cracks in the side of their hives. See Bee,
N° 13.
PROPONTIS, or Sea of Marmora, a part of the
Mediterranean, dividing Europe from Asia 5 it has the
Hellespont or canal of the Dardanelles to the south¬
west, whereby it communicates with the Archipelago,
and ’the ancient Bosphorus of Thrace, or strait of
Constantinople, to the north east, communicating with
the Black or Euxine sea. It has two castles : that on
the Asia side is on a cape, where formerly stood a tem¬
ple of Jupiter. The castle of Europe is on an oppo¬
site cape, and had anciently a temple of Serapis. It is
120 miles long, and in some places upwards ot 40 miles
^PROPORTION, the identity or similitude of two
ratios. Hence quantities that have the same iatl° be'
tween them are said to be proportional 5 e. |r* “ ®
to B as C to D, or 8 be to 4 as 30 to 15 ; A, B, L, L>,
and 8, 4, 30, and 15, are said to be in proportion, 01
are simply called proportionals. Proportion is frequent¬
ly confounded with ratio •, yet have the two in reality
very different ideas, which ought by all means to
distinguished. Ratio is properly the relation or ^a^
ropoi tion
P H O ^ j Pro
^'Ldltermine,S tlie, quantity of vide the product by the number remaining after the P
nuddle or second xs subtracted from doublf the first
the quotient xs a third harmonical proportion ; thus sup- Proposi-
fhe^i tr'r9> i2> i6> a fourth wiu bpy
c °7   Uie quantity o
one from the quantity of another, without the interven
t.on of any third : thus we say the ratio of c and 10 is
2, the ratio of 12 and 24 is 2. Proportion is the same¬
ness or likeness of two such relations 5 thus the relations
between 5 and 10 and 12 and 24 being the same, or
equal, the four terms are said to be in proportion.
Hence ratio exists between two numbers, but proper
tion requires at least three. Proportion, in fine is the
habitude or relation of two ratios when compared too¬
ther ; as ratio is of two quantities. See Algebra A-
rithmetic, and Geometry.
Arithmetical and Geometrical PRoponriofc. See
Progression.
Inordinate Proportion, is. where the order of the
terms compared is disturbed or irregular. As, for ex¬
ample, in two ranks of numbers, three in each rank
viz. in one rank, - - 2, 3, n
and in the other, - - 8,* 24,' 36*
which are proportional, the former’to the latter, but in
a different order, viz. - 2 : 3 : : 24 : 36
and '. ‘ - 3 : 9 : : 8 : 24’
then ; casting out tne mean terms in each rank it is con¬
cluded that - - 2 : 9 : ; 8 : 36,
that is, the first is to the third in the first rank as the
first is to the third in the second rank.
Harmonical or Musical Proportion, is a kind of
numeral proportion formed thus : of three numbers if
the first be to the third as the difference of the first and
second to the difference of the second and third • the
tinee numbers are in harmonical proportion.
^hus 2, 3, 6, are harmonical, because 2:6:: 1:3.
So also four numbers are harmonical, when the first is
to the fourth as the difference of the first aim second to
the difference of the third and fourth.
Thus 24, 16, 12, 9, are harmonical, because 24 : 9
. : 8 : 3. Ey continuing the proportional terms in the
first case, there arises an harmonical progression or se¬
nes.
1. If three or four numbers in harmonical propor¬
tion be multiplied or divided by the same number the
products or quotients will also be in harmonical pro¬
portion : thus, if 6, 8, 12, which are harmonical, be
divided by 2, the quotients 3, 4, 6, are also harmo-
mcal j and reciprocally the products by 2, viz. 6, 8,
2. To find an harmonical mean between two num¬
bers given j divide double the product of the two num¬
bers by their sum, the quotient is the mean required :
thus suppose 3 and 6 the extremes, the product of these
Js 18, which doubled gives 36 ; this divided by 9 (the
sum of 3 and 6) gives the quotient 4. Whence 3, 4, 6,
are harmonical.
3. To find a third harmonical proportion to two
numbers given.
Call one of them the first term, and the other the
second ; multiply them together, and divide the product
Jy the number remaining after the second is subtracted
10m double the first; the quotient is a third harmoni¬
ca pioportional : thus, suppose the given terms 3, 4
eii product 12 divided by 2 (the remainder after 4
is taken from 6, the double of the first), the quotient is
0, the harmonical third sought.
4- Ip find a fourth harmonical proportion to three
errns given ; multiply the first into the third, and di-
VOL. XVH. Part II. f.
the rule to be 24.
5- H there be four numbers disposed in order, where¬
of one extreme and the two middle terms are in arith¬
metical proportion ; and the same middle terms with
the other extreme are in harmonical proportion : the
foui are in geometrical proportion ; as here 2 : 3 • • 4 •
6 which are geometrical 5 whereof 2, 3, 4, are arith¬
metical, and 3, 4, 6, are harmonical.
: betvv,xt any two numbers you put an arithme-
cal mean, and also an harmonical one, the four will be
m geometrical proportion : thus betwixt 2 and 6 an
arithmetical mean is 4, and an harmonical one 3 : and
the four 2:31:4:6, arc geometrical. J
We have this notable difference between the three
'ims 0 proportion, arithmetical, harmonical, and £eo-
metncal; that from any given number we can raise a
continued arithmetical series increasing inin/imtum, but
not decreasing: the harmonical is decreasable in infim-
tmn, but not increasable; the geometrical is both.
Proportion, or Rule of Three. See Arithmetic.
Reciprocal 1 roportion. See IIeciprocal.
1 ROPORTION is also used for the relation between
unequal things of the same kind, whereby their several
parts correspond to each other with an equal augmenta¬
tion or diminution. b
Thus, in reducing a figure into little, or in enlarging
it, care is taken to observe an equal diminution or en¬
largement through all its parts; so that if one line
e. gr. be contracted by one-third of its length, all the’
rest shall be contracted in the same proportion.
Proportion, in Architecture, denotes the just mag¬
nitude of the members of each part of a building, and
the relation of the several parts of the whole ; e. nr. of
the dimensions of a column, &c. with regard to the or-
donnance of the whole building.
One of the greatest differences among architects, M
Perrault observes, is in the proportion of the heights
of entablatures with respect to the thickness of the
columns, to which they are always to be accommoda¬
ted.
In effect, there is scarcely any work, either of the
ancients or moderns, wherein this proportion is not dif¬
ferent ; some entablatures are even near twice as high
as others :—yet it is certain this proportion ought of
all others to be most regulated ; none being of greater
importance, as there is none in which a defect is sooner
seen, nor any in which it is more shocking.
Compass of Proportion, a name by which the
French, and after them some English, authors call the
Sector.
1 ROPORTIONAL, relating to proportion. Thus
we say, proportional compasses, parts, scales, spirals,&c.
Proportionals, in Geometry, are ouantities.
tion.
•'’v r  spiiaiSjOCC.
1 roportionals, in Geometry, are quantities, either
linear or numeral, which bear the same ratio or relation
to each other.
PROPOSITION, in Logic, part of an argument,
wherein some quality, either negative or positive, is at¬
tributed to a subject.
Proposition, in Mathematics, is either some truth
advanced and shown to be such by demonstration, or
some operation proposed and its solution shown. If the
3 proposition
PRO
[ 45s 1
PRO
Proposition
Prose.
proposition be deduced from several theoretical defini¬
tions compared together, it is called a theorem •, il from
a praxis, or series of operations, it is called a problem.
See the articles Theorem and PROBLEM.
Proposition, in Oratory. See Oratory, N° 28.
124.
Proposition, in Poetry, the first part 01 a poem,
wherein the author proposes briefly, and in general,
what he is to say in the body of his work. It should
comprehend only the matter of the poem, that is, the
action and persons that act. Horace prescribes mo¬
desty and simplicity in the proposition, and would not
have the poet promise too much, nor raise in the read¬
er too great ideas of what he is going to relate.
PRO PREFECT, among the Romans, the prefect’s
lieutenant, or an officer whom the prefect ot the pre-
torium commissioned to do part ol his duty in his
place. . . . .
PROPRETOR, a Roman magistrate, who, having
discharged the office of pretor at home, was sent into a
province to command there with his former pretorial
authority. It was also an appellation given to those
who, without having been pretors at Rome, were sent
extraordinarily into the provinces to administer justice
with the authority of pretors.
PROPRIETOR, or Proprietary, is he who pos¬
sesses any thing as his own in the utmost degree. Such
monks were called proprietary as had reserved goods
and effects to themselves, notwithstanding their formal
renunciation of all at the time of their profession.
They are frequently mentioned in the Monast. Anglic.
&c. and were to be very severely dealt with } to be ex¬
communicated, deprived of burial, &c. Monacht pro-
prictarii cKcommunicentur ab abbattbus: et, si in
morte proprietarius inventusfuerit, ecclesiustica careat
sepultura, &c. Addit. ad Matt. 1 ar.
PRO RATA, in commerce, a term sometimes used
by merchants for in proportion ; as, each person must
reap the profit or sustain the loss, pir) rata to his inte¬
rest, that is, in proportion to his stock.
PROROGATION, the act of prolonging, ad¬
journing, or putting off, to another time, I he differ¬
ence between a prorogation and an adjournment of par¬
liament is, that by prorogation the session is ended,
and such bills as passed in either house, or both houses,
and had not the royal assent, must at the next assem¬
bly begin again.
PROSCRIPTION, a publication made in the name
of the chief or leader of a party, whereby he promises
a reward to any one who shall bring him the head of
one of his enemies.
Sylla and Marius by turns proscribed each others
adherents.—Under the triumvirate great part ot the
best and bravest of the Romans fell by proscription.
The term took its rise from the practice of writing
down a list of the persons names, and posting it in pub¬
lic ; from pro and scribo, “ I write.”
PROSE, the natural language of mankind, loose
and unconfined by poetical measures, rhymes, See. In
which sense it stands opposed to verse.
There is, however, a species of prose which is mea¬
sured, such as that in which epitaphs and other in¬
scriptions are generally written ; and indeed every man
who has formed for himself a style writes in uniform
periods regularly recurring. It has been much dispu-
Pronerpii
1 v-J
ted whether a poem can be written in prose. VTe en- Pn
ter not into that dispute, as we have said enough on
the subject elsewhere. See Novel.
The word prose comes from the Latin prosa, which
some will have derived from the Hebrew paras, which
signifies expendit: others deduce it from the Latin
prorsa, of prorsus, “ going forwards by way of op¬
position to versa, or “ turning backwards, as is ne¬
cessary in writing. ... m
PROSECUTION, in the criminal law. i he next
step towards the punishment of offenders after Com¬
mitment, is their prosecution, or the manner ot then
formal accusation. And this, in the English law, is
either upon a previous finding of the fact by an inquest
or grand jury $ or without such previous finding.
The former way is either by Presentment or In¬
dictment. See these articles.
The remaining methods of prosecution are without
any previous finding by a jury, to fix the authoritative
stamp of verisimilitude upon the accusation. One ot
these, by the common law, was when a thief was taken
ivit/i the mainour, that is, with the thing stolen upon
him, in manu. For he might, when so detected, fla¬
grante delicto, he brought into court, arraigned, and
tried, without indictment: as by the Danish law he
might be taken and hanged upon the spot without ac¬
cusation or trial. But this proceeding was taken away
bv several statutes in the reign of Edward III. though
id Scotland a similar process remains to this day. So
that the only species of proceeding at the suit ot the
king without a previous indictment or presentment by
a grand jury, now seems to be that ol Information j
which see. ......
These are all the methods of prosecution at the suit
of the king. There yet remains another which is
merely at the suit of the subject, and is called an Ap¬
peal. See that article. , .
But of all the methods of prosecution, that by in¬
dictment is the most general. See Indictment.
PROSECUTOR, in Law, he that pursues a cause
in another’s name. .
PROSELYTE, a new convert to some icligxon or
religious sect. .
PROSERPINACA, a genus of plants belonging to
the triandria class, and in the natural method ranking
under the 19th order, Inundata. See Botany Index.
PROSERPINE, in fabulous history, the daughter
of Jupiter and Ceres, was carried off by Pluto as she
was gathering flowers with her companions. Ceres,
disconsolate for the loss of her daughter, alter having
long sought her, heard where she was and mtreated
Jupiter to let her return from hell. 1 his request Ju¬
piter granted, on condition she had tasted nothing in
Pluto’s dominions. Ceres therefore went to fetch her;
but when her daughter was preparing to return, Asca-
faphus gave information that he had seen l roserp.ne
eat some grains of a pomegranate she had gathered in
Pluto’s garden *, on which she was sentenced to con 1-
nue in Tartarus in quality of Pluto’s spouse, and the
queen of those gloomy regions: but to mitigate t ie
grief of Ceres for her disappointment, Jupiter granted
that her daughter should only spend six months toge¬
ther in hell with her husband, and the other six 0
earth with her mother. ,
Some mythologists imagine that the lattei par ^
PRO
i w/s
1 ory of
I dc,
1 ei't.
hi
m
?ol.
fable ailades to the corn, which must remain all the
winter hid in the earth, in order to sprout forth in the
spring, and produce the harvest.
PROSEUCHE, in antiquity, properly signifies pray¬
er ; but it is taken for the places of prayer of the Jews,
and was pretty near the same as their synagogues. But
the synagogues were originally in the cities, and were
covered places : whereas, for the most part, the pro-
seuches were out of the cities, and on the banks of ri¬
vers ; having no covering except perhaps the shade of
some trees or covered galleries. The word is Greek
7rgoiriv%y, prayer.
FHOSLAMBANOMENE, the name of a musical
note in the Greek system.
As the two tetrachords of the Greeks were conjunc¬
tive, or, in other words, as the highest note of the first
served likewise for the lowest note of the second, it is
plain that a complete octave could not be formed. To
remedy this deficiency, therefore, one note beneath the
lowest tetrachord was added, as an octave to the high¬
est of toe last tetrachord. Thus, if we suppose the
first to have begun on B, the last must have ended upon
A, to which one note subjoined immediately beneath
the lowest B in the diatonic order must have formed an
octave. 1 his note was called proslambanomene. But
it appears from authors who have scrutinized antiquity
with some diligence, and perhaps with as much success
as the data upon which they proceeded could produce,
that the names of the notes m the Greek system, which
originally signified their natural station in the scale of
ascending or descending sounds, were afterwards ap¬
plied to their positions in the lyre. Higher or lower,
then, according to this application, did not signify their
degrees of acuteness or gravity, but their higher or
lower situation upon this instrument.
PROSODY, that part of grammar which treats of
the quantities and accents of syllables, and the manner
of making verses.
The English prosody turns chiefly on two thino-s,
numbers and rhyme. See Poetry,'N° 66—76. and
Part III.
PEOftOPIS, in Botatiy, a genus of the monogy-
nia order, belonging to the dodecandria class of plants.
The calyx is hemispherical and quadridentate; the
stigma is simple ; the legumen inflated and monosper-
mous. See Botany Index.
PROSOPOPOEIA, a figure in oratory, whereby
we raise qualities of things inanimate into persons. See
Oratory. (
PROS FATiE, in Anatomy, a gland, generally sup¬
posed to be two separate bodies, though in reality but
one, situated just before the neck of the bladder, and
t 459 ]
PRO
See Ana-
h
2%
surrounding the beginning of the urethra.
TOmy Index.
. PROSTYLE, in Architecture, a range of columns
in the front of a temple.
PROIAGORAS, a famous Greek philosopher, was
01 n at Abdera. In his youth, his poverty obliged
him to submit to the servile office of frequently car¬
rying logs of wood from the neighbouring fields to
Abdera. It happened that as he was one day going
on briskly towards the city under one of these loads, he
■Has met by Democritus, who was particularly struck
with the neatness and regularity of tlie bundle. Desi¬
ring him to .stop and rest himself, Democritus ex ami *
ned more closely the structure of the load, and found that prola„„„
.t waa put together wtth mathematical exactness; upon |
which he asked the youth whether he himself had made p''o:evt.
it up. i rot ago ran assured him that he had; and imme-  v 
diately taking it to pieces, with great ease replaced
every log in the same exact order as before. Democri¬
tus expressed much admiration of his ingenuity ; and
sau to him, “ Young man, follow me, and your talents
shall be employed upon greater and better things.” The
youth consented, and Democritus took him home, main¬
tained him at Ins own expence, and taught him philo-
sophy which qualified him for the office of legislator of
the Ihunans. He was more subtle than solid in bis
reasonings; however, be taught at Athens with great
reputation, but was at length banished from thence for
the impiety of his doctrines. He then travelled, and vi¬
sited the islands in the Mediterranean, where it is said
that he was the first philosopher who taught for money.
He died in a voyage to Sicily, in a very advanced age.
lie commonly reasoned by dilemmas, and left the mind
in suspense with respect to all the questions he proposed.
His moral principles were adopted by Hobbes. (See
AIoral Philosophy). Plato wrote a dialogue against
him. Lie flourished 400 years B. C.
PROTASIS, in the ancient drama, the first part of
a comic or tragic piece, wherein the several persons are
shown, their characters intimated, and the subject of
the piece proposed and entered upon.
It might reach as far as our two first acts; and where
it ended the epitasis commenced. See the article Efi-
TASIS.
PROTEA, the Silver-tree, a genus of plants, be-
longing to the tetrandria class; aiuHn the natural me¬
thod ranking under the 47th order, Stellatce. See
Botany Index.
PROTECTOR, a person who undertakes to shelter
and defend the weak, helpless and distressed.
Every Catholic nation, and every religious order, has
a protector residing at the court of Rome, who is a car¬
dinal, and is called the cardinal protector.
1 rotector is also sometimes used for a regent of a king¬
dom, made choice of to govern it during the minority
of a prince.
Cromwell assumed the title and quality of lord pro¬
tector of the commonwealth of England.
PEOIESILAI Iurris, the sepulchre of Protesi*
laus, with a temple, at which Alexander sacrificed,
(Arian) ; situated at the south extremity of the Helle’
spent, near the Chersonesus Thracia. Protesilaus was
the first Greek who landed on the coast of Troy, and
the first Greek slain by the Trojans, (Homer, Ovid).
His wife Laodamia, to assuage her grief, begged the
gods for a sight of his shade; and obtaining her request,
she expired in his embraces, (Hyginus).' Protesilaus
was also called I hylacides, from Phylace, a town of
Thessaly.
PBO I ES F, in Law, is a call of witness, or an open
affirmation that a person does, either not at all, or but
conditionally, yield his consent to any act, or to the
proceeding of any judge in a court in which his juris¬
diction is doubtful, or to answer upon his oath farther
than he is hound by law.
Any of the lords in parliament have a right to pro¬
test then' dissent to any bill passed by a majority; winch
protest is entered in form. Phis is said to be a very
3 ^ 2 ancient
PRO [ 460 ] PRO
ancient privilege. The commons have no right to pro¬
test. See Parliament.
Protest, in Commerce, a summons written by a no¬
tary-public to a merchant, banker, or the like to accept
or discharge a bill of exchange drawn on him, after his
having refused either to accept or pay it. See Hill of
Exchange.
PROTESTANT, a name first given in Germany
to those who adhered to the doctrine of Luther j be¬
cause in 1529 they protested against a decree of the
emperor Charles V. and the diet'of Spires j declaring
that they appealed to a general council. The same
name has also been given to those ol the sentiments of
Calvin } and is now become a common denomination
for all those of the reformed churches.
PROTEUS, in Heathen Mythology. See Egypt,
N° 6.
PROTHONOTARY, a term which properly sig¬
nifies first notary, and which was anciently the title
of the principal notaries of the emperors of Constanti¬
nople.
< Prothonotary, with us, is used lor an officer in the
court of king’s bench and common pleas } the former
of which courts has one, and the latter three. The
prothonotary of the king’s bench records all civil ac¬
tions sued in that court, as the clerk of the crown-office
does all criminal causes. The prothonotaries of the
common pleas enter and enrol ail declarations, plead¬
ings, assizes, judgments, and actions : they also make
out all judicial writs, except writs of habeas corpus, and
distringas jurator, for which there is a particular office,
called the habeas corpora office ; they likewise enter re¬
cognizances acknowledged, and all common recoveries j
make exemplifications of records, &c.
In the court of Rome there is a college of 12 pre¬
lates, called apostolical prothonotaries, empowered to
receive the last wills of cardinals, to make all informa¬
tions and proceedings necessary for the canonization of
saints j and all such acts as are of great consequence to
the Papacy : for which purpose they have the right of
admission into all consistories, whether public or half
public. They also attend on the pope whenever he
performs any extraordinary ceremony out of Rome.
PROTO, a Greek term, frequently used in com¬
position of priority : thus proto-collum, in the ancient
jurisprudence, signifies the first leaf of a book •, proto-
martyr, the first martyr j proto-plast, the first man
formed, &c.
PROTOGENES, a celebrated ancient painter,
was born at Caunas, a city of Caria, subject to the
Rhodians, and flourished 300 years before the birth of
our Saviour. He was first obliged to paint ships for his
livelihood ; but afterwards acquired the highest repu¬
tation for history-painting j though Apelles blamed him
for finishing his pieces too highly, and not knowing
when to have done. The finest of his pictures w'as
that of Jalisus, which is mentioned by several ancient
authors, though none of them give any description of
it. He worked seven years on this picture j during
which time he lived entirely upon lupines and water,
being of opinion that this light and simple nourish¬
ment left him greater freedom of fancy. Apelles, on
seeing this picture, was struck with such admiration,
that he was unable to speak, or to find words sufficient
to express his idea of its beauty. It was this picture
that saved the city of Rhodes when besieged by De- Protege,,^
metrius king of Macedon •, for being able to attack it [(
only on that side where Protogenes worked, which he Protractcs
intended to burn, he chose rather to abandon his de-
sign than to destroy so fine a piece. Pliny says, that
Apelles asking him what price he had for his pictures,
and Protogenes naming an inconsiderable sum, Apelles
concerned at the injustice done to the beauty of his
productions, gave him 50 talents, about 10,000!, for
one picture only, declaring publicly, that he would
sell it for his own. This generosity made the Rho¬
dians sensible of the merit of Protogenes j and they were
so eager to purchase the picture Apelles had bought,
that they paid him a much greater price for it than he
had given.
PROTOTYPE, is the original or model after which
a thing was formed but chiefly used for the patterns
of things to be engiaved, cast, &c.
PROTRACTOR, an instrument for laying down
and measuring angles upon paper with accuracy and
dispatch j and by which the use of the line of chords
is superseded. This instrument is variously formed, as
semicircular, rectangular, or circular j and constructed
of different materials, as brass, ivory, &c. It is neces¬
sary in laying down those surveys or other plans where
angles are concerned.
The rectangular protractor is constructed in form
of a right-angled parallelogram, which, when applied
to a case of mathematical instruments, is substituted in
place of the semicircular protractor and scale of equal ^ajeJ
parts. Fig. 1. is a representation of it: the manner of
using it is exactly similar to that of the Semicircular
one.
The circular protractor, as its name implies, is a
complete circle, and is superior by far to either of the
former, both in point of accuracy and dispatch, espe¬
cially when several angles are to be formed at the same
point. The limb of this instrument is divided into
360 degrees, and each degree in some protractors is
halved : it has a subdividing scale or vernier, by which
an angle may be laid down or measured to a single mi¬
nute. In the centre of the protractor is a fine mark,
which, when an angle is to be protracted or measured,
is to be laid upon the angular point, and o, or zero on
the limb, upon the given line forming one side of the
angle.
Fig. 2. represents a circular protractor whose limb is Fig. a.
divided as above described, and the dividing scale on
the index, which moves round the limb of the protrac¬
tor on a conical centre, gives every minute of a de¬
gree. That part of the index beyond the limb has a
steel point fixed at the end, in a direct line with the
centre of the protractor, and whose use is to prick oft
the proposed angles. _ _ .
Fig. 3. is another circular protractor, a little differ-3'
ently constructed from the former. The central point
is formed by the intersection of two lines crossing each
other at right angles, which are ent on a piece of glass.
The limb is divided into degrees and half degrees, ha¬
ving an index with a vernier graduated to count to a
single minute, and is furnished with a tooth and pinion,
by means of which tli^e index is moved round by turn¬
ing a small nut. It has two pointers, one at each end
of°the index, furnished with springs for keeping them
suspended while they are bringing to any angle 5 and
being
r
PRO [ 46
being brought, applying a finger to the top of the
|| pointer, and pressing it down, pricks off the angle,
•overb. There is this advantage in having two pointers, that
'Y-—' all the bearings round a circuit may be laid or pricked
off, although the index traverses but one-half of the pro¬
tractor.
I Another circular protractor, different from either of
14- the former, is represented at fig. 4. The centre is also
formed by the intersection of two lines at right anodes
to each other, which are cut on glass, that all parallax
may thereby be avoided. The index is moved round
by a tooth and pinion. The limb is divided into de¬
gress and half degrees, and subdivided to every minute
by the vernier. The pointer may be set at any conve¬
nient distance from the centre, as the socket which
carries it moves upon the bar BC, and is fixed thereto
by the nut D, at right angles to the bar BC, and
moveable with it. There is another bar EF : On this
bar different scales of equal parts are placed 5 so that
by moving a square against the inner edge thereof,
angles may be transferred to any distance within the
limits, from the centre containing the same number of
degrees marked out by the index.
It would indeed be superfluous to describe any more
of these circular protractors, especially as the little al¬
terations in them depend very much upon the fancy of
the artist. Suffice it however to say, that we have
seen others still differently constructed, one of which
we shall briefly describe. The divisions upon the
limb of this instrument are similar to those already de¬
scribed •, but the index is a straight bar continued to
some considerable distance each way beyond the limb
of the instrument, and has a vernier to show minutes
as usual-, a mark upon one of the edges of the index, al¬
ways coincides with the centre of the instrument. In¬
stead, therefore, of pricking down the angle as in the
former, part of the line containing the angle may be
drawn, which, although perhaps not so accurate as a
point, is more conspicuous, and the line is easily com¬
pleted upon removal of the protractor. The common
dimensions of the circular part of these instruments is
from six to ten inches diameter} and they are made of
brass.
PBOIUBERANCE, in Anatomy, is any eminence,
whether natural or preternatural, that projects or ad¬
vances out beyond the rest.
PROVEDITOR, an officer in several parts of Italy,
particularly at Venice, who has the direction of matters
relating to policy.
PROVENCE, a province or government of France,
bounded by Dauphine on the north, by Piedmont on
the east, by the Mediterranean on the south, and by
the river Rhone, which separates it from Languedoc,
on the west: it is about 100 miles long, and near as
many broad.
PRO VEND, or Provender, originally signified a
kind of vessel containing the measure of corn daily gi¬
ven to a horse, or other beast of labour, for his subsist¬
ence } but is now generally used to signify the food
for cattle ; whatever it is.
PROVERB, according to Camden, is a concise,
witty, and wise speech, grounded upon experience,
and for the most part containing some useful instruc¬
tion.
R00A: of Proverbs, a canonical book of the Old
1 ] pro
Testament, containing a part of the proverbs of Solo- pr„„rI,
n.on the son of David king of Israel. The first 24 ProriW.
chapters are acknowledged to be the genuine work off 11 v1
that prince ; the next five chapters are a collection of
several of his proverbs made by order of King Heze-
kiah } and the two last seem to have been added, though
belonging to different and unknown authors, Agur the
son of Jakeh, and King Lemuel.
In this excellent book are contained rules for the
conduct of all conditions of life} for kings, courtiers,
masters, servants, fathers, mothers, children, &c. x
PROV IDEN CE, the superintendence and care Definition,
■which God exercises over creation.
Ihat there exists a divine providence which attends Belief of a
to the affairs of this world, and directs their course, has Prov'dence
been a received opinion among the human race in every un‘veTsal-
country and in every period of history. Every altar
that is erected, every prayer and every sacrifice that is
offered up, affords a proof of this belief. So fully have
men been convinced of the sincerity of each other’s
faith upon this subject, that in one form, that of an ap¬
peal to the Divine Ruler of the world, by the solemnity
ol an oath, they have introduced it both into the most
ordinary and the most important business of life. 3
ibis universal conviction of men of all degrees of^xlstence
knowledge, from the most profound philosopher to the^fproV1'
rudest barbarian, is probably to be traced to some pri-
mawal tradition, never totally effaced from any nation on sebnti-
under heaven. I he truth itself, however, is susceptible princi-
of the most complete proof from principles of science. p*cs-
If the world had a beginning, it may obviously have an
end, and can be continued in existence only by the con¬
stant energy of that power by which it was at first crea¬
ted. He therefore who acknowledges a creation and
denies a providence, involves himself in this palpable
contradiction—“ that a system, which of itself had not
an original and momentary existence, may yet of itself
have a perpetual existence; or that a being which can¬
not of itself exist for a second of time, mav’yet, of it¬
self, exist for thousands of years !” Or should we be so
complaisant, as for a moment to suppose, with certain
theists, ancient and modern, that the matter of the uni¬
verse is self-existent and eternal, and that the power of
God was exerted, not in creating substances, but in re¬
ducing the original matter from a state of chaos into
that beautiful order in which we see it arranged ; the
constant energy of providence must still be admitted as
necessary to preserve the forms and to continue the mo¬
tions which were originally impressed upon the chaotic
mass. From late experiments it appears extremely
doubtful whether any two atoms of the most solid body
be in actual contact; and that they are not all in contact
is certain. (See Metaphysics, N° 176. and Optics,
N° 45, p. 185.). A ct it requires a very considerable
degree of force to carry to a greater distance from one
another the parts of a stone or of a bar of iron. By
what power then are those parts kept contiguous? It
cannot be by their own ; because nothing can act where
it is not present, and because our best philosophy has
long taught us that the atoms of matter are essentially
inactive. Again, it requires a very great degree of
force to bring two bodies, however small, into apparent
contact (see Optics, and therefore it follows
that they must be kept asunder by some foreign power.
Every attempt to solve these phenomena by the inter¬
vention
[
Providence
4
Reasoning
of the Bici-
mins of
llindostan.
* Asiatic
Researches,
•vol. i.
}dea of pro
vidence in
rude ages.
PRO
. ventlon of a subtle fluid is vam j for the question recurs
what keeps the parts of the fluid itself contiguous, an
vet separated from each other ?
^ The cohesion therefore of the parts of matter, and
that which is called their repulsive power, demonstrate,
through the whole system, the immediate energy o
something which is not matter, and by w uc i e\eiy
dy small and great is preserved in its proper lorm'
has been elsewhere shown (see Metaphysics, 1 art 11.
chap. 5. and Motion, N° i9, 20.), that the various
motions which are regularly carried on through the uni¬
verse, by which animals and vegetables grow and decaj,
and by which we have day and night, summer and win¬
ter, cannot be accounted for by any laws of mere me¬
chanism, but necessarily imply the constant agency 0
something which is itself distinct from matter, but
the forms of bodies are preserved, and their natural mo¬
tions carried on, for purposes obviously planned by Wis¬
dom. The power therefore which effects these things
must be combined with intelligence: but power and in¬
telligence preserving the order of the universe constitute
all that is meant by a general providence *, w ncb i
therefore as certainly administered as the sun daily rises
and sets, or as bodies are kept solid by wuat is termed
cohesion and repulsion.
Abstracted and metaphysical as this reasoning may
-appear, it is by no means peculiar to the philosophers 0
Europe. Its force lias been felt from time immemo¬
rial by the Bramins of Hmdostan, who, as Sir William
Jones informs us *, “being unable to form a distinct idea
of brute matter independent of mind, or to conceive
that the work of supreme goodness was felt a momen
to itself, imagine that the Deity is ever present to his
work, not in substance, hut in spirit and in energy.
On this rational and sublime conception they have in¬
deed built numberless absurd superstitions ; but. their
holding the opinion itself, shows that they believe in the
reality of providence upon philosophical principles : and
what truth is there on which the mind of man has not
ingrafted marks of its own weakness ? _
Few nations, however, except the ancient Greeks,
have had philosophers equally subtile with the Lramuis
of India ; and therefore though all mankind have in ge¬
neral agreed in the belief of a superintending Providence,
they have in different ages and countries admitted that
truth upon different kinds of evidence, and formed very
different notions concerning the mode in winch the Ui-
vine superintendence is exerted. ,
While societiesare still in a rude and unpolished state,
while individuals possess little security and little leisure
for the exertion of their rational powers, every impor¬
tant or singular appearance in nature becomes an ooject
of wonder or of terror. In this state of ignorance, men
see not the universe as it is, a great collection of connect¬
ed parts, all contributingto form one grand and beautiiul
system. Every appearance, seems to stand alone j they
know that it must have a cause, but what that cause is
they are ignorant. The phenomena exhibited by nature
are so complicated and so various, that it never occurs
to them that it is possible for one Being to govern the
whole. Hence arose the different systems of poly theism
that have appeared in the world. Nature was divided
into different regions, and a particular invisible power
was assigned to each department: one conducted the
flam inn chariot of the sun, another wielded the terrible
5
462 1 p 11 o
thunderbolt, and others were employed in diffusing Pnmdej
plenty, and introducing the useful arts among men.
Thus, although the various systems of polytheism in
general acknowledged one Supreme lluler, the father of
gods and men, yet they at the same time peopled not
only the regions above, the air and the heavens, but
they also filled the ocean and the land, every grove, and
every mountain, with active but invisible natures. Ha¬
ving arisen from the same causes, these systems of po¬
lytheism, which are so many hypotheses concerning Di¬
vine providence, are all extremely similar •, and we have
a very favourable specimen of them in the elegant my¬
thology of Greece and Borne, which gave to every re¬
gion of nature a guardian genius, and taught men 111 the
deep recesses of the forest, or in the windings of the ma¬
jestic flood, to expect the presence of protecting and
friendly powers. See POLYTHEISM. . . 6
Notwithstanding this universal reception, in some The dc:
form or other, of the doctrine of a divine providence,™^
it has in every age met with some opponents. . nienentsia
most ancient of these were Democritus and Leucippus. almost _
They denied the existence of a Deity—asserted that all ry age.
things were mechanically necessary, and that thought
and sense were only modifications of matter. Ibis is
atheism in the strictest sense, and the only form of it
that has ever been consistently supported. Epicurus
followed upon the same principles , but he rendered the
system altogether absurd, by confessing the ireedom of
the human will. To avoid the imputation of atheism,
he asserted the existence of God •, hut declared that he
resided above the heavens, and interfered not in human
affairs. One of his maxims was, that “ the blessed and
immortal Being neither hath any employment himself
nor troubles himself with others.” Maximus Tynus
justly observes, that this is rather a description of
Sardanapalus than of a Deity. And some of the mo- jcicm
ralistsf of antiquity remarked, that they knew many^ito^
men among themselves possessed of active and generously
minds, whose characters they valued more highly than^^
that of Epicurus’s god. Some of the ancients also ap-lib
pear to have entertained the following strange notion:
They acknowledged the existence of a Supreme and of
many inferior deities ; but at the same time, they sup¬
posed that there is a certain fate which ruies over all,
and is superior to the gods themselves. See Necessity
in Mythology. , , „
The providence exerted by the Author of nature
over his works is usually divided into two branches : a
o-etieral, referring to the management of the universe at
Targe j and a 'particular providence, chiefly regarding
particular men. ^ 7
Upon the first of these, in The Religion o/ Na/ott de- Gcneiaj
lineated, the question is stated somewhat in the follow-P
ing manner: The world may be said to fie gov einei ,
or" at least cannot be said to fluctuate fortuitously, it
there are laws or rules by which natural causes act; it
the several phenomena in it succeed regularly, and m
general the constitution of things is preserved ; if there
are rules observed in the production of herbs, trees, and
the like ; if the several kinds of animals are furnished
with faculties proper to determine their actions in the
different stations which they hold in the general econo¬
my of the world ; and lastly, if rational beings are ta¬
ken care of in such a manner as will at last agree be*
with reason. By the providence of God
<ijȣe
i)f
't
DC
1 111:
PRO
•viJtnce. understand his governing the world by such laws as these
now mentioned : so that if there are such, there must be
a Divine providence.
With regard to inanimate objects, the case agrees pre¬
cisely with the above supposition. The whole of that
universe which we see around us is one magnificent and
well regulated machine. The world that we inhabit is
a large globe, which, conducted by an invisible power,
flies with a rapidity of which we have no conception,
through an extent of space which sets at defiance every
power of fancy to embody it into any distinct image.
A large flaming orb stands immoveable in the heavens;
around which this, and otlier worlds of different magni¬
tudes, perform their perpetual revolutions. Hence arise
the expected returns of day and night, and the regular
diversity of seasons. Upon these great operations a
thousand other circumstances depend. Hence, for ex¬
ample, the vapours ascend from the ocean, meet above
in clouds, and after being condensed, descend in showers
to cover the earth with fertility and beauty. And
these appearances are permanent and regular. During
every age since men have been placed upon the earth,
this astonishing machine continued steadily to perform
its complicated operations. Nothing is left to chance.
The smallest bodies are not less regular than the largest,
and observe continually the same rules of attraction, re¬
pulsion, &c. The apparent variations of nature pro¬
ceed only from different circumstances and combinations
of things, acting all the while under their ancient laws.
We ourselves can calculate the effects of the laws of
gravitation and of motion. We can render them sub¬
servient to our own purposes, with entire certainty of
success if we only adhere to the rules established by na¬
ture, that is to say, by providence.
Vegetables also live and flourish according to prescri¬
bed methods. Each sort is produced from its proper
seed ; has the same texture of fibres, is at all times
nourished by the same kind of juices, digested and pre¬
pared by the same vessels. Trees and shrubs receive
annually their peculiar liveries, and bear their proper
iruits : so regular are they in this last respect, that every
species may be said to have its profession or trade ap¬
pointed to it, by which it furnishes a certain portion of
manufacture, or of food, to supply the wants of animals :
being created for the purpose of consumption, all ve¬
getables produce great quantities of seed to supply the
necessary waste, Here too, then, there is evidently a
regulation by which the several orders are preserved, and
the ends of them answered according to their first esta¬
blishment.
With regard to animals, they too, in structure of
their form, are subject to laws similar to those which
govern the vegetable world. In the sentient part of
their constitution they are no less subject to rule. The
lion is always fierce, the fox is crafty, and the hare is
timid. Every species retains from age to age its ap¬
pointed place and character in the great family of na¬
ture. The various tribes are made and placed in such
a manner as to find proper means of support and de¬
fence. Beasts, birds, fishes, and insects, are all pos¬
sessed of organs and faculties adapted to their respec¬
tive circumstances, and opportunities of finding their
proper food and prey.
Man is subject to the ordinary laws which other ma¬
terial and animal substances obey t but he is left more
[ 463 ]
PRO
I)
tcrables.
'll.
at large in the determination of his actions. Yet even Providence,
here things do not fluctuate at random. Individuals do  y- 
indeed rise and perish according to fixed rules, and na¬
tions themselves have only a temporary endurance.
But the species advances with a steady progress to in¬
tellectual improvement. This progress is often inter¬
rupted ; but it appears not to be less sure at the long-
run than even the mechanical laws which govern the
material part of our constitution. Amidst the convul¬
sion of states and the ruin of empires, the useful arts,
when once invented, are never lost. These, in better
times, render subsistence easy, and give leisure for re¬
flection and study to a greater number of individuals.
Tyre and Sidon have passed away, Athens itself has
become the prey of barbarians, and the prosperity of
ancient Egypt is departed, perhaps for ever; but the
ship, the plough, and the loom, remain, and have been
perpetually improving. Thus every new convulsion of
society does less mischief than the last; and it is hoped
that by the assistance of printing the most polished arts
and the most refined speculations have now become im¬
mortal.
The world is not then left in a state of confusion :
it is reduced into order, and methodised for ages to
come ; the several species of beings having their offices
and provinces assigned them. Plants, animals, men,
and nations, are in a state of continual change ; but suc¬
cessors are appointed to relieve them, and to carry on
the scheme of Providence. t2
But the great difficulty is, how to account for that Difficulty-
providence which is called particular -• For rational be-uc,count~
ings, and free agents, are capable of doing and deserving ff
well or ill; and the safety or danger, that happiness oryidence™
unhappiness of a man here, must depend upon many
things that seem scarcely capable of being determined
by Providence. Besides himself and his own conduct,
he depends upon the conduct of other men; whose
actions, as we naturally suppose, cannot, consistently
with their free will, be controuled for the advantage of
another individual. The actions of numbers of men
proceeding upon their private freedom, with different
degrees of ability, as they cross and impede, or directly
oppose each other, must produce very different e flee Is
upon men of dift’erent characters, and thus in a strange
manner embarrass and entangle the general plan. And
as to the course oj nature, it may justly be asked, is the
force of gravitation to be suspended till a good man
pass by an infirm building ? (See Prayer). Add to
this, that some circumstances appear absolutely irrecon-
cileable. The wind which carries one into port drives
another back to sea : and the rains that are just suffi¬
cient upon the hills may drown the inhabitants of the
valleys. In short, may we expect miracles f or can
there be a particular Providence that foresees and pre¬
pares for the several cases of individuals, without force
frequently committed upon the laws of nature and the
freedom of intelligent agents?
In whatever way it is brought about, there is little 2^0 ^0(j
doubt that something of this kind must take place. For aigument
as the Deity does direct, as already mentioned, the great against its
and general progress of things in this world, he mustexistence»~>
also manage those of less importance. Nations are
composed of individuals. The progress of individuals
is the progress of the nation, and the greatest events
usually depend upon the history and the most trifling^
actions*
*4
The Deity
may easily
foresee
the actions
of men;
PRO [464
Providence, actions of private persons. The difficulty is to con-
* —v"   ceive how the superintendence and management ot a
this can be brought about. But as the ways and t ie
thoughts of the Omnipotent Spirit whose influence pei-
vades, and rules, and animates nature, resemble not the
limited operations of men, we can only form conjec¬
tures concerning the means by which his government is
conducted.
1. In the first place, then, it is not impossible that
the Deity should foresee the future actions of intelli¬
gent beings. Many of these actions depend upon the
mechanism of the material world, which was formed by
himself, and must be entirely known to him. Many men
among ourselves possess much sagacity in discerning
the future actions of others, from attending to their
known characters, and the circumstances in which they
are placed. If superior natures do exist, and minds
more perfect than the human, they must possess this pe¬
netration in a more eminent degree in proportion to the
excellence of their intellectual powers. But if this dis¬
cernment be in God proportionable to his nature, as in
lower beings it is proportionable to theirs, it then be¬
comes altogether unlimited, and the future actions of
free agents are at once unlocked and exposed to his
view. ° Add to this, that the Author of nature is well
acquainted with the creatures that he has made j he
knows the mechanism of our bodies, the nature and ex¬
tent of our understandings, and all the circumstances by
which we are surrounded. With all these advantages,
it is making no great stretch to suppose him capable of
discerning the line of conduct which we will pursue;
and this even setting aside the infinity of his nature, to
which a thousand years are as one day, and supposing
him to reason from probabilities in the imperfect man¬
ner that we do.
2. There is no impossibility at least, that men, whose
characters and actions are thus foreknown, may be in¬
troduced into the world in such times and places as
that their acts and behaviour may not only coincide
with the general plan of things, but may also answer
many private cases. The celestial bodies are so placed
that their jarring attractions make out a splendid system.
Why then may there not be in the Divine mind some¬
thing like a projection of the future history of mankind,
as well as of the motions of the heavenly bodies ? And
why should it not be thought possible for men, as well
as for them, by some secret law, or rather by the ma¬
nagement of an unseen power, to be brought into their
places in such a manner as that, by the free use of their
faculties, the conjunctions and oppositions of their in¬
terests and inclinations, the natural influence of theii
different degrees of talents, power, and wealth, they
may conspire to make out the great scheme of human
affairs ? There is no absurdity in this supposition : it is
not beyond the power of an almighty and perfect Be¬
ing ; and it is worthy of him. Let us take from the
Jewish history, as most generally known, an example of
what may be supposed to happen daily. It was the
intention ot providence to place David the son of Jesse
upon the throne of the Hebrews. Jbe country is in¬
vaded by a foreign enemy : the hostile armies meet, and
He encamped upon opposite mountains. A man comes
forth from the army of the invaders, as was extremely
common in those times, and defies the Hebrew host to
send forth a champion to meet him in single combat.
2
J5
and may
tlience fit
them for
their situa¬
tions iu
life.
16
The possi¬
bility of
this exem¬
plified.
] PRO
Terrified by the gigantic bulk and mighty force of Go-provi( ^
liah, no man would risk the unequal conflict. David, t_ ^ ^
who was too young to carry arms, had been sent to the
camp with provisions for his brothers, and heard the
challenge. In defence of his flock he had killed some
beasts of prey in the wilderness, and he was an excellent
marksman with the sling. He thought it might pro¬
bably be as easy to kill a man as a wild beast ; at all
events, be knew that a stone well directed would prove
no less fatal to a giant than to a dwarf: he therefore
resolved to try his skill ; and be tried it with success.
Here no man’s free will was interrupted, and no miracle
was accomplished : Yet by this tram of circumstances
thus brought together, a foundation was laid for the fu¬
ture fortunes of the son of Jesse, for the greatness of
his country, and for accomplishing the purposes of Pro¬
vidence. According to Seneca, “ Hoc dico, fulmina
non mitti a Jove, sed sic omnia disposita, ut ea etiam
quae ab illo non fiunt, tamen sine rationenon fiunt j quae
illius est.—Nam etsi Jupiter ilia nunc non facit, fecit
ut fierent.”—1 my, that the lightning tomes not direct¬
ly from the hand of Jove, but things are properly dis¬
posed for the indirect execution of his will; for he acts
not immediately, but by the intervention oj means. r
3. Lastly, it is not impossible that many things may Secret'
be accomplished by secret influence upon the human flueicc:
mind, either by the Deity himself, or by the interventionthe ™
of agents possessed of powers superior to those which from k
belong to us. “ For instance, if the case should require
that a particular man be delivered from some threaten¬
ing ruin, or from some misfortune, which would certain¬
ly befal him if lie should go such a way at such a time,
as he intended: upon this occasion some new reasons
may be presented to his mind why he should not go at
all", or net then, or not by that roady or he may forget
to go. Or, if he is to be delivered from some danger¬
ous enemy, either some new turn given to his thoughts
may divert him from going where the enemy will be,
or the enemy may be after the same manner diverted
from coming where he shall be, or his resentment may
be ijuulified; or some proper method of defence may be
suggested to the person in danger. After the same man¬
ner advantages and successes may be conferred ou the
deserving •, as, on tbe other side, men, by way of punish¬
ment for their crimes, may incur mischiefs and calami¬
ties. These things, and such as these (says Mr Wollas- ^ J
ton*), may be. For since the motions and actions of0y;yflJ
men, which depend upon their wills, do also depend delinel
upon their judgments, as these again do upon the present sect.;
appearances of things in their minds 5 if a new prospect
of things can be any way produced, the lights by which
they are seen altered, new forces and directions impres¬
sed upon the spirits, passions exalted or abated, the power
of judging enlivened ox debilitated, or the attention taken
off without any suspension or alteration of the standing
laws of nature,—then, without that, new volitions, de¬
signs, measures, or a cessation ot thinking, may also be
produced j and thus many things prevented that other¬
wise would be, and many brought about that would not.
That there may possibly be such inspirations of new
thoughts and counsels (continues our author), may
perhaps appear farther from this, that we frequently
find thoughts arising in our heads, into which we are
led by no discourse, nothing we read, no clue ot reason¬
ing, but they surprise and come upon us from we know
. , , ^ftlR ° , • t 465 ] PRO
MiJcnce. not what qnarter. If they proceetled fionl the mobility even by the free exercise of their own notver- imtru p -i
' 0 S,nn xst;-aggl,ng „t,t of order, and fortuitous affections ,„cnU of God’s particular providenc^.K “0
°, _ fl * * °lf- "C1C-i |K-y '1 t ie nAture oi dreams, may we well suppose that these higher beings may be so
why are they not as wdd, rneoherent, and extravagant distributed through the universe, and subieot to such an
as they are ?” Is ,t not much more reasonable to ima- economy, unkn ’ • J '
gme that they come by the order and direction of an
lS
id may
'' . . " /  --wwivu Clli
all-seeing and all-gracious God, who continually watches
over us, and disposes every thing in and about us for the
good of ourselves or others P not to speak of the agree¬
ableness of this notion to the opinions of the best and
wisest men in all ages (a). “ If this, then, he the case,
as it seems to be, that men’s minds are susceptible of
such insinuations and impressions, as frequently, by wavs
unknown, do affect them, and give them an inclination
towards this or that ; how many things (asks our au¬
thor) may he brought to pass by these means without
jiving and refixing the laws of nature, any more than
they are unfixed when one man alters the opinion of
another by throwing in his way a book proper for that
purpose ?”
All this may be effected either by the immediate in-
hlSSr terP?sitio!1 of himself, or by that of beings invisible,
lerioi-'to !n na^re superior to us, who act as the ministers
or by his providence. That there are such beings’we can
: Deity, hardly doubt, as it is in the highest degree improbable
that such imperfect beings as men are at the top of the
scale of created existence. And since we ourselves, by
the use of our limited powers, do often alter the course
of things within our sphere from what they would be
if. left to the ordinary laws of motion and gravitation,
without being said to alter those laws ; why may not su¬
perior beings do the same as instruments of divine pro¬
vidence ? i his idea of the intervention of superior na¬
tures is beautifully illustrated by Thomson in the fol¬
lowing passage :
These are the haunts of meditation, these
The scenes where ancient bards th’ inspiring breath,
Ecstatic, felt; and from this world retir’d,
Convers’d with angels and immortal forms,
On gracious errands bent : to save the fall
Of virtue struggling on the brink of vice ;
In waking whispers, and repeated dreams,
To hint pure thought, and warn the favour’d soul
lor future trials fated to prepare.
We agree, however, with Mr Wollaston, in thinking
the power of these beings not so large as to alter or sus¬
pend the general laws of nature (see Miracle) j for
the world is not like a bungling piece of clock-work,
which requires to he often set backwards or forwards.
We are likewise perfectly satisfied, that they cannot
change their condition, to ape us or inferior beings j
and consequently we are not apt hastily to credit stories
oi portents, &x. such as cannot be true, unless the nature
of things and their manner of existence were occasional¬
ly reversed. Yet as men may be so placed as to become,
economy, unknown to us, as may render them also in¬
struments .of the same providence; and that they may,
in proportion to their greater abilities, he capable, con¬
sistently with the laws of nature, of influencing human
affairs in proper places.
. We shall next proceed to state some of the chief ob- Objection*
jections which in ancient or modern times have been to the doc-
brought against the opinion, that the world is govern-t,inc.of
cd by a Divine providence. ° providence
x* 1 ^u'sf these is this, that the system of nature from the
contains many imperfections which it ought not to do ifirapeifec-
it be the work of a perfectly wise and good Being. To lions of na-
avoid the force of this objection, some modern writerstuie’
have deserted the ground of supreme and absolute good¬
ness, which the ancient theists always occupied, and have
asserted that the divine perfection consists in unlimited
power and uncontrouled supremacy of will ; that conse¬
quently the Deity does not always that which is best, but
merely what he himself pleases ; and that for no other
reason but because he wills to do so. But this is no bet¬
ter than atheism itself. For it is of no importance to us
whether the universe is governed by blind fare or chance,
that is to say, by nothing at all ; or whether it is go¬
verned by an arbitrary sovereign will that is directed by-
chance, or at least by no principle of beneficence.
The true answer to this objection is, that no created answered,
system can have every perfection, because it must necessa¬
rily be destitute of self-existence and independence ; and
therefore if being destitute of some perfections be bet¬
ter than nothing, it was worthy of infinite power and
perfect goodness to create such beings. In our present
state, u'e mortals stand upon too low ground to take a
commanding view of the whole frame of things. We
can only reason concerning what is unknown from the
little that is within our reach. In that little, we can
see that wisdom and goodness reign ; that nature al¬
ways aims to produce perfection ; that many salutary
efleets result even from the thunder and the storm : and
we doubt not that a view of the whole structure of the
universe would afford an additional triumph to the
goodness and skill of its great Architect.
We see a regular ascent in the scale of beings from
mere lifeless matter up to man ; and the probability is,
that the scale continues to ascend as far above man in
perfection as created beings can possibly be raised.—
The sole purpose of God in creating the world must
have been to produce happiness : but this would be most
effectually done by^creating, in the first place, as many
of the most perfect class of beings as the system could
contain ; and afterwards other classes less and less per¬
fect, till the whole universe should be completely
full. We do not positively assert such a scheme of
creation,
Where
. (A) That such was the general belief of the Greeks in the days of Homer, is plain from that poet’s constantly
introducing his deities into the narrative of his poems, and telling us that Minerva, or some other god, altered
the minds of his heroes. “ By this,” says Plutarch, “ the poet does not mean to make God destroy the will of
man, but only move him to will : nor does he miraculously produce the appetites themselves in men, but only
causes such imaginations as ale capable of exciting them.”
^OL. XVII. Part II. f 3N
PRO
[
Providence.
was
Where all must fall, or not coherent he j
And all that rises, rise in due degree,
actually in the divine Architect’s intention j but
that it is possible, is sufficiently obvious. No man will
pretend to say, that this earth could afford a comfort¬
able subsistence to a greater number of the human race,
were all the inferior animals annihilated, than it could
at present, swarming as every element is with life.—
Suppose then, that as many men had been placed at
first upon the earth as it could possibly support, and
that matters had been so constituted, as that the num¬
ber should never have been either increased or diminish¬
ed ; we beg leave to ask, whether, since there would have
been evidently room for inferior animals, it would have
been most worthy of infinite goodness to leave the whole
globe to men, or to introduce into it different orders of
fess perfect beings, which, while they could not incom¬
mode this principal inhabitant, would each find plea¬
sure in its own existence ? To this question different
answers cannot surely be given. Let the reader then
extend his view, and consider the universe, which, how¬
ever vast, cannot be’positively infinite, as one system as
much united as the several parts of this globe 5 let him
suppose that there wyere at first created as many of the
highest order of beings as it could have contained had
Creation there stopt j let him remember that happiness
in many different degrees is valuable ;—and he will not
surely think it any imputation on the goodness of God
that there are in the universe many beings far from per¬
fection. The most imperfect of these are by themselves
better than nothing-, and they all contribute to make
up a system which, considered as a whole, we have
every reason to believe to be as perfect as any thing not
self-existent can possibly be.
2. If the world is conducted by a benevolent provi¬
dence, how came evil to be introduced into it ? This
tion°of evil question has perplexed mankind in all ages. The an¬
cient Persians resolved it, by asserting the existence ot
two gods, Oromasdes the author of good, and Anma-
nius the author of evil. From them the Christian he¬
retics called Manichees borrowed their doctrine of two
opposite co-eternal principles. Both the Platonists and
Stoics ascribed the origin of evil to the perverseness or
imperfection of matter, which they thought the Deity
could not alter : and Pythagoras imagined a state of
pre-existence, in which the souls of men had committed
offences, for which they are here suffering the punish¬
ment. But these hypotheses are, some of them impious,
and all unsatisfactory.
Taking the expression in its most extensive sense, the
evils to which the human race are exposed may be re¬
duced to pain, uneasiness, disappointment of appetites,
and death; of which not one could have been wholly pre¬
vented without occasioning greater evils, inconsistent
with the perfect goodness of the Creator. As long as we
have solid bodies capable of motion, supported by food,
subject to the influence of the atmosphere, and divisible
21
Objection
from the
introduc
23
answered.
they must necessarily be liable to dissolution or death :
But if a man could suffer death, or have his limbs bro¬
ken, without feeling pain, the human race had been long
ago extinct. A fever is a state of the body in which
the fluids are in great disorder. Felt we no uneasiness
from that disorder, we should have no inducement to
pay the proper attention to our state, and should cer-
3
466 ] PRO
tainly die unawares, without suspecting ourselves to beprovidei:
in danger j whereas, under the present administration
of divine providence, the pain and sickness of the disease
compel us to have recourse to the remedies proper for
restoring us to soundness and to health. Of the unea¬
sinesses to which we are liable, and which are not the
effect of immediate pain, the greatest has been sometimes
said to arise from the apprehension of death, which
constantly stares us in the face, and frequently embitters
all our pleasures even in the hour of perfect health.-
But this dread of death is implanted in our breasts lor
the very best of purposes. Had we no horror at the
apprehension of death, we should be apt, whenever any
misfortune befel us, to quit this world rashly, and rush
unprepared into the presence of our Judge : but the
horror which attends our reflections on our own disso¬
lution, arising not from any apprehensions of the pain of
dying, but from our anxiety concerning our future state
of existence, tends strongly to make us act, while we are
here, in such a manner as to ensure our happiness here¬
after. Add to this, that the fear of death is the great¬
est support of human laws. We every day see persons
breaking through all the regulations ot society and
good life, notwithstanding they know death to be the
certain consequence, and feel all the horrors of it that
are natural to man: and therefore were death divested
of these horrors, how insignificant would capital punish¬
ments be as guardians of the law, and how insecure
would individuals be in civil society ?
With regard to the unavoidable misfortunes and an¬
xieties of our present state, so far from being truly hurt¬
ful in themselves, they are proofs of divine beneficence.
When we see men displeased with their situation, when
we hear them complain of the difficulties, the miseries,
and the cares of life, of the hardships which they have
undergone, and the labours which still lie before them.
instead of accounting them unfortunate, we ought to
regard them as active beings, placed in the only situa¬
tion that is fit for the improvement of their nature.
That discontent, these restless wishes to improve their
condition, are so many sure indications that their facul¬
ties will not languish. They who are in the least de¬
gree accustomed to observe the human character, know
well the influence which pleasure and repose have in en¬
feebling every manly principle, and how capable they
are of attaching us even to a sordid and dishonourable
existence.
Happy indeed it is for the human race, that the
number of those men is small whom providence has
placed in situations in which personal activity is unne¬
cessary. By far the greater number are compelled to
exert themselves, to mix and to contend with their equals,
in the race of fortune and of honour. It is thus that
our powers are called forth, and that our nature reaches
its highest perfection. It is even perhaps a general
truth, that they who have struggled with the greatest
variety of hardships, as they always acquire the highest
energy of character, so if they have retained their in-
tegrity, and have not sunk entirely in the contest, sel¬
dom fail to spend their remaining days respectable and
happy, superior to passion, and secured from folly by
the possession of a wisdom dearly earned. < Physici
But the benefits of physical evils have been set in aeviitW
still stronger light by a great master of moral wisdom,cause c ^
who was himself subject to many of those evils. Thatmora 1
man
PRO
[ 467 1 P P
nidence. man is a moral agent, sent into tin's world to acnn.V 1 j l ^ U
^   h*hlts of virtue and piety to fit him for a better slate n ^ ^,St °f trifles must be scattered
is a truth to which no consistent theist will fa a mo tll<! bubbleS "’at float ' ‘ ’
and the bubbles that float „p„: ^tiTbe
l:ir„e:!.r.nLtl,e «"'f °f et.er»i‘y- t„ this
nmn's
I Fr>
nient refuse h,s assent. But almost all the moral good ration scarce 8 • ,er",ly- To tllis inside,
which is left among us, ,s the apparent effect of physi- inn and H y IS|a"'ak''llf'1 b“t by some press,
ca! «''!• P y DgJ • rt I. esf ev‘l 5 tl,e <leath °f from whom
lie derived l„s pleasures, or to whom he destTned hi
nnssessmnc — j:  i. , . _ ucouuea nis
cal evil.
. ‘‘ Goodness is divided by divines into soberness
righteousness and godliness. Let it be examined how
each ot these duties would be practised if there were no
physical evil to enforce it.
“ Sobriety or temperance is nothing but the forbear¬
ance of pleasure ; and if pleasure was not followed by
pain, who would forbear it ? We see every hour those
m whom the desire of present indulgence overpowers all
sense of past, and all foresight of future misery. In a
remission of the gout, the drunkard returns to his wine
and the glutton to his feast ; and if neither disease nor
poverty were felt or dreaded, every one would sink
down in idle sensuality, without any care of others, or
of himself. To eat and drink, and lie down to sleep
would be the whole business of mankind.
“ Righteousness, or the system of social duty, may be
subdivided into justice and charity. Of justice, one of
the heathen sages has shown, with great acuteness that
it was impressed upon mankind only by the inconveni¬
ences which injustice had produced. ‘ In the first
ages (says he) men acted without any rule but the im¬
pulse of desire j they practised injustice upon others, and
suffered it from others in their turn; but in time it was
discovered, that the pain of suffering wrong was greater
than the pleasure of doing it; and mankind, by a gene¬
ral compact, submitted to the restraint of laws, and re¬
signed the pleasure to escape the pain.’
“ Of charity, it is superfluous to observe, that it
could have no place if there were no want ; for of a
virtue which could not be practised, the omission could
not be culpable. Evil is not only the occasional but
the efficient cause of charity ; we are incited to the re¬
lief of misery by the consciousness that we have the
same nature with the sufferer; that we are in danger
of the same distresses, and may some time implore the
same assistance.
“ Godliness or piety is elevation of the mind towards
the Supreme Being, and extension of the thoughts to
another life. The other life is future, and the Supreme
Being is invisible. None would have recourse to an
invisible power, but that all other subjects had eluded
their hopes. None would fix their attention upon the
future, but that they are discontented with the present.
If the senses were feasted with perpetual pleasure, they
would always keep the mind in subjection. Reason
has no authority over us but by its power to warn us
against evil.
“ In childhood, while our minds are yet unoccupied,
religion is impressed upon them ; and the first years of
almost all who have been well educated are passed in a
regular discharge of the duties of piety : But as we
advance forward into the crowds of life, innumerable
delights solicit our inclinations, and innumerable cares
distract our attention. The time of youth is passed in
noisy frolics ; manhood is led on from hope to hope,
and from project to project; the dissoluteness of plea¬
sure, the inebriation of success, the ardour of expecta¬
tion, and the vehemence of competition, chain down
the mind alike to the present scene: nor is it remem-
possessions, some disease which shows him the' vanity
of all external acquisitions, or the gloom of age which
ffimTfix his 1 r°SPeCtS °f ]°ng eWme^ ^ces
im to fix his hopes upon another state; and when
e as contended with the tempests of life till his
figffin^1 fai 8 nm, he at IaSt 10 the sbelter of re-
“ I hat misery does not make all virtuous, experience
too certainly informs us ; but it is no less certain that
of what virtue there is, misery produces far the greater
part. 1 hysical evil may be therefore endured with pa¬
tience, since it is the cause of moral good; and patience
itself is one virtue by which we are prepared for that
state m which evil shall be no more.”
The calamities and the hardships of our present state,
then, are so far from being real evils, of which provi¬
dence ought to be accused, that in everv point of view
in which we can consider them, they afford the surest
proofs of the wisdom of its administration, and of its
goodness to man.
The most serious difficulty lies in accounting for the Objection,
permission of moral evil or guilt, in a system governed fiom the
ny infinite benevolence and wisdom. Those who in apermission
consistent manner hold the doctrine of the absolute ne ofraoral
cessity of human actions in its full extent, and acknow-Sm]t>
ledge all its consequences, find it easy to elude this diffi¬
culty. 1 hey very fairly deny the existence of any suck
thing as moral evil ,n the abstract; and assert, that what
we call a crime, is nothing more than an action which
we always regard with a painful sensation : that these
apparent evils endure only for a time ; and that all will
at last terminate in the perfection and happiness of
every intelligent being.
Upon the system of'liberty, the shortest answer seems answered,
to be this : that some things are absolutely impossible,
not from any weakness in the Deity, but because they
infer absurdity or contradiction. Thus it is impossible
tin twice tvyo to be any thing else than four; and thus
it is impossible for Omnipotence itself to confer self¬
approbation upon an intelligent being who has never
deserved it; that is to say, it is impossible for a man of
sense to be pleased with himself for having done a cer¬
tain action, while he himself is conscious that he never
did that action. But self-approbation constitutes the
highest, the most unmingled, and permanent felicity, of
which our nature is capable. It is not in the power
of Omnipotence itself, then, to bestow the highest and
most permanent felicity of our nature; it must be earned
and deserved before it can be obtained. In the same
manner good desert, virtue or merit, cannot be confer¬
red; they must be acquired. To enable us to acquire
these, we must be exposed to difficulties, and must suf¬
fer in a cei tain degree. If these difficulties had no in¬
fluence upon our conduct and feelings, if they exposed
us to no real danger, no fabric of merit and of self¬
approbation could be reared upon them. All that the
Supreme Being could do for us, was to confer such an
oi iginal constitution and character as would enable us
to do well if we should exert our utmost powers. The
3 N 2 universe
Providence'
?7 .
By Simpli¬
cius,
* Simplic.
Com, in E-
pict. p. i85
1S7. ed.
Salmas.
PRO [ 4^3
universe is not ruled by favour, but by justice. Com¬
plete felicity must be purchased. Guilt is an abuse o
our freedom, a doing ill where we could have done
•well, and is entirely the work of man. Heaven cou
not avoid permitting its existence, and exposing us to
danger: for temptation is necessary to virtue, and vir¬
tue is the perfection ol our nature, oiu g 01 y, am oar
'^The permission of moral evil has been so ably ac¬
counted for by Simplicius, a Pagan writer, _ and there¬
fore not biassed by any partiality to the Jewish or C ni-
stian Scriptures, that we cannot deny ourselves the plea¬
sure of laying his reasoning before our readers, tie
asks * “ Whether God may he called the author oi sin,
because he permits the soul to use her liberty . ant
answers the question thus . , . •
“ He who says that God should not permit the, exer¬
cise of its freedom to the soul, must affirm one ol these
two things •, either that the soul, though by nature ca-
„ • *. nr* .i 1- _ _, *   tw ft non Id vt*
„ ] PRO
the divine administrations. Even the best men have at Provider];
times been shaken by this consideration.—-But there are '  
many reasons for rendering this world a mixed scene : it 29
would become unfit for a state ot trial and ot ecucation
to virtue were it otherwise. , . .
It has been shown already, that physical evil is the answerer
parent of moral good 5 and therefore it would be absurd
to expect that the virtuous should be entirely exempt¬
ed from that evil. For the occasional prosperity ol the
wicked, many reasons have been assigned even by those
who in their disquisitions, were not guided by that re¬
velation which has brought to light life and imnrovta-
lity. “ God (says Plutarch) spares the wicked, that he
may set to mankind an example of forbearance, and
teach them not to revenge their injuries too hastily on
each other. He spares some wicked men from early
punishment, in order to make them instruments ot Ins
fustice in punishing others. And he spares all tor a
time, that they may have leisure for repentance 5 for
,  n > Irmlr nt nothimr
two tilings j either that the soul, though by ^ men%ays the same excellent moralist) look at nothing
pable. of indifferently choosing ^ or sho y { - , punishments which they inflict, than to
be constantly prevented from choosing evil J or e se that u her, n \ and therefore they pur-
. , , , v.L nf ,,oh . nature as to have ^ with the ut t age
and eagerness j whereas God, aiming at the cure of those
who are not utterly incurable^gives them
ypow, “ time to be converted.” , . _ .
But this objection receives the best solution from the
doctrine of the immortality of the human soul.
*S .
Objection
from the
apparent
confusion
of human
affairs,
lie consuuiuy    ^ ^ 1
it should have been made of such a nature as to have
no power of choosing evil. . . ,
“ The former assertion (continues he) is irrational
and absurd 5 for what kind of liberty would that be in
which there should be no treedom ot choice . and what
choice could there be, if the mind were constantly re¬
strained to one side of every alternative . With respec
to the second assertion, it is to be observed (says he),
that no evil is in itself desirable, or can be chosen cs
evil. But if this power of determining itselt either
way in any given case must be taken from the soul, it
must either be as something not good, or as some great
evil. But whoever saith so, does not consider how many
things there are which, though accounted good and de¬
sirable, are yet never put in competition with this tree-
dom of will : for without it we should be on a level with
the brutes 1 and there is no person who would rather be
a brute than a man. If God then shows his goodness
in givincr to inferior beings such perfections as are tar
below this, is it incongruous to the divine nature and
woodness to give man a self-determining power over Ins
actions, and to permit him the free exercise ot that
power ? Had God, to prevent man’s sin, taken away the
liberty of his will, he would likewise have destroyed
the foundation of all virtue, and the very nature ot man j
for there could be no virtue were there not a possibility
of vice •, and man’s nature, had it continued rational,
would have been divine, because impeccable. Here-
fore (continues he), though we attribute to God, as its
author,this self-determining power, which is so necessai y
in the order of the universe •, we have no reason to at¬
tribute to him that evil which comes by the abuse ot U-
bertv : For God doth not cause that aversion from good
which is in the soul when it sins ; he only gave to the
soul such a power as might turn itself to evil, out ot
which he produces much good, which, without such a
power, could not have been produced by Omnipotence
itself.” So consonant to the doctrine ot our scriptures
is the reasoning op this opponent of the writings ot
Moses ! Fas est et ab hosts doceri.
The last objection to the belief of a divine providence
arises from the apparent contusion ot human affairs, that
all things happen alike to all, that bad men are prospe¬
rous, and that a total want of justice appears to attend
-And see !
’Tis come, the glorious morn! the second birth
Of heav’n and earth ! awakening nature hears
The new creating word, and starts to life.
In every height’ned form, from pain and death
For ever free. The great eternal scheme,
Involving all, and in * perfect whole
Uniting, as the prospect wider spreads,
To reason’s eye refin’d clears up apace.
Ye vainly wise ! Ye blind presumptuous^, now,
Confounded in the dust, adore that 1 ow r
And Wisdom oft arraign’d ; see now the cause,
Why unassuming worth in secret liv’d
And died neglected : why the good man’s share
In life was gall and bitterness of soul:
Why the lone widow and her orphans pin’d
In starving solitude 5 while luxury,
In palaces, lay straining her low thought,
To form unreal wants : why heav’n-born truth,
And moderation fair, wore the red marks
• Of superstition’s scourge ; why licenc’d pain,
That cruel spoiler, that embosom’d foe,
Imhitter’d all our bliss. Ye good distrest.
Ye noble few ! who here unbending stand
Beneath life’s pressure, yet bear up a while,
And what your bounded view, which only saw
A little part, deem’d evil, is no more :
The storms of wintry time will quickly pass,
And one unbounded spring encircle all.
Thomson’s It inter,
Provthence-Plantation, a colony of New England,
which, with llhode-island, formerly constituted a charter
government. Its chief town is Newport.
Providence, one of the least ot the Bahama islands
in the American ocean, but the best of those planted
and fortified by the English. It is seated on the east
3*
The inm
tality ol
soul the
answer
this obj'
tiuii
o
[ 469
W. Long. 77. 35. N. Lat.
OTOSt.
p rt
(idence side of the gulf of Florida
II 25. o.
PROVINCE, in Roman antiquity, a country of con-
siderable extent, which, upon being entirely reduced
under the Roman dominion, was new-modelled accord¬
ing to the pleasure of the conquerors, and subjected to
the command of annual governors sent from Rome; be¬
ing commonly obliged to pay such taxes and contribu¬
tions as the senate thought fit to demand.
Of these countries, that part of France next the Alps
was one, and still retains the name Provence.
Nicod derives the word a procul vivendo, “living
afar oft'but it is better deduced from pro and vinco,
“ I overcome.”
Province, in Geography, a division of a kingdom or
state, comprising several cities, towns, &c. all under the
same government, and usually distinguished by the ex¬
tent either of the civil or ecclesiastical jurisdiction.
The church distinguishes its provinces by archbishop¬
rics ; in which sense, England is divided into two pro¬
vinces, Canterbury and York.
The United Provinces are seven provinces of the Ne¬
therlands, who, revolting from the Spanish dominion,
made a perpetual alliance, ofiensive and defensive, at
Utrecht, anno 1579. See United Provinces.
PROVINCIAL, something relating to a province.
It also denotes, in Romish countries, a person who has
the direction of the several convents of a province.
PROVISIONS, in a military sense, implies all
manner of eatables, food or provender, used in an army,
both for man and beast.
PROVOST of a city or town, is the chief munici¬
pal magistrate in several trading cities, particularly
Edinburgh, Paris, &c. being much the same with
mayor in other places. He presides in city-courts, and
together with the bailies, who are his deputies, deter¬
mines in all differences that arise among citizens.
The provost of Edinburgh is called lord, and the
same title is claimed by the provost of Glasgow. The
former calls yearly conventions of the royal boroughs to
Edinburgh by his missives, and is, ex ojjicio, president
to the convention when met.
Provost, or Prevot-Royal, a sort of inferior judge
formerly established throughout France, to take cogni¬
zance of all civil, personal, real, and mixed causes,
among the people only.
Grand Provost of France, or of the Household, had
jurisdiction in the king’s house, and over the officers
therein ; looked to the policy thereof, the regulation of
provisions, &c.
Grand Provost of the Constable, a judge who ma¬
nages processes against the soldiers in the army who
have committed any crime.
He has four lieutenants distributed throughout the
army, called provosts of the army, and particular pro¬
vosts in the several regiments.
Provost Marshal of an Army, is an officer appoint¬
ed to seize and secure deserters, and all other crimi¬
nals. Fie is to hinder soldiers from pillaging, to in¬
dict offenders, and see the sentence passed on them ex¬
ecuted. He also regulates the weights and measures,
and the price of provisions, &c. in the army. For
the discharge of his office, he has a lieutenant, a clerk,
and a troop of marshal-men on horseback, as also an ex¬
ecutioner.
] PR u
There is also a provost-marshal in the navy, who has
charge over prisoners, &c.
. T!ie French also had a provost-general of the ma¬
rines, whose duty it was to prosecute the marines when
guilty of any crime, and to make report thereof to the
council of war; besides a marine provost in every ves¬
sel, who was a kind of gaoler, and took the prisoners
into his care, and kept the vessel clean.
Provosts of the Marshals, were a kind of lieute¬
nants of the marshals of France ; of these there were
180 seats in I ranee ; their chief jurisdiction regarded
highwaymen, footpads, house-breakers, &e.
Provost of the Mint, a particular judge instituted
for the apprehending and prosecuting of false coiners.
Provost, or Prevot, in the king’s stables; his office
is to attend at court, and hold the king’s stirrup when
he mounts his horse. There are four provosts of this
kind, each of whom attends in his turn, monthly.
PROW, denotes the head or fore-part of a ship, par¬
ticularly in a galley; being that which is opposite to
the poop or stern.
PROXIMI1 Y, denotes the relation of nearness, ei¬
ther in respect of place, blood, or alliance.
PRUDENCE, in ethics, may be defined an ability
of judging what is best, in the choice both of ends arid
means. According to the definition of the Roman mo¬
ralist, He Offichs, lib. i. cap. 43. prudence is the know¬
ledge of what is to be desired or avoided. According¬
ly, lie makes prudentia (De Legibas, lib. i.) to be a con¬
traction of providentia, or foresight. Plato (De Legi-
bi/s, lib. iii.) calls this the leading virtue ; and Juve¬
nal, Sat. x. observes,
Nullum numtn abest si sit prudentia.
The idea of prudence includes or due consul¬
tation ; that is, concerning such things as demand con¬
sultation in a right manner, and for a competent time,
that the resolution taken up may be neither too preci¬
pitate nor too slow; and rvwtrts, or a faculty of discern¬
ing proper means when they occur: and to the perfec¬
tion of prudence, these three things are farther required,
viz. or a natural sagacity ; cty^ivou, presence of
mind, or a ready turn of thought; and or ex¬
perience. The extremities of prudence are craft or
cunning on the one hand, which is the pursuit of an ill
end by direct and proper though not honest means ; and
folly on the other, which is either a mistake, both as
to the end and means, or prosecuting a good end by fo¬
reign and improper means. Grove’s Moral Philosophy,
vol. ii. chap. ii.
PRUDENTIUS, or Aurelius Prudentius Cle¬
mens, a famous Christian poet, under the reign of Theo¬
dosius the Great, who was born in Spain in the year
348. He first followed the profession of an advocate,
was afterwards a judge, then a soldier, and at length
had an honourable employment at court. We have a
great number of his poems, which, from the choice of
his subject, may be termed Christian poems; but the
style is barbarous, and very different from the purity of
the Augustan age. The most esteemed editions of Pru-
dentius’s works are that of Amsterdam, in 1667, with
Heinsius’s Notes, and that of Paris in 1687, in nsu?n
Delphini.
PRUNELLA, a genus of plants belonging to the
didynamia class ; and in the natural method ranking
under
Provost
Prunella.
Prunella
P R U - [
under the I2th order, Hohracea. See Botany
dex.
Pruning. PRUNES, are plums dried in the sunshine, or in
an oven.
PRUNING, in Gardening and Agriculture, is the
lopping off the superfluous branches of trees, in order to
make them bear better fruit, grow higher, or appear
more regular.
Pruning, though an operation of very general use, is
nevertheless rightly understood by few *, nor is it to be
learned by rote, but requires a strict observation of the
different manners of growth of the several sorts of fruit-
trees } the proper method of doing which cannot be
known without carefully observing how each kind is
naturally disposed to produce its fruit: for some do this
on the same year’s wood, as vines} others, for the most
part, upon the former year’s wood, as peaches, necta¬
rines, &c. $ and others upon spurs which are produced
upon wood of three, four, &c. to fifteen or twenty years
old, as pears, plums, cherries, &c. Therefore, in order
to the right management of fruit-trees, provision should
always be made to have a sufficient quantity of bearing
wood in every part of the trees j and at the same time
there should not be a superfluity of useless branches,
which would exhaust the strength of the trees, and cause
them to decay in a few years.
The reasons for pruning of fruit-trees, are, I. To
preserve them longer in a vigorous bearing-state j 2. To
render them more beautiful j and, 3. To cause the fruit
to be larger and better tasted.
The general instructions for pruning are as follow.
The greatest care ought to be taken of fruit-trees in the
spring, when they are in vigorous growth j which is the
only proper season for procuring a quantity of good
wood in the different parts of the tree, and for displa¬
cing all useless branches as soon as they are produced, in
order that the vigour of the tree may be entirely distri¬
buted to such branches only as are designed to remain.
For this reason trees ought not to be neglected in April
and May, when their shoots are produced : however,
those branches which are intended for bearing the suc¬
ceeding year should not be shortened during the time of
their growth, because this would cause them to produce
two lateral shoots from the eyes below the place where
they were stopped, which would draw much of the
strength from the buds of the first shoot: and if the
two lateral shoots are not entirely cut away at the win¬
ter-pruning, they will prove injurious to the tree. This
is to be chiefly understood of stone-fruit and grapes j but
pears and apples, being much harder, sufl’er not so much,
though it is a great disadvantage to those also to be
thus managed. It must likewise be remarked, that
peaches, nectarines, apricots, cherries, and plums, are
always in the greatest vigour when they are least maim¬
ed by the knife ; for where large branches are taken
off, they are subject to gum and decay. It is therefore
the most prudent method to rub off all useless buds when
they are first produced, and to pinch others, where new
shoots are wanted to supply the vacancies of the wall •,
by which management they may be so ordered as to
want but little of the knife in winter-pruning. The
management of pears and apples is much the same with
these trees in summer j but in winter they must be very
differently pruned : for as peaches and nectarines, for
470 ] P R U
In- the most part, produce their fruit upon the former year’s prun^
wood, and must therefore have their branches shortened
according to their strength, in order to produce new
shoots for the succeeding year j so, on the contrary, pears
apples, plums, and cherries, producing their fruit upon
spurs, which come out of the wood office, six, and seven
years old, should not be shortened, because thereby those
buds which were naturally disposed to form these spurs,
would produce wood branches 5 by which means the
trees would be filled with wood, but would never pro¬
duce much fruit. The branches of standard-trees should
never be shortened unless where they are very luxuriant,
and, by growing irregularly on one side of the trees, at¬
tract the greatest part of the sap, by which means the
other parts are either unfurnished with branches, or are
rendered very weak j in which case the branch should
be shortened down as low as is necessary, in order to ob¬
tain more branches to fill up the hollow of the tree :
but this is only to be understood of pears and apples,
which will produce shoots from wood of three, four, or
more years old ) whereas most sorts of stone-fruit will
gum and decay after such amputations : whenever this
happens to stone-fruit, it should be remedied by stopping
or pinching those shoots in the spring, before they have
obtained too much vigour, which will cause them to
push out side-branches j but this must be done with cau¬
tion. You must also cut out all dead or decaying
branches, which cause their heads to look ragged, and
also attract noxious particles from the air: in doing of
this, you should cut them close down to the place where
they were produced, otherwise that part of the branch
which is left will also decay, and prove equally hurtful
to the rest of the tree j for it seldom happens, when a
branch begins to decay, that it does not die quite down
to the place where it was produced, and if permitted to
remain long uncut, often infects some of the other parts
of the tree. If the branches cut oft are large, it will be
very proper, after having smoothed the cut part exactly
even with a knife, chissel, or hatchet, to put on a plaster
of grafting clay, which will prevent the wet from soak¬
ing into the tree at the wounded part. All such branches
as run across each other, and occasion a confusion in the
head of the tree, should be cut off; and as there are fre¬
quently young vigorous shoots on old trees, which rise
from the old branches near the trunk, and grow upright
into the head, these should be carefully cut out every
year, lest, by being permitted to grow, they fill the tree
too full of wood.
As to the pruning of forest-trees, if they be large, it
is best not to prune them at all; yet, if there be an ab¬
solute necessity, avoid taking oft large boughs as much
as possible. And, 1. If the bough be small, cut it
smooth, close and sloping. 2. If the branch be large,
and the tree old, cut it off at three or four feet from the
stem. 3. If the tree grow crooked, cut it off at the
crook, sloping upward, and nurse up one ot the most pro¬
mising shoots for a new stem. 4. If the tree grow top-
heavy, its head must be lightened, and that by thinning
the boughs that grow out of the main branches. But
if you would have them spring, rub oft the buds, and
shroud up the side-shoots. 5. If the side-bough still
break out, and the top be able to sustain itself, give the
boughs that put forth in spring a pruning after Midsum¬
mer, cutting them close.
lining
j usias.
r K u £ 47
It lias been observed, that trees are subject to cum
u decay, m consemienr.(> of . ?
, , . 7 „ 111 c ouujeci to cum
and decay, in consequence of pruning ; to prevent tbe<e
injurious effects, a remedy has been proposed by Mr
I ucknall, which on trial, it is said, has been succesful.
By this metliod the branches to be removed are to be
cut c ose to the place of separation from the trunk
smoothed well with a knife, and the wound is to be’
smeared over with medicated tar, laid on with a
painter’s brush. The following is the composition of
this medicated tar. One quarter of an ounce of corro¬
sive sublimate reduced to fine powder, by beatinc it
with a wooden hammer, is introduced into'a three pint
earthen pipkin, with about a glassful of gin or other
spirit.. The mixture is to be well stirred till the subli¬
mate is dissolved. The pipkin is then gradually filled
with vegetable or common tar, and constantly stirred
till the mixture be blended together as intimately as
possible ; and this quantity will at any time be sufficient
for 200 trees.. To prevent danger, let the corrosive
sublimate be mixed with the tar as quickly as possible
after it is purchased ; lor being of a very poisonous na¬
ture to all animals, it should not be suffered to lie about
a house, for fear of mischief to some part of the fa¬
mily.
By applying this composition, Mr Bucknall can,
without the least danger, use the pruning hook on all
sorts of trees, much more freely than by the use of any
article hitherto recommended. 1 he following remarks
by the author on pruning in general, seem worthy of
notice, and we give them in his own words. “ I give
no attention (says he) to fruit branches, and wood bran¬
ches j but beg, once for all, that no branch shall ever
be shortened unless for the figure of the tree, and then
constantly taken off close to the separation, by which
means the wound soon heals. The more the range of
the blanches shoots circularly, a little inclining upwards,
the more equally will the sap be distributed, and the’
better will the tree bear ; for, from that circumstance,
the sap is more evenly impelled to every part. Do not
let the ranges of branches be too near each other; for,
remember all the fruit and the leaves should have their
full share of the sun ; and where it suits, let the middle
of the tree be free from wood, so that no branch shall
ever cross another, but all the extreme ends point up¬
wards.”
PRUNUS, a genus of plants belonging to the icos-
andria class ; and in the natural method ranking under
the 36th order, Pomaeece. See Botany Index.
PRUSA, in Ancient Geography, a town situated at
Mount Olympus in Mysia, built by Prusias, who waged
war with Croesus, (Strabo) ; with Cyrus, (Stephanus) j
both cotemporary princes. Now called Bursa or Prusa,
capital of Bithynia, in Asia Minor. E. Long. 20. c.
AT. Lab 39. 22. & > J
PRUSIAS, the name ol several kings of Bithynia.
Prusias, a town of Bithynia, anciently called Cios,
from a cognominal river, and giving name to the Sinus
1 J P R U
j H Tki. i» the Prusias „l,„ harbaur-
Hauu.bal alter the defeat of Autiodms.-Of Z
physloTa" I"adeS’ SUr,’araei1 JWl“' f—
P1SUSSIA, a modern, but deservedly celebrated s“ Map of
u gdom of Europe, whose monarch, along with Prussia i'01"”'1 and
P| oper, possesses also the electorate of Brandenburg, and L'T™
some other terntor.es of considerable extent. The di- Se
' • jICI ?r,°pef! y called Prussia is of great extent, and di-ccccxxxiv.
vided into the Ducal and liegal Prussia, the latter be-
if’the" i>‘r‘ le.re|’"bi-0 01 D°land 1:11 tl,e late I™'1111™
of the Polish territories. Both together are of great
tTe s ;,lbK1”pb.<>“n,dedJ0" 1,16 nortl'H the Baltic, on
west bv p y a'“ Ztbe ‘,uclly of Mazovia, on the
west by Pomerania, and on the east by Lithuania and
bamogitia flic name is by some thought to he deri- Etymolo
ved from the Borusst a tribe of the Sarmatians, who, 87 of the
ni gratnig from the foot of the Riphtean mountains -me,
, , ?? I by the^beauty and fertility of the coun¬
try to settle there Others think that the name of this
country is properly Porussia; P0 in the language of the
natives signifying near, and Porussia signifying near
Bussia To the latter etymology we find the king of
Prussia Inmselfassentmg in the treatise intitled Memoirs
of the House of Brandenburg. However, it must be
owned, that these or any other etymologies of the word
are very uncertain and we find nothing like it mention¬
ed by historians before the tenth century
The ancient state of Prussia is almost entirely un-Fxtr *
known. However, the people are said to have been barbarity
veiy savage and barbarous 5 living upon raw flesh, and ^ the an-
dnnking the blood of horses at their feasts, according c!ent inha-
to btella, even to intoxication (a). Nay, so extreme*5 aUtS*
ly savage were this people, that they were even unac¬
quainted with the method of constructing huts, and took
up their dwelling m caves and cavities of rocks and trees
where they protected themselves and children from the’
inclemencies of the weather. Among such a people it
is vain to expect that any transactions would be record¬
ed, or indeed that any thing worthy of being recorded
would be transacted. We shall therefore begin our hi¬
story of I russia with the time when the Teutonic knights
first got footing in the country. (See Teutonic
Knights).
On the expulsion of the Christians from the Holvm •
Land by Saladin a settlement was given to the Teu-ShiT
tonic knights in Prussia by Conrade duke of Mazovia first get
the competitor of Boleslaus V. for the crown of Poland! ^00l‘n£ 1,1
Their first residence in this country was Culm; to which the coun"
territory they were confined by the conditions of the do- tIT‘
nation, excepting what they could conquer from their
pagan neighbours, all which the emperor granted to
them in perpetuity.
Encouraged by this grant, the knights conquered the
greatest
rtJhlnJ'lf aUtl,'T JoT,0t,rr" “n>' Particular method by which they communicated an inebriating qualitv to
davs w , 0SS'b'-V’ l,0WeVer’ ,"ie V,tal raay have a property of this kind, though unknown .Vonr
ere such barbaious customs are disused. Drunkenness from drinking blood is freciuentlv 1 •
Scripture, but whether literally or metaphorically must be decided by the learned ’ 7 “e"‘«"«<l ■"
Prussia.
mu
4
Expelled.
History of
Branden¬
burg.
* N° 27,
Sec.
P R U * [57^
greatest part of the country which now goes by the name
of Prussia; and, not content with this became y
troublesome to Poland, insomuch that the m°naicl 3
that kingdom were sometimes obliged to cairy 0 <
gerous and bloody wars with them J f°r an ac^oun^c
which we refer to the article 1 gland, i » 7’
The Teutonic order continued in Prussia till the ye
I r 21. Their last grand-master was Albert marquis o
Brandenburg, and nephew to Sigismund L king ot - 0-
Jand. He was preferred to tins dignity, in hopes that
his affinity to Sigismund might procure a restitution ot
some of the places which had been taken from the 01
during the former unsuccessful wars with 1 olan ,
in this the fraternity were disappointed. Albeit, how¬
ever was so far from endeavouring to obtain any lavoi
from bis uncle by fair means, that he refused to do ho¬
mage to him, and immediately began to make prepara
tions for throwing off his dependence altogether and
recovering the whole of Prussia and Pomerania by force
of arms. In this he was so far from succeeding, that,
being foiled in every attempt, he was forced to re¬
sign the dignity of grand-master 5 in recompense for
which, his uncle bestowed on him that part of uiosm
now called Ducal, in quality of a secular duke. It was
now the interest of the house of Brandenburg to assist in
the expulsion of the fraternity, accordingly, be-,
ing at last driven out of Prussia and Pomerania, they
transferred their chapter toManendal in Franconia, but
in that and other provinces of the empire where they
settled, little more than the name of the order, once so
famous, now remains. „ , .
The other most considerable part of his I russian ma-
iesty’s dominions is the electorate ot Brandenburg.
Like other parts of Germany, it was anciently pos¬
sessed by barbarians, of whom no history can he give .
These were subdued by Charlemagne, as is related un¬
der the article France*-, but being on every occasion
ready to revolt, in 927 Henry the Fowler estauhshe
margraves, or governors of the frontiers to keep the
barbarians in awe. The first margrave ot Brandenburg
was Smefroy, brother-in-law to the above-mentionei
emperor ; under whose administration the
Brandenburg and Havelberg were established by Otho I.
From this Sigefroy, to the succession of the hou.e ot
Hohenzollern, from whom the present elector is descend¬
ed, there are reckoned eight different families who
have been margraves of Brandenburg^mely, the fa¬
mily of the Saxons, of Walbeck, Staden Plenck, An¬
halt, Bavaria, Luxemberg, and Misma. 1 lie margraves
of the four first races had continual wars with the v un¬
cials and other barbarous people j nor could their ravages
be stopped till the reign of Albert surnamed the Bear,
the first prince of the house of Anhalt. He was made
margrave*by the emperor Conrad III and afterwards
raised to the dignity of elector by Frederic Barbarossa,
about the year 1100. Some years afterwards the
king of the Vandals dying* without issue, left the
Middle Marche by his last will to the elector, who was
besides possessed of the Old Marche, Upper Saxony, the
country of Anhalt, and part of Lusace. n 118
line became extinct, and the electorate devolved to the
empire. It was then given by the emperor Louis ot
Bavaria to his son Louis, who was the first of the sixth
;race. Louis the Homan succeeded his brother", and
]
P B U
as he also died without children,'he was succeeded by yr,,
Otho, his third brother, who sold the electorate to the 1—
emperor Charles IV. of the house of Luxemburg, lor
200,000 florins of gold. Charles IV. gave the Marche
to his son Winceslaus, to whom Sigismund succeeded.
This elector, being embarrassed in bis circumstances,
sold the New Marche to the knights of tlm 1 eutonic
order. Josse succeeded Sigismund but asp.rmg to the
empire, sold the electorate to W.lliam duke ot Mis-
re, sum me * .
who, after he had possessed it tor one year,
3 . it** .i i"
sold
it again to the emperor Sigismund. in M1?3 ^I^'
deric VI. burgrave of Nuremberg, received the investi¬
ture of the country of Brandenburg at the diet of Con¬
stance from the hands of the emperor Sigismund •, who,
two years before, had conferred upon 1,mi the dignity
of elector, and arch-chamberlain of the Holy Homan
"ThU prince, tire first .f the family of Boton*
W found himself possessed of the Old and M.ddle
Marche, but the dukes of Pomerania had usurped the
Marche Ukraine. Against them, therefore, the elector
immediately declared war, and soon recovered be
province. As the New Marche still continued in the
hands of the Teutonic knights, to whom it had been
sold, as we have already mentioned, the elector, to
make up for this, took possession ot Saxony, which at
that time happened to be vacant by the death ot Al¬
bert the last elector of the Anhalt line. But the em¬
peror, not approving of this step, gave the investiture
of Saxony to the duke of Misma-, upon which Frede¬
ric voluntarily desisted from his acquisitions. Urn
elector made a division of his possessions by will. H.s
eldest son was deprived of his right on account of ns
having too closely applied himself to search for the
philosopher’s stone 5 so he left him only V oig land.
The electorate was given to his second son Fijdenc ,
Albert, surnamed Achilles, had the duchies of Franco¬
nia ; and Frederic, surnamed the Fat, had the Old.
Marche but by his death it returned to the electorate
of Brandenburg. ... n i
Frederic I. was succeeded by his son, called n s
Frederic, and surnamed Iron-tooth on account 0 11s
strength. He might with as great reason have been
surnamed the Magnanvnous, since he refuse two
crowns, viz. that of Bohemia, which was offeied !mn
by the pope, and the kingdom of Poland to whici ie
Wed by the people; but Ftedenc declared he
would not accept of it unless Casimir brothei to La
disiaus the late king refused it. These instances/
magnanimity had such an effect on the neighbouring
people, that the states oi Lower Lusatia mac e .
luntary surrender of their country tojnm. But as L
satia was a fief of Bohemia, Uie king of tlu county
immediately made war on the elector, in oulei t
ver it. However, he was so far from /n£ SUC
ful, that, by a treaty of peace concluded, m 1462,
was obliged to yield the perpetual sovereignty '
bus, Pelts, Sommerfeld, and some other P1*^’ ^
elector. Frederic then, having redeemed the 1
Marche from the Teutonic order for the sum of 100,000
florins, and still further enlarged his dominions, res gn^J
ed the sovereignty in 1469 to his brother A e , /
na AlberUvas 57 years old when his brother resigned j
wsill-
11 mi
niff
ini'
•s" r
s»r- 11
i- I
C
4
PRO
Prussia-
■g unit-
tv
th
t 47^
Ik electorate to him. Most oflns exploits, for which
he had the surname of Achilla, had been performed
while he was burgrave of Nuremberg. He declared
war against Lewis duke of Bavaria, and defeated'and
took him prisoner. He gained eight battles against
the Nurembergers, who had rebelled and contested
Vs 7Sllts t.0 the ^urgraviate. In one of these he fouoht
singly against 16 men, till his people came up to his
assistance. He made himself master of the town of
Grienenburg in the same manner that Alexander the
Great took the capital of the Oxydracee, bv leaping
from the top of the walls into the town, where he de¬
fended himself singly against the inhabitants till his
men forced the gates and rescued him. The confidence
which the emperor Frederic III. placed in him, gain¬
ed him the direction of almost the whole empire. He
commanded the Imperial armies against Lewis the
j i, t“!k® Havana j and against Charles the Bold
duke of Burgundy, who had laid siege to Nuis, but
concluded a peace at the interposition of Albert He
gained the prize at 17 tournaments, and was never dis¬
mounted.
nssia and All these exploits, however, had been performed be-
aaden- tore Albert obtained the electorate. From that time
we meet with no very important transactions till the
year 1594, when John Sigismund of Brandenburg, ha¬
ving married Anne the only daughter of Albert duke of
rrussia, this united that duchy to the electorate, to which
it has continued to be united ever since 5 and obtained
pretensions to the countries of Juliers, Berg, Cleves,
Marck, Bavensburg, and Kavenstein, l0 the succession
ot which Anne was heiress.
Sigismund died in 1619, and was succeeded by his
son George William j during whose government the
electorate suffered the most miserable calamities. At
this time it was that the war commenced between the
Broteatants and Catholics, which lasted 30 years. The
former, although leagued together, were on the point
of being utterly destroyed by the Imperialists under
the command of Count Tilly and Wallenstein, when
Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden turned the scale in their
favour, and threatened the Catholic party with utter
e Sice-destruction *. But by bis death at the battle of Lut-
zen, the fortune of war was once more changed. At
last, however, peace was concluded with the empe¬
ror; and, in 1640, the elector died, leaving his do¬
minions to his son Frederic William, surnamed the
, (jreat.
Ihis young prince, though only 20 years of age
at the time ol his accession, applied himself with the
utmost diligence to repair the losses and devastations
occasioned by the dreadful wars which had preceded.
e received the investiture of Prussia personally from
tie king of I oland, on condition of paying 100,000
florins annually, and not making truce or peace with
the enemies of that crown. His envoy likewise recei¬
ved the investiture of the electorate from the emperor
Ferdinand III. The elector then thought of recover¬
ing his ‘provinces from those who had usurped them.
He concluded a truce for 20 years with the Swedes,
who evacuated the greatest part of his estates. He
likewise paid 140,000 crowns to the Swedish garri¬
sons, which still possessed some of his towns ; and he
cone uded a treaty with the Hessians, who delivered up
Vol. XVII. Part II. j
]
R R U
Pnisda.
8
' :ortu-
l s reia;o
f tie elec-
t George
1 iam.
a part of the duchy of Cleves ; and obtained of tlie Hol¬
landers the evacuation of some other cities. __
In the mean time, the powers of Europe began to
e weary ol a war which had continued for such a
length ol time with such unrelenting fury. The cities
ot Osnaburg and Munster being chosen as the most
propel p.aces for negociation, the conferences were
openet in the year 1645; but, by reason of the mul-
ip icity 0 business, they were not concluded till two
years alter. France, which had espoused the interests
ot Sweden, demanded that Pomerania should be ceded
to that kingdom as an indemnification for the eXpenees
wiidi the war had cost Gustavus Adolphus and his
successors. Although the empire and the elector refu¬
sed to give up Pomerania, it was at last agreed to give
up to the Swedes Hither Pomerania, with the isles of
tugen and Wollin, also some cities; in return for
which cession, the bishoprics of Halberstadt, Minden,
and Bamm, were secularized in favour of the elector,
ot winch he was put in possession, together with the
lordships of Hochenstein and Richenstein, with the
reversion of the archbishopric of Magdeburg. Thus wasT f
ie treaty ol W estphalia concluded in 1648, and which Westphf-
serves as a basis to all the possessions and rights of the bn couclud-
German princes. The elector then concluded a newed-
treaty with the Swedes, for the regulation of limits, and
lor the acquittal of some debts, of which Sweden would
oidy pay a fourth ; and next year the electorate, Pome¬
rania, and the duchies of Cleves, were evacuated by the
owedes. J
Notwithstanding all these treaties, howeve
ft 1 of
Ir Tic
mi
real.
Swedes soon after invaded Pomerania, but were cn-Thee!cc'
tirely defeated by the elector near the town of Fehr- o-edTa-
e m. hree thousand were left dead on the spot gainst the
among whom were a great number of officers; and aSwedts*
great many were taken prisoners. The elector then
pursued his victory, gained many advantages over the.
Swedes, and deprived them of the cities of Siraisund
and Grips Wald. On this the Swedes, hoping to
oblige the elector to evacuate Pomerania, which he
had almost totally subdued, invaded Prussia, from Li¬
vonia, with 16,000 men ; and advancing into the
country, they burned the suburbs of Memel, and took
the cities of i ilse and Insterburg. The electoi to
oppose the invaders, left Berlin on the 10th of Ja¬
nuary 1679, at Bie head ot 9000 men. The Swedes
retired at his approach, and were greatly harassed by
the troops on their inarch. So successful indeed was
the elector on this occasion, that the Swedes lost al¬
most one half of their army killed or taken prisoners.
At last, having crossed the bay of Frisch haff and
Courland on the ice, he arrived on the 19th of January,
with his infantry, within three miles of Tilse, where
the Swedes had their head-quarters. The same day,
his general, Irefenfeldt, defeated two regiments of
the enemy near Splitter; and the Swedes who were
in lilse abandoned that place, and retix-ed towards
Courland. They were pursued by General Gortz,
and entirely defeated with such slaughter, that scarce
3000 of them returned to Livonia. Yet, notwithstand-r , f.z .
victories, the elector, being pressed on to coXe
the rtber side by the victorious generals of France, a treaty of
M. lurenne and the prince of Conde, was obliged to l,cace
mate peace with the Swedes. The conditions were,tllein'
3 0 that
P K U
[ 474 1
P R U
Prussia.
13
A strange
embassy
from the
cham of
Tartary.
14
Frederic TIT.
obtains the
title of
king of
Prussia.
that the treaty of Westphalia should serve for a basis
to the peace *, that the elector should have the proper¬
ty of the customs in all the ports of Further Pomera¬
nia, with the cities of Camin, Gartz, Grieffenburg,
and Wildenbruck : on his part, he consented to give up
to the Swedes all that he had conquered from them,
and to give no assistance to the king of Denmark, up¬
on condition that France delivered up to him his pro¬
vinces in Westphalia, and paid him 300,000 ducats,
as an indemnification for the damages done by the
French to his states. This treaty was styled the peace
of St Germain.
With the treaty of St Germain terminated the mi¬
litary exploits of Frederic William, who passed the last
years of his administration in peace. His great quali¬
ties had rendered him respected by all Europe, and had
even been heard of in Tartary. He received an embassy
from Murad Geray, cham of the Tartars, courting his
friendship. The barbarian ambassador appeared in such
tattered clothes as scarce covered his nakedness, so that
they were obliged to furnish him with other clothes be¬
fore he could appear at court. His interpreter had a
wooden nose and no ears. In 1684, Frederic received
into his dominions great numbers of Protestants who fled
out of France from the persecutions of Louis XIV. after
he had revoked the edict of Nantz. Twenty thousand
of them are said to have settled at this time in the elec¬
torate, where they introduced new arts and manufac¬
tures, that were of the utmost benefit to the country.
By this, however, he disobliged Louis XIV . for which
reason he concluded an alliance with the emperor •, and
having furnished him with 8000 troops against theTurks
in Hungary, the emperor yielded to him the circle of
Schwibus in Silesia, as an equivalent for all his rights in
that province.
In 1688, the elector Frederic William died, ami was
succeeded by his son Frederic HI. This prince was re¬
markably fond of show and ceremony, which, during the
course of his government, involved him in much expence.
The regal dignity seemed to be the greatest object of his
ambition. To obtain this, he joined with the emperor in
the alliance against France, in which he was engaged
by William III. king of Britain. He also yielded up
the circle of Schwibus, which had been given to his
predecessor j and, in 1700, obtained from the emperor
that dignity which he had so earnestly desired. I he
terms on which it was obtained were, 1. That Frederic
should never separate from the empire those provinces of
his dominions which depended on it. 2. That he should
not, in the emperor’s presence, demand any other marks
of honour than those which he had hitherto enjoyed.
3. That his Imperial majesty, when he wrote to him,
should only give him the title of Royal Dilection.
4. That nevertheless the ministers which he had at
Vienna should be treated like those of other crowned
heads. 5. That the elector should maintain 6000 men
in Italy at his own expence, in case the emperor should
be obliged to make war on account of the succession
of the house of Bourbon to the crown of Spain. 6.
That those troops should continue there as long as the
war lasted. , . , .
Thus was the kingdom of Prussia established through,
the friendship of the emperor, with whom Frederic I.
so called as being the first kin g of Prussia, continued all
his life in strict alliance. Indeed he was a pacific
Pntssia.
prince; and though contemptible in his person, and
incapable of achieving great things, had this merit, '
that he always preserved his dominions in peace, and
thus consulted the true interest of his subjects much
more than those monarchs who have dazzled the eyes
of the world by their military exploits. He was indeed
vain, and fond of show, as we have already observed ;
but had a good heart, and is said never to have vio¬
lated his conjugal vow ’7 though it does not appear that
he was greatly" beloved by his royal consorts (of whom
he had three) on that or any other account. ^
Frederic I. died in the beginning of 1713, and was Frederic
succeeded by Frederic William. He was in a
every thing the reverse of his father. His dispositions^^ ‘
were altogether martial •, so that he applied himself en¬
tirely to the augmentation of his army, and perfecting
them in their exercise, by which means they became the
most expert soldiers m Europe. His foible was an am¬
bition of having his army composed of men above the
ordinary size *, but as these could not be procured, he
composed a regiment of the tallest men he could find j
and as his officers made no scruple of picking up such
men wherever they could find them for bis majesty s
use, the neighbouring states were frequently offended,
and a war was often likely to ensue even from this ridi¬
culous cause. However, his Prussian majesty was ne¬
ver engaged in any martial enterprise of consequence :
but having put his army on the most respectable foot¬
ing of any in the world, and filled his coffers, for he
was of a very saving disposition, he put it in the power
of his son to perform those exploits which have been
matter of astonishment to all Europe. > 16
It was in this king’s reign that Prussia first perceived Enmity
her natural enemy and rival to be the house of Austria,
and not France as had been formerly supposed. Hence Austrk
frequent bickerings took place between these two powers,
for which the persecution of the Protestants by some of
the Catholic states of the empire afforded a pretence ;
and though a war never actually took place, yet it was
easy to see that both were mortal enemies to each other.
But when Frederic William died in i74<-)> ^fu® enmity
broke out in full force. The empress queen was then
left in a very disagreeable situation, as has been obsery-
ed under the article Britain, N° 410, &c. Of thisFrederH
Frederic III. took the advantage to do himself justice, as seizes b
he said, with regard to Silesia, of which his ancestors51
had been unjustly deprived. This province he seized at
that time : but it cost him dear j for the empress hav¬
ing at last overcome all difficulties, formed against him
the most terrible combination that ever -was known in
Europe. f
The treaty was hardly concluded with the king ot
Prussia, by which she reluctantly yielded up the province
of Silesia, and with it aclear revenue of 800,oool. a^year,
before she entered into another with the court of Peters- ,g
burg, which was concluded May 22. 174^‘ fiea^’ C«nil)ir
as tar as it was made public, was only of a defensive na-tionagi
ture ; but six secret and separate articles were added to »“•
it. By one of these it was provided, that in case his
Prussian majesty should attack the empress queen, or the
empress of Russia, or even the republic of Poland, it
should be considered as a breach of the treaty of Dres¬
den, by which Silesia was given up. It was also sti¬
pulated, that, notwithstanding that treaty (which in¬
deed had been dictated by the king of Prussia lumseliX
(V#
-
■i
Pnlssfa-
l9
invades
, .any,
20
a!;es
'“oSax
on ri-
«, ,
He
seci i
the
oro.
jlic
^ 'I,and
W the
the
««;>
L 4
the right of the empress-queen to Silesia still conti¬
nued, and for the recovery of that province the con¬
tracting powers should mutually furnish an army of
60,000 men. To this treaty, called the treaty of Pc-
tersburg, the king of Poland was invited to accede •
but he, being in a manner in the power of the king
of Prussia, did not think proper to sign it : however
he verbally acceded to it in such a manner, that the
other parties were fully convinced of his design to co¬
operate with all their measures ; and in consideration
ol this intention, it was agreed that he should have
a share in the partition of the king of Prussia’s do¬
minions, in case of a successful event of their enter¬
prises.
In consequence of these machinations, every art was
U^ed to render the king of Prussia personally odious to
the empress of Russia j the queen of Hungary made
vast preparations in Bohemia and Moravia • and the
king of Poland, under pretence of a military amusement,
drew together 16,000 men, with whom he occupied a
strong post at Pirna. The queen of Hungary, still
further to strengthen herself, concluded a treaty with
the court of France at Versailles, dated May 1. 1756.
tut in the mean time, the king of Prussia having un¬
derstood by his emissaries what was going forward, re¬
solved to be beforehand with his enemies, and at least
to keep the war out of his own country ; and therefore
entered Saxony with a considerable army. At first he
ailected only to demand a free passage for his troops,
and an observance of the neutrality professed by the
king of Poland ; but, having good reasons to doubt
this neutrality, he demanded, as a preliminary, that
these Saxon troops should immediately quit the strong
post they occupied, and disperse themselves. This de¬
mand was refused ; on which his Prussian majesty
blockaded the Saxon camp at Pirna, resolving to re¬
duce it by famine, since its strong situation rendered
an attack very dangerous. At that time there were in
Bohemia two Saxon armies, one under the command of
M. Brown, and the other under M. Picolomini. To
keep these in awe, the king had sent M. Schwerin
with an army into Bohemia from the country of
Glatz, and M. Keith had penetrated into the same
kingdom on the side of Misnia. But still the king of
Prussia did not entirely confide in these dispositions ;
and therefore fearing lest M. Brown might afford some
assistance to the Saxons, he joined his forces under
Keith, and on December 1. attacked and defeated the
Austrian general, so that the latter found it impossible
to relieve the Saxons, who, after a vain attempt to re¬
tire from their post, were all taken prisoners. The
king of Poland quitted his dominions in Germany,
and the Prussians took up their winter quarters in
Saxony. Plere they seized on the revenues, levied ex-
01 bitant contributions, and obliged the country to fur¬
nish them with recruits. The king of Prussia at this
time made himself master of the archives of Dresden,
by which means he procured the originals of those
pieces above mentioned, which, when produced to the
world, gave a full proof of the combination that had
een formed against him, and consequently justified the
measures he had taken for his own defence.
No sooner had the king entered Saxony, in the man¬
ner already related, than a process was commenced
against him in the emperor’s Aulic council, and before
Prussia.
/o J P H U
the diet of the empire, where he was soon condemned
for contumacy, and put to the ban of the emphe!-'
ie various circles of the empire were ordered to fur¬
nish their contingents of men and money to put this
tha enbedmteXr,Utl°n/ bUt tl,eSe Came in S" slowly,
that, had it not been for the assistance of the French
under ti]e pnnce Soubise, the army would pro-
Austrians6 iiTth*1" '’“Y" “ “Y'1™ aCt- The P,o,%L
in/.,!; .! ‘.me’ made Kreat preparations, prepara-
•ft- ^lset* I00>000 men in Bohemia, whom they com lIons a-
^d by M B6 °?n T6 Chai'leS ofL^rain,Assist-gaiastl,im'
men^und* ^ Cza.rina sent a body of 6o,oco
men under M. Apraxin, to invade the Ducal Prussia :
ortW t 8 fleCt Wa! e‘luiPPefl m the Baltic, in
older to co-operate With that army. The king of
Sweden also acceded to the confederacy, in hope? of
recovering the possessions in Pomerania which his an-
tnnL°7l 1111 enJ°yed 5 and Ule duke of Mecklenburg
Irmv VT party’ Promising to join the Swedish
amiy with 6000 men as soon as it should be ne¬
cessary. On the king of Prussia’s side appeared no¬
body excepting an army of between ^o,coc and 40,000
-Hanoverians commanded by the duke of Cumber¬
land ; and these were outnumbered and forced to yield
dVtieeT11017 anny °f ri'ench commandcd by M.
t h at" he'1 rn ^ ,hl° Prus^ majesty, finding He invade,
that he must depend for assistance solely on his own hernia,
abilities, resolved to make the best use of his time and totillly
Accordingly, ,11 the spring 1757, his armies poured in-S^0
0 Bohemia from two different quarters, while the,A
King himself prepared to enter it from a third. M.
ochwerm entered from Silesia ; the prince of Bevern
rom Lusatia, where he defeated an army of 28,000
ustnanS that opposed his passage. As the intentions
ol he king Inmself were not known, the Austrians de-
; army.
tached a body of 20,000 men from their main army t'o*
observe his motions.   
motions. This was no sooner done than
the king cut of} all communication between the detach¬
ment and the main body : and having joined his two
generals with incredible celerity, he engaged the Au¬
strians near Prague, totally defeated them, took their
camp, military chest, and cannon ; but lost the brave
General Schwerin, who was killed at the age of 82
with a colonel’s standard in his hand. On the Au¬
strian side, M. Brown was wounded, and died in a
short time, though it is supposed more from the cha¬
grin he suffered, than from the dangerous nature of the
wound itself.
About 40jp00 of the Austrian army took refuge inBesiegts
11 ague, while the rest fled different ways. The cityand'J0U1*
was instantly invested by the king, and all succours were bards
cut off. I he great number of troops which it contain-1>ragUe*
ed rendered an attack unadvisable, but seemed to render
the reduction of it by famine inevitable; however, the
king, to accomplish his purpose the more speedily, pre¬
pared to bombard the town. On the 29th of May
after a most dreadful storm of thunder and lightnino-’
foui battenes began to play on the city. From these
were thrown, every 24 hours, 288 bombs, besides a vast
number of red-hot balls, so that it was soon on fire in
every quarter. The garrison made a vigorous defence,
&nd one well-conducted sally; but had the misfortune
to be repulsed with great loss. I he magistrates, burgh¬
ers, and clergy, seeing their city on the point of being
3 0 2 reduced
*P 11 u
[ 47r> ]
P R U
rmssia.
25
Count
Dawn takes rrin
the eom-
uiand of
the Au¬
strian ar
my.
76
reduced (0 an heap of rubbish, supplicated the command¬
er in th^most earnest manner to capitulate j but he was
deaf to their intreaties, and drove 1 2,oco of the most
useless mouths out ot town, who were quickly driven in
again by the Prussians.
"Thus* the affairs of the empress queen seemed ver-
to destruction, when Leopold count Daun took,
upon him the command ot the remains ot M. Brown s
army. This general had arrived within a few miles of
Prague the day after the great battle. He immedi¬
ately collected the scattered fugitives with the greatest
diligence, and retired with them to a strong post in
the neighbourhood, from whence he gave the troops
in Prague hopes of a speedy relief. It was now the
king of Prussia’s business, either to have attempted to
make himself master of the city by one desperate eliort,
m- entirely to have abandoned the enterprise, and
driven Count Daun from his post before his troops had
recovered from the terror of their late defeat j but, by
attempting to do both, he rendered himself incapable
•Defeats the of doing either. Though the army of Count Daun
Prussians at a]|*eac]y amounted to 60,000 men, ana though they
Cdin. were strongly entrenched, and defended by a vast train
of artillery, his majesty thought proper to send no
more than 32,000 men. This body made the ardu¬
ous attempt on the 18th of June j but though they
did all that human courage and conduct could do, and
though the king himself at la^t charged at the head of
ills cavalry, the Prussians were driven cut ot the held
with great loss. This engagement was named t/ie but¬
tle of Colin. • .
The first consequence or the battle of Colin was,
that the king of Prussia was obliged to raise the siege
of Prague 5 soon after which, he was obliged to quit
Bohemia, and take refuge in Saxony. The Austrians
harassed him as much as possible-, but, notwithstand¬
ing their great superiority, their armies were not in a
condition to make any decisive attempt upon him, as
the frontiers of Saxony abounded with situations easily
defended. In the mean time the liussians, who had
hitherto been very dilatory in their motions, began to
exert themselves, and entered Ducal Prussia, under M.
A P rax in and Fermor, where they committed innu¬
merable cruelties and excesses. A large body of
Austrians entered Silesia, and penetrated as tar as
Breslau. Then they made a turn backwards, and be¬
sieged Schweidnitz. Another body entered Lusatia,
ami made themselves masters of Zittau. An army ot
22,00c Swedes entered Prussian Pomerania, took the
towns of Anclam and Demmcin, and laid the whole
country under contribution. Ihe trench, too, being
freed from all restraint by the capitulation of the duke
* See Bri-°f Dtimberland at Closter Seven made tneir way in-
TA1N N° to Halberstadt and the Old March of Brandenburg,
. . 1   .a (-1,^.
27
Siege of
Prague
raised.
441.
28
Benin laid
under con-
'trikution.
first exacting contributions, and then plundering the
towns. The army of the empire, being reinforced by
that of the prince de Soubise, after many delays, was
on full march to enter Saxony, which left the Au¬
strians at liberty to exert the greatest part of their
fpree in the reduction of Silesia. General Haddick
penetrated through Lusatia, passed by the Prussian ar¬
mies, and suddenly appeared before the gates of Ber¬
lin, which city he laid under contribution. He re¬
tired on the approach of a body of Prussians j yet he
j^ilj found means to keep such a post as interrupted the
king’s communication with Silesia. The destruction press;ai
of the king of Prussia therefore now seemed inevitable.' y—
Fvery exertion which he had made, though brave and
well-conducted, had been unsuccessful. His general
Lehwald, who opposed the liussians, had orders to
attack them at all events. He obeyed his orders;
and with 30,000 men attacked 60,000 of the enemy 29
strongly entrenched at a place called JSIorkitten. The Lelnvald:
Prussians behaved with the greatest valour j but after1'1'™
having killed live times more of the enemy than theyf
themselves lost, they were obliged to retire, thoughtije Rus
more formidable after their defeat than the Russianssians.
after their victory. The king, in the mean time, ex¬
erted himself on every side, and his enemies fled every¬
where before him ; but whilst he pursued one body,
another gained upon him in some other part, and the
winter came on fast, while his strength decayed, and
that of his adversaries seemed to increase on every
quarter.
The Prussian monarch, however, though distressed,
did not abandon himself to despair, or lose that won¬
derful presence of mind which has so eminently distin¬
guished him in all his military enterprises. He indu- 50
striously delayed a decisive action till the approach of The kin;
winter; but at last, after various movements, on No-gains a
vember 5. 1737, he met at Rosbach with the unitedS^tjic
army of his enemies commanded by the prince of Saxe Rosbac
Hilburghausen and the prince de Soubise. Ihe allied
army amounted to 50,000 men complete j but most of
the troops of the Circles were new raised, and many
of them not well affected to the cause. The Prus¬
sians did not exceed 25,000 men ; but they were su¬
perior to any troops in the world, and were inspired,
by the presence of their king, with the most enthusi¬
astic valour. The Austrians were defeated with the
loss of 3000 killed, eight generals, 250 officers of dif¬
ferent ranks, and 6000 private soldiers, taken prisoners,
while night alone prevented the total destruction of the
army.
By this battle the king was set free on one side;
hut this only gave him an opportunity of lenevving
his labours on another. The Austrians had a great
force, and now began to make a proportionable pro¬
gress in Silesia. After a siege of 16 days, they had le- 31
duced the strong fortress of Schweidnitz, and obligedScliweic
the Prussian garrison of 4000 men to surrender pri-™f* I
soners of war. Hearing then of the victory at Ros- Cl
bach, and that the king of Prussia was in full march
to relieve Silesia, they resolved to attack the prince
of Bevern In his strong camp under the walls of Bres- jij
lau. They attacked the prince’s army on November Bait ej
22d but their attack was sustained with the greatest
resolution. The slaughter of the Austrians was pro¬
digious. A great part of the enemy had retired from
the field of battle, and the rest were preparing to retire,
when all at once the Prussian generals took the same
resolution. Their army had suffered much in the en¬
gagement, and they became apprehensive ot a total de¬
feat in case their intrenchments should be forced in any
part} for which reason they quitted their strong postr
and retired behind the Oder. Two days alter, the
prince of Bevern, going to reconnoitre without escort,
attended only by a groom, was taken prisoner by an
advanced party, of Croats* a small body of whom had
crossed; the Oder,
p n u
nssia
t pen'
li ty.
C :
D ' de¬
le.- d by
tb mg
of issia
at
On tli is the town of Breslau imiftediately surrendered ;
where, as well as at Sclnyeidnit^, the Austrians found
j 33 great quantities of provisions, ammunition, and money.
'Ihu ^ All Silesia was on the point of falling into their hands,
j antl t!?e Prussian affairs were going into the utmost di’
\ straction, when the king himself by a most rapid march
passed through Thuringia, Misnia, and Lusatia, in
spite of the utmost efforts of the generals Haddick and
Marshal, who were placed there to oppose him *, and,
entering Silesia on the 2d of December, joined the
prince of Bevern’s corps, who repassed the Oder to
meet him. The garrison of Schweidnitz, who, as we
have already observed, had been made prisoners of war,
also joined the king’s army unexpectedly j and their
presence contributed not a little, notwithstanding the
smallness of their number, to raise the spirits of the
Clrison ofvv,,ole army* They had submitted to the capitulation
s Lid- with the greatest reluctance j but as the Austrians
rjreee- were conducting them to prison, they happened to re-
ceive intelligence of the victory at Rosbach : on which
they immediately rose on the escort that conducted
them, and entirely dispersed it j and afterwards march¬
ed in such a direction as they thought might most
readily lead them to their king, they accidentally fell
in with his army.
His Prussian majesty now approached Breslau j on
which the Austrians, confiding in their superiority,
(for they exceeded 70,000, while the Prussians scarce
s!a amounted to 36,000), abandoned their strong camp,
^then.the same which the prince of Bevern had formerly oc¬
cupied, and advanced to give him battle. The king
did not intend by any means to disappoint them, but
advanced on his part with the greatest celerity. The
two armies met on December 5th, near the village of
Leuthen. Count Daun made the best dispositions pos¬
sible. The ground occupied by his army was a plain,
with small eminences in some parts. These eminences
they surrounded with artillery j and as the ground was
also interspersed with thickets, they sought to turn
these likewise to their advantage. On their right and
left were hills, on which they planted batteries of can¬
non. The ground in their front was intersected by
many causeways j and to make the whole more imprac¬
ticable, the Austrians had felled a great number of
trees, and scattered them in the way. It was almost
impossible at the beginning of the engagement for the
Prussian cavalry to act, on account of these impedi¬
ments; but, by a judicious disposition made by the king
himself, all difficulties were overcome. His majesty had
placed four battalions behind the cavalry of his riyht
wing; foreseeing that General Nadasti, who was pla¬
ced on the enemy’s left with a corps de reserve, design¬
ed to attack him in flank. It happened as he had fore¬
seen : that general’s cavalry attacked the Prussian right
wing with great fury ; but he was received with such a
severe fire from the four battalions, that he was obli¬
ged to retire in disorder. The king’s flank then, well
covered and supported, was enabled to act with such
order and vigour as repulsed the enemy. The Austrian
artillery was also silenced by that of the Prussians ;
however, the Austrians continued to make a gallant re¬
sistance during the whole battle. After having been
once thrown into disorder, they rallied all their forces
about Leuthen, which Avas defended on every side by
entrenchments and redoubts. The Prussians attacked
t 477 3 P it u
Hien, „itl. Ifee utmost impetuosity, and at last became
masters of the post; on which the enemy fled on all ' - %
sides, and a total rout ensued. In this battle the Au¬
strians lost 6000 killed on the spot, 15,000 taken pri¬
soners, and upwards of 200 pieces of cannon.
The consequences of this victory were very great. rr_
Breslau was immediately invested, and surrendered on taken.
December 29th ; the garrison, amounting to 13,000
men, were made prisoners of war. The blockade of
bchweulnitz Avas formed as closely as the season of the
year Avould permit ; Avhile detached Prussian parties
o\erran the whole country of Silesia, and reduced e\Tery
place of less importance. The Russians, who had ra¬
vaged and destroyed the country in such a manner that
they could not subsist in it, thought proper to retire
out of the Prussian dominions altogether. Thus Ge-Swedes
neral Deliwald was left at liberty to act against the driven out
Swedes; and them he quickly drove out of Prussian i:°mera'
Pomerania, the whole of which country he not onlyKla'
recovered, hut also some part of Swedish Pomerania-,
Ihus the duchy ot Mecklenburg being left quite ex-
posed, the king took ample vengeance on it by exact-
in<r th- *   - M ■’
e most severe contributions of men and money.
io complete this monarch’s good fortune also, the
French, who had retired after the battle of Rosbach,
were now opposed by the Hanoverians under Prince
Ferdinand, who kept them so well employed, that, du¬
ring the rest of the war, the king of Prussia had no more
trouble from them. St?e Britain, N° 442. „s
The beginning of the year 1758 was favourable toScliweid-
the arms of his Prussian majesty. On the 3d of Aprilllitz retlt'-
he commenced his operations against Schweidnitz, and lcen‘
pushed the siege so vigorously, that the place surren¬
dered in 13 days. He then disposed his forces in
such a manner as might best guard his dominions
against his numerous enemies. For this purpose Count
Dolma commanded a body of troops on the side of Po¬
merania ; another considerable body was posted be¬
tween Wohlau and Glogau, in order to cover Silesia
from the Russians, in case they should make their in¬
road that way. An army, in a little time after, was
formed in Saxony, commanded by the king’s brother
Prince Henry. This army consisted of 30 battalions
and 45 squadrons, and was designed to make head
against the army of the empire; which, by great ef¬
forts made during the winter, and the junction of a
large body of Austrians, was again in a condition to
act. Between ail these armies a ready communication
was kept up by a-proper choice of posts. After the
reduction of Schweidnitz, the king having made a show
of invading Bohemia, suddenly burst into Moravia,,
where in a short time he made himself master of the
A’’ ole country, and on the 27th of May laid siege to
Olinutz the capital. Of this M. Daun was no sooner At
in firmed, than he took his route to Moravia through
Bohemia: and though he was not in a condition toyjmi^S
risk a battle, nor indeed would have done so unless he without
hud had a very considerable advantage ; yet, by placing success.,
himself in a strong situation where he could not he at¬
tacked by harassing the king’s troops and cutting off
their convoys, he at last obliged him to abandon the en¬
terprise, The king, however, who frequently owed a
good part of his success to the impenetrable secrecy
with which he covered all his designs, gave not the
least hint of his intention to raise the siege of OJmutzi.
Qn.
Prussia.
P R U t 478 1
On the contrary, the very (lay before the siege was their late
P R U
40
The Rus¬
sians be¬
siege Cu-
striu.
4i
But are de
featod at
Zorndorfl".
raised, the firing continued as brisk as ever } but in the
night (July 1.) the whole army took the road to Bohe¬
mia in two columns, and gained an entire march up¬
on the Austrians. Thus, notwithstanding the utrnost
efforts of his enemies, the Pussian army reached Bo¬
hemia with very little molestation. Here he seized
upon a large magazine at Lieutomissel; defeated some
corps of Austrians who had attempted to interrupt his
progress j and arrived at Konigsgratz, of which he took
possession, after driving from it 7000 Austrians who
were intrenched there. This city and several other
districts he laid under contribution : but soon alter en¬
tered Silesia, and marched with the utmost rapidity to
encounter the Russians, who had at that time united
their forces under generals Brown and Fermor, enteied
the New Marche of Brandenburg, and laid siege to
Custrin. . . . ,
The king arrived at this city at a very critical period.
The Russians had laid siege to it on the 15th of Au¬
gust ; and though they were not well skilled in mana¬
ging artillery, yet, by furious and unremitting dis¬
charges at random, they threw in such a number ot
bombs and red-hot balls, that the town was soon on
fire in every quarter. Some of the wretched inhabi¬
tants were burned j others buried in the ruins of their
houses, or killed by the balls which fell like hail m the
streets; while many of the survivors abandoned their
habitations, and fled out of the town on that side where
it was not invested. The governor did every thing tor
the defence of the place j but as the walls were built
after the old manner, it was impossible that the town
could have made a defence for any length ot time,
especially as the principal magazine of the besieged
had been blown up. The avenger of all these injuries,
however, was now at hand. The king came m sight
of the Russians on the 25th of August, after a march
of 56 days, and beheld the country everywhere deso¬
lated, and the villages in flames by the depredations
of his cruel enemy, who had raised the siege at his ap¬
proach, and retired towards a neighbouring village na¬
med Zorndorff. At nine o’clock in the morning, a most
terrible fire of cannon and mortars poured destruction on
the right wing of the Russian army for two hours with¬
out intermission. The slaughter was such as might
have been expected ; but the Russians kept their ground
with astonishing resolution, new regiments still pressing
forward to supply the places of those that fell. M hen
the first line had fired away all their charges, they rush¬
ed forward on the Prussians with their bayonets j and
all at once these brave troops, though encouraged by
the presence of their king, gave way and fled before an
enemy already half defeated. The Russian generals
ought now to have attacked with their cavalry the dis¬
ordered infantry of their enemies, which would have
completed the defeat, and in all probability given the
finishing stroke to the king of Prussia’s allairs. Ihis
opportunity, however, they lost : but the king was not
so negligent 5 for, by a very rapid and masterly mo¬
tion, he brought all the cavalry of his right wing to
the centre, and falling on the Russian foot uncovered
by their horse, and even disordered by their own suc¬
cess, they pushed them back with most miserable slaugh¬
ter, at the same time that the repulsed battalions of in¬
fantry, returning from the charge, and exasperated at
2
disgrace, rendered the victory no longer p;us.
doubtful. The Russians were now thrown into they-
most dreadful confusion. The wind blew the dust and
smoke into their faces, so that they could not distinguish
friends from foes j they fired on each other, plundered
their own baggage which stood between the lines, and
intoxicated themselves with brandy : the ranks fell in
upon one another ; and, being thus crammed together
into a narrow space, the fire of the Prussians had a full
and dreadful effect, while their enemies kept up only a
scattered and ineffectual fire, generally quite over their
heads. Yet even in this dismal situation the Russians
did not fly 5 but suffered themselves to be slaughtered
till seven at night, when their generals having caused
an attack to be made on the Prussian right wing, the
attention of the enemy was drawn to that quarter, and
they had time to retire a little from the field of battle
to recover their order.
In this engagement, which was called the battle of
Zorndorff, the Russians lost 21,529 men, while that of
the Prussians did not exceed.2000. A vast train of ar¬
tillery was taken, together with the military chest, and
many officers of high rank. The consequence was, that
the Russian army retreated as far as Landsperg on the
frontiers of Poland, and the king was leit at liberty to
march with his usual expedition to tue relief of I nnce
Henry in Saxony. 42
The prince was at this time sorely pressed by M.Opera
Daun. As soon as the king had left Bohemia in theoJCma
manner already related, M. Daun, considering that it
would have been to no purpose to follow him, icsolved
to turn hia arms towards Saxony. Towards that coun¬
try, therefore, he took his route through Lusatia, by
Zittau, Gorlitz, and Bautzen. On the 3d of Septem¬
ber he invested the strong fortress of Sonnestein j which
unaccountably surrendered, after a single day s resist¬
ance, to one of his generals named Macguire. He then
began to favour the operations of General Laudohn,
who had advanced through the Lower Lusatia to the
confines of Brandenburg } and, by drawing, the atten¬
tion of the Prussian forces which were left in Silesia to
the northward of that duchy, he facilitated the pro¬
gress of the generals Harsch and De "V ille in the south¬
ern parts. He then proposed that Prince Henry should
be attacked by the army of the empire, while that of
the Austrians should pass the Elbe, and falling at the
same time on the Prussians, second the attack of the
Imperialists, and cut oft the retreat of their enemies. 4*
from Dresden. The sudden appearance of the king of^J*
Prussia, however, put an end to his plan j General k**11" the kit i
dohn abandoned all his conquests in Lower Lusatia, and prussi
retired towards M. Daun, while that general himself
retired from the neighbourhood of Dresden as far as
Zittau. The army of the empire only kept its ground ;
possessing itself of the strong post at Pima, formerly
mentioned, but did not undertake any thing. As for
the Swedes, who had directed their motions by those
of the Russians, they no sooner heard of the victory of
Zorndorff, than they retreated with much more expedi¬
tion than they had advanced.
Thus the king of Prussia’s affairs seemed to be pretty
well retrieved, when by one fatal piece of negligence he
was brought to the verge of ruin. M. Daun had pos¬
sessed himself of an advantageous camp at Stolpben, by
which he preserved a communication with the, army
P K
i tiiia ■
^ [ 479 ]
,of.t!ie„e"1ipl„re'_„0.n^e 0tlrer ha.nd’ the king of Prussia, quitted
having taken possession of an important post at Baut¬
zen, extended his right wing to the village of Hoch-
kirchen, by which he preserved a communication with
bis brother Prince Henry, protected Brandenburg, and
was better situated than he could be anywhere else for
throwing succours into Silesia. The two armies kept a
watchful eye on the motions of each other ; and as the
principal aim of M. Daun was to cut off the king’s
communication with Silesia, and of the king t» cut off
M. Daun’s communication with Bohemia, a battle seem¬
ed inevitable, though great danger seemed to await that
44 party who should begin the attack.
V)issur- In this critical posture of affairs, the Austrian gene-
1 and ral formed a design of attacking the Prussian camp in
Jted at t|ie nJght. In wi,at manner he came to surprise such
a vigilant enemy has never been accounted for ; but
that such a surprise was actually accomplished on the
14th of October, is certain. In the dead of the pre¬
ceding night, the Austrian army began to march in
three columns towards the camp of the king of Prussia •
and though the night was exceedingly dark, and they
had a considerable way to go, they all arrived at the
same time, in safety, without being discovered, aud
without the least confusion; and at five in the morn¬
ing began a regular and well-conducted attack. The
Prussians were in a moment thrown into confusion ;
Marshal Keith, one of their best generals, received two
musket-balls, and fell dead on the spot. Prince Francis
of Brunswick had his head shot off by a cannon-ball as
he was mounting his horse j and every thing seemed to
announce the total destruction of the army. Still, how¬
ever, the king preserved his wonderful presence of mind,
which indeed he never appears to have lost on any oc¬
casion. He ordered some detachments from his left to
support his right wing; but the moment that these or¬
ders were received, the left itself was furiously attack¬
ed. General Ketzow, who commanded in that quar¬
ter, repulsed the Austrians with difficulty, and was not
able to afford any considerable assistance to the right;
which alone was obliged to sustain the weight of the
grand attack. I he Austrians, in the beginning of the
engagement, had driven the Prussians out of the vil¬
lage of Hochkirchen; and as the fate of the day de¬
pended on the possession of that post, the hottest dis¬
pute was there. The Prussians made three bloody and
unsuccessful attacks on the village ; on the fourth they
carried it; but the Austrians continually pouring in fresh
troops, at last drove them out with prodigious slaughter
on all sides. I lie king then ordered a retreat, which
was conducted in good order, without being pursued ;
however, this bloody action cost him 7000 men, toge¬
ther with a great number of cannon. The Austrians
computed their own loss at 5000.
His Prussian majesty, having thus happily escaped
*uch imminent danger, took every possible measure to
prevent the enemy from gaining any considerable ad¬
vantage from his defeat. Perceiving that the only ad¬
vantage they wished to derive from it was to cover the
operations of their armies in Silesia, and that he had
now nothing to fear on the side of Saxony, he largely
reinforced his own army from that of Prince Henry,
<<nd hastened into Silesia, in order to raise the siege of
Neiss, which had been completely invested on the 4th
of October. On the 24th of that month, therefore, he
his
P R U
Prussia.
camp, and making a great compass to
avoid obstructions from the enemy, arrived in the plains
of Gorhtz. A body of the Austrians had in vain at¬
tempted to secure this post before him, and some who
arrived after him were defeated with the loss of 800
men. F rom this place the king pursued his march with
the utmost diligence ; but was followed by General
JUiudohn, at the head of 24,000 men, who constantly
hung on his rear, and harassed his army. The king
however, knowing the importance of his expedition’
continued his march without interruption, and suffered
his antagonist to obtain many little advantages without
molestation. Daun, however, not content with the op¬
position given by Laudohn, sent a large body of horse
and foot by another route to reinforce the generals
Karsch and De Gille, who had formed the siege of
iSeiss and the blockade of Cosel, while he himself pas¬
sed the Elbe, and advanced towards Dresden.
All these precautions, however, were of little avail.
Thegenerals Karsch and De Ville,notwithstandingtheir
reinforcement, no sooner heard of the king of Prussia’s
approach, than they raised the siege of both places, and
retired, leaving behind them a considerable quantity of
military stores. The end of the Prussian monarch’s
maich being thus accomplished, he instantly returned
by the same way he came, and hastened to the relief of
Saxony, the capital of which (Dresden) was in great
danger from Marshal Daun. The place was but indiffe¬
rently fortified, and garrisoned only by 12,000 men;
so that it could not promise to hold out long against a
numerous and well-appointed army. It was besides
commanded by a large suburb, of which, if once the
enemy got possession, all defence of the city must then
be vain. I'or this reason M. Schmettau, the Prussian „
governor, determined to set these suburbs on fire, which Dresden
was actually done November 10th, with an incredible burnt.*11
loss to the inhabitants, as in the suburbs were carried on
most of those valuable manufactures which render the
city of Dresden remarkable. This disappointed the de¬
signs of M. Daun ; but, though the action was agree¬
able to the laws of war, and had been executed with all
the caution and humanity of which such an action was
capable, yet the Austrians exclaimed against it as a piece
of the most unprovoked and wanton cruelty recorded in
history. _ . 4<s
After the king of Prussia had approached Dresden,Saxony op-
all tlie Austrian armies retired into Bohemia, where Press^ by
they took up their winter-quarters, as the king of of
1 russia did in Saxony. This unhappy country he said
he would now consider as his own by right of conquest.
But instead of treating the conquered people as his
lawful subjects, he oppressed them in all possible ways,
by levying the most severe and exorbitant contributions,
surrounding the exchange with soldiers, and confining
the merchants in narrow lodgings on straw-beds, till
they drew upon their correspondents for such sums as
he wanted.
In 1759, as early as the 23d of February, the Prus¬
sians commenced their military operations. General.
Wobersow marched with a body of troops into Poland,
where he destroyed several very large magazines be¬
longing to the -Russians, and. returned into Silesia
without any loss on the 18th of April. In the mean
time, by some movements of the king of Prussia him¬
self, the greatest part of the Austrian troops had been
drawn
45
Suburbs of
P It u
t 480 ]
P It u
defeated by
General
Hulsen.
. . r5vawi) towards the frontiers ot Silesia. Prince Henry
i rlv. —1 immediately took advantage of this opening, and on
47 the 15th of April entered Bohemia with his army di-
llobemii titled into two columns. One, commanded by him-
invaded by self marc!ic(l towards Peterswade j the other, under
Henry. Oeneral Hulsen, passed by the towns of Pasberg and
Commottan. That commanded by Prince Henry him¬
self penetrated as far as Loboschutz and Leitmentz 5
the enemy flying everywhere before them, and burn-
in ^ or abandoning the'vast magazines which they had
amassed in these parts. The body under General Hu -
.3 sen had a more active employment. A strong pass at
A body of Pasberg was defended by a considerable body ot Aus-
Austrians trians. General Hulsen, having conducted his cavaliy
by another way in such a manner as to fall directly on
their rear, attacked them in front with his infantry,
drove them out of their intrenchments, and totally de¬
feated them with the loss of a great number killed, and
20CO taken prisoners, while that of the I russians du
not exceed 70 in killed and wounded. Alter this ex¬
ploit they returned into Saxony, with hostages for the
contributions which they had largely exacted during
the course of their expedition.
Some other successes obtained by Prince Henry clear¬
ed the country of Franconia of his enemies j but now
the approach of the Russians seemed once more to bring
the affairs of the king of Prussia to a crisis. Notwith¬
standing the destruction of their magazines, they had
continued to advance into Silesia, where they were op¬
posed by Count Dohna ; but as the troops he had with
him were veiy far inferior to his enemies, he found it
impossible to do more, at least with any appearance ot
success, than to observe their motions and harass them
on their march. But this was so displeasing to the
king, that he disgraced his general, and appointed We-
del to succeed him, with orders to attack the Russians
at all events. To enable him, however, in some mea¬
sure to comply with this desperate order, he sent him
some reinforcements, which brought his army up to
near 30,000. With these, on the 23d of July I759>
General Wedel attacked 70,000 Russians posted in the
most advantageous manner at Zulichau, and defended
„ - rs by a numerous artillery. '1 bough the Prussians march-
,Wealed ated on to certain destruction and disgrace, they sustain-
Zutichau. ed the attack for a long time with unparalleled resolu¬
tion. At last, however, they gave way, and were obli¬
ged to retire with the loss of 4700 killed or taken pri¬
soners, and 3000 wounded.
The consequences of this victory were, that the Rus¬
sians penetrated into the king’s territories, and took
49
Prussians
5°
The Ilus
sians take
siaus latte nimio     1 o •
Crossen and possession of the towns of Crossen and l rank tort on tne
t.** 1.r l. ■v*. ■ « • 1 1 •. 1 1  — ..-r 4-Vv«* f liL' 1 n rt*
Frankfort
on the
Oder.
Oder, which made it absolutely necessary for the king
to come in person to oppose them. Accordingly, on
the 4th of August, he joined Wedel with a considerable
body of forces, having left the greatest part of his army
in Saxony under Prince Henry. But as Marshal Daun
had sent a body of 12,000 horse and 8000 foot under
General Laudohn to the assistance of the Russians, the
king still found himself unable to fight them *, as, with
this and some other reinforcements, their army now
amounted to upwards of 90,000. He therefore re¬
called General Finck, whom he had sent into Saxony
with 9000 men 5 but with all his reinforcements, it
was found impossible to augment his army to 50,000
-complete. His situation, however, was now so critical
5
that a battle was unavoidable •, and therefore, on the
12th of August, with this inferiority ot number, the
king attacked his enemies strongly intrenched, and de¬
fended by a prodigious number of cannon. In this ac¬
tion, his principal effort was against the left wing of the
Russian army. He began the attack, according to cu¬
stom, with a heavy cannonade ; which having produced
the desired effect, he attacked that wing with several
battalions disposed in columns. The Russian intrench¬
ments were forced with great slaughter, and 72 pieces
of cannon were taken. But still there was a defile to
he passed, and several redoubts which covered the vil¬
lage of Cunnersdorf to be mastered. These were attack¬
ed with the same resolution, and taken one after another.
The enemy made another stand at the village, and en¬
deavoured to preserve their ground there by pushing
forward several battalions of horse and foot: but this
also proved unsuccessful j they were driven from post
to post quite to the last redoubts. For upwards of six
hours the Prussians were successful, and everywhere
broke the enemy with prodigious slaughter *, drove
them from almost all the ground they had occupied be¬
fore the battle, took more than half their artillery, and
scarce any tiling seemed wanting to make the victory
complete. In these circumstances, the king wrote the
following billet to the queen : “ Madam, we have
beat the Russians from their intrenchments. In two
hours expect to hear of a glorious victory.” Of this
victory, however, he deprived himself, by an excessive
eagerness for conquest. Hie enemy, defeated almost
in every quarter, found their left wing, shattered as it
was, to be more entire than any other part of their
army. Count Soltikoff, the Russian general, therefore,
assembled the remains of his right wing, and, gathering
as many as he could from his centre, reinforced the left,
and made a stand at a redoubt which had been erected
on an advantageous eminence in a placed called t/te Jews
burying-grmind. All the king’s generals are said to
have been of opinion that he ought to allow the Rus¬
sians the peaceable possession of this post. 1 hen army
had already suffered so much, that it would have been
impossible for them to have attempted any enterprise
of consequence after the battle 5 but their artillery was
still numerous, the post very strong, and the Prussian
troops greatly fatigued. Uiese reasons lor a few mo¬
ments had some weight with the king •, but the natu¬
ral impetuosity of his temper getting the better 0
his reason, he led on his wearied troops again and
again •, till at last, when their strength was in a man¬
ner totally exhausted, they were attacked and utterly
routed by the Austrian and Russian cavalry, the former
of which had hitherto remained quite inactive, and
were therefore quite fresh, and irresistible by the en¬
feebled Prussians. The night, and the prudent use
of some eminences, prevented the total destruction 0
the army; however, their loss amounted to 20,000
men killed and wounded. The king, when he foun
the victory totally lost, sent another billet to the queen,
expressed in the following manner : “ Remove from
Berlin with the royal family ; let the archives be car¬
ried to Potsdam ; the toivn may make conditions with
the enemy.” . 1f
Immediately after this defeat, the king set hunseli
about repairing his losses with the utmost diligence. n
a few days every thing was again put in order in ns
J J 0 0 camp.
Pm:,
K- 5
King
Prussi;
featecii
the fif.|
sians;
Cunnfi |
doif.
tr T 48 r
pn!ss[a camp. Ke replaced his artillery from Berlin : recalled
-n- General Khest with 5000 men from Pomerania: de-
tached 6000 from Ins own army to the defence of Saxo¬
ny ; and with the remainder put himself between the
Russsians and Great Glogau, covering that city which
had been the chief object of their designs ; and in short
notwithstanding their victory, obliged them to return
to Poland without accomplishing any thing besides the
carnage at Cunnersdorff.
The misfortunes of the Prussian monarch, however
were not at an end. Prince Henry, indeed, by a most
extraordinary and well-conducted march, entered Sax¬
ony, which was now totally overrun by the armies of
the enemy. At the same time, strong detachments ha¬
ving been sent into that country under generals Finck
and Wunsch, the whole was in a short fime recovered
except Dresden. Towards this place Marshal Daun
retired, and in all probability would soon have been
obliged to leave Saxony entirely. But the kind’s im¬
patience could not be satisfied without cutting off his
retreat, and forcing him to a battle; for which" purpose
he sent General Finck with upwards of 12,000 men
according to the Prussian account, but 20,000 accord-
ing to the Austrians, to seize some passes through which
5* aun c?ul.d only take his route towards Bohemia.
Ti. , ^commission was executed with great exactness:
poo 1. 1 russ,’an ^neral, having probably advanced too
ssians ar int0 jliese de^les5 and neglected to preserve a com-
! endcrs munication with the main army, gave bis enemy an op-
iaeAu- portunity of surrounding him, and at last forcing him
4 ,KS' and his whole army to surrender prisoners of war." This
disaster was soon after followed by another. General
Durceke was posted at the right o'f the Elbe, opposite
to Messen 5 but on the approach of a large body of Au¬
strians, they prepared to retreat over the river into a
place where they hoped to be more secure. But having
been obliged by an hard frost to withdraw their bridge
of boats, a thaw supervened, when they attempted to
lay a bridge of pontoons, so that they were again obli¬
ged to have recourse to their boats. In this situation,
their rear-guard was attacked with great fury by the
Austrians, and all the soldiers who composed it killed
or taken. The loss of the Prussians on this occasion
Prussia.
] PRO
possess, and though he undoubtedly exerted them to the
utmost, it seemed only to be contending against fate,
and his enemies gained still greater and greater advan¬
tages. General Laudohn, with whom none but the p ^
rie^ofTt fur’1" ^ '’I''6 t0 C°1,e’ b>' a
r es ot artful movements, drew into a disadvantageous Landshut
situation M. bouquet, one of the Prussian generals
with a strong body of forces. Perceiving it impossible
lor them to escape, Laudohn then made a violent at¬
tack on their entrenchments in the dead of the ni»ht
of June 23d. The Prussians made a gallant defence,
jut at last were all killed or taken prisoners except
about 300. Of the Prussians were killed 4000, and
7000 taken prisoners ; 58 pieces of cannon, and a great
number of colours, were also lost. The victory, how¬
ever, was dear bought 5 for the Austrians lost’ above
12,000 men in killed and wounded ; whom, however,
they could better spare than the Prussians, on account
ot their numbers.—This action was called the battle of
Lands hut. J
Baron Laudohn failed not to improve this victoryGlatzta-
to the utmost. He instantly turned back from Land-ken by the
shut, and fell upon the city of Glatz; which he tookAustrians-
in a very short time, with 'the garrison who defended
it, consisting of 2000 men. In this place were found
10r pieces of brass cannon, with immense quantities
ot provisions and military stores. From thence.he
marched against Breslau, and immediately invested it.
But, in the mean time, the king of Prussia, whose mo-
lions had been all this time counteracted by M. Daun
S.axony, marched with his usual rapidity towards
Silesia. By this means he drew M. Daun out of Sax¬
ony; and indeed the Austrian general used such ex¬
pedition, that he gained two full days on the king.*
I his was no sooner known to his Prussian
tlis
fn
was no sooner Known to ms Prussian majesty
than he returned with the same expedition that lie
had advanced, and sat down before Dresden. QfDresdenbei
this M. Daun soon received intelligence, and returned si-fTed' but
also. _ In the mean time, however, the buildings ofsa’ccesf bv
the city were terribly shattered by the king’s cannon the king of
and bombs which continually played on it. His cn. Prussia,
deavours, however, proved ineffectual to reduce it
before the arrival of M. Daun. The siege had
was computed at 3000 men # been begun on the 13th of July, and on "Uie^mh M
The year 1760 showed the Prussian monarch in a more Daun appeared within a league of Dresden9 IV
5 S1*U.atlon than ,lei had ever yet experienced. Prussians then redoubled their efforts. They had that
Karate tt-T 113 affa»'S now seemed to be altogether desperate, day received reinforcements of heavy cannon and mor-
*4“ of\. . Were.not t0 measured by the number of tars, with which they battered the place incessantly
bg°f the kihed or prisoners but by armies destroyed or ta- The cathedral church, New Square, several principal
vice s.W 0r|bet‘n klied m h'S Sei" St~reetS and S°me Palaces» and noble manufactory
ice since the beginning of October T75^> exclusive of
those who were wounded or taken prisoners. This of
itself would have been an irreparable loss, had not the
very wars which destroyed these furnished others equal¬
ly capable of filling their places. But another deficien¬
cy, which could not be remedied, still remained.—The
king had, by liis indefatigable industry and exertions,
Supplied all the deficiencies of men in his armies, but
they were not the same men as before. The hardy ve¬
terans, with whom he had originally taken the field,
were now no more, and their places were supplied by
Others who had neither the same experience nor disci¬
pline ; so that now he was obliged to supply this defi¬
ciency by his own genius and heroism.
But whatever abilities the Prussian monarch might
Vol. XVII. Part II. f
of porcelain, ■were entirely destroyed. rlhe siege was
continued till the 22d ; but, on the night of the 21st,
M. Daun had thrown 16 battalions into the city ;
which rendered it impossible for the king to continue
longer before it with any prospect of success. He
therefore raised the siege, and retired without molesta¬
tion, though there were three considerable armies of
the enemy in the neighbourhood. Breslau was fiercely
bombarded by Laudobn, but the approach of Prince
Henry obliged him to desist from his enterprise on the
5th of August.
But, in the mean time, the fortune of the king seem¬
ed likely to be terminated by one fatal stroke. ° Find¬
ing it impossible for him to carry on a defensive war,
he marched towards Silesia with such astonishing ra-
3 P pidity,
P R U
[ 482 ]
P R U
IVu<sia.
57
Three Au¬
strian go
against
hi
pidlty, that before the michlle of August he had ad¬
vanced 200 miles, leaving Marshal Daun with his army
far behind him. This expedition he undertook in
order to enffage General 'Laudohn before he could
nerals join have time to efi’ect a junction with Daun anti .Lacy,
their forces another Austrian general} which triple union seemed
 to threaten him with unavoidable destruction at once.
This, however, he found it impossible to prevent : and
the three armies, when joined, formed a most tre¬
mendous line of encampments, extending no less than
30 English miles *, at the same time that every one of
their posts was strong, and the communication be¬
tween them easy. The king was strongly encamped
at Lignitz ; and for several days employed all his mi¬
litary skill in attempting to induce one of the bodies
to detach itself from the rest, or to attack them at
some disadvantage ; but without eflect. At last, the
Austrian generals, having maturely weighed all circum¬
stances, resolved to attack the king’s camp itself,
strong as it was ; and Marshal Daun, remembering the
advantage he had gained at Hochkirchen by an at¬
tack in the night-time, resolved to follow the same
plan now. The plan therefore was laid in the follow¬
ing manner. The whole army, as soon as it should
begin to grow dark, was to march from their several
posts to such situations as were marked out lor each
corps : they were to strike their tents, but yet to keep
up the fires in their camps, and to have the drums
beat the tattoo as usual, by which means they had
a probability of surprising the enemy or it not, they
judged it absolutely impossible for him to escape them,
though he should be ever so much on his guard.^ In
what manner the king ot Prussia became acquainted
with this plan, is not known. His friends attributed
it to his own penetration and knowledge of the stra¬
tagems of war •, the Austrians, to intelligence given
him by deserters. But, in whatever way he became ac¬
quainted with this design, it is certain that he took
the most effectual methods of preventing it. As the
Austrian plan was to surround his camp, and this
could not he done without the division ol their army
which he had so long desired, he resolved to intercept
one of the parties $ and if that should be disabled from
acting, he could then more easily deal with the other
two. Therefore, in the very evening calculated for
the decisive attack on his camp, he quitted it with
the utmost privacy, and took an advantageous post
on the road through which General Laudohn was to
pass. The nature of this post was such, that at the
same time that it stopped the progress of Laudohn in
front, Daun would lie under great difficulties if he
should attempt his rear 5 at the same time that, for his
further security, the king strengthened the rear with
several batteries. As soon as his army was drawn up,
he divided it •, leaving his right on the ground where
it had been formed, to observe Marshal Daun, and to
maintain that post ; whilst with his left he turned in or¬
der to fall on the corps under General Laudohn. In
the mean time, that commander, ignorant ol the fate
which was awaiting him, advanced with the utmost ex¬
pedition towards the place which had been assigned him,
in order to share in the glory of destroying the Prus¬
sian monarch j when, at three in the morning, on the
15th of August, a thick fog which covered the ground,
suddenly clearing up, discovered, like the opening ol
a great scene, the dreadful front of the Prussian army Prussia;
regularly embattled, and advantageously posted. Lau-v—
dohn, though surprised, made the best dispositions that^^^
circumstances would admit of, and an obstinate engage-
ment ensued ; in which, however, he was at last obliged
to yield to the superior skill of his adversary, with the and intim
loss of 10,000 killed, wounded, and prisoners, 82 pieces dates th*;
of cannon, and 23 pair of colours. _ ussians
The victory, though complete, gave but a partial re¬
lief to the king of Prussia. The most essential service
it did was the preventing of the Russians from joining
those enemies which he already had. Count Czerni-
chew had been advancing with 24,000 men, and had
even passed the Oder 5 hut was so intimidated by this
news, that he instantly repassed that river on the same
bridges which he had lately built, even though M. Daun
sent him a strong body of troops in order to encourage
him to advance. Soon after this battle, the king join¬
ed his brother Prince Henry at New Marche, and
marched against Daun, who had begun to form the
blockade of Schweidnitz j fell upon a corps under Gene¬
ral Beck, made two battalions of Croats prisoners, and
dispersed the rest, which obliged the enemy to abandon
the enterprise they had just undertaken. About the
same time, General Hulsen gained a considerable advan¬
tage over the Imperial army in Saxony, with very trilling
loss on his part, by which he ellectually prevented them
fnom cutting off his communication with the city of Tor-
gau.
By these successes the affairs of his Prussian majesty
seemed to revive : but there was no end of his enemies.
The late manoeuvres had drawn him so far into Silesia,
that his communication with Brandenburg was almost ,
wholly cut off. The Russian army, which after it had
repassed the Oder began to move out ol Silesia, sent
forward a powerful detachment under Count Czern-
chew towards the marche ot Brandenbuig. A body
of 15,000 Austrians, under the generals Lacy and
Brentano, and the whole united body of Austrians and
Imperialists which acted in Saxony, began their march
in concert with the Russians, and proposed to unite at
the gates of Berlin. These armies amounted to
40,000 men. To oppose this formidable power, Ge¬
neral Hulsen called to his assistance General Y\ erner,
who had been sent with a body of troops into Pome¬
rania } but, after being joined by him, their united lor-
ceswere found not to exceed 15,000 or 16,000 men.
To attempt a defence of the capital with this force would
have been little short of madness : and therefore these 59
commanders were obliged to leave Berlin to its fate ; Berlm
which indeed, considering the barbarity of the Russians^7
and the animosity of the Austrians, seemed to be aandRll
dreadful one. However, by the powerful mediation gian,.
of several foreign ministers, the town obtained terms
which were not altogether intolerable •, but the maga¬
zines, arsenals, and founderies were destroyed, and an
immense quantity of military stores seized, with a num¬
ber of cannon and other arms. The city was first obli¬
ged to pay 800,000 guilders, after which a contribution
of 1,900,000 crowns was laid on: yet, notwithstanding
this, many violences were committed, and the king s
palace was plundered and the furniture abused in a scan¬
dalous army. ' t ,
The combined armies staid in Berlin only tour days,,
dreading the severe vengeance of the king of 1
Prussia.
60
xtrcme
>nbarrass-
ient of
: e king.
P R u [ 483 1
“ t!,at r'-e with „» ,„Jthe atlack i
I lefeats
di.
at
au.
6l
great expecht.on. But so great were the embarrass-
men s which now attended tliat monarch, that it seem¬
ed almost beyond human power to retrieve his affairs.
I he Imperialists, on their return from Berlin havintr
no army to oppose them, made themselves masters of
Leipsic, Torgau, Meissen, and Wirtemberg j ;in which
last city they found the grand magazine of the Prussians
immensely stored with provisions, ammunition, &c.
, ^tain7 6 also> Wlt,‘ a detachment from Broelio
the Irench general’s army, laid the city and duchy of
Halberstadt under contribution. In Eastern Pomera¬
nia, the Russians had besieged Colberg by sea and land.
In the Western Pomerania, the Swedes advanced with
great celerity, hoping to share in the plunder of Berlin
In Silesia, the king no sooner began his march to the
northward, than Laudohn advanced, and laid siege to
the important fortress of Cosel ; and, to complete this
distress and embarrassment, the king himself was at¬
tended at every step by Count Daun with a superior
army well prepared to take every advantage.
In this desperate situation the king, being joined by
his generals Hulsen and Prince Eugene of Wirtemberg
with the corps under their command, advanced up the
Elbe, while M. Daun fell back to cover Leipsic and
lorgau, but the latter finding that the Prussians direc-
ted their march towards the Elbe, encamped within
reach of lorgau ; one part of his army extending to the
Elbe, by which he was covered on that side, whilst on
the other he was covered by hills and woods, so that it
was impossible to choose a more advantageous situation.
Ihe Prussian army did not amount to 50,000 men,
waxlst that of the Austrians exceeded 86,000: yet
such were the unfortunate circumstances of the king
that he was obliged to fight under all these disadvanta¬
ges ; and therefore he caused his army to be informed,
that he was now to lead them to a most desperate at¬
tempt, that his affairs required it, and that he was de¬
termined to conquer or die. His soldiers unanimously
declared that they would die with him.
The 3d of November 1760 was the day on which
tins important affair was decided. The king divided
his forces into three columns. General Hulsen was to
take post witli one in a wood that lay on the left of
the Austrian army, and had orders not to move until he
found the rest of the Prussians engaged. General Ziie-
then was to charge on the right ; and the great attack
in front was to lie conducted by the king in person.
His forces were disposed in such a manner, that either
Ids right or left must take the enemy in rear and close
them in, so as to disable them from undertaking any
thing against the part where he intended to effect his
principal attack. O.i the other hand, M. Daun per¬
ceiving the king to be serious in his design of fighting,
to prevent confusion, sent all his baggage over the Elbe,
across which he threw three bridges in case a retreat
should he necessary. At the same time he caused Tor¬
gau to be evacuated; and then, extending his first line
to a village called Zinne on the left, he stretched it to
another called Croswit'Z on the right; supporting the
right of his second line upon the Elbe. In this disposi¬
tion he was found, when, about two o’clock in the after¬
noon, the king began bis attack. He was received by
the fire of 200 pieces of cannon, which, were disposed
along the Austrian front. The Prussians were thrice led
Prussia
P R U
broken with
commanded a fresh body of cavalry ,o advance, vulch '
t. ^.rst C0*nPehed the Austrians to retire ; but new
reinforcements continually coming in, this cavalry waT
m its turn obliged to fall back, and the Prussians main-
tamed themselves with extreme difficulty, until Gene-
in ffiereaT’Wlthlth^ 7^ Wi"g’ attack^d the enemy
in the rear, repulsed them, and possessed himself of
ome eminences which commanded the whole Austrian
army. Encouraged by this success, the Prussian in¬
fantry once more advanced, mastered several of the
enemy s in trench ments, and made way for a new attack
of their cavalry, which broke in with irresistible fury
on the Austrians, and threw several bodies of them
into irreparable disorder. It was now about 9 o’clock
and of consequence both armies were involved in thick
tarkness ; yet the fire continued without intermission
and the battalions with a blind rage discharged at
one another without distinguishing friend from foe.
• Daun received a dangerous wound in the thigh
and was carrmd fr°m the field, which probably hasten!
ed the defeat of h.s troops. The command then de-
volyed on Gonnt Q’Donnel ; who, finding the greatest
part of his troops in disorder, the night advanced, and
the enemy possessed of some eminences which com¬
manded his camp, and from which it was in vain to
think of driving them, ordered a retreat, which was
conducted with wonderful order and exactness; none
were lost in passing the bridges, and by far the greater
part of their artillery was preserved. The loss of the
Prussians was estimated at lo,000 killed and wounded
and 3000 taken prisoners. That of the Austrians in
killed and wounded is not known ; but 8000 were
taken prisoners, with 216 officers, among whom were
four generals.
The consequence of the victory of Torgau was, that All Sor¬
tie king recovered all Saxony except Dresden ; and in ony except
the mean time General Werner having marched into Dresden
Pomerania, the Russians raised the siege of Colberg iecovcred-
and retired into Poland, without having effected any
thing further than wasting' the open country. Werner
then flew to the assistance of Western Pomerania, where
he defeated a body of Swedes, and at last drove them
totally out of the country. General Laudohn too ab¬
ruptly raised the blockade of Cosel ; and afterwards
abandoning Landshut, he retired into the Austrian Si!
lesia, leaving the Prussian part entirely in quiet. M.
L)aun placed one part of his army in Dresden, and the
other in some strong posts which lie to the south and
west of it, by which he commanded the Elbe, and pre¬
served his communication with Bohemia. The army of
the empire retired into Franconia, and placed its head-
quaiters at Barnberg.
I hough these successes had, to appearance, retrieved
the king’s affairs in some measure, yet his strength
seemed now to he wholly exhausted ; and in the cam¬
paign of 1761, he made no such vigorous efforts as he
had formerly done. The Russians, dividing themselves
into two bodies, invaded Silesia and Pomerania. In
the former country they laid siege to Breslau, and in the
latter to Colberg. Tottleben also, who had command-
t d the Russian armies, was now removed on a suspicion
that he had corresponded with the king of Prussia, and
General Romanzow put in his place ; by which it was
3 P 2 expected
P It u
[ 484 ]
P R U
Prussia.
63
Scliwcid-
iiitz and
Colberg re
taken.
expected that the Russian operations would be more brisk
this year than formerly.
The king continued strongly encamped near Schwem-
nitz ", where he was so closely watched by generals Daun
and Laudohn, that he could attempt nothing. How¬
ever, he defeated the designs of the Russians against Lre-
slau, by sending General Platen to destroy their maga¬
zines 5 which he accomplished with great success, at the
same time cutting off a body of 4000 of their troops.
But this only brought the more sure destruction upon
Colberg to wbich place that body of Russians imme¬
diately^ marched, cruelly wasting the country as they
went along. The king of Prussia could do nothing but
send detachments of small parties, which, though they
could not oppose their enemies in the field, yet he ho¬
ped, by cutting ofi' the convoys of the enemy, might
distress them to such a degree as to oblige them to
abandon the siege, or at least protract it till the severity
of the winter should render it impossible for them to
carry on their operations. Thus he weakened his own
army so much, that it was found requisite to draw
4000 men out of Schweidnitz in order to reinforce it ;
and no sooner was this done, than General Laudohn
suddenly attacked and took that fortress by a coup de
main. Colberg made a brave defence; but the troops
sent to its relief being totally unable to cope with the
Russian army, consisting of 50,000 men, it was obliged
to surrender on the 3d of December ; and thus the
fate of the Prussian monarch seemed to be decided, and
almost every part of his dominions lay open to the iu-
vaders.
Empress of In the midst of these gloomy appearances the em-
Hussiadies.press 0f Russia, the king’s most inveterate and index¬
ible enemy, died on the 2d of January 1762. Her suc¬
cessor, Peter HI. instead of being the king’s enemy,
was bis most sanguine friend. As early as the 23d of
February, in a memorial delivered to the ministers of
the allied couits, he declared, that, “in order to the
establishment of peace, he was ready to sacrifice ad the
conquests made in this war by the arms of Russia, in
hopes that the allied coui ts will on their parts equally
prefer the restoration of peace and tranquillity, to the
advantages which they might expect from the continu¬
ance of the war, but which they cannot obtain but by
a continuance of the effusion of human blood.”—This
address was not so well relished by the allies : however,
they were very willing to make peace, provided it was
for their own interest; hut they recommended to his
attention fidelity to treaties, which constitutes a no less
valuable part of the royal character, than humanity and
leucc uc- disinterestedness. This answer made no impression on
tween Itus-^}ie czar ; a suspension of hostilities took place on the
sui, Swe- 0f |VIarch, which was followed by a treaty of alli¬
ance on the 5th May. In this treaty the czar stipu¬
lated nothing in favour of his former confederates; on
the contrary, he agreed to join his troops to those of
the king of Prussia, in order to act against them. Swe¬
den, which had for a long time acted under the direc¬
tion of Russian counsels, now followed the example of
her mistress, and concluded a peace with Prussia on the
22d of May. #
66 It is not to be supposed that the king of Prussia
Sf ih*?8 would remain long inactive after such an unexpected
ol‘ Rnissiaf turn in his favour. His arms were now everywhere
attended with success. Prince Henry drove the Impe-
65
Peace be-
den, and
.i russia.
rialists from some important posts in Saxony, by which Pmssk,
he secured all that part which the Prussians possessed ;' /■—
and though the Austrians frequently attempted to re¬
cover these posts, thcjy were constantly repulsed with
great slaughter. The king was not joined by his new
allies till the latter end of June ; after which he drove
M. Daun before him to the extremity of Silesia, leaving
the town of Schweidnitz entirely uncovered, and which
the king immediately prepared to invest. In the mean
time, different detachments ot Prussians, some on the
side of Saxony, and others on that of Silesia, penetrated
deep into Bohemia, laid many parts ot the country un¬
der contribution, and spread an universal alarm. A con¬
siderable body of Russian irregulars also made an iiiup-
tion into Bohemia, where they practised on the Austri¬
ans the same cruelties which they had long been accus¬
tomed to practise on the Prussians. 67
But while the king was thus making the best use of A. new ru
his time, he was all at once threatened with a fatal re- J^0'1 5
verse of fortune by a new revolution in Russia. 'Hie
emperor was deposed, and his deposition was soon alter
followed by his death. The empress, who succeeded
him, suspected that her husband had been misled by the
counsels of his Prussian majesty, against whom, there¬
fore, she entertained a mortal enmity. She could not,
however, in the very beginning of her reign, undertake
again a war of so much importance as that which had
been just concluded. She therefore declared her inten¬
tion of observing the peace concluded by the late em¬
peror ; hut, at the same time, of recalling her armies
from Silesia, Prussia, and Pomerania ; which indeed the
unsettled state of the kingdom now made in some degree
necessary. At the same time a dlsco^ely was made
with regard to the king ot Prussia himself, which turn¬
ed the scale greatly in his favour. I he Russian senate,
flaming with resentment against this monarch, and
against their late unfortunate sovereign ; and the em¬
press, full of suspicion, that the conduct of the latter
might have been influenced by the counsels of the ior-
mer, searched eagerly amongst the papers of the late
emperor for an elucidation or proofs of this point.
They found indeed many letters from the Prussian mo¬
narch, but in a strain absolutely different from what
they had expected. The king had, as far as. prudence
would permit, kept a reserve and distance with regard
to the too rash advances of this unhappy ally ; and, in
particular, counselled him to undertake nothing against
the empress his consort. The hearing of these letters
read is said to have had such an effect upon the empress,
that she burst into tears, and expressed her gratitude
towards the Prussian monarch in the warmest terms.
Still, however, the Russian army was ordered to separate
from the Prussians ; hut all the important places which
the former bad taken during the whole war were faith¬
fully restored.
The king, finding that the Russians were no more to
take an active part in his favour, resolved to profit by
their appearance in his camp ; and, theiefine, the very
day after the order for their return had arrived, he at¬
tacked the Austrian army, and drove their right wing
from some eminences and villages where they were ad¬
vantageously posted ; by which means he entirely cut
off their communication with Schweidnitz, so that no¬
thing could be attempted for its relief. Prince Henry
kept them in continual alarms for Bohemia; and a
r great
russia.
P R U r 4
great patt of their attention, and no small part of their
forces, were engaged on that side. Marshal Daun, now
finding himself rendered almost incapable of underta
„ king any thing, detached General Laudohn, with a
Hyde- force very much superior, to attack the prince of Be
ed. vern, and drive him from the advantageous post he oc¬
cupied. But the prince defended himself with such re¬
solution, that all the efforts of Laudohn could not suc¬
ceed before the king had time to come to his assistance
ihe Austrians, being then put between two fires, were
routed and pursued with terrible slaughter ; after which
the king met with no more disturbance in bis prepara¬
tions for the siege, and the trenches were opened on
the 18th of July. Marshal Daun made no attempts
to relieve the place ; but the garrison being very strong-,
it he.d out for near two months from the opening of
the trenches. It is said that the attack was conducted,
and the defence made, by two engineers who had writ¬
ten on the subject of the attack and defence of forti¬
fied places; and they were now practically engaged to
prove the superiority of their systems. At last how¬
ever, the garrison, to the number of 8000 men, surren¬
dered prisoners of war j and the whole body, except
nine, were soon after drowned at the mouth of the O-
der, on their passage to their intended confinement in
Ivon igs berg.
. Tile kinK of Prussia, now become master of Schweid-
nitz, turned his attention towards Saxony, where he
•- considerably reinforced his brother’s army, and made
preparations for laying siege to Dresden. In this coun-
try the Austrians had lately met with some success, and
dnven Prince Henry as far back as Freyberg 5 but on
the 291). of October, they were attacked by the Prus¬
sian army thus reinforced, and totally routed. Great
numbers were slain, and near 6000 taken prisoners.
Hus victory proved decisive: and the empress-queen,
findmg herself deserted by all her allies, was glad to
conclude a treaty, the substance of which was, that a
mutual restitution and oblivion should take place, and
both parties sit down at the end of the war in the same
situation in which they began it. This treaty is called
the peace of Hubertsburg.
The war was no sooner concluded than the king of
Irussia turned his attention to domestic policy, and the
recovery of. his dominions from those innumerable ca¬
lamities which had befallen them during the war. He
immediately distributed lands to his disbanded soldiers,
and gave them the horses of his artillery to assist them
in t ieir cultivation. By his wise and prudent manage¬
ment, the horrors of war were soon forgotten ; and the
country was quickly in as flourishing a state as ever,
otwitlistanding this pacific disposition, however, the
mg never slackened bis endeavours for the defence of
Ins country, by keeping a respectable army on foot 5
Which might be able to act on the least emergency.
n tne year 1778, a new difference with the house of
Austria took place, concerning the duchy of Bavaria,
no ut though the most enormous warlike preparations
cent! C 'VeiC 0n .s‘^es» an^ immense armies brought
into the field, nothing of consequence was effected.
What httle advantage there was, seems to have been
on t ie Prussian side, since they made themselves masters
0 several towns, and kept the war in the enemy’s coun-
ry- owever, the emperor acted with so much caution,
and showed so much skill in a defensive war, that all
1
p n u
Prussia
T! otal
de : of
thfaistri
an
Fn ;rg
pnpes a-
5
A jc var
comm
tea
.85
the manoeuvres of his Prussian ™ 11 •
material advantage; as, on the other hand, Vis'^adveT
sa.y was too wise to venture an engagement. A peace
here ore was very soon concluded, and since that time
lustoi y off russia, during the remainder of the great
Ficdenc s reign, affords no remarkable event which we
icie' PolTkd'h611!1 f 1'° life °f lhat llCr°’ a,Kl the ai- ,
tide r oland. He left Ins crown to his nephew, whose 71
silver."”' "r T1' s >"'l it
, ^ , ,f a kingdom, which had risen suddenly succee<ied
to such unexampled power and greatness as to excite'Y his ,ie-
the jealousy or apprehension of all its neighbours 1 ‘eW-
would require great abilities to preserve it from difc!
memberment.
1 he late king had indeed bequeathed the most eff'ec- sm. 72<-*i
'"f SUCC"S?1' f°r lhe P'wervation ofn,uio„ S
uni on.>, that human wisdom could provide or de-,,c'litvi°ur
vise ; by leaving him a full treasury, the finest army in!YtIie liev*
the world, and a people enthusiastically attached to bis^8’
memory and government. The new monarch, with
theoe advantages, was not wanting to himself. The
Dte king s predilection for the French language and
i reneh literature were not grateful to his" subjects
I he present ^sovereign began his reign with declaring
in council, Germans we are, and Germans I mean we
sha l continue; giving directions, at the same time,
that their native language should resume its natural rank
and station, from which for near half a century it had
been degraded by the French. This was a very‘popular
measure, and it was followed by another still more so.
serving that he had marked with great concern the
progress of impiety and profaneness on the one hand
and of enthusiasm on the other, he declared, that he*
would not have his subjects corrupted either by fanatics
or atheists, and strictly prohibited all publications tend¬
ing to excite a contempt or indifference for religion.
•Sucb, on bis immediate accession to the throne was
the pacific conduct of the monarch, which endeared
him to his subjects, and commanded the approbation
of all good men. An opportunity soon occurred, in He assists
which he was thought to have displayed such talents in the stadt-
negoeiation and in military arrangements, as proclaim-ko^er a-
ed him in every respect a worthy successor of his uncle.gaimt the
The states of Holland, who had long been jealous o4“|LX
the power ot the stadtholder, and inclined to a republi¬
can government without any permanent chief, had ‘min¬
ed such au ascendency in the states general, that in
1786 and 1787 they in effect divested the Prince of
Orange of all his prerogatives, (see Un'ted Provinces).
They proceeded even to the seizure and imprisonment
of the princess, sister to the king of Prussia ; and de¬
pending upon support from France, treated with inso¬
lence every power connected with them in Europe. The
court of Berlin did not witness these proceedings with¬
out indignation ; and the king formed his plan for re¬
storing the power of the stadtholder with such secrecy
and prudence, that perhaps nothing could surpass it but
the bravery and military skill of the duke of Brunswick
by whom it was carried into execution. In the short
space of one month, that accomplished general led
J 8,003 Prussians to Amsterdam, and restored the just
prerogatives of the prince of Orange.
The affairs of Prussia during the early period of the
French revolution, and the active but unsuccessful part
which that monarch took against it, are interwoven with
the
0
P ni'-sia.
P R U
the historical details of that period under the articles
France and Britain, to which we refer our readers.
For a number of years he acted the prudent part ot
standing dear of hostilities as much as possible; and
when he did at last interfere, we find little in his con¬
duct which is intitled to the praise either ot consistency
or honour. Indeed it may perhaps be admitted, that on
many occasions he acted rather trom necessity than
choice ; and finding that a contest with I ranee was
both absurd and ruinous, he chose to sacrifice a less evil
to a greater good. Whether by consent or compulsion
is not certainly known, the king of Prussia ceded to
France the duchies of Cleves and Berg, March 1806,
which were to be governed by Prince Murat, the bro¬
ther-in-law of Bonaparte, under the title of Joachim,
duke of Cleves and Berg.
The king of Prussia likewise took possession ot the
Hanoverian states 30th October 1806, at the time when
Great Britain had no reason to apprehend any such
mysterious conduct from that quarter. He entered into
a secret treaty with France for the purpose of shutting
the northern ports ; a measure which gave such offence
to this country, that the British minister thought proper
to take his leave of Berlin. At one period he came to a
final determination to make no separate treaty with the
French government, and proposed a treaty of peace and
alliance between his court and that of Britain, lo give
this as much effect as possible, the Prussian princes of
the blood began to raise volunteer regiments in Poland
and Silesia, the loyalty of the peasantry in these coun¬
tries far exceeding the most sanguine expectations.
So low, however, were the king of Prussia’s finances
at the time of Lord Hutchinson’s arrival at Memefi
March 1807, that his lordship found it necessary to ad¬
vance 8o,oool. for the support of his family and domes¬
tic household. This being intimated to the British mi¬
nisters, his majesty recommended it to parliament to en¬
able him to implement the agreement. _ Yet not long
after this period he actually entered into a treaty ot
peace with the emperor of France, by virtue ot which
his territories were so dreadfully mutilated, as to leave
him little more of a sovereign than the name. He was
required to renounce the whole of his dominions situated
between the Rhine and the Elbe; the circle of Cotbus
in Lower Lusatia; nearly all the provinces which former¬
ly constituted part of the kingdom of Poland ; the city
of Dantzic ; and Ire was laid under the necessity of shut¬
ting all the ports and harbours of his whole dominions
against the trade and navigation of Great Britain. Not
above 18 months prior to this treaty, the king of Prus¬
sia might have been said to hold the fate of Europe in
his hands; but by means of it he was reduced to the
very lowest rank among the powers of Europe. Had
he taken a decided part against France before the bat¬
tle of Austerlitz, he might have been able to secure the
independence of Europe ; but, having suffered this au¬
spicious moment to pass unimproved, the consequences
were exactly such as might have been predicted, with¬
out any pretensions to uncommon sagacity.
The king of Prussia being thus degraded by means of
his own imprudence and want ol sound policy, endea¬
voured to ease the burdens of his remaining subjects by
reducing his civil and military establishments. The
army was reduced to 24,000 men, and General Kno-
Wesdorf was sent to Paris to procure a diminution ot the
jp B ti
contributions exacted from him, or to crave that pay- p,^
ments might be accepted of by instalments ; and, in the ^
mean time, the troops belonging to I ranee were not to
be withdrawn from the impoverished kingdom of Prus¬
sia. Every decree issued in Holland against the com¬
merce of Great Britain, this humbled monarch was ob¬
liged to adopt, and to order the publication of them in
every part of his mutilated dominions.
In this state of degradation the Prussian monarchy
continued till the extraordinary events of 1812. When
Bonaparte made his irruption into Russia, Prussia was
compelled to furnish a body of troops for the service,
who formed part of the army under Macdonald. After
the disastrous retreat of the French, the king made his
escape from Potsdam, and retired to Silesia. He im¬
mediately called on his subjects to rise in arms for the
defence of their country, without at first disclosing
against whom he wras to act. Great numbers of all ages
joyfully obeyed the call. On the 22d February 1813,
he entered into a treaty of alliance with Russia. The ,
battle of Lutzen, however, on the 2d, and of Bautzen
on the 20th May, threw discouragement on the rising
hopes of the allies. But in August they were strength¬
ened by the junction of Austria. The battle of Dres¬
den was lost on the 26th of August ; but from this time
their affairs began to improve, and the victory of Leip-
sic, on the 16th October, turned the scale entirely in
their favour. Prussia was now delivered entirely from
French oppression ; and her armies took a part in all
the events that followed, to the peace of Paris in
May 1814. When the war broke out again on Bona¬
parte’s return, the Prussian armies performed essential
services. The advance ol Blucher in the afternoon
gave a decisive turn to the battle of Waterloo.
By these successes Prussia not only recovered her for¬
mer losses, but gained large additions of territory and
population. She recovered the province of Posen in
Poland, all her territories between the Elbe and the
Rhine ; and obtained besides, about one half of the king
of Saxony’s territories, and extensive districts on the
south side of the Rhine. She acquired also Swedish
Pomerania ; and ceded East I riesland with some other
districts to Hanover, and Anspach and Bayreuth to Ba¬
varia. After these acquisitions and cessions, Prussia
contained in 1819, 106,000 square English miles, and
10,065,000 inhabitants. «
The air of Prussia is wholesome, and the soil fruitful ^ s
in grain ; affording, besides, plenty of pitcoal and other andp •
fuel. The rivers and lakes are well stored with fish ; lation I
and amber is found on its coast towards the Baltic.huSii
The principal rivers are the Vistula, Bregel, Memel,
the Passarge, and the Elbe ; all of which frequently do
damage by their inundations.
Since the year 17*9 1*' is computed that about 34>0®0
colonists have removed to Prussia from I ranee, Swit¬
zerland, and Germany ; of which number one halt were
Saltzburgbers. These emigrants have built 400 small
villages, 11 towns, 50 new churches, and founded
1000 village-schools. The manners of the people dif¬
fer but little from those of the Germans. I he esta¬
blished religions are those of Luther and Calvin, but
chiefly the former; though almost all other sects are
tolerated. •
The late king of Prussia, by the assistance of an ex-Comj
cellent police, brought the commerce and manufactures^ j
t 486 ]
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of this country to a very flourishing state, which during
his life were daily improving. The manufactures of
Prussia consist m glass, iron-work, paper, gunpowder
copper and brass-mills, manufactures of cloth, camblet’
linen, silk, gold and silver lace, stockings, and other ar¬
ticles. The inhabitants export variety of naval stores
amber, lint-seed and hemp-seed, oat-meal, fish, mead’
tallow, and caviar j and it is said that 500 ships are
loaded with those commodities every year, chiefly from
Koningsberg. J
His Prussian majesty is absolute through all his do¬
minions ; but the late king was too wise to oppress his
subjects, though he availed himself to the full of his
power. The government of this kingdom is by a re¬
gency of four chancellors of state, viz. 1. The great-ma-
sterj 2. The great-burgrave ; 3. The great-chancellor j
and, 4. The great-marshal. There are also some other
councils, and 37 bailiwicks. The states consist, 1. Of
counsellors of state ; 2. Of deputies from the nobility 5
and, 3. From the commons. Besides these institutions’
tlie late king erected a board for commerce and navi!
gation.
His Prussian majesty, hy means of the happy situa¬
tion of his country, its inland navigation, and the ex¬
cellent regulations of his predecessor, derives an amaz¬
ing revenue from this country, which, about a century
and a half ago, was the seat of boors and barbarism.
It is said, that amber alone brings him in 26,000
dollars annually. His other revenues arise from his
demesnes, his duties of customs and tolls, and the sub¬
sidies yearly granted by the several states. In 1815
the whole revenues of Prussia were estimated at seven
millions sterling. See Europe, Supplement.
The military regulations introduced by the late king
bad a wonderfully quick operation in forming his troops
and recruiting his armies. Every regiment has a par¬
ticular district assigned it, where the young men proper
for bearing arms are registered ; and when occasion of¬
fers, they join their regiment, and being incorporated
with veterans they soon become well disciplined troops.
The Prussian army, in the time of peace, consists of
250,000. of the best disciplined troops in the world ;
and during tlie last war, that force was augmented to
300,000 men.
The royal arms of Prussia are argent, an eagle dis¬
played sable, crowned, or, for Prussia: azure, the Im¬
perial sceptre, or, for Courland : argent, an eagle dis¬
played, gules, with semicircular wreaths, for the mar-
quisate of Brandenburg: to these are added the respec¬
tive arms of the several provinces subject to the Prussian
crown.
There are two orders of knighthood ; the first, that
of the Black Eagle, instituted by Frederic I. on the
day of his coronation at Koningsberg, with this motto,
uuni cuique. I he sovereign is always grand master ;
and the number of knights, exclusive of the royal fami¬
ly, is limited to 30.. Next to this is the order of Me¬
rit, instituted by his late majesty; the motto is, Pour
le merite.
PRUSSIAN blue. See Prussiate of iron,
Chemistry Index.
PRUSSIC acid. See Chemistry Index.
PRANNE, William, an English lawyer, much
< istinguished in the civil commotions under Charles I.
"as born at Swainswick in Somersetshire in 1600. His
[ 487 ]
PSA
Hi sir io77i as tix, written against stage-plays in 16a 7 rnn p
taming some reflections that offended'the court was' 11
sentenced by the star-chamber to pay a fine of 5000!. Psahnan*
to stand in the pillory to lose his ears, and to perpe- ■ zar'
tual imprisonment. During his confinement, he wrote
several more books j particularly, in 1637, one entitled
hewS /}o7n Ipswich, which reflecting severely on the
bishops, he was again sentenced by the star-chamber to
ano her fine of 5000 . to lose the remainder of his ears
he pillory to be branded on both cheeks with S. L.
.or se itious libeller, and to be perpetually imprisoned
m Caernarvon castle. Nothing but cutting^ his hands
still d IT- prrntr1PrynnR from writing: he wrote
still, and in 1640, being set at liberty by the house of
commons, he entered London in a kind of triumph
was elected into parliament for Newport in Cornwall
and opposed the bishops with great vigour, being the’
chief manager of Archbishop Laud’s trial. In the long
parliament he was zealous in the Presbyterian cause!
hut when the Independents gained the ascendency, he
opposed them warmly, and promoted an agreement
wth the king. W hen the army garbled the house
and refused him entrance, he became a hitter enemy to
them and their leader Cromwell, and attacked them with
his pen so severely, that he was again imprisoned: but
be pleaded the liberty of the subject so successfully,
that he was enlarged, to write more controversial books.
emg restored to his seat after Cromwell’s death with
the other secluded members, he assisted in promoting
the restoration, and was appointed keeper of the Tower
records j a place excellently well calculated for him
and where he was very useful by the collections be pub!
lished from them. He presented 40 volumes of hi*
works, in folio and 410, to Lincoln’s-inn library, of
which society he was a member j and, dying in 1660
was buiied under the chapel. * 9’
PRA TANES, in Grecian antiquity, were the pre¬
sidents of the senate, whose authority consisted chiefly
in assembling the senate j which, for the most part, was
done once every day.
rI he senate consisted of 500, 50 senators being elected
out of each tribe : after which, lots were cast to de¬
termine in what order the senators of each tribe should
preside ; which they did by turns, and during their pre¬
sidentship were called prytanes. However, all the 50
prytanes of the tribes did not govern at once, but one
at a time, viz. for seven days ; and after 35 days, ano¬
ther tribe came into play, and presided for other five
weeks ; and so of the rest.
PSALM, a divine song or hymn ; but chiefly appro¬
priated to the 150 Psalms of David, a canonical book
of the Old Testament.
Most of the psalms have a particular title, signifying
either the name of the author, the person who was to
set it to music or sing it, the instrument that was to be
used, or the subject and occasion of it. Some have ima¬
gined that David was the sole author of the Book of
Psalms j but the titles of many of them prove the con¬
trary, as psalm xix. which appears to have been written
by Moses. Many of the psalms are inscribed with the
names Korah, Jeduthun, &c. from the persons who were
to sing them.
I SALMANAZAR, George, the fictitious name
of a pretended Formosan, a person of learning and in¬
genuity. He was born in France, and educated in a
free
PSA [ 488 ]' PSA
Psalmaaa- free-school, ami and afterwards in a college of Jesuits, in
zar. an arcbiepiscopal city, the name of which, as likewise
‘     those of his birth-place and of his parents, are unknown.
Upon leaving the college, he was recommended as a
tutor to a young gentleman *, hut soon fell into a mean
rambling life which involved him in disappointments
and misfortunes. His first pretence was that ol being .a
sufi'erer for religion. He procured a certificate that he
was of Irish extraction, that he left that country tor the
sake of the Catholic faith, and was going on a pilgri¬
mage to Rome. Being unable to purchase a pilgrim s
oai b, and observing one in a chapel, dedicated to a mi¬
raculous saint, which had been set up as a monument
of gratitude by some wandering pilgrims, he contrived
to take both the staff and cloak away *, and, being thus
accoutred, begged his way in fluent Latin, accosting
only clergymen or persons of figure *, whom he found so
generous and credulous, that, before he had gone 20
miles, he might easily have saved money, and put him¬
self in a much better dress : but as soon as he had got
what he thought was sufficient, he begged no more *,
but \iewed every thing worth seeing, and then retired
to some inn, where he spent his money as freely as he
had obtained it. Having heard the Jesuits speak much
of China and Japan, he started the wild scheme, when
he was in Germany, of passing for a native of the
island of Formosa ; 'and what he wanted in knowledge,
he supplied by a pregnant invention. He formed a
new character and language on grammatical principles,
which, like other oriental languages, he wrote from
right to left with great readiness ; and planned a new
religion, and a division of the year into 20 months,
with other novelties, to credit his pretensions. He was
now a Japanese convert to Christianity, travelling foi
instruction, with an appearance more wretched than
even that of common beggars. He then entered as a
soldier in the Dutch service: hut, still desirous of passing
for a Japanese, he altered his plan to that of being an
unconverted heathen } and at Sluys, Brigadier Lauder,
a Scots colonel, introduced him to the chaplain, who,
with the view of recommending himself to the bishop of
London, resolved to carry him over to England. . At
Rotterdam, some persons having put shrewd questions
to him, that carried the air of doubt, he took one
more whimsical step, which was to live upon raw flesh,
roots, and herbs ; which strange food he thought
would remove all scruples. The bishop of London pa¬
tronized him with credulous humanity j and Psalma-
nazar found a large circle of friends, who extolled him
as a prodigy. Yet were there some who entertained a
just opinion of him, particularly the Drs Halley, Mead,
and Woodward 5 but their endeavours to expose him as
a cheat only made others think the better of him, espe¬
cially as those gentlemen were supposed to be unfriendly
to revelation. But in this instance at least, easiness
of belief was no great evidence of penetration. Fie
was employed to translate the churcn-catechism into
the Formosan language, which was examined, approved,
and laid up as a valuable Mb.5 and the author, alter
writing his well-known History oj iormosn^ was rewai d-
ed and sent to Oxford to study what he liked, while
his patrons and opponents were learnedly disputing at
London on the merits of his work. The learned
members of the university were no better agreed in
4,heir opinions than those at London ; but at length
the sceptics triumphed. Some absurdities were msco-Psaiir ^
vered in his history, of such a nature as to discredit
the whole narration, and saved him the trouble of an p8aJ
open declaration of his imposture •, which however he wJ ^
owned at length to his private friends. For the remain¬
der of his life, his learning and ingenuity enabled him to
procure a comfortable support by his pen : he was con¬
cerned in several works of credit, particularly The Uni¬
versal History. He lived irreproachably for many years,
and died in 1763.
PSALMIST, in the church of Rome, one of the
lesser ecclesiastical orders } the same with what among
us is called clerk, pi'ccentor, or singer.
PSALMODY, the art or act of singing psalms.
See Psalm.
Psalmody was always esteemed a considerable part of
devotion, and usually performed in the standing posture:
and as to the manner of pronunciation, the plain song
was sometimes used, beinga gentle inflexion of the voice,
not much different from reading, like the chant in ca- |
thedrals ; at other times more artificial compositions
were used, like our anthems.
As to the persons concerned in singing, sometimes a
single person sung alone *, sometimes the whole assem¬
bly joined together, which was the most ancient and ge¬
neral practice. At other times the psalms were sung al¬
ternately, the congregation dividing themselves into two
parts, and singing verse about, in their turns. There
was also a fourth way of singing pretty common in the
fourth century, which was, when a single person began
the verse, and the people joined with him in the close:
this was often used for variety, in the same service with
alternate psalmody.
The use of musical intruments in the singing of
psalms, seem to be as ancient as psalmody itself; the
first psalm ive read of being sung to the timbrel, viz.
that of Moses and Miriam, after the deliverance of the
Israelites from Egypt; and afterwards, musical instru¬
ments were in constant use in the temple of Jerusalem.
See Organ. „ m
i’SALTER, the same with the book of psalms. See
the article Psalm.
Among the religious in the Popish countries, the
terra psalter is also given to a large chaplet or rosary,
consisting of 150 beads, according to the number of
psalms in the psalter.
PSALTERY, a musical instrument, much in use
among the ancient Hebrews, who called it nebel.
We know little or nothing of the precise form of the
ancient psaltery. That now in use is a flat instrument,
in form of a trapezium or triangle truncated at top : it
is strung with 13 wire-chords, set to unison or octave,
and mounted on two bridges, on the two sides: it is
struck with a plectrum, or little iron rod, and sometimes
with a crooked stick. Its chest or body resembles that
of a spinet.
PSAMMETICUS, or PsammiticHUS, a renown¬
ed conqueror, who subduing 11 other petty kings of
Egypt, became the founder of the kingdom of Egypt,
about 670 R. C. Fie is memorable likewise for taking
the city of Azot, after a siege of 29 years; and for
discovering the sources of the river Nile. See Egygt,
N° 10. ,
PSATYRIANS, a sect of Arians, who, in the
council of Antioch, held in' the yeai 360, maintained
that
p s e r 48 i
I p„l,,;...s that the Son was not like the Father as to will • that 9 Tl , , P S E
|| lie was taken from nothing, or marie nf ,wi • ’ . 1 16 bees» w'10 are a match for mn0f etrr
Pseudo, that in God, generation was not ^ he rlleL Kand hy means °f their stings, wonlrl ^ crcat1ure8
PS^ tlL™'«
they are covered with - " * ^vmous armour ~
^ creation.
MtCHAEL, a learned Christian of the
>**^/ry.IIth centur{’ wa8’ by hnth, a Constantinopolitan of
consular rank, and flour,shed under the emperor Con-
stantine Monomachus. His genius and industry raised
h,m far above the level of his cotemporaries ; and the
fema e historian Anna Comnena speaks of him as one
who had been more indebted for his attainments to his
own excellent talent than to the instructions of his ore
ceptors j adding that having made himself master of all
the wisdom of the Greeks and the Chaldeans, he was
justly esteemed the most learned man of the age. Thus
furnished, he became the chief instructor of the Con-
stantmopolitan youth. He was at the same time the
companion and the preceptor of the emperor, who was
so captivated by the studies and amusements in which
1 sellus engaged him, that, according to Zonaras, he ne¬
glected the concerns of the empire. The Byzantine
historians complain, that the emperor, deluded by the
head of the philosophers (the title with which Psellus
was honoured), lost the world. Meeting, towards the
close of this life, with some disappointment, Psellus re¬
tired into a monastery, and soon afterwards died : the
time of his death is uncertain. His works, which have
been much celebrated, are, Commentaries upon Aristo¬
tle s Logic and Physics j a Compendium of Questions
and Answers ; and an Explanation of the Chaldean Ora¬
cles. ihe two latter works prove him to have been
conversant, not only with Grecian, but with Oriental
philosophy. r ’
PSEUDO, from -J/ivdos, a Greek term used in the
composition of many words to denote false or spurious •
as the pseudo-acacia, or bastard acacia; pseudo-fumaria’
or bastard-fumitory ; pseudo-ruta, or bastard-rue, &c.
We also say, a pseudo-apostle or false apostle; a pseu¬
do-prophet, or false prophet, &c.
PsEUDO-China. See Smilax.
/• UD°- Galena, or Black-Jack. See Zinc, Ores
ol, Mineralogy Index.
Pseudo- Pine a ^ in Natural History, the name of a very
remarkable species of insect described by M Reaumur,
approaching to the nature of the tinea, or clothes moth,
while in the worm-state, but not making themselves
coats of the substance of leaves, cloth, &c. though they
orm a sort of cases for their defence against a very ter¬
. These creatures are of the caterpillar kind, and have,
in the manner of many of these insects, 16 legs. They
feed on wax, and for food enter the bee-hives ; where
they boldly engage the bees, and are not to be prevent¬
ed by them from feeding, though at the expence of their
habitations and the cells of their reservoirs of honey :
so that it is no uncommon thing for a swarm of bees to
be forced to change their place of habitation, and make
new combs elsewhere; leaving the old ones to this con¬
temptible victor, whom they know not how to drive out
or dispossess.
Virgil and Aristotle, and all the authors who have
written on bees, have complained of this destructive
animal. It never eats the honey, but feeds only on the
wax; attacking principally those waxy cells where the
female bee deposits her eggs for the future progeny.
Vol. XVII. Part II. f
of armour of a double matte/ T "e ^whYc , " ^
diately covers the body, is of a kind of sflk ofTl •mme“
spinning; and the ouL cov^^^r this irofT
lure V, S -S ,aid considerably thick ; and the crea
tuie just thrusting out its head to feed, g’oes on devour-'
inhabitants S U"dlStU.rb®d’ wl,i!e a whole army of the
ing to nierceYim ^ buz.Zing about b-n, and aYempt-
ng to pierce him with their stings. He never forsake-
h s covering, but lengthens and enlarges it as he goes
witl/T'Y^- d°Wn the SldeS °f tbe cells in his march’
destimctio/h? t0 Ca-t them °ne hy one’ t,le llavock and
When the t' °pnasions are scarcely to be conceived,
en the time of the change of this creature approaches
contracts its body within its double coveTg I
there changes into the nympth state ; whence, Stei a
nlYVr’ 11 C°JmeS f°rth in f°rm of a moth, with Ja.
nulated horns and a crooked proboscis.
stnmfLbeeS haVe Tnnin2 enough to know their de-
structive enemy in this new form; and as this is a weak
moths'of Tb SS Sta-e’ attaCk and destr°y aH the
are so / Z'118. S^CleS tbey meet with. They seldom
are so fortunate however, as to kill the whole race as
oon as produced ; and if only one escapes, it is able to
A H f|f fldatl°" ° revenge for the death of its brethren.
the flies of the moth kind lay a vast number of
eggs, and this is behind hand with none of them in that
particular
mous.
.1 ,   111 lUHl
_ the young ones produced from the ego-s of
one surviving female of this species are sufficient to de-
shoy many honey-combs ; nay, many hives of them.
he moth produced by this caterpillar flies but little;
yet it is very nimble in avoiding danger, by running,
winch it does with great swiftness.
I here is a species of these pseudo-tineee, or wax-eat¬
ing caterpillars, which infest the subterraneous hives of
wasps and other creatures which make wax : the man¬
ner of living, feeding, and defending themselves from
then enemies, is the same in all the species. These last
if they are at any time distressed for food, will eat their
own dung; the wax having passed almost unaltered
through their bodies, and being still wax, and capable
of aflording them more nourishment on a second diges¬
tion. These species, though they naturally live on this
soft food, yet if by any accident they meet with harder
only, they know how to live upon it; and can eat a way
into the covers and leaves of books, and make themselves
cases and coverings of the fragments of these substances.
Tihe accurate authorf of these observations describes al- f Rcau-
so a kind of pseudo-tinea which feeds on wool, and ano- wwr's His-
ther that eats leather ; both making themselves houses °P^n~
also of the materials they feed on.
1 here is also anotiier kind very destructive to corn :
these make themselves a covering by fastening together
a great number of the grains, and there living and eat¬
ing in secret. All these creatures, whatever be their
food or habitation, finally become p hale nee, or moths ;
and may be distinguished, even in this state, from the
other species, by having granulated horns of a remark¬
able structure, and all of them a proboscis, or trunk,
more or less incurvated.
PSEUDONYMOUS, among critics, an author who
publishes a book under a false or feigned name; as cryp-
3 Q tonymous
P S Y
[ 49° 1
P S Y
nious
Psylli.
Pscudony- tonymous is given to him who publishes one under a (Us
guised name, and anonymous to him wlio publishes
out any name at all. . , , > i „„
, PS1D1UM, the Guava j a genus of plants belong¬
ing to the icosandria class, and in the natural metho
ranking under the 19th order, Hespendece. bee Bo¬
tany Index. . , i *iU
A decoction of the roots of guava is employed with
success in dysenteries : a bath of the decoction of he
leaves is said to cure the itch and other cutaneous erup¬
tions. Guayava, or guava, is distinguished iiom the co¬
lour of the pulp into two species, the white and the ret ,
and, from the figure of the fruit, into the round and he
pear-fashioned or perfumed guava. L he lattei has a
thicker rind and a more delicate taste than the ot .
The fruit is about the bigness of a large tennis ball ,
rind or skin generally of a russet stained with red. 1 he
pulp within the thick rind is of an agreeable flavour, and
interspersed with a number of small white seeds, li e
rind, when stewed, is eaten with milk, and preferred to
any other stewed fruit. From the same part is made
marmalade j and from the whole fruit is prepared the
finest jelly in the world. The fruit is very astringent,
and nearly of the same quality with the pomegranate.
The seeds are so hard as to resist the eflects of the sto¬
machs of animals *, so that, when voided with the excre¬
ments, they take root, germinate, and produce thriving
trees. Whole meadows in the West Indies are cover¬
ed with guavas, which have been propagated in this
PSITTACUS, or Parrot, a genus of birds, belong¬
ing to the order of Piece. See^ Ornithology Index.
"PSOAS, in Anatomy. See taere, fable oj the Mus-
^PSOPHIA, a genus of birds belonging to the order
of Gallince. See Ornithology Index. _
PSORALEA, a genus of plants belonging to the
diadelphia class, and in the natural method ranking un¬
der the 3 2d order, Papilionacece. See Botany Index.
FSYCHOTRIA, a genus of plants belonging to the
pentandria class, and in the natural method ranking un¬
der the 47th order, Stellatce. See Botany Index.
PSYLLI, (Strabo, Ptolemy'): a people in the south
of Cyrenaica, so called from King Psyllus, (Agathar-
gides, quoted by Pliny) : almost all overwhelmed by
sand driven by a south wind (Herodotus). Ihey had
something in their bodies fatal to serpents, and then-
very smell proved a charm against them, according to
Pliny, Lucan, &c. .
Though we may justly look upon it as tabulous,
that these people had any thing in their bodies differ¬
ent from others; it is, however, certain that there are
in Egypt at this day some persons who have a me¬
thod &of handling the most poisonous serpents without
any hurt. Of these Mr Hasselquist gives the follow¬
ing account : . , .
They take the most poisonous vipers with their
bare hands, play with them, put them in their bo¬
soms, and use a great many more tricks with them,
as I have often seen. I have frequently seen them
handle those that were three or four feet long, and ot
the most horrid sort. I inquired and examined whe¬
ther they had cut out the vipers poisonous teeth •, but
I have with my own eyes seen they do not. We may
therefore conclude, that there are to this day Psylli in
4
Egypt •, but what art they use Is not easily known, pSy]ii,
Some people are very superstitious, and the generalityv—
believe this to be done by some supernatural art winch
they obtain from invisible beings. I do not know whe¬
ther their power is to be ascribed to good or evil ; but
I am persuaded that those who undertake it use many
supers titions.
“ The art of fascinating serpents is a secret amongst
the Egyptians. It is worthy the endeavours of all natu¬
ralists, and the attention of every traveller, to learn some¬
thin- decisive as to this affair. How ancient this art
is among the Africans, may be concluded from the an¬
cient Marii and Psylli, who were from Africa, and daily
showed proofs of it at Rome. It is very remarkable
that this should be kept a secret for more than 2000
years being known only to a few, when we have seen
how many other secrets have within that time been re¬
vealed The circumstances relating to the fascination
of serpents in Egypt, related to me, were principally,
1. That the art is only known to certain families, who
propagate it to their offspring. 2. The person who
knows how to fascinate serpents, never meddles with
other poisonous animals, such as scorpions, lizards,
&c. There are different persons who know how to
fascinate these animals •, and they again never meddle
with serpents. 3. Those that fascinate serpents eat
them both raw and boiled, and even make broth of
them, which they eat very commonly amongst them •,
but in particular, they eat such a dish when they go
out to catch them. I have been told, that serpents
fried or boiled are frequently eaten by the Arabians both
in Egypt and Arabia, though they know not how to
fascinate them, but catch them either alive or dead.
4 After they have eaten their soup, they procure a bles¬
sing from their scheik (priest or lawyer), who uses some
superstitious ceremonies, and amongst others spits on
them several times with certain gestures. I his man¬
ner of getting a blessing from the priest is pure super¬
stition, and certainly cannot in the least help to fasci¬
nate serpents j but they believe, or will at least per¬
suade others, that the power of fascinating serpents de¬
pends upon this circumstance.” , , .,
Notwithstanding this testimony of Hasselquist, the
story of the incantation of serpents, though frequently
alluded to in Scripture, has been generally treated as
a fable. It is, however, affirmed as a certain truti,
both by Mr Bruce and M. Savary. “ There is no
doubt (says the former of these travellers) of its reah-
tv. The Scriptures are full of it. All that have been
in Egypt have seen as many different instances as they
chose Some have doubted that it was a trick ; and
that the animals thus handled had been first trained,
and then deprived of their power of hurting J and fond
of the discovery, they have rested themselves upon it,
without experiment, in the face ot all antiquity. u
I will not hesitate to aver, that I have seen at Cairo
(and this may be seen daily without any trouble or ex¬
pence), a man who came from the catacombs, where
the pits of the mummy-birds are kept, who has taken a
cerastes with his naked hand from a number of others
lying at the bottom of a tub, has put it upon his bare
head, covered it with the common red cap he wears,
then taken it out, put it in his breast, and tied it about
his neck like a necklace *, after which it has been ap¬
plied to a hen, and bit it, which died in a few minutes,
P S Y
|]; to complete the experiment, the man has taken it
—> by tiie neck^ beginning at his tail, has ate it as
one would do a carrot or stock of celery, without anv
seeming repugnance.
“ We know from history, that where any country
has been remarkably infested with serpents, there the
people have been screened by this secret.
“ To •cave ancient history, I can myself vouch, that
all the black people in the kingdom of Sennaar/whe¬
ther Funge or Nuba, are perfectly armed against the
bite of either scorpion or viper. They take the cera¬
stes in their hands at all times, put them in their bo¬
soms, and throw them to one another as children do
apples or balls, without having irritated them by this
usage so much as to bite. The Arabs have not this se¬
cret naturally, but from their infancy they acquire an
exemption from the mortal consequences attending the
bite ol these animals, by chewing a certain root, and
washing themselves (it is not anointing) with an infu¬
sion of certain plants in water.”
From this account we should be apt to think, that
these vipers really would Tiot bite any who were thus
armed against their poison ; especially as he adds, that
he constantly observed, that the viper, however live¬
ly before, upon being seized by any of these barbari¬
ans, seemed as if taken with sickness and feebleness,
frequently shut his eyes, and never turned his mouth
towards the arm of the person who held him.” Yet in
another place, speaking of the activity of the cerastes,
he says, “ 1 saw one ot them at Cairo, in the house of
Julian and Rosa, crawl up the side ot a box in which
there were many, and there lie still, as if hiding himself,
till one ol the people who brought them to us came near
him •, and though in a very disadvantageous posture,
sticking as it were perpendicularly to the side of the
box, he leaped near the distance of three feet, and fas¬
tened^ between the man’s fore-finger and thumb, so as
to bring the blood. The fellow showed no signs of
either pain or fear, and even kept him with us full
four hours, without his applying any sort of remedy, or
seeming inclined to do so.”
It is difficult to see how these two accounts can be
reconciled. It those who catch vipers are in danger of
being bit by them after they are catched, certainly they
must be so before, and then the whole relation becomes
contradictory. Our author tells us, that these feats
were performed for a season, by those who were artifi¬
cially armed against the viper’s poison, as well as those
who had the exemption naturally ; but though put in
possession of the drugs, he never had the courage to
make the experiment. That he should have made such
a dreadful experiment on himself, no person in his senses
would expect; but it is indeed very surprising, that he
did not attempt by means of these medicines to arm
some of the brute creatures, of the lives of which he was
sufficiently prodigal, against the effects of that deadly
poison by which so many of them perished. As sur¬
prising it is, that he did not try what effect the root or
its decoction would have upon the serpents themselves;
or that, though he says he had a small quantity of this
extraordinary root by him, he gave neither drawing nor
dscription of it.
1 hough it is impossible to reconcile the particulars
of this account to one another, the general fact of the
incantation is confirmed by the testimony of M. Savary.
f 491 ]
PTE
lli.s writer tell, us, that he saw at the feast of Sidi
biahim, a troop of people, seemingly possessed, with
naked arms and a fierce look, holding in their hands
enormous serpents, which twined round their body, and
scape. These Psylli, grasping them
endeavoured to escape
strongly by the neck, avoid'ed"tire"b;t'e fand not^Hh.
standing their hissing, tore them with their teeth, and
ate them alive, while the blood streamed from their
mouth.
7 JTARMIGAN* See Tetrao, Ornithology In-
11 ELE A, Shrub-trefoil ; a genus of plants be¬
longing to the tetrandria class ; and in the natural me¬
thod ranking with those of which the order is doubtful,
oee Rot any Index.
f gen«s of plants belonging to the order
ot hlices, and to the cryptogamia class. See Botany
Ihe fructifications are in lines under the mar¬
gin. 1 here are 19 species ; the most remarkable is the
aquilma, or common female fern. The root of this is
viscid, nauseous, and bitterish ; and like all the rest of
le fern tribe, has a salt, mucilaginous taste. It creeps
under the ground in some rich soils to the depth of
five or six feet, and is very difficult to be destroyed.
Trequent mowing in pasture grounds, plentiful dung¬
ing m arable lands, but, above all, pouring urine up¬
on it, are the most approved methods of killing it. It
has however, many good qualities to counterbalance
the tew bad ones. Fern cut while green, and left to
rot upon the ground, is a good improver of land; for
its ashes, if burnt, will yield the double quantity of
salt that most other vegetables will. Fern is also an
excellent manure for potatoes ; for if buried beneath
their roots, it never fails to produce a good crop 
Its astringency is so great, that it is used in many places
abroad in dressing and preparing kid and chamois lea¬
ther. _ In several places in the north, the inhabitants
mow it green, and, burning it to ashes, make those
ashes up into balls, with a little water, which they dry
in the sun, and make use of them to wash their linen
with instead of soap. In many of the Western Isles
the people gain a very considerable profit from the sale
of the ashes to soap and glass makers. In Glenelg in
Inverness-shire, and other places, the people thatch their
houses with the stalks of this fern, and fasten them down
with ropes made either of birk-bark or heath. Some¬
times they use the whole plant for the same purpose,
but that does not make so durable a covering. Swine
are fond of the roots, especially if boiled in their wash.
In some parts of Normandy we read that the poor have
been reduced to the miserable necessity of mixing them
with their bread. And in Siberia, and some other north¬
ern countries, the inhabitants brew them in their ale,
mixing one-third of the roots to two-thirds of malt.
The ancients used the root of this fern, and the whole
plant, in decoctions and diet-drinks, in chronic disor¬
ders of all kinds, arising from obstructions of the vis¬
cera and the spleen. Some of the moderns have given
it a high character in the same intentions, but it is
rarely used in the present practice. The country
people, however, still continue to retain some of its an¬
cient uses ; for they give the powder of it to destroy
worms, and look upon a bed of the green plant as a so¬
vereign cure for the rickets in children.
PTEROCARPUS, a genus of plants belonging to
3 Q 3 the
Pterocar-
pus
n
Ptolemais.
P T O [ 492 1
the cliailelphia class •, and In the natural method ranking Another,
under the 3 2d order, Papilionacece. See Botany In¬
dex. There are four species, viz. i.P)raco ; 2, Ecasta-
phyllum; 3. Lunatus ; and, 4. Santahnus. Ibis last is
by some referred to the genus Santalum. It is called
red sounders ; and the wood is brought from the Bast
Indies, in large billets, ot a compact texture, a dull red
almost blackish colour on the outside, and a deep bright¬
er red within. Bhis wood has no manliest smell, and
little or no taste. It has been commended as a mild
astringent, and a corroborant of the nervous system ;
but these are qualities that belong only to the yellow
sort.
The principal use of red saunders is as a colouring
drug; with which intention it is employed in some for¬
mulae, particularly in the tinctura lavendulce composita.
It communicates a deep red to rectified spirit, but gives
no tinge to aqueous liquors*, a small quantity ot the resin,
extracted by means of spirit, tinges a large one of fresh
spirit of an elegant blood-red. There is scarcely any
oil, that of lavender excepted, to which it communi¬
cates its colour. Geoffrey and others take notice, that
the Brazil woods are sometimes substituted for red
saunders 5 and the college of Brussels are in doubt
whether all that is sold among them for saunders be not
really a wood of that kind. According to the account
which they have given, their saunders is certainly the
Brazil v/ood 5 the distinguishing character of which is,
that it imparts its colour to water.
PTEROCOCEUS, a species of plant belonging to
the genus Calligonum. See Calligonum, Botany
Index.
PTERONIA, a genus of plants belonging to the
monodelpbia class; and in the natural method ranking
under the 37th order, Columniferce. See Botany In¬
dex.
PTINUS, a genus of insects belonging to the order
of coleoptera. See Entomology Index.
PTISAN, is properly barley decorticated, or de¬
prived of its hulls, by beating in a mortar, as was the
ancient practice 5 though the cooling potion obtained
by boiling such barley in water, and afterwards sweet¬
ening the liquor with liquorice-root, is what at present
goes by the name of ptisan ; and to render it laxative,
some add a little sena or other ingredient of the same
intention.
PTOLEMAIC System of Astronomy, is that in¬
vented by Claudius Ptolemseus. See Ptolemy, Clau¬
dius.
PTOLEMAIS, in Ancient Geography; the port of
Arsinoe, situated on the west branch of the Nile, which
concurs to form the island called Homos Heracleotes, to
the south of the vertex of the Delta.
Ptolemais, (Strabo) } the largest and most consi¬
derable town of the Thebais, or Higher Egypt, and in
nothing short of Memphis j governed in the manner of
a Greek republic j situated on the west side of the Nile,
almost opposite to Coptos. This town, which was built
by Ptolemy Philadelphus, is now known by the name
of Ptalometa. The walls and gates are still entire, and
there are a vast number of Greek inscriptions, but only
a few columns of the portico remain. There is like¬
wise an Ionic temple done in the most ancient manner
of executing that order, of which Mr Bruce took a
drawing, which is preserved in the king’s collection.
PUB
of Cyrenaica, anciently called Parce. A
third of the Troglodytica, surnamed Epitheras, from
the chace of wild beasts, as elephants ; lying in the
same parallel wdth Meroe (Strabo) 5 on the Arabian
gulf (Pliny) ; 4820 stadia to the south of Berenice. A
fourth, of Galilee, anciently called Aca, or Aeon; made
a Roman colony under the emperor Claudius (Pliny).
A fifth of Pamphylia •, situated near the river Melas,
on the borders of Cilicia Aspera.
PTOLEMY Soter, or Lagus, king of Egypt, a
renowned warrior, and an excellent prince : he estab¬
lished an academy at Alexandria, and was himself a
man of letters. Died 284 B. C. aged 92.
Ptolemy Philadelphus, his second son, succeeded
him to the exclusion of Ptolemy Ceraunus. He was re¬
nowned as a conqueror, but more revered for his great
virtues and political abilities. He established and aug¬
mented the famous Alexandrian library, which had been
begun by his father. Pie greatly increased the com¬
merce of Egypt, and granted considerable privileges to
the Jews, from whom he obtained a copy of the Old
Testament, which he caused to be translated into
Greek, and deposited in his library. TLhis is supposed
to have been the version called the Septuagint. He
died 246 years B. C. aged 64.
Ptolemy Ceraunus, the elder brother, fled to Se-
leucus king of Macedon, who received him hospitably \
in return for which he assassinated him, and usurped his
crown. He then invited Arsinoe, who was his widow
and his own sister, to share the government with him j
but as soon as he got her in his power, he murdered her
and her children. He was at length defeated, killed,
and torn limb from limb by the Gauls, 279 B. C.
Ptolemy, Claudius, a celebrated mathematician and
astrologer, was hern at Pelusium, and surnamed by the
Greeks Most Divine and Most Wise. He flourished at
Alexandria in the second century, under the reigns of
Adrian and Marcus Aurelius, about the 138th year
of the Christian era. There are still extant his Geo¬
graphy, and several learned wmrks on astronomy. The
principal of which are, 1. The Almagest j 2. De Judi-
ciis Astrologicis ; 3. Planispheerium. His system of the
world was for many years adopted by the philosophers
and astronomers; hut the learned have rejected it for
the system of Copernicus. See Astronomy, N° 16.
PTYALISM, in Medicine, a salivation, or frequent
and copious discharge of saliva. The word is Greek,
formed from tttvu, “ to spit.”
PUBERTY, denotes the age at which the person is-
capable of procreating or begetting children. See
Man.
Puberty, in Law, is fixed at the age of 12 in
females, and 14 in males j after which they are reck¬
oned to be fit for marriage. But as to crimes and
punishments, the age of puberty is fixed at 14 in both
sexes.
PUBES, in Anatomy, denotes the middle part of the
hypogastric region in men or women, lying between the
two inguina or groins.
Section of the Pubes. See Midwifery and Si¬
ca ulti an Operation.
Pubes, in Botany, the hair or down on the leaves of
some plants. See Hair.
PUBLICAN, among the Romans, one who farmed
the taxes and public revenues.
PUBLICATION,
Ptokmain
11
Publican,:
Lication
II a.
hndorft.
, , . P U F [ 49.3 1
PUBLICATtON, the art of making a thing known of the public
to the world ; the same with promulgation 1 1
. ^BLIUS Syrus, a Syrian mimic poet, who flou-
nshed about 44 years before Christ. He was original¬
ly a slave sold to a Roman patrician, called Domitius,
who brought him up with great attention, and o-ave
him his freedom when of age. He gained the esteem of
the most powerful men at Rome, and reckoned Julius
Caesar among his patrons. He soon eclipsed the poet
Labenus, whose burlesque compositions were in oeneral
esteem. There remains of Publius a collection of mo¬
ral sentences, written in iambics, and placed in alpha¬
betical order. 1
Oak PUCERON, a name given by naturalists to a
very remarkable species of animal of (he puceron kind.
1 hey bury themselves in the clefts of the oak and some
other trees, and getting into the crevices, where the bark
is a little separated from the wood, they there live at
ease, and feed to their fill, without being exposed to their
common enemies. They are larger than the other pu-
cerons, the winged ones being nearly as large as a com¬
mon house fly ; and those without wings are also larger
than any other species of the same genus. The win te¬
ed ones are black, and the others of a coffee colour.
Iheir trunk is twice the length of their bodies, and,
when walking, it is carried straight along the belly, trail¬
ing behind it with the poiiw up. When the creature
has a mind to suck a part of the tree that is just before
it, it draws up and shortens the trunk, till it brings it
to a proper length and direction j but when it sucks in
the common way, it crawls upon the inner surface of the
bark, and the turned up end of the trunk, which re¬
sembles a tail, fixes itself against the wood that is be¬
hind it, or contiguous to its back, and sucks there. The
extremity of this trunk holds so fast by the wood, that
when it is pulled away, it frequently brings a small
piece of the wood away with it.
The ants are as fond of these as of the other species
of pucerons, and that for the same reason, not feeding
upon them, but on their dung, which is a liquid mat>
ter of a sweet taste, and is the natural juice of the tree,
very little altered. These creatures are the surest guides
where to find this species of puceron; for if we at any
ime see a number of these crawlingup an oak to a cer-
am part, and there creeping into the clefts of the hark
we may be assured that in that place there are quanti¬
ties of these oak pucerons. The ants are so extremely
Jond of the juices of the tree, when prepared for them
PUG
i . ■ aw, which in Germany consists of the
;,',t rr °v ,ri? •s ol cmi,:i'e o'’*1- f*
and states of which it is composed, and those of the
princes and states with respect to each other But
though he used his utmost efforts to distinguish himself
he despised those pompous titles which are so much
sought for at universities, and never would take the de<-
gree of doctor. He accepted the place of governor to the
son of M. Covet a Swedish nobleman, who was then
ambassador from Sweden to the court of Denmark For
this purpose he went to Copenhagen, but continued not
ong at ease there j for the war being renewed some
time after between Denmark and Sweden, be was seiz¬
ed with the whole family of the ambassador. During
Ins confinement, which lasted eight months, as he had
no looks, and was allowed to see no person, he amused
himself by meditating on what he read in Grotius’s trea-
Rt\J!ire BeJ!1 et faci's, and the political writings of
, 1 T^bbes. 0ut 0* these be drew up a short system,
to which he added some thoughts of his own, and pub-
islied it at the Hague in 1660, under the title of Efe-
mentci Jurisprudent ice Universalis. This recommended
nm to the elector Palatine, who invited him to the uni¬
versity of Heidelberg, where he founded in his favour a
professorship of the law of nature and nations, which was
the first of that kind established in Germany. Puffen-
dorf remained at Heidelberg till ,673, when Charles
vVl. of Sweden gave him an invitation to be professor of
the law of nature and nations at Lunden; which place
the elector Palatine reluctantly allowed him to accept.
He went thither the same year; and after that time his
reputation greatly increased. Some years after, the king
of Sweden sent for him to Stockholm, and made him
lus historiographer, and one of his counsellors. In 1688
the elector of Brandenburg obtained the consent of his
Swedish majesty, that he should come to Berlin, in or¬
der to write the history of the elector William the
Oreat ; and in 1694 niade him a baron. But he died
that same year of an inflammation in his feet, occasion¬
ed by cutting his nails ; having attained his grand cli¬
macteric. Of his works, which are numerous, the fol¬
lowing are the principal : 1. A Treatise on the law of
Nature and Nations, written in German; of which
there is au English translation with Barbeyrac’s Notes.
2. An Introduction to the History of the Principal
States which at present subsist in Europe ; written in
German ; which has been also translated into English.
3. -The History of Sweden, from Gustavus Adolphus’s
by passing tl ml ti l , VT” them 3- The History of Sweden, from Gustavus Adolphus’s
the puceron has -S ° t HS aniTa ’ that when exPedltl0n mto Germany to the abdication of Queen
be puceron has a drop not yet evacuated, but hanging Christina. 4. The History of Charles Gustavus t,
on it thfr °Ut ^ PaSSage’ an ant Wijl °ften volumes folio, &c 7 taVUS’ tW°
Prmi?xTTx ^ine-frettersi or Plant-lice. See Aphis.
UEADA, the parts of generation in both sexes,
bee Anatomy, N° 107 and 108.
ERILliY, in discourse, is defined by Longinus
to be a thought which, by being too far fetched, be¬
comes flat and insipid. Puerility, he adds, is the com-
mon fault of those who affect to say nothing hut what
is brilliant and extraordinary.
PU1FENDORF, Samueh DE, was born in 1631
^ ci, a little village in Misnia, a province in Upper
t axony; and was son of Elias Puffendorf, minister of
ia pace. After having made great progress in the
sciences.at Leipsic, he turned his thoughts to the study
3
volumes folio,
TUP I IN. ^ See Alca, Ornithology Index.
I LGE1, Pkter Paul, one of the greatest painters
and sculptors I ranee ever produced, though but little
noticed by their own writers, was born at Marseilles
in 1623. Bi bB youth he was the disciple of Roman,
an able sculptor; and then went to Italy, where he
studied painting and architecture. In painting he so
well imitated the manner of Peter de Cortona, that this
painter desired to see him, and entered into a friend¬
ship with him. In 1657, a dangerous disorder obliged
him to renounce the pencil, and devote himself to sculp¬
ture ; and his reputation causing him to he invited to
Paris, he enjoyed a pension of 1200 crowns, as sculp¬
tor and director of the works relating to vessels and
galleys,...
PUL
[
Puget
I!
Pulex.
Barbut's1
Genera of
Insects,
p. 330, &c,
ffalleys. He died at Marseilles in 1695, and has left a
number of admirable statues behind him both in Prance
, and Italy. ... P
PUGIL, in Materia Medico, such a quantity ot
flowers, seeds, or the like, as may be taken up between
the thumb and two fore-fingers. It is reckoned the
eighth part of the manipulus or handful.
PULEGIUM, or PmsY-lloyal. bee Mentha,
Botany Index. .
PULEX, the Flea, in Zoology, a genus ot insects
belonging to the order of aptera. See Entomology
^By keeping fleas in a glass tube corked up at both
ends, but so as to admit fresh air, their actions and man¬
ners may be observed. They are thus seen to lay their
eirgs, not all at once, but ten or twelve in a day, tor se¬
veral days successively ; which eggs will be afterwards
found to'hatch successively in the same order. Ihehea
maY easily be dissected in a drop of water j and by tins
means the stomach and bowels, with their peristaltic
motion, maybe discovered very plainly, as also their testes
and penis, with the veins and arteries, though minute
beyond all conception. Mr Leuwenhoek aihrms also,
that he has seen innumerable animalcules, shaped Iwe
serpents, in the semen masculinum of a flea. 1 ns blood¬
thirsty insect, which fattens at the expence of the human
species, prefers the more delicate skin of women ; but
prays neither upon epileptic persons, nor upon the dead
or dying. It loves to nestle in the fur of dogs, cats, and
rats, the nests of river-swallows are sometimes plenti¬
fully stored with them. _ ,
Fleas are apterous •, walk but little, but leap to a
heioht equal to 200 times that of their ovvn body.
This *amazing motion is performed by means of the ela¬
sticity of their feet, the articulations of which are so
many springs. Thus it eludes, with surprising agility,
the pursuit of the person on whom it riots. Among the
memorabilia of fleas, one, they say, has been seen to
draw a small silver piece of ordnance to which it was
fastened, the firing of the gun nowise daunting its intre¬
pidity. The owner carried it about m a little box lin¬
ed with velvet, every now and then placing it 011 her
arm to let it feed ; but winter put an end to the being
of this martial flea. Another flea that became slave to
an Englishman, had, fer its daily and easy task, to drag
its golden chain and padlock, of the weight of one
crain. A third flea served as a thill-horse to an Eng-
fish artist, who had made an ivory coach and six, that
carried a coachman and his dog between his legs, a po¬
stillion, two footmen, and four inside riders. _ At Surat
fleas bugs, and other voracious vermin, are in so great
veneration, that they have an hospital endowed, where
every night a poor fellow, for hire, suffers himself to be
preyed upon. He is fastened naked on a bed, when the
feast begins at his expence. In Turkey there is a simi¬
lar foundation for decayed dogs j an institution less ri¬
diculous than the other. Mercurial ointment brim¬
stone, a fumigation with the leaves of pennyroyal, or
fresh-gathered leaves of that plant sewed up in a bag,
and laid in the bed, are remedies pointed out as destruc¬
tive of fleas.
PULEX Arboreus, in Natural History, the name given
by Mr Reaumur to a very large genus of small animals.
They are a kind of half-winged creatures: they have
494. ] PUL
perfect state, have complete wings. These are distin- ly
guished from the others by the name of musca-pulex, or
the winged pulex. See Coccus, Entomology Index., ^
Pulex Aquations auctorum (monoculus pulex of Lin¬
naeus) is a species of the genus Monoculus j which see,
under Entomology Index.
PuLEX-Eaters, a name given by naturalists to a sort
of worms frequently found on the leaves of trees, where
they devour the animals called pulices arborei.
Of these there are several species, which owe their
origin to the eggs of different creatures j for there are
none of them in their ultimate state in this their time
of feeding. According to the difl'erent animals whose
eggs they are hatched from, these are of different form
and structure. Some are hexapodes, or endued with six
feet} these belong to the beetle-tribe, and finally change
into beetles like the parent animal from whose eggs
they sprung. Others have no legs, and are produced
from the eggs of flies of various kinds. And, finally,
others are genuine caterpillars, though smally but these
are the most rare of all.
The two general kinds are the hexapodes, or beetle-
worms ; and the apodes, or fly-worms. The fly which
gives origin to the last of these is a four-winged one 5
and takes care always to deposit her eggs in a place
where there are plenty of the pulices, usually on the
stalk or young branches of a tree in the midst of large
families of them. The worm, as soon as hatched, finds
itself in the midst of abundance of food, preying at
pleasure on these animals, which are wholly defence¬
less. The stalks of the elder and woodbine are fre¬
quently found covered over with these puhees 5 and
among them there may usually be found one 01 more
of these destroyers feeding at will, sucking in the juices
from their bodies, and then throwing away the dry
skins. Besides the worms of this four-winged fly, there
is one of a two-winged wasp-fly, very destructive of these
animals. .
PULLEY, in Mechanics, one of the five mechanical
powers. See Mechanics.
PULMO, the Lungs, in Anatomy. See Anatomy
Index.
PULMONARIA, Lungwort, a genus of plants
belonging to the pentandria class, and in the natural
method ranking under the 41st order, Asperifolice. See
Botany Index. . .
PULO, the name of several Asiatic islands, m the
Indian ocean, the principal of which only, it is sale, is
inhabited. It is denominated
PuLO-Condore, an island about 13 mileslong and three
broad, which was visited by Lord Macartney on Ins way
to China. It has convenient anchoring places during
either monsoon. Here his lordship’s squadron came to
anchor on the 17th of May., The bay is formed by four
small islands approaching so near to each other, as to
exhibit the appearance of meeting together in dillerent
points. They all seem to be the rude fragments ot pri¬
mitive mountains, which have been detached from t
great continent in the lapse of ages. Condole lies m
8° 40' North Lat. and 105° 55' E. Long.
The English at one period had a settlement here, bu
being driven from it by some Malay soldiers in t leir
pay, probably for some unjustifiable treatment, noJU-
ropeans, it is said, have resided in it ever since. VY ^
ftey are a kind of longed chores: have
granulated antennae j and some ot them, in their most a paity tliey
PUL
[ 495 ]
PUL
they were welcomed by the natives with much urbanity It nearly answered in f ,, ,
of manners, and conducted to the house of their chief! nuished from the „ t ajliul? i' f®?6’38 J:st!n- Polpitnm,
— j j    — tijuv/u ui uctui
of manners, and conducted to the house of their chief.
Their dress consisted chiefly of blue cotton garments
hanging loosely about them; and their flat faces and no¬
ses seemed to denote that they were descended from the
Chinese. A missionary being of the party, could not
understand their language as they spoke it 5 but as soon
as committed to writing it was perfectly intelligible to
him. This led to the conclusion, that the inhabitants
of Pulo-Condore were originally Cochin Chinese, who
fled from their own country in consequence of their at¬
tachment to one of its sovereigns who had been dethro¬
ned by a number of his own subjects.
Here the squadron was to purchase provisions, and the
people promised to have the proposed quantity in readi¬
ness, if possible, at the appointed time. Next morning,
a party of pleasure went from the Hindostan to a small
island near Pulo-Condore ; but being apprehensive of
an approaching storm, they made towards the ship with
all convenient speed. The weather again becominP- fa¬
vourable, they set off for the island again, and were
astonished, on their arrival, to find it wholly abandoned.
In the principal cabin a letter was found, written in the
Chinese language, expressing their terror at the arrival
of such great ships and powerful persons ; not being able
to satisfy their demands as to cattle and other provisions
the poor inhabitants of Pulo-Condore having scarcely
any to supply, they therefore fled to preserve their lives’-
declared themselves to be few in number, and very poor,
but honest 5 and concluded with requesting the great
people to have pity on them, as they had left their all
behind, and earnestly implored them not to burn their
cabins.
• The Serous English left them an intimation that
they called merely for refreshment on fair and equitable
terms, without harbouring against them any evil de¬
signs. They claimed a connection to a civilized nation,
actuated by principles of humanity, by which they were
prohibited from plundering or doing injury to others
who might have the misfortune to be fewer or weaker
than themselves. No doubt the poor terrified inhabi¬
tants would be agreeably surprised to find, on their re¬
turn, not only that all their tents were in perfect safety
but that nothing was either disturbed or removed, and a
small present left to their chief in the principal dwelling.
FuLo-Lingen, another island of the cluster mention¬
ed above, is of some extent, though inferior in size to
xulo-Condore. It is chiefly remarkable for a mountain
in its centre, terminating in a fork like Parnassus, but
denominated by mariners the ears. The people of
•Lord Macartney’s squadron were constantly discoverino-
new islands, many of which were clothed with verdure :
some had lolly trees growing upon them $ others were
not iing but naked rocks, the resort of innumerable
birds, and whitened with their dung.
Pm 2 PeNA]'TG- See Prime of Wales's Island.
, in Pharmacy^ the fleshy and succulent parts
0 ruits extracted by infusion or boiling, and passed
through a sieve.
PULPIT, an elevated place in a church, whence
sermons are delivered. The French give the same name
to a reading desk.
PULPITUM, in the Grecian and Roman theatres,
as a p ace where the players performed their parts. It
as °wer than the scena, and higher than the orchestra.
guished from the pit and galleries. Pulphum was'aiso
a moveable desk or pulpit, from which disputants pro-
works^ t ieir dlSSertations’ and authors recited their
• PUPSE, m the animal economy, denotes the beat-
ing or throbbing of the heart and arteries.
No doctrine has been involved in more difficulties
rnnnf f U° P T ’■ ^'"8 * Ph Vsiological ac¬
count of them, physicians have espoused quite opposite
sentiments 5 whilst some doubt whether the pulse is ow¬
ing to the systole or diastole ; as also, whether the mo-
ion of the heart and arteries is one and the same, for a
moment of time. ’ ’
M ith regard to motion, the pulses are reckoned only
four 5 great and little, quick and slow. When quick¬
ness and greatness are joined together, it becomes vio-
, ’ a"d when ,ti 18 li,;.tle slow it is called a weak
puise. 1 bey are also said to be frequent and rare, equal
and unequal; but these are not the essential affections
ol motion. Frequency and quickness are often con¬
founded with each other. A pulse is said to be hard
or sojt, with regard to the artery, according as it is
tense, renitent, and hard, or flaccid, soft, and lax : for
the disposition of the arteries contributes greatly to the
change of the pulse ; wherefore it sometimes happens,
tnat the pulse in both arms is not alike, which is very
common in a hemiplexy. Add to these a convulsive
pulse, which does not proceed from the blood, but
from the state of the artery ; and is known by a tre¬
mulous subsultory motion, and the artery seems to be
drawn upwards this, in acute fevers, is the sign of
death j and is said to be the pulse in dying persons,
which is likewise generally unequal and intermitting.
A great pulse shows a more copious afflux of the blood
to the heart, and from thence into the arteries : a little
pulse the contrary.
The pulses of persons differ according to the large¬
ness of the heart and vessels, the quantity and tempe-
nes of the blood, the elastic force of the canals 5 as al¬
so with regard to the sex, age, season, air, motion, food,
sleep, watchings, and passions of the mind. The pulse
is larger and more quick in men than in women j in
the bilious and sanguineo-bilious, than in the phlegma¬
tic and melancholic. Those who are lean, with tense
fibres, and large vessels, have a greater and a stronger
pulse, than those that are obese, with lax fibres and
small vessels ; whence they are more healthy, robust,
and apt for labour. In children, the pulse is quick and
soft; in adults greater and more violent. In the old*
it is commonly.great, hard, and slow. Labour, mo¬
tion, and exercise of the body, increase the circulation
of the blood, the excretions, and particularly respira¬
tion ; rest renders the circulation slow- and weak ; in¬
tense speaking increases the circulation, and consequent¬
ly renders the pulse large and quick. In watching, the
pulse is more evident; in sleep, more slow and languid.
After drinking hot things, such as coffee and tea, or
hot bath-waters, as well as after meals, the pulse vi¬
brates more quick. But nothing produces a greater
change in the pulse than affections of the mind: in
terror, it is unequal, small, and contracted : in joy, fre¬
quent and great; in anger, quick and hard ; in sadness,
slow, small, deep, and weak ; and in intense study, lan¬
guid and weak. With regard to the air, when, after the
predominancy
Pulse.
PUL [49
I’dlsc, predominancy of a west or soutli wind, it becomes north
Pultcney. or east, the pulse is stronger and larger ; as also when
“v the quicksilver rises in the barometer. But when the
atmosphere is dense, humid, rainy, with a long south
wind; as also where the life is sedentary, the sleep
long, and the season autumnal, the pulse is languid and
small, and the perspiration decreased. In May it is
great, and sometimes violent; in the middle of summer,
quick but weak; in the autumn, slow, soft, and weak ;
in the winter, hard and great. A drastic purge and an
emetic render the pulse hard, quick, and weak, with
loss of strength ; chalybeates, and the bark, render it
great and robust, and the complexion lively ; volatiles
amplify and increase the pulse ; acids and nitrous re¬
medies refrigerate the body, and appease the pulse ;
opiates and the like render it small and weak, and de¬
crease the elasticity of the solids ; and poisons render
it small, contracted, and hard. When the quantity of
the blood is too great, bleeding raises the pulse.
Pulse, is also used for the stroke with which any
medium is affected by the motion of light, sound, &c.
through it.
Sir Isaac Newton demonstrates, that the velocities of
the pulses in an elastic fluid medium (whose elasticity is
proportionable to its density) are in a ratio compounded
of half the ratio of the elastic force directly, and half
the ratio of the density inversely ; so that in a medium
whose elasticity is equal to its density, all pulses will be
equally swift.
Pulse, in Botany, a term applied to all those grains
or seeds which are gathered with the hand ; in contra¬
distinction to corn, &c. which are reaped, or mowed :
or, It is the seed of the leguminous kind of plants, as
beans, vetches, &c.; but is by some used for artichokes,
asparagus, &c.
PULTENEY, William, the famous-opposer of Sir
Robert Walpole in parliament, and afterward earl of
Bath, was descended from one of the most ancient fa¬
milies in the kingdom, and was born in 1682. Being
well qualified in fortune, he early procured a seat in the
house of commons, and distinguished himself as a warm
partisan against Queen Anne’s ministry ; whose errors
he had sagacity to detect, and spirited eloquence to ex¬
pose. When King George I. came to the throne, Mr
Pulteney was made secretary at war, and soon after
cofferer to the king’s household; but the good under¬
standing between this gentleman and Sir Robert Y al-
pole, who then acted as prime minister, was interrupted
in 1725, on a suspicion that Walpole was desirous of
extending the limits of prerogative, and of promoting
the interests of Hanover, to the prejudice of those of
Britain. His opposition to Sir Robert was indeed car¬
ried to such indiscriminate lengths, that some have been
of opinion he often acted against measures beneficial to
the public, merely from personal motives. It would be
impracticable here to trace his parliamentaiy conduct .
so it must suffice to observe in general, that he became
so obnoxious to the crown, that in 173* king called
for the council-book, and with his own hand struck out
bis name from the list of privy-counsellors ; a proceed-
i ] P U M
ing that only served to inflame his resentment and in- pnjtl
crease his popularity. Thus he still continued to at- |j
tack the minister with a severity of eloquence and sar- Pu»
casm that worsted every antagonist ; so that Sir Robert 0
was heard to declare, he dreaded that man’s tongue
more than another man’s sword. At length, when
Walpole found the place of prime minister no longer
tenable, and resigned in 1741, among other promotions
Mr Pulteney resumed his place in the privy-council,
and was created earl of Bath ; a title purchased at the
expence of that popularity which afterward he naturally
enough affected to contemn. In 1760, toward the close
of the war, he published A Letter to two Great Men,
recommending proper articles to be insisted on in a treaty
of peace; which, though the writer was then unknown,
was greatly applauded, and went through several im¬
pressions. He died in 1764 ; and as his only son died
before him, the title became extinct.
PULVERIZATION, the art of pulverizing, or
reducing a dry body into a fine powder ; which is per¬
formed m friable bodies by pounding or beating them \
in a mortar, &c ; but to pulverize malleable ones, j
other methods must be taken. 1 o pulverize lead, or
tin, the method is this : Rub a round wooden box all
over the inside with chalk ; pour a little of the melted
metal nimbly into the box ; when shutting the lid, and
shaking the box briskly, the metal will be reduced to
powder.
PUMEX, the Pumice-stone. See Mineralogy
Index.
Pumice-stone is used in some mechanical arts ; as
for rubbing and smoothing the surface of metals, wood,
pasteboard, and stone ; for which it is well fitted by
reason of its harsh and brittle texture ; thus scouring
and carrying off the little inequalities from the surfaces
just mentioned.
PUMICE-stone. See Mineralogy Index.
PUMP, an hydraulic machine for raising water by
means of the pressure ef the atmosphere.
It would be an entertaining and not an uninstruc-Oftbl-
tive piece of information to learn the progressive stepsveuti f>f
by which the ingenuity of man has invented the variousP™!1
methods of raising water. A pump must be considered
as the last step of this progress. Common as it is, and
overlooked even by the curious, it is a very abstruse and
refined invention. Nothing like it has been found in
any of the rude nations whom the restless spirit of the
Europeans has discovered, either in the new continent
of America, or the islands of the Pacific ocean. Nay,
it was unknown in the cultivated empire of China at
the time of our arrival there by sea; and it is still a ra¬
rity everywhere in Asia, in places unfrequented by the
Europeans. It does not appear to have been known to
the Greeks and Romans in early times; and perhaps it
came from Alexandria, where physical and mathemati¬
cal science was much cultivated by the Greek school un¬
der the protection of the Ptolemies. The performances
of Ctesibius and Hero are spoken of by Pliny and Vitru¬
vius as curious novelties (a). It is perhaps not difficult
to trace the steps by which those mechanicians were len
(a) In the early Greek writings, it does not appear that the words cu.Xitv, &c. jraWlng of
press any thing like what we call a pump. In all these passages the words eit.ui expiess gt y water,
'Plate
:ccxlix,
fig-1-
2
csibius’s
1
p v u r 4
?nmP. ‘0 the invention. The Egyptian wheel was a common
—/ 'machine all over Asia, and is still in use in the remotest
corners, and was brought by the Saracens into Spain
where it is st. livery common under its ancient name
NORIA. A he Danish missionaries found in a remote
village in the kingdom of Siam the immediate off-sprin-r
of the noria (Lettres Edifiantc.s et Curieuses). It was a
wheel turned by an ass, and carrying round, not a string
of earthen pots, but a string of wisps of hay which it
drew through a wooden trunk. This rude chain-pump
was m frequent use for watering the rice fields. It is
highly probably that it is of great antiquity, although
we do not recollect its being mentioned by anv of the
Greek or Roman writers. The Arabs and ^Indians
were nothing less than innovators j and we may suppose
with great safety, that what arts we now find amono-
them they possessed in very remote periods. Now the
step from this to the pump is but short, though it is
nice and refined ; and the forcing pump of Ctesfbius is
the easiest and most natural.
Let AB (fig. i.) be the surface of the water in the
well, and D the height where it is to he delivered. Let
DC he a long wooden trunk, reaching as deep under
water as possible. Let the rope EF be fitted with its
knot of hay F. When it is drawn up through the
trunk, it will bring up along with it all the water lying
between C and A, which will begin to run out by the
spout D as soon as the knot gets to G, as far below D
as C is below A. All this is very obvious: and it re¬
quired but little reflection to be assured, that if F was
let down again, or pushed down, by a rod instead of a
rope, it would again perform the same office. Here is
a very simple pump. And if it was ever put in prac¬
tice, it behoved to show the supporting power of the at¬
mosphere, because the water would not only he lifted
by the knot, but would even follow it. The imper¬
fection of this pump behoved to appear at first sight,
and to suggest its remedy. By pushing down the knot
F, which we shall henceforth call the piston, all the
force expended in lifting up the water between A and
G is thrown away, because it is again let down. A
valve G, at the bottom would pervent this. But then
there must be a passage made for the water by a lateral
tube KBD (fig. 2.) And if this be also furnished with
a valve H, to prevent its losing the water, we have the
pump of Ctesibius, as sketched in fig. 2. The valve is
the great refinement: but perhaps even this had made
its appearance before in the noria. For, in the more
perfect kinds of these machines, the pots have a stop
or valve in their bottom, which hangs open while the
pot descends with its mouth downwards, and then allows
it to fill readily in the cistern : whereas, without the
valve, it would occasion a double load to the wheel. If
we suppose that the valve had made its appearance so
Pumr*.
] P U M
Tly; '1 ■'V,0t ''";’r"hal,lc tllat Hie common m,m»
sketched m fig 3. w.s as old a, llmt of ClesilmJ |   
tin, place we shall first give a short description of the % j.
hief varieties of these engines, considering them in their
simplest form, and we shall explain in very general terms
their mode ol operation. We shall then give a concise
and popular theory of their operation, furnishing nrinci-
p es to direct us in their construction 5 and we shall con¬
clude with the description of a few peculiarities which
may contribute to their improvement or perfection.
Ihere are but two sorts of pumps which essentially
ditfer; and all the varieties that we see are only modi
fications of these. One of these original pumps has a
solid piston; the-other has a piston with a perforation
and a valve. W e usually call the first a forcing pump
and the second a lifting or sucking pump.
. 2- 18 a sketch of the forcing pump in its mostForciL
V"1 ag ‘ a'U Sltuatl0n- consists of a hollow cylin- pump de-
der AC c a, called the working barrel, open at both'cribecI-
ends and having a valve G at the bottom, opening ,m-FiS- 2>
wards. 1 his cylinder is filled by a solid piston EF co¬
vered externally with leather or tow, by which means it
fits the box of the cylinder exactly, and allows no water
to escape by its sides. There is a pipe KHD, which
communicates laterally with this cylinder, and has a
valve at some convenient place H, as near as possible
to its junction with the cylinder. This valve also
opens upwards. This pipe, usually called the rising
pipe, or main, terminates at the place D, where the
water must be delivered.
Now suppose this apparatus set into the water, soltsmldeof
that the upper end of the Cylinder may be under or even operation,
with the surface of the water AB; the water will open
the valve G, and after filling the barrel and lateral
pipe, will also open the valve H, and at last stand at an
equal height within and without. Now let the piston
he put in at the top of the working barrel, and thrust
down to K. It will push the water before it. This
will shut the valve G, and the water will make its way
through the valve H, and fill a part B 6 of the rising
pipe, equal to the internal capacity of the working bar¬
rel. When this downward motion of the piston ceases,
the valve H will fall down by its own weight and shut
this passage. Now let the piston he drawn up again :
I he valve H hinders the water in the rising pipe horn
returning into the working barrel. But now the valve
G is opened by the pressure of the external water, and
the water enters and fills the cylinder as the piston rises.
When the piston has got to the top, let it be thrust
doxvn again : T he valve G will again be shut, and the
water will be forced through the passage at PI, and rise
along the main, pushing before it the water already
there, and will now have its surface at L. Repeating
this operation, the water must at last arrive at D, how-
water, or, more particularly, the drawing it with a bucket or something similar. ’Atrtos, which is the primitive,
is drain, sink, or receptacle for collecting scattered water, either for use, or to get rid of it; hence it came to
S1£aiv.l‘ie sink or well of a ship; and uvrtei* was synonymous with our verb “ to bale the boat.” (Odyss. O.
476 1VI. 411. Eurip. Hecuba, 1025). ’ArrAioi is the vessel or bucket with which water is drawn. ’ArrXix is the
prooably a bucket and rope.
Vol.' XVII. Part H.
3E
P U M
t 498 i
P U M
Pump
ever remote, and the next stroke would raise it to <?;
so that during the next rise of the piston the water in
c D will be running oft’ by the spout.
The effect is the same whatever be the position
of the working barrel, provided only that it be unc er
water. It may lie horizontally or sloping, or it may
be with its mouth and piston rod undermost. It is
the same forcing pump, and operates in the samejnan-
ner and by the same means, viz. the pressure of the sm-
roLmdmg^ter. ^ ^ whlch must be applied to produce
this effect is opposed by the pressure exerted by the wa-
ter on the opposite face of the piston. It is evident,
from the common laws of hydrostatics, that tins oppo¬
sing pressure is equal to the weight of a pillar of wate ,
having the face of the piston for its base and the per¬
pendicular height d A of the place of delivery above
the surface of the water AB m the cistern for its height.
The form and dimensions of the rising pipe are indiffer¬
ent in this respect, because heavy fluids press only in t ie
proportion of their perpendicular height. Observe that
it is not d F, but d A, which measures this pressure,
which the moving force must balance a"t! SU!,"0U".'
The whole pressure on the under surface Y j the pi¬
ston is indeed equal to the weight of the pillar d i Jd,
but part of this is balanced by the water Alfa. It in¬
deed the water does not get into the upper part of the
working barrel, this compensation does not obtain.
‘Whilewe draw up the piston,tlnspressureisremoved, be¬
cause all communication is cut off by the valve H, which
now bears the whole pressure of the water m the main.
Nay, the ascent of the piston is even assisted by the pres¬
sure of the surrounding water. It is onl y dun n g the descen
of the piston therefore that the external force is necessary.
Observe that the measure now given of the external
force is only what is necessary for balancing the pressure
of the water in the rising pipe. But in order that the
pump may perform work, it must surmount this pressure,
and cause the water to issue at D with such a velocity
that the required quantity of water may be delivered in
a given time. This requires force, even a though there
were no opposing pressure ; which would be the case it
the main were horizontal. The water fills it, but it is
at rest. In order that a gallon, for instance, may be
delivered in a second, the whole water in the horizontal
main must be put in motion will! a certain velocity.
This requires force. We must therefore a ways distin¬
guish between the state of equilibrium and the state ot
actual working. It is the equilibrium only that we con¬
sider at present •, and no more is necessary for under¬
standing the operation of the different species of pumps.
The other force is of much more intricate investigation,
and will be considered by itself.
The simplest form and situation of the lifting pump
is represented by the sketch fig. 3. The pump is im¬
mersed in the cistern till both the valve G and piston I
are under the surface AB of the surrounding water. By
this means the water enters the pump, opening both
6 valves, and finally stands on a level within and without.
Its mode of Now draw up the piston to the surface A. It must
operating, lift up the water which is above it (because the valve in
the piston remains shut by its own weight) ; so that its
surface will now be at a, A a being made equal to AI.
In the mean time, the pressure of the surrounding water
forces it into the working barrel, through the valve G ;
2
Lifting
pump.
and the barrel is now filled with water. Now, let the p,
piston be pushed down again j the valve G immediately -
shuts by its own weight, and in opposition to the endea¬
vours which the water in the barrel makes to escape this
way. This attempt to compress the water in the barrel
causes it to open the valve F in the piston j or rather,
this valve yields to our endeavour to push the piston
clown through the water in the working barrel. By
this means we get the piston to the bottom of the bai-
rel 5 and it has now above it the whole pillar of water
reaching to the height a. Drawing up the piston to
the surface A a second time, must lift this double co¬
lumn along with it, and its surface now will be at b.
The piston may again be thrust uown through the water
in the barrel, and again drawn up to the surface j which
will raise the water to c. Another repetition will raise
it to d; and it will now show itself at the intended
place of delivery. Another repetition will raise it to e;
and while the piston is now descending to make another
stroke, the water in e d will be running off through the
spout D 5 and thus a stream will be produced, in some
degree continual, but very unequal. This is inconveni¬
ent in many cases : thus, in a pump for domestic uses,
such a hobbling stream would make it very troublesome
to fill a bucket. It is therefore usual to terminate the
main by a cistern LMNO, and to make the spout small.
By this means the water brought up by the successive
strokes of the piston rises to such a height in this cistern,
as to produce an efflux by the spout nearly equable.
The smaller we make the spout D the more equable
w ill be the stream 5 for when the piston brings up more
water than can be discharged during its descent, some
of it remains in the cistern. T his, added to the supply
of next stroke, makes the water rise higher in the cistern
than it did by the preceding stroke. This will cause
the efflux to be quicker during the descent of the piston,
but perhaps not yet sufficiently quick to discharge the
whole supply. It therefore rises higher next stroke;
and at last it rises so high, that the increased velocity
of efflux makes the discharge precisely balance the
supply. Now, the quantity supplied in each stroke is the
same, and occupies the same room in the cistern at top;
and the surface will sink the same number of inches dur¬
ing the descent of the piston, whether that surface has
been high or low at the beginning. But because the velo¬
cities of the efflux are as the square roots of the heights of
the w^ater above the spout, it is evident that a sink of
two or three inches will make a smaller change in the
velocity of efflux when this height and velocity are great.
This seems but a trifling observation 5 but it serves to il¬
lustrate a thing to be considered afterwards, which is
important and abstruse, but perfectly similar to this.
It is evident, that the force necessary for this opera¬
tion must be equal to the weight of the pillar of water
r/ A fi D, if the pipe be perpendicular. If the pump be
standing aslope, the pressure which is to be balanced is
still equal to the weight of a pillar of water of this per¬
pendicular height, and having the surface of the piston
for its base. „ ,
Such is the simplest, and, we may add, by tar tne
best, form of the forcing and lifting pumps j but it is
not the most usual. Circumstances of convenience, eco¬
nomy, and more frequently of fancy and habit, have
caused the pump-makers to deviate greatly from this
form. It is not usual to have the working barrel^
P U M
Tump
7
feet of
yins the
uton a
ijer
roke
:onveni-
and
icces-
9
•tof
.'eight
wa¬
nd
. ire of
tli hmo-
*P>e.
Hie water j this, especially in deep wells, makes it of
dimcolt access tor repairs, and requires long piston rods
Tins would not do in a forcing pump, because they would
bend. - J
We have supposed, in our account of the lifting pump,
that the rise ot the piston always terminated at the sur¬
face of the water in the cistern. This we did in order
that the barrel might always be filled by the pressure of
the surrounding water. But let us suppose that the rise
of the piston does not end here, and that it is gradually
drawn up to the very top : it is plain that the pressure
of the atmosphere is by this means taken off from the
water in the pipe (see Pneumatics), while it remains
pressing on the water of the cistern. It will therefore
cause the water to follow the piston as it rises thrornrh
the pipe, and it will raise it in this way 33 feet at a me-
oium. If, therefore, the spout D is not more than 33
feet above the surface of the water in the cistern, the
pipe will be full of water when the piston is at 1). ’ Let
it be pushed down to the bottom ; the water will remain
in the pipe, because the valve G will shut: and thus
we may give the piston a stroke of any length not ex¬
ceeding 33 feet. It we raise it higher than this, the
water will not follow 5 but it will remain in the pipe,
to be lifted by the piston, after it has been pushed down
through it to the bottom.
But it is not necessary, and would be very inconve¬
nient, to give the piston so long a stroke. The great
use of a pump is to render effectual the reciprocation
of a short stroke which we can command, while such a
long stroke is generally out of our power. Suppose
that the piston is pushed down only to b ; it will then
have a column b f incumbent on it, and it will lift this
column when again drawn up. And this operation may
be repeated like the former, when the piston was always
under water ; for the pressure of the atmosphere will al¬
ways cause the water to follow the piston to the height
Of 33 feet.
Nor is it necessary that the fixed valve G be placed
at the lower orifice of the pipe, nor even under water,
lor, while things are in the state now described, the
piston drawn up to f, and the whole pipe full of wa¬
ter ; if we suppose another valve placed at b above the
surface of the cistern, this valve can do no harm. Now
let the piston descend, both valves G and b will sluit.
G may now be removed, and the water will remain sup¬
ported in the space £ G by the air; and now the alter¬
nate motions of the piston will produce the same effect
as before.
We found in the former case that the piston was car¬
rying a load equal to the weight of a pillar of water of
the height AT), because the surrounding water could
only support it at its own level. Let us see what change
is produced by the assistance of the pressure of the at-
mosphefe. Let the under surface of the piston be at b ;
when the piston was at y, 33 feet above the surface of
the cistern, the water was raised to that height by the
pressure of the atmosphere. Supjrose a partition made
at A by a thin plate, and all the water above it taken
away. Now piece a hole in this plate. The pressure
of the atmosphere was able to carry the whole column
fa. Part of this column is now removed, and the re¬
mainder is not a balance for the air’s pressure. This
will therefore cause the water to spout up through this
hole and rise to f. Therefore the under surface of this
[ 499 ]
P U M
? le.' P1'eSscI'.llj> the contiguous water with a force p„m„
equal to the weight ot that pillar of water which it for- 
merly supported ; that is, with a force equal to the
weight o the pillary b. Now the under snrthce of the
piston, when at A, is in the same situation. It is pressed
upwards by the water below it, with a force equal to the
weight of the column/4: But it is pressed downwards
by the whole pressure of the atmosphere, which presses
on all bodies 5 that is, with the weight of the pillar fa.
Un the whole, therefore, it is pressed downwards by a
force equal to the difference of the weights of the pillars
1 an,, ^ 1 that 1S» a force e<lual t0 the weight of
the pillar b a. b
It may be conceived better perhaps in this way.
1 hea tfae P.lston was under the surface of the water in
the cistern, it was equally pressed on both sides, both by
t ic water and atmosphere. The atmosphere exerted its
pressure on it by the intervention of the water j which
lemg to all sense, a perfect fluid, propagates every ex¬
ternal pressure undiminished. When the piston is drawn
up above the surface of the pit-water, the atmosphere
continues to press on its upper surface with its whole
weight, through the intervention of the water which
lies above it j and its pressure must therefore be added
to that of the incumbent water. It also continues to
press on the under surface of the piston by the interven¬
tion of the water 5 that is, it presses this water to the
piston. But, in doing this, it carries the weight of
this water which it is pressing on the piston. The pres¬
sure on the piston therefore is only the excess of the
whole pressure of the atmosphere above the weight of
the column of water which it is supporting. There¬
fore the difference of atmospheric pressure on the upper
•ind under surfaces of the piston is precisely equal to the
weight of the column of water supported in the pipe by
tne air. It is not, however, the individual weight of
this column that loads the piston j it is the part of the
pressure of the atmosphere on its upper surface, which •
is not balanced byr its pressure on the under surface.
In attempting, therefore, to draw up the piston, we
have to surmount this unbalanced part of the pressure
of the atmosphere, and also the weight of the water
which lies above the piston, and must be lifted by it :
and thus the whole opposing pressure is the same as
before, namely, the weight of the whole vertical pillar
reaching from the surface of the water in the cistern to
the place of delivery. Part of this, weight is immediate¬
ly carried by the pressure of the atmosphere ; but, in
lieu of it, there is an equal part ol tins pressure of the
atmosphere abstracted from the under surface of the
piston, while its upper surface sustains its whole pressure.
So far, then, these two states of the pump agree.— Other cir-
But they differ exceedingly in their mode of operation ; cumstances
and there are some circumstances not very obvious which to be at-
niust be attended to, in order that the pump may deli- tended to.
ver any water at the spout D. This requires, therefore,
a serious examination.
Let the fixed value G (fig. 4.) be supposed at the^’&M*
surface of the cistern water. Let M m be the lowest,
and N n the highest, positions of the piston, and let
HA=4 be the height of a column of water equiponde¬
rant with the atmosphere.
When the pump is filled, not with water, but with
air, and the piston is in its lowest position, and all in
equilibrio, the internal air has the same density and
3 R 2 elasticity
P u
L’ump
M C 5co ] P U M
Tiie space MAa there- stroke must be such that the rectangle MN X AH may pUB1?
elasticity with the external
fore, contains air of the common density and elasticity
These may be measured by /f, or the weight ot a co¬
lumn of water whose height is h. Now, let the piston
be drawn up to N n. The air which occupied the space
MA a in now occupies the space NAfl«, and its density
js now Its elasticity is now diminished, be-
NAaw
ing proportionable to its density (see Pneumatics), and
no longer balances the pressure of the atmosphere. The
valve G will therefore be forced up by the water, which
will rise to some height SA. Now let the piston again
descend to M m. It cannot do this with its valve shut;
for when it comes down so tar as to reduce the air again
to its common density", it is not yet at M, because the
space below it has been diminished by the water which
got into the pipe, and is retained there by tiie valve G.
The piston valve, therefore, opens by the. air which rve
thus attempt to compress, and the superfluous air
escapes. When the piston has got to M, the air is
again of the common density, and occupies the space
MSswj. Now draw the piston up to N. Hie air will
expand into the space NSsw, and its density will he re¬
duced to , and its elasticity will no longer ba-
N S a «
lance the pressure of the atmosphere, and more water
will enter, anti it will rise higher. This will go on
continually. But it may happen that the water will
never rise so high as to reach the piston, even though
not 33 feet above the water in the cistern : 1 or the suc¬
cessive diminutions of density and elasticity are a series
of quantities that decrease geometrically, and therefore
will have a limit. Let us see what determines this li¬
mit.
At whatever height the water stands in the lower
part of the pipe, the 'weight of the column of water
SA a a, together with the remaining elasticity of the air
above it, exactly balances the pressure of the atmosphere
(see Pneumatics, N° 108.). Now the elasticity of the
. . , • , 7 MS aw
air in the space Nb aw is equal to a X 1 liere*
fore, in the case where the limit obtains, and the water
rises no farther, we must have /zzrAS-f-A
MS a m
NS a n ’
because the column is of the same diameter throughout,
/^AS+A—, and A=A—AS, =:HS, and NS:
MS=HA : HS, and NS—MS : NS = HA—HS :
HA, or NM : NSrrAS : AH, and NMx AH=NS
X AS. Therefore, if AN, the distance of the piston
in its highest position from the water in the cistern, and
NM the length of its stroke, be given, there is a cer¬
tain determined height AS to which the water can be
raised by the pressure of the air : For AH is a constant
quantity } and therefore when MN is given, the rec¬
tangle AS xSN is given. If this height AS be less
than that of the piston in its lowest position, the pump
will raise no water, although AN may be less than AH.
Yet the same pump will raise water very effectually, if
it be first of all filled with water j and we have seen
professional engineers much puzzled by this capricious
failure of their pumps. A little knowledge of the prin¬
ciples would have prevented their disappointment.
To insure the delivery of water by the pump, the
be greater than any rectangle that can be made of the
parts of AN, that is, greater than the square of half n
AN. Or, if the length of the stroke be already fixed ‘'Io(^eo,
by other circumstances, which is a common case, we^e]jvcry
must make AN so short that the square of its half, mea-water.’
sured in feet, shall be less than 33 times the stroke of
the piston.
Suppose that the fixed valve, instead of being at the
surface of the water in the cistern, is at S, or anywhere
between S and A, the performance of the pump will
be the same as before: But if it be placed anywhere
above S, it will be very different. Let it be at T. It
is plain that when the piston is pushed down from N to
M, the valve at T prevents any air from getting down \
and therefore, when the piston is drawn up again, the
air contained in the space MT tm will expand into the
Ml' , .
space NT t n, and its density will be This is less
MS
than -^7-, which expresses the density of the air which
was left in the space TS st by the former operations.—
The air, therefore, in TS Af will also expand, will open
the valve, and now the water will rise above S. The
proportion of SN to NT may be evidently such that the
water will even get above the valve T. This diminishes
the space NT t n ; and therefore, when the piston has
been pushed down to M, and again drawn up to N, the
air will be still more rarefied, and the water will rise still
higher. The foregoing reasoning, however, is sufficient
to show that there may still be a height which the wa¬
ter will not pass, and that this height depends on the
proportion between the stroke of the piston and its dis¬
tance from the water in the cistern. We need not give
the determination, because it will come in afterwards in
combination with other circumstances. It is enough
that the reader sees the physical causes of this limitation:
And, lastly, we see plainly that the utmost security will
be given for the performance of the pump, when the
fixed valve is so placed that the piston, when in its low- n
est position, shall come into contact with it. In thisValres
case, the rarefaction of the air will be the completest®?8'1? f
possible j and, if there were no space left between theair" "
piston and valve, and all were perfectly air-tight, the
rarefaction would be complete, and the valve might be
any thing less than 33 feet from the surface of the water
in the cistern.
But this perfect contact and tightness is unattainable;
and though the pump may be full of water, its conti¬
nual downward pressure causes it to filtrate slowly
through every crevice, and the air enters through every
pore, and even disengages itself from the water, with
which a considerable portion had been chemically com¬
bined. The pump by this means loses water, and it
requires several strokes of brisk working to fill it again:
and if the leathers have become dry, so much admission
may be given to the air, that the pump will not fill it¬
self with water hy any working. It is then necessary to
pour water into it, which shuts up these passages, and
soon sets all to rights again. For these reasons it is al¬
ways prudent to place the fixed valve as low as other
circumstances will permit, and to make the piston rod
of such a length, that when it is at the bottom of its
stroke it shall be almost in contact with the valve. When
we
P U M
l.i
r iip-
[501
uinp we are not limited by other circumstances, it is evident
“-T—' that the best possible form is to have both the piston and
the fixed valve under the surface of the water of the cis¬
tern. In this situation they are always wet and air¬
tight. The chief objection is, that by this disposition
they are not easily come at when needing repair. This
is a material objection in deep mines. In such situations,
therefore, we must make the best compensation of differ¬
ent circumstances that we can. It is usual to place the
fixed valve at a moderate distance from the surface of
the water, and to have a hole in the side of the pipe, by
which it may be got out. This is carefully shut up by
a plate firmly screwed on, with leather or cement be¬
tween the parts. This is called the c/ark door. It
would, in every case, be very proper to have a fixed
valve in the lower end of the pipe. This would com¬
bine all advantages. Being always tight, the pipe would
retain the water, and it would leave to the valve above
it its full effect of increasing the rarefaction. A similar
hole is made in the working barrel, a little above the
highest position of the piston. When this needs repair,
it can be got at through this hole, without the immense
trouble of drawing up the whole rods.
Thus we have conducted the reader step by step, from
the simplest form of the pump to that which long expe¬
rience has at last selected as the most generally conve¬
nient. This we shall now describe in some detail.
. The Sucking Pump consists of two pipes DCCD,
ti ot t e (fig. 5.); of which the former is called the Bar-
re/, or the Working Barrel, and the other is called the
Suction-pipe, and is commonly of a smaller diameter.—
These are joined by means of Handles E, F, pierced
with holes to receive screwed bolts. A ring of lea¬
ther, or of lead, covered with a proper cement, is put
between them *, which, being strongly compressed by
the screw-bolts, renders the joint perfectly air-tight.—
The lower end A of the suction-pipe is commonly spread
out a little to facilitate the entry of the water, and fre¬
quently has a grating across at AA to keep out filth or
gravel. This is immerged in the standing water YZ.
The working barrel is cylindrical, as evenly and smooth¬
ly bored as possible, that the piston may fill it exactly
through its whole length, and move along it with as
little friction as may be consistent with air-tightness.
The piston is a sort of truncated cone OPKL, gene¬
rally made of wood not made to slip, such as elm or
beech. The small end of it is cut off at the sides, so
as to form a sort of arch OQP, by which it is fasten¬
ed to the iron rod or spear. It is exhibited in different
and positions in figures 6, 7. whidr will give a more di¬
stinct notion of it than any description. The two ends
of the conical part may be hooped with brass. This
cone has its larger end surrounded with a ring or band
of strong leather fastened with nails, or by a copper
hoop, which is driven on at the smaller end. This
band should reach to some distance beyond the base of
the cone ; the farther the better: and the whole must
be of uniform thickness all round, so as to suffer equal
compression between the cone and the working barrel.
»iruty0fThe seam or joint of the two ends of this band must
lk' be made very close, but not sewed or stitched together,
pfop ? at. This would occasion bumps or inequalities, which would
^ad i0i spoil its tightness^ and no harm can result from the wrant
of it, because the two edges will be squeezed close to¬
gether by the compression in the barrel. It is by no
]
P U M
Pump.
means necessary that this compression be great This
is a very detrimental error of the pump-makers. It
occasions enormous friction, and destroys the very nur
pose which they have in view, viz. rendering the piston
air-tight; for it causes the leather to w-ear through very
soon at the edge of the cone, and it also wears the
working barrel. This very soon becomes wide in that
part which is continually passed over by the piston, while
the mouth remains of its original diameter, and it be¬
comes impossible to thrust in a piston which shall com¬
pletely fill the worn part. Now, a very moderate pres- r5.
sure is sufficient for rendering the pump perfectly tight A,\eas£
and a piece of glove leather would be sufficient for thisr«derfL
purpose, if loose or detached from the solid cone 1 forpunips
suppose such a loose and flexible, hut impervious, band11*1*-
°i *catber put round the piston, and put into the barreh
and let it even be supposed that the cone does not com¬
press it m the smallest degree to its internal surface 
Pour a little water carefully into the inside of this sort
of cup or dish ; it will cause it to swell out a little,
and apply itself close to the barrel all round, and even
adjust itself to all its inequalities. Eet us suppose it to
touch the barrel in a ring of an inch broad all round.
We can easily compute the force with which it is pres¬
sed. It is halt the weight of a ring of water an inch
deep and an inch broad. This is a trifle, and the fric¬
tion occasioned by it not worth regarding ; yet this .
trifling pressure is sufficient to make the passage per¬
fectly impervious, even by the most enormous pressure
of a high column of incumbent water: for let this
pressure be ever so great, the pressure by which the lea¬
ther adheres to the barrel always exceeds it, because the
incumbent fluid has no preponderating power by which
it can force its way between them, and it must insinuate
itself precisely so tar, that its pressure on the inside of
the leather shall still exceed, and only exceed, the pres¬
sure by which it endeavours to insinuate itself; and thus
the piston becomes perfectly tight with the smallest pos¬
sible friction. This reasoning is perhaps too refined for
the uninstructed artist, and probably will not persuade
him. To such we would recommend an examination
of the pistons and valves contrived and executed by that cable from
artist, whose skill far surpasses our highest conceptions, the human
the all-wuse Creator of this world. The valves whichlranle-
shut up the passages of the veins, and this in places
where an extravasation would be followed by instant
death, are cups of thin membrane which adhere to
the sides of the channel about half way round, and
are detached in the rest of their circumference. When
the blood comes in the opposite direction, it pushes the
membrane aside, and has a passage perfectly free. But
a stagnation of motion alloivs the tone of the muscular
(perhaps) membrane, torestoreittoits natural shape, and
the least motion in the opposite direction causes it instant¬
ly to clap close to the sides of the vein, and then no 17
pressure whatever can force a passage. We shall recur
to this again, when describing the various contrivances
of valves, &c. What we have said is enough for sup- mended,
porting our directions for constructing a tight piston.
But we recommended thick and strong leather, while
our present reasoning seems to render thin leather pre¬
ferable. If the leather be thin, and the solid piston in
any part does not press it gently to the barrel, there
will be in this part an unbalanced pressure of the incum¬
bent column of water, which would instantly burst even
Pump.
iS
Further de¬
scription oi
the suck¬
ing-pump.
Fig. 8.
Fig. 9.
Fig. 10.
19
Its mode
of opera¬
tion.
P U M r SC
a strong leather bag ; but when the solid piston, cover¬
ed with leather, exactly fills the barrel, and is even pres¬
sed a little to it, there is no such risk} and now that
part of the leather hand which reaches beyond the solid
piston performs its office in the completest manner. V' e
do not hesitate, therefore, to recommend this form of a
piston, which is the most common and simple of all, as
preferable, when well executed, to any of those more
artificial, and frequently very ingenious, constructions,
which we have met with in the works of the first engi¬
neers. To proceed, then, with our description of the
sucking-pump.
At the joining of the working barrel with the suc¬
tion-pipe there is a hole H, covered with a valve open¬
ing upwards. This hole H is either made in a plate
which makes a part of the suction-pipe, being cast along
with it, or it is made in a separate plate. This last is
the most convenient, being easily removed and replaced.
Different views are given of this valve in figs. 8, 9, 10.
The diameter EF (fig. 10.) of this plate is the same
with that of the flanches, and it has holes correspond¬
ing to them, through which their bolts pass which keep
all together. A ring of thick leather NKL is applied
to this plate, having a part cut out between N and L,
to make room for another piece of strong leather N R
(fig. 9.) which composes the valve. rIhe circular part
of this valve is broader than the hole in the middle of
fig. 10. but not quite so broad as to fill up the inside
of the ring of leather OQP of this fig. which is the
same with GKI of fig. 10. The middle of this leather
valve is strengthened by two brass (not iron) plates, the
uppermost of which is seen at R of fig. 9.: the one on
its underside is a little smaller than the hole in the valve-
plate, that it may go freely inj and the upper plate R is
larger than this hole, that it may compress the leather
to its brim all round. It is evident, that when this plate
with its leathers is put between the joint flanches, and
all is screwed together, the tail of leather N of fig. 9.
will he compressed between the plates, and form a hinge,
on which the valve can turn, rising and falling. There
is a similar valve fastened to the upper side, or broadest
base of the piston. This description serves for both
valves, and in general for most valves which are to he
found in any parts of a pump.
The reader will now understand, without any repeti¬
tion, the process of the whole operation of a sucking-
pump. The piston rarefies the air in the working bar¬
rel, and that -in the suction-pipe expands through the
valve into the barrel j and, being no longer a balance for
the atmospheric pressure, the water rises into the suc¬
tion-pipe ; another stroke of the piston produces a simi¬
lar effect, and the water rises farther, but by a smaller
step than by the preceding stroke : by repeating the
strokes of the piston, the water gets into the barrel; and
when the piston is now pushed down through it, it gets
above the piston, and must now be lifted up to any
height. The suction-pipe is commonly of smaller size
than the working barrel, for the sake of economy. It
is not necessary that it be so wide 5 but it may he, and
often is, made too small. It should he of such a size,
that the pressure of the atmosphere may be able to fill
the barrel with water as fast as the piston rises. If a
void is left below the piston, it is evident that the pi¬
ston must be carrying the whole weight of the atmo¬
sphere, besides the water which is lying above it. Nay,
2 ] P U M
if the pipe be only so wide, that the barrels shall fill pUr
precisely as fast as the piston rises, it must sustain all -
this pressure. The suction-pipe should be wider than
this, that all the pressure of the atmosphere which ex¬
ceeds the weight of the pillar in the suction-pipe may
be employed in pressing it on the under surface of the
piston, and thus diminish the load. It cannot be made
too wide •, and too strict an economy in this respect may
very sensibly diminish the performance of the pump,
and more than defeat its own purpose. This is most
likely when the suction-pipe is long, because there the
length of the pillar of water nearly balances the air’s
pressure, and leaves very little accelerating force *, so
that water will rise but slowly even in the widest pipe.
All these things will he made the subjects of computa¬
tion afterwards.
It is plain that there will be limitations to the rise of
the water in the suction-pipe, similar to what we found
when the whole pump was an uniform cylinder. Let a
be the height of the fixed valve above the water in the •
cistern : let B and b be the spaces in cubic measure be¬
tween this valve and the piston in its highest and lowest
positions, and therefore express the bulks ot the air which
may occupy these spaces: let ?/ he the distance between
the fixed valve and the water in the suction-pipe, when
it has attained its greatest height by the rarefaction of
the air above it: let h be the height of a column of
water in equilihrio, with the whole pressure of the at¬
mosphere, and therefore having its weight in equilibrio
with the elasticity of common air j and let a1 be the
height of the column whose weight balances the elasti¬
city of the air in the suction-pipe, when rarefied as much
as it can he by the action of the piston, the water stand¬
ing at the height a—-?/.
Then, because this elasticity, together with the
column a—?/ in the suction-pipe, must balance the
whole pressure of the atmosphere, (see Pneumatics,
N° 108.), we must have h=.x-\-a—y, and y—u-\-
x—h.
■When the piston was in its lowest position, the hulk
of the air between it and the fixed valve was b. Sup¬
pose the valve kept shut, and the piston raised to ils
highest position, the bulk will be B, and its density
-jT, and its elasticity, or the height of the column whose
weight will balance it, will be //-jpg. If the air in the
suction-pipe be denser than this, and consequently more
elastic, it will lift the valve, and some will come in ;
therefore, when the pump has rarefied the air as much
as it can, so that none does, in fact, come in, the ela¬
sticity of the air in the suction-pipe 7nust be the same.
Therefore a1 = h -jp
, b
We had y=.a x — h. Therefore ?/ = « + «-g-
7 B .
-n, — « -J 'i, — cr*
B-
B
- A.
B b*
Therefore when —;;— 7i is less than a, the water
B
But when
will stop before it reaches the fixed valve.
a is less than —^— /?, the water will get above the
B
fixed valve, y becoming negative.
But
p u M c 505
j'np. But it does not follow that the water will reach the
—'piston, that is, will rise so high that the piston will pass
through it in its descent. Things now come into the
condition of a pump of uniform dimensions from top to
bottom j and this point will be determined by what was
said when treating of such a pump,
ae There is another form of the sucking-pump which is
an much used in great water works, and is^of equal effi¬
cacy with the one now described. It is indeed the
; same pump in an inverted position. It is represented
in fig. ii. where ABCD is the working barrel, im¬
mersed, with its mouth downwards, in the water of the
cistern. It is joined by means of flanches to the rising
pipe or MAIN.
This usually consists of two parts. The first BEFC
is bent to one side, that it may give room for the iron
frame TXYV, which carries the rod NO of the piston
M, attached to the traverses BS, TOY of this frame.
The other part, EGHF, is usually of a less diameter’
and is continued to the place of delivery. The piston
frame XTV Y hangs by the rod Z, at the arm of a lever
or working beam, not brought into the figure. The
piston is perforated like the former, and isIsuProunded
like it with a band of leather in form of a taper-dish.
It has a valve lv on its broad or upper base, opening
when pressed from below. The upper end of the work-
Pump.
23
ing barrel is pierced with a hole, covered with a valve
1, also opening upwards.
Now suppose this apparatus immersed into the ci¬
stern till the water is above it, as marked by the line
2, 3, and the piston drawn up till it touch the end of
the barrel. V, hen the piston is allowed to descend by its
own weight, the \vater rises up through its valve K,
and fills the barrel. If the piston be now drawn up by
the moving power ol the machinery with which it is
connected, the valve X shuts, and the piston pushes the
water before it through the valve I into the main pipe
EIGH. When the the piston is again let down, the
valve I shuts by its own weight and the pressure of the
water incumbent on it, and the barrel is again filled by
the water of the cistern. Drawing up the piston pushes
this water into the main pipe, &c. and then the water
is at length delivered at the place required.
This pump is usually called the lifting pump ; perhaps
the simplest of all in its principle and operation.——
It needs no farther explanation : and we proceed to de¬
scribe
The Iorcing Pump, represented in fig. 12. It
consists of a working barrel ABCD, a suction-pipe
CDEf, and a main or rising pipe. This last is usually
in three joints. I he first GHKLI may be considered as
making part of the working barrel, and is commonly
cast in one piece with it. The second IKLM is join-
1 P U M
wLh„e,r,'at.,0n.°f,t,liS Vam? is abundantly simple.
V hen the p.ston ,s thrust into the pump, it pkheAe
air before .t through the valve S, for the valveR re-
mains shut by its'own weight. When it has rear br d Its m0de of
near the bottom, and is drawn up again, the air which 0pCrati°n*
led the sma 1 space between the piston and the valve
S now expands into the barrel 5 lor as soon as the air
cgins 0 expand, it ceases to balance the pressure of
he atmosphere, which therefore shuts the valve S. By
the vXT” °! thC aU7n the barrel lllf equilibrium at
1 ft the f ^ dfif’°yed’]ai!d the air in the suction-pipe
hits the valve, and expands into the barrel 5 consequent
y it ceases to be a balance for the pressure of theltmo-
kphere, and the water is forced into the suction-pipe.
ushing the piston down again forces the air in the bar-
rel through the valve S, the valve R in the mean time
shutting. When the piston is again drawn up, S shuts,
v opens, the air in the suction-pipe dilates anew, and the
water rises higher in it. Repeating these operations, the
water gets at last into the working barrel, and is forced
into the main by pushing down the piston, and is pushed
along to the place ol delivery.
The operation of this pump is therefore two-fold, 24, u
sucking and forcing. In the first operation, the same
force must be employed as in the sucking-pump, name-
iv, a force equal to the weight of a column of water
having the section of the piston for its base, and the
height of the piston above the water in the cistern for
its height It is for the sake of this part of the opera¬
tion that Lie upper cone is added to the piston. The
air and water would pass by the sides of the lower cone
while the piston is drawn up; but the leather of the
upper cone applies to the surface of the barrel, and pre¬
vents this. The space contained between the barrel
and the valve S is a great obstruction to this part of
the operation, because this air cannot be rarefied to a
very great degree. For this reason, the suction-pipe of
a forcing-pump must not he made long. It is not in¬
deed necessary; for by placing the pump a few feet lower,
the water will rise into it without difficulty, and the’
labour of suction is as much diminished as that of im¬
pulsion is increased. However, an intelligent artist
will always endeavour to make this space between the
valve S and the lowest place of the piston as small as
possible.
The power employed in forcing must evidently sur¬
mount the pressure of the whole water in the rising
pipe, and (independent of what is necessary for giving
the water the required velocity, so that the proper
quantity per hour may be-<lelivered), the piston has to
withstand a force equal to the weight of a column of ^
water having-the section of the piston for its base, and
the perpendicular altitude of the place of delivery above
n , r„ , „    J me ycipcimieiuai aiumue ox me piace 01 delivery above
ea to it by Handies, and forms the elbow which this ' the lower surface of the piston for its height. It is
pipe must generallv have. flhe third ENOIYT is nrn- mntn lnriif?V>rpnt In .v,  c
pipe must generally have. The third LNOM is pro¬
perly the beginning of the main, and is continued to the
place ol delivery. At the joint IX there is a hanging
valve or clack S; and there is a valve R on the top of
the suction-pipe.
. r^^ie piston IJQ L V is solid, and is fastened to a stout
iron rod which goes through it, and is fixed by a key
drawn through its end. The body of the piston is a
sort of double cone, widening from the middle to each
ond, and is covered with two bands of very strong lea-
Ger, fitted to it in the manner already described.
quite indifferent in this respect what is the diameter of
the rising pipe ; because the pressure on the piston de¬
pends on the altitude of the water only, independent
of its quantity. We shall even see that a small rising
pipe will require a greater force to convey the water
along it to any given height or distance.
When we would employ a pump to raise water in
a crooked pipe, or in any pipe of moderate dimensions,
this form of pump, or something equivalent, must be*
used. In bringing up great quantities of water from
mines, the common sucking-pump is generally employ¬
ed.
P U M
[ 5°+ 3
P U M
Pump.
25 -
Measure et
the quanti¬
ty of water
delivered
by any
pump.
25
The opera
tion of
pumps not
equable;
27
and the
mode of
making
them so.
r*g-13
ed, as real’y the best of them all j but it is ibe mo»t ex¬
pensive, because it requires the pipe to be perpendicu¬
lar, straight, and of great dimensions, that it may con¬
tain the piston rods. But this is impracticable when
the pipe is crooked.
If the forcing pump, constructed in the manner now
described, be employed, we cannot use forcers with long
rods. These would bend when pushed down by then
further extremity. In this case, it is usual to employ
only a short and stiff rod, and to hang it by a chain,
and load it with a weight superior to the weight of wa¬
ter to be raised by it. The machinery therefore is em¬
ployed, not in forcing the water along the rising pipe,
but in raising the weight which is to produce this effect
by its subsequent descent.
In this case, it would be much better to employ the
lifting-pump of fig. II. For as the load on the forcers
must be greater than the resistances which it must sur¬
mount, the force exerted by the machine must in like
manner be greater than this load. This double excess
would be avoided by using the lifting-pump.
It will readily occur to the reader that the quantity
of water delivered by any pump will be in the joint pro¬
portion of the surface or base of the piston and its velo¬
city : for this measures the capacity of the part of the
working barrel which the piston passes over. The velo¬
city of the water in the conduit pipe, and in its passage
through every valve, will be greater or less than the ve¬
locity0if the piston, in the same proportion that the area
of the piston or working barrel is greater or less than the
area of the conduit or valve. For whatever quantity of
water passes through any section of the working band
in a second, the same quantity must go through any one
of these passages. This enables us to modify the velocity
of the water as we please; ive can increase it to any de¬
gree at the place of delivery by diminishing the aper¬
ture through which it passes, provided we apply suffi¬
cient force to the piston.
It is evident that the operation of a pump is by starts,
and that the water in the main remains at rest, pressing
on the valve during the time that the piston is withdrawn
from the bottom of the working barrel. It is in most
cases desirable to have this motion equable, and in some
cases it is absolutely necessary. Thus, in the engine for
extinguishing fires, the spout of water going by jerks
could never be directed with a certain aim, and half of
the water would be lost by the way ; because a body at
rest cannot in an instant be put in rapid motion, and the
first portion of every jerk of water would have but a
small velocity. A very ingenious contrivance lias been
fallen upon for obviating this inconvenience, and pro¬
curing a stream nearly equable. We have not been able
to discover the author. At any convenient part of the
rising-pipe beyond the valve S there is annexed a capa¬
cious’ vessel VZ (fig. 13. N° 1. and 2.) close a-top, and
of great strength. When the water is forced along this
pipe, part of it gets into this vessel, keeping the air con¬
fined above it, and it fills it to such a height V, that the
elasticity of the confined air balances a column reaching
to T, we shall suppose, in the rising-pipe. The next
stroke of the piston sends forward more water, which
would fill the rising-pipe to some height above T. But
the pressure of this additional column causes some more
of it to go into the air vessel, and compress its air so
much more that its elasticity now balances a longer co-
J
lumu. Every succeeding stroke of the piston produces a
like effect. The water rises higher in the main pipe, but '■
some more of it goes into the air vessel. At last the wa¬
ter appears at the place of delivery } aud the air in the
air vessel is now so much compressed that its elasticity
balances the pressure of the whole column. I he next
stroke of the piston sends forward some more water. If
the diameter of the orifice of the main be sufficient to
let the water flow out with a velocity equal to that of
the piston, it will so flow out, rising no higher, and pro¬
ducing no sensible addition to the compression in the
air vessel. But if the orifice of the main be contract¬
ed to half its dimensions, the water sent forward by
the piston cannot flow out in the time of the stroke
without a greater velocity, and therefore a greater
force. Part of it, therefore, goes into the air vessel,
and increases the compression. When the piston has
ended its stroke, and no more water comes forward,
the compression ol the air in the air vessel being great¬
er than what was sufficient to balance the pressure of
the water in the main pipe, now forces out some of
the water which is lying below it. Ibis cannot return
towards the pump, because the valve S is now shut.
It therefore goes forward along the main, and produces
an efflux during the time of the piston’s rising in or¬
der to make another stroke. In order that this efflux
may be very equable, the air vessel must be very large.
If it he small, the quantity of water that is discharged
by it during the return of the piston makes so great a
portion of its capacity, that the elasticity of the confined
air is too much diminished by this enlargement of its
hulk, and the rate of efflux must diminish accordingly.
The capacity of the air vessel should be so great that
the change of bulk of the compressed air during the in¬
action of the piston may be inconsiderable. It must
therefore be very strong.
It is pretty indifferent in what way this air vessel is
connected with the rising-pipe. It may join it lateral¬
ly, as in fig. 13. N° I. and the main pipe go on with¬
out interruption ; or it may be made to surround an
Tti;
N* 2. It
interruption of the main pipe, as in fig. 13
may also be in any part of the main pipe. If the sole
effect intended by it is to produce an equable jet, as in
ornamental water-works, it may be near the end of the
main. This will require much less strength, because
there remains but a short column of water to compress
the air in it. But it is, on the whole, more advanta¬
geous to place it as near the pump as possible, that it
may produce an equable motion in the whole main pipe.
This is of considerable advantage : when a column of
water several hundred feet long is at rest in the main
pipe, and the piston at one end of it put at once into
motion, even with a moderate velocity, the strain on
the pipe would be very great. Indeed if it were possible
to put the piston instantaneously into motion with a finite
velocity, the strain on the pipe, tending to burst it,
would be next to infinite. But this seems impossible in The*™'
nature 5 all changes of motion which we observe are gia- tor)
,'fe
■urii
dual, because all impelling bodies have some elaStlClty tije
or softness by which they yield to compression. And,
in the way in which pistons are commonly moved, viz.
by cranks or something analogous to them, the motion
is verif sensibly gradual. But still the air vessel tends to
make the motion along the main pipe less desultory, and
therefore diminishes those strains wliich would really take
place
toni
P U M
1 Pump.
29
rrected.
place m the main-pipe. It acts like the sprin^of a
tfavellmg-carfiage, whose jolts arc incomparably less
tnan those oi a cart 5 and by this means really enables
a given force to propel a greater quantity of water in the
same time.
1 505 ]
P U M
foot liigl], am! this would just balance the compression
in the air-vessel, which maintains this velocity during
tne non-action of the piston. It is, however, a matter
ot tact, that a pump furnished with an air-vessel delivers
We may here by the way observe that tb. ofi. * f, So- m°re '?ater !Lan k ‘lo without it. But
of mechanicians to correct this unequal motion 3 V 6 * * ,eren?e llePen<^s on the combination of many very
 ’ - ' ’ ’ - • 9 al m0tlon °f the dissimilar circumstances, which it is extremely difficult
Pump.
3°
: on a
piston-rod are misplaced, and if it could be done would
greatly hurt a pump. One of the best methods of pro¬
ducing this ellect is to make the piston-rod consist of two
parallel bars, having teeth in the sides which front each
other. Let a toothed wheel be placed between them
having only the half of its circumference furnished with
teeth. It is evident, without any farther description
that if tins wheel he turned uniformly round its axis the
piston-rod will be moved uniformly up and down with¬
out intermission. This has often been put in practice •
but the machine always went by jolts, and seldom lasted
a lew days. Unskilled mechanicians attributed this to
defect in the execution : but the fault is essential and
lies in the principle.
I he machine could not perform one stroke if the
*:»prin-first mover did not slacken a little, or the different parts
or the machine did not yield by bending or by compres¬
sion ; and no strength of materials could withstand the
violence of the strains at every reciprocation of the mo¬
tion. This is chiefly experienced in great works which
are put in motion by a water-wheel, or some other
equal power exerted o'n the mass of matter of which
the machine consists. The water-wheel being of great
weight, moves with considerable steadiness or unifor-
, mitj ; and when an additional resistance is opposed to
it by the beginning of a new stroke of the piston, its
great quantity of motion is but little affected by this
addition, and it proceeds very little retarded ; and the
machine must either yield a little by bending and com¬
pression, or go to pieces, which is the common event.
Cranks are free from this inconvenience, because they
accelerate the piston gradually, and bring it gradually
to rest, while the water-wheel moves round with almost
perfect uniformity. The only inconvenience (and it
may be considerable) attending this slow motion of the
piston at the beginning of its stroke is, that the valves
do not shut with rapidity, so that some water gets back
through them. But when they are properly formed and
loaded, this is but trifling.
We must not imagine, that because the stream pro
Borne of these will be meu-
r
■equa-
dnced by the assistance of an air-barrel is almost uer-
__ _ 1 i ii
' very
hore mctly equable, and because as much water runs out du-
jhan ring the returning of the piston as during its active
stroke, it therefore doubles the quantity of water. No
more water can run out than what is sent forward by
the piston during its effective stroke. The continued
stream is produced only by preventing the whole of
tuis water from being discharged during this time, and
by providing a propelling force to act during the piston’s
return. Nor does it enable the moving force of the pi¬
ston to produce a double effect: for the compression
which is produced in the air-vessel, more than what is
necessary lor merely balancing the quiescent column of
water, reacts on the piston, resisting its compression just
as much as the column of water would do which pro-
uces a velocity equal to that of the efflux. Thus if the
Water is made to spout with the velocity of eight feet per
second, this would require an additional column of one
Vol. XVII. part H.
to bring into calculation,
tioned afterwards.
lo describe, or even to enumerate, the immense va¬
riety of combinations of these three simple pumps would
hll a volume. We shall select a few, which are more
deserving ol notice.
L The common sucking-pump may, by a small ad-The JX
(i ion, be converted into a lilting pump, fitted for pro-ing-pump
pe ing the water to any distance, and with any velo-convei’ted
City- ' into a lift-
A^Vfn1,4' is a 8uck,’nS-Pum!>’ whose working-barrel inLpump'
AGDB has a lateral pipe xiEGHF connected with it FS' I4‘
close to the top. This terminates in a main or rising
pipe IK, furnished or not with a valve L. The top
of the barrel is shut up by a strong plate MN, havino-
a hollow neck terminating in a small flanch. The pistoS
rod Uii passes through this neck, and is nicely turned
and polished. A number of rings of leather are put
over tne rod, and strongly compressed round it by an¬
other flanch and several screwed bolts, as is represented
at OP. By this contrivance the rod is closely grasped
by the leathers, but may be easily drawn up and down,
while all passage of air or water is effectually pre¬
vented.
i he piston S is perforated, and furnished with a
valve opening upwards. There is also a valve T 011
the top of the suction-pipe YX; and it will be of ad¬
vantage, though not absolutely necessary, to put a valve
L at the bottom of the rising pipe. Now suppose the
piston at the bottom of the working-barrel. 'When it
is drawn up, it tends to compress the air above it, be¬
cause the valve in the piston remains shut by its own
weight. The air therefore is driven through the valve
L into the rising pipe, and escapes. In the mean time,
the air which occupied the small space between the pi¬
ston and the valve T expands into the upper part of
the working-barrel j and its elasticity is so much dimi¬
nished thereby, that the atmosphere presses the water
of the cistern into the suction-pipe, where it will rise
till an equilibrium is again produced. The next down¬
ward stroke of the piston allows the air, which had
come from the suction-pipe into the barrel during the
ascent of the piston, to get through its valve. Upon
drawing up this piston, the air is also drawn off through
the rising pipe. Repeating this process brings the wa¬
ter at last into the working-barrel, and it is then driven
along the rising-pipe by the piston.
This is one of the best forms of a pump. The ra-^
refaction may he very perfect, because the piston can 0fthts'coiT-8
be brought so near to the bottom of the working-version,
barrel : and, for forcing water in opposition to great
pressures, it appears preferable to the common forcing-
pump ; because in that the piston rods are compressed
and exposed to bending, which greatly hurts the pump
by wearing the piston and barrel on one side. This
soon renders it less tight, and much water squirts out
by the sides of the piston. But in this pump the piston
rod is always drawn or pulled, which keeps it straight j
f 3 S and
Pomp.
34
Equable
stieani1?
tions.
P U M ' t S°6
and rods exert a much greater force in opposition to a
pull than ia opposition to compression, ihe collar of
leather round the piston-rods is found hy experience to
need very little repairs, and is very impervious to water.
The whole is very accessible for repairs and in this re¬
spect much preferable to the common pump in deep
mines, where every fault of the piston obliges us to
draw up some hundred leet ot piston-rods. Ly tins
addition, too, any common pump tbr the service ol a
house is converted into an engine for extinguishing lire,
or may be made to convey the water to every part of
the house > and this without hurting or obstructing its
common uses. All that is necessary is to have a large
cock on the upper part of the working barrel oppo¬
site to the lateral pipe in this figure. This cock serves
for a spout when the pump is used for common pur¬
poses : and the merely shutting this cock converts the
whole into an engine for extinguishing fire or lor sup-
plyincr distant plates with water. It is scarcely neces¬
sary to add, that for these services it will be proper to
connect an air-vessel with some convenient part of the
rising pipe, in order that the current of the water may
he continual. c
We have frequently spoken of the advantages ot a
proved incontiom d current in the main pipe. U all gfMt works
g’-f-at works a considerable degree o» uniformity is pi o u
by combina- manner of disposing the actions of the different pumps *,
for it b very rarely that a machine works hut one
pump. In order t» maintain some uniformity in the
resistance, that it may not all he opposed at once tC)
movin'* power, with intervals of total inaction, which
would ^produce a very hobbling motion, it is usual to
distribute the work into portions, which succeed alter¬
nately *, and thus both diminish the strain, and give
greater uniformity of action, and frequently enable a
natural power which we can command, to perform a
piece of work, which would be impossible if the whole
resistance were opposed at once. In all pump ma¬
chines, therefore, we are obviously directed to construct
them so that they may give motion to at least two
pumps, which work alternately. By tins means a much
greater uniformity of current is produced in the main
pipe It will he rendered still more uniform if four are
employed, succeeding each other at the interval of one
quarter of the time of a complete stroke.
ingenious men have attempted the same thing
»8i"g,e pun'i>’am’
for this purpose have been proposed and executed.
The thing is not of much importance, or of great re¬
search. We shall content ourselves therefore with the
description of one that appears to us the most perfect,
both in respect of simplicity and effect.
XI. It consists of a working-barrel AB (fig. 15.)
close at both ends. The piston C is solid, and the rod
OP passes through a collar of leathers in the plate,
which closes the upper end ot the working-barrel. 1 his
barrel communicates laterally with two pipr-s II, Iv ;
the communications m and n being as near to the top
and bottom of the barrel as possible. Adjoining to the
passage m are two valves l4 and C* opening upwaids.
Similar valves accompany the passage n. The two pipes
H and K unite in a larger rising pipe L. 1 hey are all
represented as in the same plane *, but the upp^r ends
must be bent backwards, to give room for the motion
of the piston-rod OP.
.33
A single
pump for
Fij IS*
] P U M
Suppose the piston close to the entry of the lateral
pipe n, and that it is drawn up: it compresses the air'-
above it, and drives it through the valve G, where it
escapes along the rising pipe ; at the same time it
rarefies the air in the space below it. Therefore the
weight of the atmosphere shuts the valve E, and causes
the water of the cistern to rise through the valve D,
and fill the lower part of the pump. When the piston
is pushed down again, this water is first driven through
the valve E, because I) immediately shuts j and then
most of the air which was in this part of the pump at
the beginning goes up through it, some of the water
coming back in its stead. In the mean time, the air
which remained in the upper part of the pump after the
ascent of the piston is rarefied by its descent *, because
the valve G shuts as soon as the piston begins to de¬
scend, the valve F opens, the air in this suction pipe
E /expands into the barrel, and tne water rises into
the pipes by the pressure of the atmosphere. The next
rise of the piston must bring more water into the lower
part :ff the barrel, and must drive a little moie ^air
through the valve G, namely, part of that which had
come out of the suction-pipe E / ; and the next descent
of the piston must drive more water into the rising
pipe H, and along with it most if not all of the air
which remained below the piston, and must larcfy still
more the air remaining above the piston ; and more
water will come in through the pipe T/j ami get into
the barrel. It is evident, that a few repetitions will at
last fill the barrel on both sides of the piston with water.
When this is accomplished, there is no difficulty in per¬
ceiving how, at every rise ot the piston, tne water of
the cistern will come in by the valve D, and the water-
in the upper part of the barrel will he driven through
the valve G and, in every descent of the piston, the
water of the cistern will come into the barrel by the
valve F, and the water below the piston will be driven
through’the valve E: and thus there will be a continu¬
al influx into the barrel through the valves D and F,
and a continual discharge along the rising pipe L
through the valves E and G. r • •
This machine is, to be sure, equivalent to two forerng It is eqt
pumps, although it has but one barrel and one piston *,valentt
but it has no sort of superiority. It is not even morejng pun
economical in most cases -, because we apprehend that
the additional workmanship will fully compensate ior
the barrel and piston that is saved. There is indeed a
saving in the rest of the machinery, because one lever
produces both motions. We cannot therefore say that
it is inferior to two pumps-, and we acknowledge that
there is some ingenuity in the contrivance.
We recommend to our readers the perusal of Bell-Author f
dor’s Architecture Hydraulique, where is to be found a commei
great variety of combinations and forms ot the simple6
pumps; but we must caution them with respect to Ins
theories, which in this article are extremely defective.
Also in Leopold’s Theat rum Machinarum Hydraulua-
rum, there is a prodigious variety of all kinds ot pumps,
many of them very singular and ingenious, and many
which have particular advantages, which may suit local
circumstances, and give them a preference. But it
would he improper to swell a work ol this kind with so
many peculiarities-, and a pt rson who makes himself
master of the principles delivered here in sufficient de¬
tail, can be at no loss to suit a pump to his particular
iews,
37
ttinirt
df cor
I#
ItCCL
iji
suf
.11
P u
Pump.
M [ 507 ]
J"1166 of tl,e “£rit o! sucl1 as mi>y l>e pro- air which had come
posed to him
We must now take notice of some very considerable
and important varieties in the form and contrivance of
3S the essential parts of a pump.
Udiffe* II/* Tre f°rCing pU,mp is sornetimes of a very differ-
I ntly con- e!lt fo™ from that already described. Instead of a
Pump,
pructed.
Plate
piston, which applies itself to the inside of the barrel,
and slides up and down in it, there is a Iona cylinder
DCCCL. POQ (fig. 16.) nicely turned and polished on the out-
*• ' side, and ot a diameter somewhat less than the inside of
the barrel. Ibis cylinder (called a plunger) slides
through a collar of leathers on the top of the working-
barrel, and is constructed as follows. The top of the
barrel terminates in a flanch al>, pierced with four holes
for receiving screw-bolts. There are two rings of me¬
tal, c d, e f^ ol the same diameter, and having holes cor¬
responding to those in the flanch. Four rings of soft
leather, of the same size, aud similarly pierced with
holes, are well soaked in a mixture of oil, tallow, and a
little rosin. T^wo ot these leather rings are laid on the
pump flanch, and one of the metal rings above them.
The plunger is then thrust down through them, by
which it turns their inner edges downwards. The other
two rings are then slipped on at the top of the plun¬
ger, and the second metal ring is put over them, and
then the whole are slid down to the metal ring. By
this the inner edges of the last leather rings are turned
upwards. The three metal rings are now forced to¬
gether by the screwed bolts j and thus the leathern
rings are strongly compressed between them, and made
to grasp the plunger so closely that no pressure can
force the water through between. The upper metal
ring just allows the plunger to pass through it, but
without any play : so that the turned-up edges of the
leathern rings do not come up between the plunger and
the upper metal ring, but are lodged in a little conical
taper, which is given to the inner edge of the upper
plate, its hole being wider below than above. It is on
this trifling circumstance that the great tightness of the
collar depends. To prevent the leathers from shrinking
by drought, there is usually a little cistern formed
round the head of the pump, and kept full of water.
The plunger is either forced down by a rod from a
working beam, or by a set of metal weights laid on it,
p as is represented in the figure,
h ode of It is hardly necessary to be particular in explaining
the operation ot this pump. When the plunger is at
the bottom of the barrel, touching the fixed valve M
with its lower extremity, it almost completely fills it.
That it may do it completely, there is sometimes a small
pipe R.SZ branching out from the top of the barrel,
and fitted with a cock at S. Water is admitted till the
barrel is completely filled, and the cock is then shut.
Now when the plunger is drawn up, the valve N in the
rising pipe must remain shut by the pressure of the at¬
mosphere, and a void must be made in the barrel. There¬
fore the valve M on the top of the suction-pipe must
be opened by the elasticity of the air in this pipe, and
the air must expand into the barrel j and being no longer
a balance for the atmosphere, the water in the cistern
must be forced into the suction-pipe, and rise in it to a
certain height. When the plunger descends, it must
drive the water through the valve N (for the valve M
will immediately shut), and along with it most of the
P U M
. into tlle barrel. And as this air
occupied the upper part of the barrel, part of it will re-  v—
mam when the plunger has reached the bottom ; but
a stroke or two will expel it all, and then every succeed¬
ing stroke of the descending piston will drive the water
along the rising pipe, and every ascent of the plunger
W,H be followed by the water from the cistern.
Ihe advantage proposed by this form of piston is
that it may be more accurately made and polished than
the inside of a working barrel, and it is of much easier
repair. Yet we do not find that it is much used, al¬
though an invention of the lytli^ century (we think by
Sir Samuel Morland), and much praised by the writers
on these subjects.
It is easy to see that the sucking-pump may be vari-Sucklng-
ed in the same way. Suppose this plunger to be open PumP simi-
both at top and bottom, but the bottom filled with a va~
valve opening upward. When this is pushed to the11^*
bottom of the barrel, the air which it tends to com-
piess lifts the valve (the lateral pipe I IK being taken
away and the, passage shut up), and escapes through the
plunger. When it is drawn up, it makes the same ra¬
refaction as the solid plunger, because the valve at O
shuts, anti the water will come up from the cistern as in
the former case. If the plunger be now thrust down
again, the valve AI shuts, the valve O is forced open,
aud the plunger is filled with water. This will be lifted
by it during its next ascent; and when it is pushed
down again, the water which filled it must now be push¬
ed out, and will flow over its sides into the cistern at the
head of the barrel. Instead of making the valve at the
bottom of the piston, it may be made at the top 5 but
this disposition is much inferior, because it cannot rare¬
fy the air in the barrel one half. This is e%-ident ; for
the capacity of the barrel and plunger together cannot
be twice the capacity of the barrel.
IV. It may be made after a still different form, as Another
represented in fig. ty. Here the suction pipe CO'01"011*1®
comes up through a cistern KMNIj deeper or longer I
'.iou.
than the intended stroke of the piston, and has a valve Fi^. 17.
C at top. The piston, or what acts in lieu of it, is a
tube AHGB, open at both ends, and of a diameter
somewhat larger than that of the suction pipe. The
interval between them is filled up at HG by a ring or
belt of soft leather, which is fastened to the outer tube,
and moves up and down with it, sliding along the
smoothly polished surface of the suction-pipe with very
little friction. There is a valve I on the top of this
piston, opening upwards. Water is poured into the
outer cistern. 42
The outer cylinder or piston being drawn up from and it»
the bottom, there is a great rarefaction of the air which mo^e
was between them, and the atmosphere presses the wa-opeiatlon'’
ter up through the suction-pipe to a certain height;
for the valve I keeps shut by the pressure of the atmo¬
sphere and its own weight. Pushing down the piston
causes the air, which had expanded from the suction-
pipe into the piston, to escape through the valve I;
drawing it up a second time, allows the atmosphere to
press more water into the suction-pipe, to fill it, and al¬
so part of the piston. When this is pushed down again,
the water which had come through the valve C is now
forced out through the valve I into the cistern KMNL,
and now the whole is full of water. When, therefore,
the piston is drawn up, the water follows, and fills it, if
3 S 3
not
P U M
Pump, not 33 feet above the water in the cistern*, and when it
—y  1 js pushed down again, the water which tilled the piston
is all thrown out into the cistern 5 and after this it dc 1-
vers its full contents of water every stroke. '1 tie water
in the cistern KMNL etlectually prevents the entry ot
any air between the two pipes; so that a very moderate
compression of the belt of soft leather at the mouth of
the piston cylinder is sufficient to make all peilectly
43 tight. _ . ,
The piston Jt might be made differently. 1 be ring ot leather
cylinder m;0.|lt fastened round the top of the inner cylinder
differently at J)E, an(l slid on the inside of the piston cylinder ;
but the first form is most easily executed. Muschen-
broeck has given a figure of this pump in Ins large
system of natural philosophy, and speaks very highly ot
its performance. But we do not see any advantage
which it possesses over the common sucking-pump. He
indeed says that it is without friction, and makes no
mention of the ring of leather between the two cy¬
linders. Such a pump will raise water extremely well
to a small height, and it seems to have been a model
only which he had examined : But if the suction-pipe is
long, it will by no means do without the leather ; for
on drawing up the piston, the water of the upper cistern
will rise between the pipes, and fill the piston, and none
44 will come up through the suction-pipe.
Pumps "We may take this opportunity of observing, that the
without many ingenious contrivances ot pumps without friction
nofiTim- are ef little importance in great works ; because the
portaut use. friction which is completely sufficient to pi event a
escape of water in a well-constructed pump is but a
very trifling part of the whole force. In tne great
pumps which are used in mines, and are woiked by
a steam-engine, it is very usual to make the pistons and
valves without any leather whatever. I he working bar¬
rel is bored truly cylindrical, and the piston is made of
metal of a size that will just pass along it without stick¬
ing. When this is drawn up with the velocity com¬
petent to a properly loaded machine, the quantity ot
water which escapes round the piston is insignificant.
The piston is made without leathers, not to aviod fric¬
tion, which is also insignificant in such works ; but to
avoid the necessity of frequently drawing it up for re-
4- pairs through such a length of pipes.
Example V. If a pump absolutely without friction he wanted,
of a simple t]ie following seems preferable foi’ simplicity and per-
pump with-formance t0 any we have seen, when made use of in
tion!^ proper situations. Let NO (fig. 18.) be the surface
Eig. iS. of the water in the pit, and K the place of delivery.
The pit must be as deep in water as from K to NO.
ABCH is a wooden trunk, round or square, open at
both ends, and having a valve B at the bottom. I he
top of this trunk must be on a level with K, and has a
small cistern EADF. It also communicates laterally
with a rising pipe GHK, furnished with a valve at H
opening upwards. LiVl is a beam ot timber so fitted
to the trunk as to fill it without sticking, and is of at
least equal length. It hangs by a chain from a work¬
ing beam, and' is loaded on the top with weights ex¬
ceeding that of the column of water which it displaces.
Now suppose this beam allowed to descend from the
position in which it is drawn in the figure ; the wa¬
ter must rise all around it, in the crevice which is be¬
tween it and the trunk, and also in the rising pipe; be¬
cause the valve P shuts, and H opens; so that when the
4
P U M
plunger has got to the bottom, the water will stand at pimt
the level of K. When the plunger is again drawn up y_v
to the top by the action of the moving power, the wa¬
ter sinks again in the trunk, but not in the rising pipe,
because it is stopped by the valve H. Then allowing
the plunger to descend again, the water must again rise
in the trunk to the level of K, and it must now flow
out at K ; and the quantity discharged will be equal to
the part of the beam below the surface of the pit-
water, deducting the quantity which fills the small space
between the beam and the trunk. This quantity may
be reduced almost to nothing ; but if the inside of the
trunk and the outside of the beam be made tapering,
the beam may be let down till they exactly fit; and as
this may be done in square work, a good workman can
make it exceedingly accurate. But in this case, the
lower half of the beam and trunk must not taper : and
this part of the trunk must be of sufficient width round
the beam to allow free passage into the rising pipe.
Or, which is better, the rising pipe must branch off
from the bottom of the trunk. A discharge may be
made from the cistern EA13F, so that as little water as
possible may descend along the trunk when the piston
is raised. _ _ 45
One great excellence of this pump is, that it is per-Itsexce
fectly free from all the deficiencies which in common I ncies
pumps result from want of being air-tight. Another^1 t!
is, that the quantity of water raised is precisely equal
to the power expended ; for any want of accuracy in
the work, while it occasions a diminution of the quan¬
tity of water discharged, makes an equal diminution in
the weight which is necessary for pushing down the
plunger. We have seen a machine consisting of two
such pumps suspended from the arms of a long beam,
the upper side of which was formed into a walk with
a rail on each side. A man stood on one end till it
got to the bottom, and then walked soberly up to
the other end, the inclination being about twenty-
five decrees at first, but gradually diminished as he went
along, and changed the load of the beam. By this
means he made the other end go to the bottom, and so
on alternately, with the easiest of all exertions, and
what we are most fitted for by our structure. With tins
machine, a very feeble old man, weighing 110 pounds,
raised 7 cubic feet of water ixi- feet high in a minute,
and continued working 8 or 10 hours everyday. A
stout young man, weighing nearly 135 pounds, raised
8i to the same height, and when he carried 30 pounds,
conveniently slung about him, he raised 9^ feet to this
height, working 10 hours a-day without fatiguing
himself. This exceeds Desagulier’s maximum of a 47
hogshead of water 10 feet high in a minute, in the pro- but u 1: t
portion of 9 to 7 nearly. It is limited to very mode-uute“
rate heights ; but in such situations it is very eftectual.
It was the contrivance of an untaught labouring man,
possessed of uncommon mechanical genius. We shall
have occasion to mention, with respect, some other con¬
trivances of the same person, in the article IFater-
Wirks. _ _ 4-8i
VI. The most ingenious contrivance of a pump with-Hnskm
out friction is that of Mr Haskins, described by Desagu-
liers, and called by him the Quicksilver Pump. Its
construction and mode of operations are pretty compli¬
cated ; but the following preliminary observations will,
we hope, render it abundantly plain.
Let
[ 5c8 ]
P U M
49
node
Let ilmk (fig. 19.) be a cylindrical iron pipe, about
'six feet long, open at top. Let eg hf be another cy¬
linder, connected with it at the bottom, and of smaller
diameter. It may either be solid, or, if hollow, it
must be close at top. Let ac db he a third iron
cylinder, of an intermediate diameter, so that it may
move up and down between the other two without
touching either, but with as little interval as possible.
Let this middle cylinder communicate, by means of the
pipe AB, with the upright pipe FE, having valves C
and D (both opening upwards) adjoining to the pipe
of communication. Suppose the outer cylinder sus¬
pended by chains from the end of a working beam, and
let mercury be poured into the interval between the
three cylinders till it tills the space to 0p, about of
their height. Also suppose that the lower end of the
pipe FE is immersed into a cistern of water, and that
the valve D is less than 33 feet above the surface of
this water.
Now suppose a perforation made somewhere in the
pipe AB, and a communication made with an air-pump.
When the air pump is worked, the air contained in CE,
in AB, and in the space between the inner and middle
cylinders, is rarefied, and is abstracted by the air-pump ;
for the valve D immediately shuts. The pressure of
the atmosphere will cause the water to rise in the pipe
CE, and will cause the mercury to rise between the
inner and middle cylinders, and sink between the outer
and middle cylinders. Let us suppose mercury 12
times heavier than water : Then for every foot that
the water rises in EC, the level between the outside and
inside mercury will vary an inch ; and if we suppose
DE to be 30 feet, then if we can rarefy the air so as to
raise the water to D, the outside mercurv will be de¬
pressed to q, and the inside mercury will have risen to
[ 509 ]
P U M
Pamp.
s, t, sq and t r, being about 30 inches. In this state of
things, the water will run over by the pipe BA, and
every thing will remain nearly in this position. The
columns of water and mercury balance each other, and
balance the pressure of the atmosphere.
While things are in this state of equilibrium, if we
allow the cylinders to descend a little, the water will
rise in the pipe FE, which we may now consider as a
suction-pipe *, for by this motion the capacity of the
whole is enlarged, and therefore the pressure of the at¬
mosphere will still keep it full, and the situation of the
mercury will again be such that all shall be in equilibrio.
It will be a little lower in the inside space and higher
in the outside.
Taking this view of things, we see clearly how the
water is supported by the atmosphere at a very consi¬
derable height. The apparatus is analogous to a sy¬
phon which has one leg filled with water and the other
with mercury. But it was not necessary to employ an
air-pump to fill it. Suppose it again empty, and all
the valves shut by their own weight. Let the cylinders
descend a little. The capacity of the spaces below the
valve D is enlarged, and therefore the included air is
rarefied, and some of the air in the pipe CE must dif¬
fuse itself into the space quitted by the inner cylinder.
Therefore the atmosphere will press some water up the
pipe FE, and some mercury into the inner space be¬
tween the cylinders. When the cylinders are raised
again, the air which came from the pipe CE would re¬
turn into it again, but is prevented by the valve C.—
Raising the cylinders to their former height would com¬
press this air 5 it therefore lifts the valve D, and escapes. y-
Another depression of the cylinders will have a similar
ettect. I he water will rise higher in EC, and the mer
cury m the inner space; and then, after repeated strokes
the water will pass the valve C, and fill the whole ap¬
paratus, as the air-pump had caused it to do before 
. e position of the cylinders, when things are in this
situation, is represented in fig. 20. the outer and inner Fig. 20,
cylinders in their lowest position having descended about
30 inches. The mercury in the outer space stands
at (^, / , a little above the middle of the cylinders, and
the mercury in the inner space is near the top ts of the
inner cylinder. Now let the cylinders be drawn up.
1 he water above the mercury cannot get back again
through the valve C, which shuts bv its own weight.
We therefore attempt to compress it j but the mercury
yields, and descends in the inner space, and rises in
the outer, till both are quickly on a level, about the
height vv. If we continue to raise the cylinders, the
compression forces out more mercury, and it now stands
lower in the inner than in the outer space. But that
there may be something to balance this inequality of
the mercurial columns, the water goes through the
valve D, and the equilibrium is restored when the
height of the water in the pipe ED above the surface
of the internal mercury is 12 times the difference of
the mercurial columns (on the former supposition of
specific gravity). If the quantity of water is such as
to rise two feet in the pipe ED, the mercury in the
outer space will be two inches higher than that in the
inner space. Another depression of the cylinders will
again enlarge the space within the apparatus, the mer¬
cury will take the position of fig. 19. and more ivater
wri!l come in. Raising the cylinders will send this
water four feet up tiie pipe ED, and the mercury will
he four inches higher in the inner than in the outer
space. Repeating this operation, the water will be
raised still higher in DE ; and this will go on till the
mercury in the outer space reaches the top of the cy¬
linder j and this is the limit of the performance. The
dimensions with which we set out will enable the ma¬
chine to raise the water about 30 feet in the pipe ED ;
which, added to the 30 feet of CF, makes the whole
height above the pit-water 60 feet. By making the
cylinders longer, we increase the height of FD. This
machine must be worked with great attention, and hut
slowly ; for at the beginning of the forcing stroke the
mercury very rapidly sinks in the inner space and rises
in the outer, and will dash out and be lost. To pre¬
vent this as much as possible, the outer cylinder termi¬
nates in a sort of cup or dish, and the inner cylinder
should be tapered a-top. _
The machine is exceedingly ingen-ious and refined ; Ingenuity
and there is no doubt hut that its performance will ex-of. lhe con-
ceed that of any other pump which raises the water totrivaDGe
the same height, because friction is completely avoided,&1Cat'
and there can he no want of tiglitness of the piston.—
But this is all its advantage ; and from what has been but the ad-
observed, it is but trifling. The expence would he enor- vantage
mous ; for with whatever care the cylinders are made, Ul^nS«
the interval between the inner and outer cylinders must
contain a very great quantity of mercury. The middle
cylinder must be made of iron plate, and must be without
a seam, for the mercury would dissolve every solder. For
suck
P U M [
Pump, such reasons, it has never come into general use.
f"' v'" ' it would have been unpardonable to have omitted the
description of an invention which is so original and in¬
genious 5 and there are some occasions where it may be
of great use, as in nice experiments for illustrating the
theory of hydraulics, it would give the finest pistons for
measuring the pressures of water in pipes, &.c. It is
on precisely the same principle that the cylinder bel¬
lows, described in the article Pneumatics, are con-
^ structed.
Description We beg leave to conclude this part of the subject
of another with the description of a pump without friction, which
pump with- may he constructed in a variety of ways by anv common
out fric- J . -i . _r.i n— —
Pu*
turn.
Sfifr 31.
53
Its mode
of opera¬
tion, &c.
carpenter, without the assistance of the pump-maker or
plumber, and will be very effective for raising a great
quantity of water to small heights, as in draining
marshes, marl-pits, quarries, &c. or even for the service
of a house.
VII. ABCD (fig. 21.) is a square trunk of carpen¬
ter’s work, open at both ends, and having a little ci¬
stern and spout at top. Near the bottom there is a
partition made of board, perforated with a hole E,
and covered with a clack. /fff represents a long cy¬
lindrical bag or pudding, made of leather or of double
canvas, with a fold of thin leather such as sheep skin be¬
tween the canvas bags. This is firmly nailed to the
board E with soft leather between. The upper end of
this bag is fixed on a round board, having a hole and
valve F. This board may be turned in the lathe with
a groove round its edge, and the bag fastened to it by
a cord bound tight round it. The fork of the piston-
rod EG is fiimly fixed into this board 5 the bag is kept
distended by a number of wooden hoops or rings of
strong wire//,//,/f, &c. put into it at a few inches
distance from each other. It will be proper to connect
these hoops before putting them in, by three or four
cords from top to bottom, which will keep them at
their proper distances. Thus will the bag have the
form of a barber’s bellows powder-puff. The distance
between the hoops should be about twice the breadth of
the rim of the wooden ring to which the upper valve
and piston-rod are fixed.
Now let this trunk be immersed in the water. It is
evident that if the bag be stretched from the compres¬
sed form which its own weight will give it by drawing
up the piston-rod, its capacity will be enlarged, the
valve F will be shut by its own weight, the air in the
bag will be rarefied, and the atmosphere will press the
water into the bag. When the rod is thrust down
again, this water will come out by the valve F, and
fill part of the trunk. A repetition of the operation will
have a similar effect j the trunk will be filled, and the
water will at last be discharged by the spout.
Here is a pump without friction, and perfectly tight.
For the leather between the folds of canvas renders the
bag impervious both to air and water. And the can¬
vas has very considerable strength. We know from
experience that a bag of six inches diameter, made of
sail-cloth N0 3. with a sheep skin between, will bear a
column of 15 feet of water, and stand six hours work
per day for a month without failure, and that the pump
is considerably superior in effect to a common pump
of the same dimensions. We must only observe, that the
length of the bag must be three times the intended
length of the stroke j so that when the piston-rod is in
I
510 ] P U M
But its highest position, the angles or ridges of the bag may
be pretty acute. If the bag be more stretched than
this, the force which must be exerted by the labourer
becomes much greater than the weight of the column
of water which he is raising. If the pump be laid
aslope, which is very umal in these occasional and hasty
drawings, it is necessary to make a guide for the piston-
rod within the trunk, that the bag may jday up and
down without rubbing on the sides, which would quick¬
ly wear it out.
The experienced reader will see that this pump is
very like that of Gosset and De la Deuille, described
by Belidor, vol. ii. p. 120. and most writers on hydrau¬
lics. It would be still more like it, if the bag were on
the under side of the partition E, and a valve placed
farther down the trunk. But we think that our form is
greatly preferable in point of strength. When in the
other situation, the column of water lifted by the piston
tends to burst the bag, and this with a great force, as
the intelligent reader well knows. But in the form re¬
commended here, the bag is compressed, and the strain
on each part may be made much less than that w'hich
tends to burst a bag of six inches diameter. The nearer
the rings are placed to each other, the smaller will the
strain be.
The same bag-piston may be employed for a forcing
pump, by placing it below the partition, and inverting
the valve \ and it will then be equally strong, because
the resistance in this case too will act by compression.
We now come naturally to the consideration of the
different forms which may be given to the pistons and
valves of a pump. A good deal of what we have been
describing already is reducible to this head ; but, having
a more general appearance, changing as it were the
whole form and structure of the pump, it was not im¬
proper to keep these things together. J
The great desideratum in a piston is, that it be as piston
tight as possible,and have as little friction asis consistentshouldWi
with this indispensable quality. We have already said,llUlef1
that the common form, when carefully executed, has110 *
these properties in an eminent degree. And according¬
ly this form has kept its ground amidst all the improve¬
ment which ingenious artists have made. Mr Belidor,
an author of the first reputation, has given the descrip¬
tion of a piston which he highly extols, and is undoubt¬
edly a very good one, constructed from principle, and
extremely well composed. .5
It consists of a hollow cylinder of metal ^ A (fig. .
pierced with a number of holes, and having at top a Beljdj
flanch AB, whose diameter is nearly equal to that oftig. 2
the working-barrel of the pump. This flanch has a
groove round it. There is another fl inch IK below, by
which this hollow cylinder is fastened with bolts to the
lower end of the piston, represented in fig. 23. This Fl§-%
consists of a plate CD, with a grooved edge similar to
AB, and an intermediate plate which forms the seat of
the valve. The composition of this part is better under¬
stood by inspecting the figure than by any descrip¬
tion. The piston rod HL is fixed to the upper plate
by bolts through its different branches at G, G. Ihis
metal body is then covered with a cylindrical bag of
leather fastened on it by cords bound round it, filling
up the grooves in the upper and lower plates. I he
operation of the piston is as follows.
A little water is poured into the pump, which get*
past
i
P U M [ SI
amp. past tlie sides of the piston, ami lodges below in the
iV-J fixed valve. The piston beins: pushed down
r:
faxed valve. Ihe piston being pushed down dips into
this water, and it gets into it by the valve. Eul as the
piston in descending compresses the air below it this
compressed air also gets into the inside of the piston
swells out the bag which surrounds it, and compresses it
to the sides of the working-barrel. When the piston is
drawn up again, it must remain tight, because the valve
will shut and keep in the air in its most compressed
state ; therefore the piston must perform well during the
suction. It must act equally well when pushed down
again, and acting as a forcer j for however gn at the
resistance may be, it will affect the air within the piston
to the same degree, and keep the leather close applied
to the barrel. There can he no doubt therefore of the
piston’s performing both its offices completely j but we
imagine that the adhesion to the barrel will be greater
than is necessary : it will extend over the whole sur¬
face of the piston, and be equally great in every part of
its surface; and we suspect that the friction will there¬
fore be very great. We have very high authority for
supposing that tiie adhesion of a piston of the common
,s fornb carefully made, will be such as will make it per-
jifects. fectly tight; and it is evident that the adhesion of Beli-
dor’s piston will be much greater, and it will be produc¬
tive of worse consequences. If the leather bag be worn
through in any one place, the. air escapes, and the piston
ceases to be compressed altogether ; whereas in the com¬
mon piston there will very little harm result from the
leather being worn through in one place, especially if it
project a good way beyond the base of the cone. We
still think the common piston preferable. Belidor’s
piston would do much better inverted as the piston of a
sucking pump ; and in this situation it would be equal,
but not superior to the common.
7 Belidor describes another forcing piston, which he
!)ie had executed with success, and prefers to the common
k wooden forcer. It consists o! a metal cylinder or cone,
having a broad flancb uniting to it at one end, and a si¬
milar flancli which is screwed on the other end. Be¬
tween these two plates are a number of rings of leather
strongly compressed by the two Ranches, and then turn¬
ed in a lathe like a block of wood, till the whole fits
tight, when dry, into the barrel. It will swell, says be,
and soften with the water, and withstand the greatest
ons pressures. We cannot help thinking this but an indif¬
ferent piston. When it wears, there is nothing to
squeeze it to the barrel. It may indeed be taken out
and another ring or two of leather put in, or the flanthes
may he more strongly screwed together ; but all this
may be done with any kind of piston; and this has
therefore no peculiar merit.
^ The following will, we presume, appear vastly pre¬
ferable. A BCD (fig 24,) is the solid wooden or metal
as block of the pi-ton ; EF is a metal plate, which is turn-
;e. eel hollow or dish-like below, so as to receive within
it the solid block. The piston rod goes through the
wnole, and has a shoulder above the plate F.F, and a
nut H below. Four screw-bolts, such as t k, hn, also go
through the whole, have their heads k, m sunk into
the block, and nuts above at i.l. The packing or stuf¬
fing, as it is termed by the woikmen, is represented at
•NO. lljjs js nia(le as solid as possible, and generally
consists of soft hempen twine well -0 iked in a mixture
°f oil, tallow, and rosin. The plate EF is gently screw-
toit
r bv.
1 P U IVf
ed down, and the whole is then put into the barrel
fitting it as Ught as may be thought proper. When k
wears loose it may be tightened at any Le by screw
ng down the nuts */, which cause the edges c/the dTh
^;r:^^rkin§’andc—^ ^ ^
• lie, greatest difficulty in the construction of a piston
to give a sufficient passage through it for the water
and yet allow a firm support for the valve, and fixture
or the piston rod. \Ve shall see presently that it oc¬
casions a considerable expence of the moving power to
force a piston with a narrow perforation through the
water lodged in the working barrel. When we are
raismg water to a small height, such as 10 or 20 feet
the power so expended amounts to a fourth part of the
whde j the water-way in the piston is less than one-
half of the section of the barrel, and the velocity of the
piston two feet per second, which is very moderate.
1 here can be no doubt, therefore, that metal pistons are
preferable, because their greater strength allows much
wider apertures.
I be following piston, described and recommended by
Belidor, seems as perfect in these respects as the nature
of things will allow. We shall therefore describe it in
the author sown words as a model, which may be adopt¬
ed with confidence in the greatest works.
“ Ihe body of the piston is a truncated metal cone
(hg. 25.) having a small fillet at the greater end.
* ig. 26. shows the profile, ami fig. 27. the plan of its
upper base; where appears a cross bar DD, pierced
vvith an oblong mortise E for receiving the tail of the
piston-rod. A baud of thick and uniform leather AA
(hg. 26. and 28.) is put round this cone, and secured
by a brass hoop BB firmly driven on its smaller end,
wheie it is previously made thinner to give room for the
hoop.
“ ^lus piston is covered with a leather valve fortified
with metal plates GG (fig. 29.). These plates are
wider than the hole of the piston, so as to rest on its
There are similar plates below the leather of a
Pump.
Diffieulties
in construc¬
ting pis¬
tons.
5r
consider¬
ably remo¬
ved m one
described
by iieiidor.
Plate
CCCCLI.
Kig. 25.
Fig. %6.
Hg. 27.
fig. a*.
Fig.
rim
smaller size, that they may go into the hollow of the
piston; and the leather is firmly held between the metal
plates by screws H, H, which go through all. This
is represented by the dotted circle IK. Thus the pres¬
sure of the incumbent column of water is supported by
the plates GG, whose circular edges rest on the brim
of the water-way, and their straight edges rest on the
cross bar DI) of fig. 26. and 27. This valve is laid
on the top of the conical box in such a manner that its
middle FF rests on the cross bar. To bind all together,
the end of the piston-rod is formed like a cross, and the
arms MN (fig. 30.) are made to rest on the diameter
FF of tlie valve, the tail EP going through the hole E
in the middle of the leather, and through the mortise E
of the cross liar ot the box ; and also through another
bar Qlt (fig. 28. and 29.) which is notched into the
lower brim of the box. A key V is then driven into
the hole T in the piston rod ; and this wedges all fast.
The bar QR is made strong; and its extremities project
a little, so as to support the brass hoop BB which binds
the leather band to the piston-box. The adjoining scale
gives the dimensions of all the parts, as they were exe¬
cuted tor a steam-engine near Conde, where the piston
Fig. 30.
gave complete satisfaction.”
This piston has every advantage of strength, tightness,
and
P U M [ 51
PutiHi. ;tinl large water-way. The form of the valve (which
\.,m—v — * Jias given it the name of the butterfly-valve) is extreme¬
ly favourable to the passage of the water ; and as it has
but half the motion of a complete circular valve, less
62 water goes back while it is shutting.
Advanta- rj;[ie following piston is also ingenious, and has a
ges °f this g00d deal of merit. OPPO (fig* 31.) is the box of
piSt°n' the piston, having a perforation Q, covered above with
a fiat valve K, which rests in a metal plate that forms
the top of the box. ABCBA is a stirrup of iron to
which the box is fixed by screws a, a, a, «, whose heads
are sunk in the wood. This stirrup is perforated at C,
to receive the end ol the piston-rod, and a nut fl is
screwed on below to keep it fast. DEFED is another
stirrup, whose lower part at DD forms a hoop like the
sole of,a stirrup, which embraces a small part of the top
of the wooden box. The lower end of the piston-rod
is screwed} and before it is put into the holes of the
two stirrups (through which holes it slides freely) a
broad nut G is screwed on it. It is then put,into the
holes, and the nut H firmly screwed up. The packing
Eli is then wound about the piston as tight as possible,
till it completely fills the working barrel ot the pump.
When long use has rendered it in any degree loose, it
may be tightened again by screwing down the nut G.
This causes the ring I)D to compress the packing be¬
tween it and the projecting shoulder of the box at PP ;
and thus cause it to swell out, and apply itself closely
53 to the barrel.
Another \Ye shall add only another form of a perforated.piston *,
ingenious being on a principle different from all the preced-
pStonde- ing> wil1 suggest many others ; cach of which will have
scribed. its peculiar advantages. OO in fig. 32. represents the
box of this piston, fitted to the working barrel in any
of the preceding ways as may be thought best. AB
is a cross bar of four arms, which is fixed to the top of
the box. CF is the piston-rod going through a hole in
the middle of AB, and reaching a little way beyond
the bottom of the box. It has a shoulder D, which
prevents its going too far through. On the lower end
, there is a thick metal plate, turned conical on its upper
side, so as to fit a conical seat PP in the bottom of the
64 piston-box.
Another on When the piston-rod is pushed down, the friction on
a difi'crent t}ie barrel prevents the box from immediately yielding,
principle; r0(J therefore slips through the hole of the cross
lig- kar rpijg plate therefore, detaches itself from
the box. When the shoulder I) presses on the bar
AB, the box must yield, and be pushed down the bar¬
rels, and the water gets up through the perforation.
When the piston-rod is drawn up again, the box does
not move till the plate E lodge in the seat PP, and
thus shuts the water-way and then the piston lifts the
water which is above it, and acts as the piston ot a
65 sucking pump.
Its advan- This is a very simple and effective construction, and
makes a very tight valve. It has been much recom¬
mended by engineers of the first reputation, and is
frequently used ; and from its simplicity, and the great
solidity of which it is capable, it seems very fit for
great works. But it is evident that the water-way is
limited to less than one-half of the area of the working-
barrel. For if the perforation of the piston be one-half
of the area, the diameter of the plate or ball EF must
2 ] P U M
be greater j and therefore less than half the area will pQmj,
be left for the passage of the water by its sides. -y-i t
We come now to consider the forms which may he 66 j
given to the valves of a hydraulic engine. |
The requisites of a valve are, that it shall be tight, vaives ,
of sufficient strength to resist the great pressures to
which it is exposed, that it afford a sufficient passage
for the water, and that it do not allow much to go back
while it is shutting. 67 j
We have not much to add to what has been said al-Clack
ready on this subject. The valves which accompanyvalves-
the pump of hg. 5. are called clack valves^ and are of all
the most obvious and common j and the construction
described on that occasion is as perfect as any. TV e on¬
ly add, that as the leather is at last destroyed at the
hinge by such incessant motion, and it is troublesome,
especially in deep mines, and under water, to undo the
joint of the pump in order to put in a new valve, it is
frequently annexed to a box like that of a piston, made
a little conical on the outside, so as to fit a conical seat
made for it in the pipe, as represented in fig. 33. and it Fig. 3 .
has an iron handle like that ot a basket, by which it can
be laid hold of by means of a long grappling-hook let
down from above. rlhus it is drawn up 5 and being
very gentle tapered on the sides, it sticks very fast in its
place. . . 6S
The only defect of this valve is, that by opening Eefect
very wide when pushed up by the stream of water, it them,
allows a good deal to go back during its shutting again.
In some great machines which are worked by a slow
turning crank, the return of the piston is so very slow,
that a sensible loss is incurred by this 5 but it is nothing
like what Dr Desaguliers says, one-half of a cylinder
whose height is equal to the diameter of the valve.
For in such machines, the last part of the upward
stroke is equally slow, and the velocity of the water
through the valve exceedingly small, so that the valve
k at this time almost shut. _ ^
The butterfly-valve represented in figures 29, &c. ispqiiity >
free from most of these inconveniences, and seems tnethebiitr
most perfect of the clack valves. Some engineers make fly™1'
their great valves of a pyramidal form, consisting of four
clacks, whose hinges are in the circumference of the
water-way, and which meet with their points in the
middle, and are supported by four ribs which rise up
from the sides and unite in the middle. This is an ex¬
cellent form, affording the most spacious water-way,
and shutting very readily. It seems to be the best pos¬
sible for a piston. The rod of the piston is branched
out on four sides, and the branches go through the pi¬
ston-box, and are fastened below with screws. These
branches form the support for the four clacks.. VVe
have a seen a valve of this form in a pump of six feet
diameter, which discharged 20 hogsheads of water
every stroke, and made 1 2 strokes in a minute, raising
the water above 2 2 feet. ^
There is another form of valve, called the button orBntton
tail-valve. It consists of a plate of metal AB (fig. 34-) valves,
turned conical, so as exactly to fit the conical cavity « iFig 3*3
of its box. A tail CD projects from the under side,
which passes through a cross bar EF in the bottom of
the box, and has a little knob at the end, to hinder the
valve from rising too high.
This valve, when nicely made, is unexceptionable.
Pomp
P U M
ih
newliat
i perfect
the wa-
-way.
173 .
cry sim
I calve
■ribed.
J 35-
He
t
.4
A ve
tit
Jci
hy tlidor
e^t re-
qufe.
AlU I;
val
the
Pnn ]c.
It has great strength, and Is therefore proper for all se-
i vere strains, and it may be made perfectly tiVht by
grinding Accordingly it is used in all eases where this
is of indispensable consequence. It is most durable,
and the only kind that will do for passages where steam
or hot water is to go through. Its only imperfection
is a small water-way ; which, from what has been said
cannot exceed, or indeed equal, one half of the area of
the pipe.
If we endeavour to enlarge the water-way, by "ivine
tbe cone very little taper, the valve frequently Sticks
so fast in the seat that no force can detach them. 
And this sometimes happens during the working of the
machine ; and the jolts and blows given to the machine
in taking it to pieces, in order to discover what has
been the reason that it has discharged no water fre¬
quently detach the valve, and we find it quite loose
and cannot tell what has deranged the pump. When
this is guarded against, and the diminution of the water¬
way is not of very great consequence, this is the best
form of a valve.
Analogous to this is the simplest of all valves, repre¬
sented m fig. 35. It is nothing more than a sphere of
metal A, to which is fitted a seat with a small portion
BC of a spherical cavity. Nothing can be more effec¬
tual than this valve ; it always falls into its proper
place, and in every position fits it exactly. Its only
imperfection is the great diminution of the water-way.
If the diameter of the sphere does not considerably ex¬
ceed that of the bole, the touching parts have very
little taper, and it is very apt to stick fast. It opposes
much less resistance to tiie passage of the water than the
flat under-surface of the button-valve. N. B. It would
be an improvement of that valve to give it a taper-shape
below like a boy’s top. The spherical valve must not
he made too light, otherwise it will lie hurried up hy
the water, and much may go back while it is returning
to its place. b
Belidor describes writh great minuteness (vol. ii. p.
221, &c.) a valve which unites every requisite. But
it is of such nice and delicate construction, audits de¬
fects are so great wdien this exactness is not attained, or
is impaired hy use, that we think it hazardous to in-
troduce it into a machine in a situation where an intel¬
ligent and accurate artist is not at hand. For this
reason we have omitted the description, which cannot
he given in few words, nor without many figures 5 and
desire our curious readers to consult that author, or per¬
use Dr Desaguliers’s translation of this passage. Its
principle is precisely the same with the following rude
contrivance, with which we shall conclude the descrip¬
tive part of this article.
Suppose A BCD (fig. 36.) to be a square wooden
trunk. El is a piece of oak board, exactlv fitted to
the trunk in an oblique position, and supported by an
iron pin which goes through it at I, one-third of its
length from its lower extremity at E. The two ends of
this board are bevelled, so as to apply exactly to the
sides ot the trunk. It is evident, that if a stream of
water come in the direction BA, its pressure on the
part II of this board will be greater than that upon
EE. It will therefore force it up and msh through,
making it stand almost parallel to the sides of the trunk.
To prevent its rising so far, a pin must be put in its
Way. When this current of water changes its direc-
VOL. XVII. Part II. f
t 513 ]
p U M
Pump
tion, the pressure on the upper side of the board being
again greatest on the portion IF, it is forced back airain v—v—'
to its former situation 5 and its two extremities rising
on the opposite sides of the trunk, the passage is com-
p etely stopped. This board therefore performs the
office of a valve; and this valve is the most perfect that
can be, because it offers the freest passage to the water
and it allows very little to get back while it is shutting •
or the part IE brings up half as much water as IF al¬
lows to go down. It may be made extremely tight
by fixing two thin fillets H and G to the sides of the
trunk, and covering those parts of the board with lea¬
ther which applies to them; and in this state it perfect¬
ly resembles Belidor’s fine valve.
And this construction of the valve suggests, by the Description
way, a form of an occasional pump, which may be°^anoc-
quickly set up by any common carpenter, and will fie casi°iial
very effectual in small heights. Let ah c de (fig. 36.)
be a square box made to slide along this wooden trunk structed'
without shake, having two of its sides projecting up- Fig. 36.
wards, terminating like the gable-ends of a house. A
piece of wood e is mortised into these two sides, and to
this the piston-rod is fixed. This box being furnished
with a valve similar to the one below, will perform the
office of a piston. If this pump he immersed so deep in
the ivater that the piston shall also he under water, we
scruple not to say that its performance will he equal to
any. I he piston may he made abundantly tight by co¬
vering its outside neatly with soft leather. And as no
pipe can be bored with greater accuracy than a very or¬
dinary workman can make a square trunk, we presume
that this pump will not be very deficient even for a con¬
siderable suction. ^
We now proceed to the last part of the subject, toThemo-
consider the motion of water in pumps, in reference totion.ofwa-
the force which must be employed. What we have|er*n
hitherto said with respect to the force which must heiUlmr,s’
applied to a piston, related only to the sustaining the
water at a certain height: but in actual service we
must not only do this, hut we must discharge it at the
place of delivery in a certain quantity ; and this must
require a force superadded to what is necessary for its
mere support at this height.
This is an extremely intricate and difficult subject, an intri-
and very imperfectly understood even hy professed en-<">te sub-
gineers. The principles on which this knowledge muslJect’
he {bunded are of a much more abstruse nature than the
ordinary laws of hydrostatics ; and all the genius of
Newton was employed in laying the foundation of this
part of physical science. It has been much cultivated
in the course of this century hy the first mathematicians
of Europe. Daniel and John Bernoulli have written
very'elaborate treatises on the subject, under (he very
apposite name of Hydrodynamics ; in which, although The'theory
they have added little or nothing to the fundamental denomina-
propositions established in some sort by Newton, and tcd Hydro-
acquiesced in hy them, yet they have greatly contribu-
ted to our progress in it by the methods which they
have pursued in making application of those fundamen¬
tal propositions to the most important cases. It must
be acknowledged, however, that both these proposi¬
tions, and the extensions given them hy these authors,
are supported hy a train of argument that is by no
means unexceptionable ; and that they proceed on as¬
sumptions or postulates which are but nearly true in
3 T any
Pump.
P U M [
any case, and in many are inadmissible: and it re¬
mains to this hour a wonder or puzzle how these propo¬
sitions and their results correspond with the phenome¬
na which we observe.
But fortunately this correspondence does obtain to
a certain extent. And it seems to be this correspond¬
ence chiefly which has given these authors, with New¬
ton at their head, the confidence which they place in
their respective principles and methods : for there are
considerable differences among them in those respects $
and each seems convinced that the others are in a mistake.
Messieurs d’Alembert and De la Grange have greatly
corrected the theories of their predecessors, and have
proceeded on postulates which come much nearer to the
real state of the case. But their investigations involve
us in such an inextricable maze of analytical investiga¬
tion, that even when we are again conducted to the
light of day by the clue which they have given us, we
can make no use of what we there discovered.
But this theory, imperfect as it is, is of great service.
It generalizes our observations and experiments, and
" enables us to compose a practical doctrine from a heap
of facts which otherwise must have remained solitary
and unconnected, and as cumbersome in their applica-
81 tion as the characters of the Chinese writing.
Fimdamen- The fundamental proposition of this practical hydro-
tal pioposi-dynamics is, that water or any fluid contained in an
open vessel of indefinite magnitude, and impelled by its
weight only, will flow through a small orifice with the
velocity which a heavy body would acquire by falling
from the hoi’izontal surface of the fluid. Thus, if the
orifice is 16 feet under the surface of the water, it will
issue with the velocity of 32 feet in a second.
Its velocity corresponding to any other depth h of
•the orifice under the surface, will be had by this easy
proportion : “ As the square root of 16 is to the square
root oi h; so is 32 feet to the velocity required : or,
32 _
So
though
imperfect
is very use
ful.
alternately, \6 : 32= \/ h : v, and vz
32
■v/ 16
•v/ //, =: 8 Jh \ that is, multiply the square root of
4
the height in feet by eight, and the product is the re¬
quired velocity.
On the other hand, it frequently occurs, that we
want to discover the depth under the surface which will
produce a known velocity v. Therefore,
8a
Its utility.
and h ~ : that is, divide the square of the velo¬
city by 64, and the quotient is the depth wanted in
feet.
This proposition is sufficient for all our purposes.
For since water is nearly a perfect fluid, and propagates
all impressions undiminished, we can, in place of any
pressure of a piston or other cause, substitute a perpen¬
dicular column of water whose weight is equal to this
pressure, and will therefore produce the same efflux —
Thus, if the surface of a piston is half a square foot, and
it be pressed down with the weight of 500 pounds, and
we would wish to know with what velocity it would
cause the water to flow through a small hole, we know
that a column of water of this weight, and of half a
foot base, would be 16 feet high. And this proposition
5,4 ] P U M
e- teaches us, that a vessel of this depth will have a velo- p,,
city of efflux equal to 32 feet in a second.
If therefore our pressing power be of such a kind
that it can continue to press forward the piston with
the force of 5C0 pounds, the water will flow with this
velocity, whatever be the size of the hole. All that
remains is, to determine what change of actual pres¬
sure on the piston results from the motion of the piston
itself, and to change the velocity of efflux in the sub¬
duplicate ratio of the change of actual pressure.
But before we can apply this knowledge to the cir-Reman
cumstances which take place in the motion of water in previm
pumps, we must take notice of an important modifica-1®.lts.81
tion of the fundamental proposition, which is but verylucaiu
obscurely pointed out by any good theory, but is esta¬
blished on the most regular and unexceptionable obser¬
vation.
If the efflux is made through a hole in a thin plate,
and the velocity is computed as above, we shall discover
the quantity of water which issues in a second by obser¬
ving, that it is a prism or cylinder of the length indi¬
cated by the velocity, and having its transverse section
equal to that of the orifice. Thus, in the example al¬
ready given, supposing the hole to be a square inch, the
solid contents of this prism, or the quantity of water is¬
suing in a second, is 1X32X12 cubic inches, or 384
cubic inches. This we can easily measure by receiving
it in a vessel of known dimensions. Taking this me¬
thod, we uniformly find a deficiency of nearly 38 parts
in iooj that is, if we should obtain 100 gallons in any
number of seconds, we shall in fact get only 62. This
is a most regular fact, whether the velocities are great
or small, and whatever be the size and form of the ori¬
fice. The deficiency increases indeed in a very minute
degree with the velocities. If, for instance, the depth
of the orifice be one foot, the discharge is i^oVoV 5 if it
be 15 feet, the discharge is iVoVo*
This deficiency is not owing to a diminution of velo¬
city } for the velocity may be easily and accurately mea¬
sured by the distance to which the jet will go, if direct¬
ed horizontally. This is found to correspond very near¬
ly with the proposition, making a very small allowance
for friction at the border of the hole, and for the resist¬
ance of the air. Sir Isaac Newton ascribed the defici¬
ency with great justice to this, that the lateral columns
of water, surrounding the column which is incumbent
on the orifice, press towards the orifice, and contribute
to the expence equally with that column. These lateral
filaments, therefore, issue obliquely, crossing the motion
of the central stream, and produce a contraction of the
jet } and the whole stream does not acquire a parallel
motion and its ultimate velocity till it has got to some
distance from the orifice. Careful observation showed
him that this was really the case. But even his genius
could not enable him to ascertain the motion of the la¬
teral filaments by theory, and he was obliged to mea¬
sure every thing as he saw it. He found the diameter
of the jet at the place of the greatest contraction to be
precisely such as accounted for the deficiency. His ex¬
plication has been unanimously acquiesced in } and ex¬
periments have been multiplied to ascertain all those cir¬
cumstances which our theory cannot determine a prion.
The most complete set of experiments are those of Mi-
chelotti, made at Turin at the expence of the prince of
Piedmont.
mmp.
P U M [ 5
Piedmont. Plere jets were made of I, 2, 3, and 4
— inches diameter ; and the water received into cisterns
most accurately formed of brick, and lined with stucco.
It is the result of these experiments which we have ta¬
ken for a measure of the deficiency.
We may therefore consider the water as flowino-
through a hole of this contracted dimension, or substi^
tote this for the real orifice in all calculations. For it is
evident that il a mouth-piece (so to call it) were made
whose internal shape precisely tallied with the form
which the jet assumes, and if this mouth-piece be ap¬
plied to the orifice, the water will flow out without any
obstruction. The vessel may therefore be considered as
really having this mouth-piece.
Nay, from this we derive a very important observa¬
tion, “ that if, instead of allowing the water to flow
through a hole of an inch area made in a thin plate, we
make it flow through a hole in a thick plank, so formed
that the external orifice shall have an inch area, but be
widened internally, agreeably to the shape which nature
forms, both the velocity and quantity will be that which
the fundamental proposition determines. Michelotti
measured with great care the form of the great jets of
three and four inches diameter, and found that the
bounding curve was an elongated trochoid. He then
made a mouth-piece of this form for his jet of one inch,
and another for bis jet of two inches; and he found the
discharges to be and 5 and he, with justice,
ascribed the trifling deficiency which still remained,
partly to friction and partly to his not having exactly
suited his mouth-piece to the natural form. We imagine
that this last circumstance was the sole cause : For, in
the first place, the water in his experiments, before get¬
ting at his jet-holes, had to pass along a tube of eight
inches diameter. Now a jet of four inches bears too
great a proportion to this pipe ; and its narrowness un¬
doubtedly hindered the lateral columns from contribut¬
ing to the efflux in their due proportion, and therefore
rendered the jet less convergent. And, in the next
place, there can be no doubt (and the observations of
Daniel Bernoulli confirm it) but that this convergency
begins within the vessel, and perhaps at a very consider¬
able distance from the orifice. And we imagine, that
if accurate observations could be made on the motion of
the remote lateral particles within the vessel, and an in¬
ternal mouth-piece were shaped according to the curve
which is described by the remotest particle that we can
observe, the efflux of water would almost perfectly tally
with the theory. But indeed the coincidence is already
sufficiently near for giving us very valuable information.
We learn that the quantity of water which flows through
a hole, in consequence of its own weight, or by the ac¬
tion of any force, may be increased one half by proper¬
ly shaping the passage to this hole 5 for we see that it
may be increased from 62 to near 99.
But there is another modification of the efflux, which
we confess our total incapacity to explain. If the water
issues through a hole made in a plate whose thickness is
about twice the diameter of the hole, or, to express it
better, if it issues through a pipe whose length is about
twice its diameter, the quantity discharged is nearly
tVo- °f what results from the proposition. If the pipe
be longer than this, the quantity is diminished by fric¬
tion, which increases as the length of the pipe incxeases.
If the pipe be shorter, the water will not fill it, but de-
l5 J P U M
taches itself at the very entry of the pipe, and flows
with a contracted jet. When the pipe is of this length,
and the extremity is stopped with the finger, so that it
begins to flow with a full mouth, no subsequent contrac
tion is observed j but merely striking on the pipe with a
key or the knuckle is generally sufficient to detach the
water in an instant from the sides of the pipe, and re¬
duce the efflux to TA^-.
This effect is most unaccountable. It certainly arises
trom the mutual adhesion or attraction between the wa¬
ter and the sides of the pipe ; but how this, acting at
right angles to the motion, should produce an increase
trom 62 to 82, nearly |, we cannot explain. It shows,
however, the prodigious force of this attraction, which
in the space of two or three inches is able to communi¬
cate a great velocity to a very great body of water. In¬
deed the experiments on capillary tubes show that the
mutual attraction of the parts of water is some thousands
of times greater than their weight.
. have only further to add, that every increase of
pipe beyond two diameters is accompanied with a dimi¬
nution of the discharge ; but in what ratio this is dimi¬
nished it is very difficult to determine. We shall only
observe at present that the diminution is very great.
A pipe of 2 inches diameter and 30 feet long has its
discharge only of what it would be if only 4 inches
long. If its length be 60 feet, its discharge will be no
more than tVW* A pipe of 1 inch diameter would have
a discharge of and tVo? in the same situation.
Hence we may conclude that the discharge of a 4 inch
pipe of 30 feet long will not exceed -f of what it would
be if only 8 inches long. This will suffice for our pre¬
sent purposes j and the determination of the velocities
and discharges in long conduits from pump machines
must be referred to the article JFUteb-Works. At pre¬
sent we shall confine our attention to the pump itself,
and to what will contribute to its improvement.
Before we can proceed to apply this fundamental
proposition to our purpose, we must anticipate in a loose
ivay a proposition of continual use in the construction of
water-works.
Let water be supposed stagnant in a vessel EFGH
(fig- 37*)> and let it be allowed to flow out by a cylin- Fig. ^
drical pipe HIKL, divided by any number of partitions
B, C, D, &c. Whatever be the areas B, C, D, of
these orifices, the velocity in the intermediate parts of
the pipe will be the same ; for as much passes through
any one orifice in a second as passes through any other
in the same time, or through any section of the inter¬
vening pipe. Let this velocity in the pipe be V, and
let the area of the pipe be A. The velocity in the
orifices B, C, D, must be &c. Let g
be the velocity acquired in a second by a heavy body.
Then, by the general proposition, the height of water
VA
in the vessel which will produce the velocity in
Vs A*
the first orifice alone, is -After this passage the
velocity is again reduced to V in the middle of the
space between the first and second orifices. In the se-
VA
cond orifice this velocity is changed to -7^-. This
3 T 2 alone
Pump
P U M
Pump.
[ Si6 ]
P U M
V’ A3
alone would have required a height of water
2 g ^
But the water is already moving with the velocity V,
which would have resulted from a height of water in
the vessel (which we shall, in the language ot the art, call
, V*
the HEAD OF water) equal to —.
2g
Therefore there
V2 A* V*
   or
2gC% 2g
Therefore the whole height necessary
is only required a head of water
V* A3
— X yt,
2g C* '
for producing the efflux through both orifices, so as
still to preserve tiie velocity V in the intervening pipe,
v» A2 . A2
2g B
»+in—1
In like manner the third orifice
, r V2 A*
D would alone require a head oi water ~ X —
2g
V*
, . . A2 Aa
and all the three would require a head ~ X ^ + -^4-
By this induction may easily be seen what
A*
D2 2’
head is necessary for producing the efflux through any
number of orifices.
Let the expence or quantity of water discharged in
an unit of time (suppose a second) be expressed by the
symbol Q. This is measured by the product of the ve¬
locity by the area of the orifice, and is therefore = VA,
VA „ VA „ 0 , ,Ta Q* rp.
or -J^-XB, or -jrr- X C, &c. and ^ =ji- There¬
fore we may compute the head of water (which we
shall express by H) in reference to the quantity of wa¬
ter discharged, because this is generally the interesting
Q2
circumstance. In this view we have II = —r X
2gA
A2 A2
+
+
D2
2 : which shows that the head of
84
To deter¬
mine the
motion of
water necessary for producing the discharge increases
in the proportion of the square of the quantity ot water
which is discharged.
These things being premised, it is an easy matter to
determine the motion of water in a pump, and the quan¬
tity discharged, resulting from the action of any force
water, &c. on t]ie piston, or the force which must be applied to
the piston in order to produce any required motion or
quantity discharged. We have only to suppose that the
force employed is the pressure of a column of water of
the diameter of the working barrel; and this is over
and above the force which is necessary for merely sup¬
porting the water at the height of the place ot delivery.
The motion of the water will be the same in both
eases.
Let ns, first of all, consider a sucking-pump. The
motion here depends on the pressure of the air, and will
be the same as if the pump were lying horizontally, and
communicated with a reservoir, in which is a head of
water sufficient to overcome all the obstructions to the
motion, and produce a velocity of efflux such as we de¬
sire. And here it must be noted that there is a limit.
No velocity of the piston can make the water rise in the
auction-pipe with a greater velocity than what would
be produced by the pressure of a colufnn of water 33
feet high •, that is, about 46 feet per second.
Let the velocity of the piston be V, and the area of
the working barrel be A. Then, if the water fills the
barrel as fast as the piston is drawn up, the discharge
during the rise of the piston, or the number of cubic
feet of water per second, must be rr VxA. This is
always supposed, and we have already ascertained the
circumstances which ensure this to happen. If, there¬
fore, the water arrived with perfect freedom to the pi¬
ston, the force necessary for giving it this velocity, or
for discharging the quantity V X A in a second, would be
equal to the weight of the pillar of water whose height
V2
is —, and base A.
2g
It does not appear at first sight that the force ne¬
cessary for producing this discharge has any thing to do
with the obstructions to the ascent of the water into the
pump, because this is produced by the pressure of the
atmosphere, and it is the action of this pressure which
is measured by the head of water necessary for produ¬
cing the internal motion in the pump. But we must al¬
ways recollect that the piston, before bringing up any
water, and supporting it at a certain height, was pressed
on both sides by the atmosphere. While the air sup¬
ports the column below the piston, all the pressure ex¬
pended in this support is abstracted from its pressure on
the under part of the piston, while its upper part still
supports the whole pressure. The atmosphere continues
to press on the under surface of the piston, through the
intermedium of the water in the suction-pipe, with the
difference of these two forces. Now, while the piston
is drawn up with the velocity V, more of the atmosphe¬
ric pressure must be expended in causing the water to
follow the piston ; and it is only with the remainder of
its whole pressure that it continues to press on the un¬
der surface of the piston. Therefore, in order that the
piston may be raised with the velocity V, a force must
be applied to it, over and above the force necessary for
merely supporting the column of water, equal to that part
of the atmospheric pressure thus employed ; that is,
equal to the weight of the head of water necessary for
forcing the water up through the suction-pipe, and pro¬
ducing the velocity V in the working barrel.
Therefore let B be the area of the mouth of the
suction-pipe, and C the area of the fixed valve, and let
the suction-pipe be of equal diameter with the working
barrel. The head necessary for producing the velocity
8S
In the
sucking-
pump,
VVA2
+
:-)•
if
V on the working barrel 2oAB2 t £
d express the density of waterthat is, if d be the
number of pounds in a cubic foot of water, then d A-—
will express the weight of a column whose base is A,
and height —, all being reckoned in feet. Therefore
° 2£!’
the force which must be applied, when estimated in
d AV2/A2 , A2 \
pounds, will be p, = 2g VB2”^ C2 — /
The first general observation to be made on what has
been said is, that the power which must be employed
to produce the necessary motion, in opposition to all the
obstacles, is in the proportion of the square of the velo-
city
P U M
city which we would produce, or the square of the
quantity of water we would discharge.
We have hitherto proceeded on the supposition, that
there is no contraction of the jet in passing through these
two orifices. This we know would be very far from the
truth. We must therefore accommodate things to these
circumstances, hy diminishing 13 and C in the ratio of
the contraction, and calling the diminished areas b and
, . Ac? V* /A* A* \
c: then we have p ~ ( , -I j }.
’ 1 2g U* ^ c* /
What this diminution may be, depends on the form
of the parts. If the fixed valve, and the entry into
the pump, are simply holes in thin plates, then£— B
and c = /02^C. The entry is commonly widened or
trumpet-shaped, which diminishes greatly the contrac¬
tion : but there are other obstacles in the way, arising
from the strainer usually put round it to keep out filth.
The valve may have its contraction greatly diminished
also by its box being made bell-shaped internally j nay,
even giving it a cylindrical box, in the manner of fig.
33. is better than no box at all, as in fig. 5.5 for such a
cylindrical box will have the unaccountable effect of
the short tube, and make b=. T— B, instead of ^0-B.
Thus we see that circumstances seemingly very triflinv
may produce great effects in the performance of a pump.
We should have observed that the valve itself presents
an obstacle which diminishes the motion, and requires
an increase of power ; and it would seem that in this
respect the clack or butterfly valve is preferable to the
button valve.
Example. Suppose the velocity of the piston to be
2 feet or 24 inches per second, and that the two con¬
tracted areas are each £ of the area of the pump, which
is not much less than what obtains in ordinary pumps.
We have +-^ 1 j = 4w (25 + 25—1)
= 36,75 inches, and the force which we must add to
what will merely support the column is the weight of a
pillar of water incumbent on the piston, and something
more than three feet high. This would be a sensible
portion of the whole force in raising water to small
heights.
We have supposed the suction-pipe to be of the same
diameter with the working barrel ; but it is usual to
make it of smaller diameter, generally equal to the wa¬
ter way of the fixed valve. This makes a considerable
change in the force necessary to be applied to the pi¬
ston. Let a be the area of the suction-pipe, the area of
the entry being still B ; and the equivalent entry with¬
out contraction being still b, we have the velocity at
AV J
the entrance = an^ the producing head of water =
1 517 ] P U M
fixed valve, that the water may follow the platen with
A* Va
2£- a3
VVA* A^ A* \
b* c2 a2 )' **us 1S evidently less than
the velocity V, is
A* V*
2gb2
' 2g C2
This
AV
After this the velocity is changed to -—- in
A*V*
2g b2’ ' “ a _
the suction-pipe, with which the water arrives at the
AV
valve, where it is again changed to , and requires for
A2 V
2g c2
But
this change a head of water equal to
the velocity retained in the suction pipe is equivalent to
f rr A*V*
the effect of a head of water  r. Therefore the
2g a2
head necessary for producing such a current through the
Pump.
-Y-
before, because « is less than A, and therefore ^
• , . oa
is greater than unity, which was the last term of the
lormer formuia. There is some advantage, therefore,
derived from making the diameter of the suction-pipe
less than that of the working barrel: but this is only be¬
cause the passage of the fixed valve is smaller, and the
inspection of the formula plainly points out that the area
of the suction-pipe should be equal to that of the fixed,
valve. When it is larger, the water must be accelerated
in its passage through the valve; which is an useless ex¬
pence of force, because this velocity is to be immediate¬
ly reduced to V in the working barrel. If the forego¬
ing example be computed with a equal to f of A, we
shall find the head H equal to 29 inches instead of 37.
But this advantage of a smaller suction-pipe is in all
cases very moderate; and the pump is always inferior to
one of uniform dimensions throughout, having the ori¬
fice at the fixed valve of the same area. And if these
orifices are considerably diminished in any proportion,
the head necessary for overcoming the obstacles, so that
the required velocity V may still be produced in the
working barrel, is greatly increased. If we suppose the
area of A, which is frequently done in house pumps,
where the diameter of the suction-pipe does seldom ex¬
ceed y of that of the working-barrel; and suppose every
thing made in proportion to this, which is also usual*,
because the unskilled pump-makers study a symmetry
which satisfies the eye ; we shall find that the pump
taken as an example will require a head of water
13 feet and upwards. Besides, it must be observed
that the friction of the suction-pipe itself has not been
taken into the account. This alone is greater, in most
cases, than all the obstructions we have been speaking
of; for if this pipe is three inches diameter, and that of
the working-barrel is six, which is reckoned a liberal
allowance for a suction-pipe, and if the fixed valve is
25 feet above the surface of the water-pit; the friction
of this pipe will amount to one-third of the whole pro¬
pelling force.
Thus we have enabled the reader to ascertain the
force necessary for producing any required discharge of
water from a pump of known dimensions : and the con¬
verse of this determination gives us the discharge which
will be produced by any given force. For making
A* A2 A* .
-J-— — -^7- (which is a known quantity, resulting
from the dimensions of the pump) = M, we have H zz
— M, and V2 = and Vzz J. Now H
2g M M
is that part of the natural power which we have at com¬
mand which exceeds what is necessary for merely sup¬
porting the column of water. Thus, if we have a
pump whose piston has an area of of a square foot,
its diameter being 6y inches; and we have to raise the
water 32 feet, and can apply a power of 525 pounds to
the piston ; we wish to know at what rate the piston
will be moved, and the quantity of water discharged P
Merely
Pump.
P U M [51
Merely to support the column of water of this height
and diameter, requires 500 pounds. Therefore the re¬
maining power, which is to produce the motion, is 25
pounds. This is the weight of a column 1 foot 4 inches
high, and H =1,333 feefc* ^et us suPPose ^ie
ter of the suction-pipe 4 of that of the working-barrel,
so that ^ = 4. We may suppose it executed in the
best manner, having its lower extremity trumpet-shaped,
formed by the revolution of the proper trochoid. 'Ihe
contraction at the entry may therefore be considered
A A2
as nothing, and-^- = 4, and —=16. We may also
8 ]
P U M
suppose the orifice of the fixed valve equal to the
A*
area of the suction-pipe, so that —rj- is also = 16,
A*
and there is no contraction here j and therefore ~
A*
is also 16. And lastly, — is also 16. Therefore
a*
Aa , A*
A*
Aa
-- or M, =
cr
16 + 16 — 16, = 16.
quires for its production a head of water
This is the height of a column of water whose base is
not A but A—a. Calling the density of water d, we
have for the weight of this column, and the force p in
1  /A—a\ V* eA?2(A—<7)3 .
rf x A-a+{—) X ^.=—^47— IK
/ 2 ^ IT
We have also 2g =r 64. Now N = v —jyj—.
; =2,309 feet, and the piston will
move with the velocity of 2 feet 4 inches nearly. Its
velocity will be less than this, on account both of the
friction of the piston and the friction of the water in
the suction-pipe. These two circumstances will pro¬
bably reduce it to one foot eight inches j and it can
hardly be less than this.
We have taken no notice of the friction of the water
in the working-barrel, or in the space above the piston •,
because it is in all cases quite insignificant. The longest
pipes employed in our deep mines do not require more
than a few inches of head to overcome it.
But there is another circumstance which must not be
omitted. This is the resistance given to the piston in
its descent. The pistons of an engine for drawing wa¬
ter from deep mines must descend again by their own
weight in order to repeat their stroke. This must re¬
quire a preponderance on that end of the working-beam
to which they are attached, and this must be overcome
by the moving power during the effective stroke. It
makes, therefore, part of the whole Avork to be done,
and must be added to the weight of the \column of wa¬
ter which must be raised.
This is \rery easily ascertained. Let the velocity of
the piston in its descent be V, the area of the pump-
barrel A, and the area of the piston-valve a. It is
evident, that while the piston descends with the velo¬
city V, the Avater which is displaced by the piston in a
second is (A—a) V. This must pass through the hole
of the piston, in order to occupy the space above, Avhich
is left by the piston. If there Avere no contraction, the
Avater would go through Avitli the velocity ——V 5 but
as there Avill ahvays be some contraction, let the dimi¬
nished area of the hole (to be discovered by experiment)
be b, the velocity therefore Avill be V —7—* This re- c,
AVe see again, is proportional to the square of the velo¬
city of the piston in its descent, and has no relation to
the height to Avhich the Avater is raised.
If the piston has a button valve, its surface is at least
equal to a ; and therefore the pressure is exerted on the
Avater by the whole surface of the piston. la this case
«?V2 A3
avc shall have p = ^7- considerably greater than
before. We cannot ascertain this value with great pre¬
cision, because it is extremely difficult, if possible, to
determine the resistance in so complicated a case. But
the formula is exact, if b can be given exactly ; and
we knoAV within very moderate limits Avhat it may
amount to. In a pump of the very best construction,
with a button valve, b cannot exceed one-half of Aj
A*
and therefore -7- cannot be less than 8. In this
V* A3 Y*
case,  r: Avill be -5-* In a good steam-engine pump
2 g b* o
i V* .
V is about three feet per second, and is about 11
o
feet, Avhich is but a small matter. S(,
We have hitherto been considering the sucking-pump and jntiJ
alone : but the forcing pump is of more importance, forcing-
and apparently more difficult of investigation.—I^ex•ePUIBP•
Ave have to overcome the obstructions in long pipes,
Avith many bends, contractions, and other obstructions.
But the consideration of Avhat relates merely to the
pump is abundantly simple. In most cases avc have
only to force the water into an air-vessel, in opposition to
the elasticity of the air compressed in it, and to send it
thither Avith a certain velocity, regulated by the quan¬
tity of water discharged in a given time. The elasticity
of the air in the air-vessel propels it along the Main.
We are not now speaking of the force necessary for
counterbalancing this pressure of the air in the air-vessel,
which is equivalent to all the subsequent obstructions,
but only of the force necessary for propelling the water
out of the pump with the proper velocity.
We have in a manner determined this already. The
piston is solid, and the Avater which it forces has to
pass through a valve in the lateral pipe, and then to
move in the direction of the main. The change of di¬
rection requires an addition of force to what is neces¬
sary for merely impelling the Avater through the valve.
Its quantity is not easily determined by any theory,
and it varies according to the abruptness of the turn.
It appears from experiment, that when a pipe is bent
to a right angle, without any curvature or rounding,
_  1—nVistiif 1 This Would
the velocity is diminished about 'Ihis would aug¬
ment the head of water about £. This may be added
to the contraction of the valve hole. Let c be its na¬
tural area, and whatever is the contraction competent
to its form, increase it xVj and call the contracted area
_ V1 A*
Then this Avill a require a head of water = - fj. (J.
* & ■ .
This
P U M
V
, This must be added to the head —, necessary for mere-
2g J
lv giving the velocity V to the water. Therefore the
... A* \
whole is — -J-i I; and the power p necessary for
f/AVVA2 \
2g
this purpose is
It cannot escape the observation of the reader, that
in all these formulae, expressing the height of the co¬
lumn of water which would produce the velocity V in
the working barrel of the pump, the quantity which
d A V*
multiplies the constant factor   depends on the
2g
contracted passages which are in different parts of the
pump, and increases in the duplicate proportion of the
sum of those contractions. It is therefore of the utmost
consequence to avoid all such, and to make the main
which leads from the forcing-pump equal to the work¬
ing barrel. If it be only of half the diameter, it has
but one-fourth of the area, the velocity in the main is
four times greater than that of the piston, and the force
necessary for discharging the same quantity of water is
16 times greater.
It is not, however, possible to avoid these contrac¬
tions altogether, without making the mam pipe wider
than the barrel. For if only so wide, with an entry of
the same size, the valve makes a considerable obstruc¬
tion. Unskilful engineers endeavour to obviate this by
making an enlargement in that part of the main which
contains the valve. This is seen in fig. 14. at the valve
L. If this be not done with great judgment, it will
increase the obstructions. Foril this enlargement is full
of water, the water must move in the direction of its
axis with a diminished velocity j and when it comes in¬
to the main, it must again be accelerated. In short,
any abrupt enlargement which is to be afterwards con¬
tracted, does as much harm as a contraction, unless it
1 be so short that the water in the axis keeps its velocity
fex* fill it reaches the contraction. Nothing would do more
euts. servjce t0 an artJstj WJ10 J3 no(; we]i founded in the
theory of hydrodynamics, than to make a few simple
and cheap experiments with a vessel like that of fig. 37.
Let the horizontal pipe be about three inches diameter,
and made in joints which cam be added to each other.
Let the joints be about six inches long, and the holes
from one-fourth to a whole inch in diameter. Fill the
vessel with water, and observe the time of its sinking
three or four inches. Each joint should have a small
hole in its upper side to let out the air ; and when the
water runs out by it, let it be stopped by a peg. He
will see that the larger the pipe is in proportion to the
orifices made in the partitions, the efflux is more dimi¬
nished. We believe that no person would suspect this
who has not considered the subject minutely.
t AH angular enlargements, all boxes, into which the
pipes from different working barrels, unite their water
before it goes into a main, must therefore be avoided
by an artist who would execute a good machine j and
the different contractions which are unavoidable at the
seats of valves and the perforations of pistons, &c.
should be diminished by giving the parts a trumpet-
shape.
In the air-vessels represented in fig. 13. this is of very
great consequence. The throat O, through which the
f S'9 ] P U M
water ‘S (breed by the expansion of the confined air, ru,„p.
should always be formed in this manner. For it is this ' v^—
which produces the motion during the returning part of
the stroke in the pump constructed like fig. 13 N° j
and during the whole stroke in N° 2. Neglecting this*
seemingly trifling circumstance will diminish the per-
01 mance at least one-fifth. The construction of N° 1.
is the best, for it is hardly possible to make the passage
of the other so free from the effects of contraction. The
motion of the water during the returning stroke is very
much contorted. ]
There is one circumstance that we have not taken any Accelcra-
notice of, viz. the gradual acceleration of the motion ofbon of the
water in pumps. When a force is applied to the piston,molion.of
it does not in an instant communicate all the velocitywater m
which it acquires. It acts as gravity acts on heavy bo-
dies; and if the resistances remained the same, it would
produce, like gravity, an uniformly accelerated motion.
But we have seen that the resistances (which are always
measured by the force which just overcomes them) in¬
crease as the square of the velocity increases. They
therefore quiekly balance the action of the moving
power, and the motion becomes uniform, in a time so
short that we commit no error ol any consequence by
supposing it uniform from the beginning. It would
have prodigiously embarrassed our investigations to
have introduced this circumstance; and it is a matter
of mere speculative curiosity: for most of our moving
powers are unequal in their exertions, and these exer¬
tions are regulated by other laws. ’I he pressure on a
piston moved by a crank is as variable as its velocity,
and in most cases is nearly in the inverse proportion of
its velocity, as any mechanician will readily discover.
The only case in which we could consider this matter
with any degree of comprehensibility is that of a steam-
engine, or of a piston which forces by means of a weight
lying on it. In both, the velocity becomes uniform in
a very small fraction of a second. S9
We have been very minute on this subject. For al-Deficiency
though it is the only view of a pump which is of any of elemen-
importance, it is hardly ever understood even by profes- or^tllis^ub
sed engineers. And this is not peculiar to hydraulics, ject.
but is seen in all the branches of practical mechanics.
The elementary knowledge to be met with in such
books as are generally perused by them, goes no farther
than to state the forces which are in equilibrio by the in¬
tervention of a machine, or the proportion of the parts
of a machine which will set two known forces in equili¬
brio. But wdien this equilibrium is destroyed by the su¬
periority of one of the forces, the machine must move;
and the only interesting question is, what will be the
motion $ Till this is answered with some precision, we
have learned nothing of any importance. Few engi¬
neers are able to answer this question even in the simplest
cases ; and they cannot, from any confident science, say
what will be the performance of an untried machine.
They guess at it with a success proportioned to the mul¬
tiplicity of their experience and their own sagacity.
Yet this part of mechanics is as susceptible of accurate
computation as the cases of equilibrium.—We therefore
thought it our duty to point out the manner of proceed¬
ing so circumstantially, that every step should be plain
and easy, and that conviction should always accompany
our progress. This we think it has been in our power
to do, by the very simple method of substituting a co¬
lumn
PUN r 520 ] PUN
pump lumn of water acting by its weight in lieu of any natu-
|| ral power which we may chance to employ.
Puncheon.^ 'J’q gUC[j ag -vvish to prosecute the study ot this impor-
v tant part of hydraulics in its most abstruse parts, We re¬
commend the perusal ot the dissertations of Mr
and Mr Bossut, in the memoirs of the Academy ol Ba¬
ris j also the dissertations ot the Chevalier de la Borda,
1-766 and 1767 5 also the liydrauhcjuc of the Chevalier
De Buat. We shall have occasion to consider the mo¬
tion of the water in the mains of forcing or lifting
pumps which send the water to a distance, in the aiticle
WATER-Works ; where the reader will see how small is
the performance of all hydraulic machines, in compari¬
son of what the usual theories, founded on equilibrium
only, would make him expect.
PUN, or PuNN, an expression where a word has at
once different meanings. The practice of punning is
the miserable refuge of those who wash to pass foi wits,
without having a grain of wit in their composition.
James the I. of England delighted in punning; and
the taste of the sovereign was studied by the courtiers,
and even by the clergy. Hence the sermons of that
age abound with this species of false wit. It continued
to be more or less fashionable till the reign of Queen
Anne, when Addison, Swift, Pope, and Arbuthnot,
with the other real wits ot that classical age, united
their efforts to banish punning from polite composition.
It is still admitted sparingly in conversation; and no one
will deny that a happy pun, when it comes unsought,
contributes to excite mirth in a company. A professed
punster, however, who is always pouring forth his sense¬
less quibbles, as Sancho Pan$a poured forth his pro¬
verbs, is such an intolerable nuisance in society, that
ive do not wonder at Pope or Swift having written a
pamphlet with the title of God's Reve?ige against Run¬
ning.
PUNCH, an instrument of iron or steel, used in se¬
veral arts, for the piercing or stamping holes in plates of
metals, &c. being so contrived as not only to perforate,
but to cut out and take away the piece. The punch is
a principal instrument of the metal-button makers, shoe¬
makers, &c.
Punch is also a name for a sort of compound drink,
much used here, and in many parts abroad, particu¬
larly in Jamaica, and several other parts of the West
Indies.
Its basis is spring-water ; which being rendered cool¬
er, brisker, and more acid, with lemon or lime juice,
and sweetened again to the palate with fine sugar, makes
what they call sherbet; to which a proper quantity of
spirituous liquor, as brandy, rum, or arrack, being add¬
ed, the liquor becomes punch.
PUNCHEON, Punchin, or Punchion, a little
block or piece of steel, on one end whereof is some
figure, letter, or mark, engraven either in crenx or
relievo, impressions whereof are taken on metal, or
some other matter, by striking it with a hammer on
the end not engraved. There are various kinds of
these puncheons used in the mechanical arts ; such, for
instance, are those of the goldsmiths, cutlers, pewte-
rers, &.c.
The puncheon, in coining, is a piece of iron steeled,
whereon the engraver has cut in relievo the several fi¬
gures, arms, effigy, inscription, &c. that there are to
be in the matrices, wherewith the species are to be mar-Punch,,
ked. Minters distinguish three kinds of puncheons, ac- Puncte
cording to the three kinds of matrices to be made ; that( don
of the effigy, that of the cross or arms, and that of the ^“v''
legend or inscription. The first includes the whole por¬
trait in relievo ; the second are small, such only contain¬
ing a piece of the cross or arms ; for instance, a fleur-
de-lis, an harp, a coronet, &c. by the assemblage of all
which the entire matrice is formed. The puncheons of
the legend only contain each one letter, and serve equal¬
ly for the legend on the effigy side and the cross side,
See the article Coinage.
For the puncheons used in stamping the matrices
wherein the types of printing characters are cast, see
LETTER-Foundery.
Puncheon is also used for several iron tools, of va¬
rious siz.es and figures, used by the engravers en creux
on metals. Seal-engravers particularly use a great num¬
ber for the several pieces of arms, &c. to be engra¬
ven, and many stamp the whole seal from a single pun¬
cheon.
Puncheon is also a common name for all those iron
instruments used by stone-cutters, sculptors,blacksmiths,
&c. for the cutting, inciding, or piercing their several
matters.
Those of sculptors and statuaries serve for the re¬
pairing of statues when taken out of the moulds. The
locksmiths use the greatest variety of puncheons ; some
for piercing hot, others for piercing cold ; some flat,
some square, some round, others oval, each to pierce
holes of its respective figure in the several parts of
locks.
Puncheon, in Carpentry, is a piece of timber pla¬
ced upright between two posts, whose bearing is too
great ; serving, together with them, to sustain some
large weights.
This term is also used for a piece of timber raised up¬
right, under the ridge of a building, wherein the legs of
a couple, &c. are jointed.
Puncheon, is also the name of a measure for li¬
quids. Hum is brought from the colonies in pun¬
cheons, which are large casks containing about 130
gallons.
PUNCTUATION, in Grammar, the art of point¬
ing, or of dividing a discourse into periods, by points
expressing the pauses to be made therein.
The points used are four, viz. the period, colon, semi¬
colon, and comma. See the particular use of each undei
its proper article, Comma, Colon, I ericd, and Se?.ii-
COLON.
In general, we shall only here observe, that the
comma is to distinguish nouns from nouns, verbs from
verbs, and such other parts of a period as are not neces¬
sarily joined together. The semi-colon serves to suspend
and sustain the period when too long : the colon, to add
some new supernumerary reason, or consequence, to
what is already said: and the period to close up the
sense and construction, and release the voice.
It has been asserted, that punctuation is a modern art,
and that the ancients were entirely unacquainted with
the use of our commas, colons, &c. and wrote not on y
without any distinction of numbers and periods, but al¬
so without distinction of words: which custom, Bip-
sius observes, continued till the hundred and fourth
lympiau 5
PiiMr
/’LA//'• C( YYIYL/A
E.A/ilr/tr//' SA/rZ/t
PUMP.
PLATE CCCCL.
Selkirk Sculp}
P UM P.
PLATE CCCCLI.
Fie/. ZJ.
rf.rr® g-
P U N [ r2I
nctua- lympmil; Junng which time the sense alone divideii the
discourse.
What within our own knowledge at this day puts this
he,end dispute, ,s the Alexandrian manuscript, which is
at present in the king’s library, at the British Mustemn
Whoever examines this, will find that the whole is writ-
ten continuo ductu, without distinction of words or sen¬
tences. How the ancients read their works written in
tins manner, it is not easy to conceive.
After the practice of joining words together ceased,
notes of distinction were placed at the end of every
word. In all the editions of thp • .1
. ] P U N
in Hrckiuy^ty^s in "riook-
^ appears that „ was only for the purpose of an abbre
viation, as m (namq;) (neq for namque c and
v 4^1?“ Whid‘ 11 i8 ,10w ployed, JW,!
t. iTSt’. “■-^-ry
word. In all the editions of the I'asli Ctmlo/ZA'll'I. • ‘"“"“i «» wen as all the ordinary
points occur. The same are to be seen on H,e Cotulna Sr n5 atUi T “ "“‘t e"lit'ed “ IulaS‘Qes Deorum,”
Jios rata For want of these, we find much confusion Lrs We ^ ^ -T" f5Sl’ in Roman c^rac-
:Ll'^r.OT'“"d covenant between a jnstl, coHraK^e^^r^^
and pood man Pla.'IsV A/T  . , C arv. ^ 'Vise
e ...... emu me covenant between
the bmyrnaeans and Magnesians, which are both now
at. ° r; Sa,mas!us,s edition of Dedicatio statute
c j ^ IIerodls’ t,le llke confusion occurs, where we
find AEYPITE and an.
Of these marks of distinction, the Walcote inscrip¬
tion found near Bath may serve as a specimen ;
IVLIUSv VITALISv FABRI
CESISv LEGv XXVv Vv V
STIPENDIORUMv &c.
After every word here, except at the end of a line we
see this mark v. There is an inscription in Montfau-
*on, which has a capital letter laid in an horizontal po¬
sition, by way of interstitial mark, which makes one apt
to think that this way of pointing was sometimes accor¬
ding to the fancy of the graver.
P. FERBARIVS HERMES
CAECINIAE H DIGNAE
CONIVGI H KARISSIMAE
NVMERIAE H &c.
He we observe after the words a T laid horizontally,
but not after each word, which proves this to be of a
much later age than the former.
As the improvement of stops appears not to have ta¬
ken place while manuscripts and monumental inscrip¬
tions were the only known methods to convey know¬
ledge, it is conjectured that it was introduced with the
art of printing. The 14th century, to which we are
supposed to be indebted for this invention, did not, how¬
ever bestow those appendages we call stops: whoever
Wf ^ at the Pa,ns of examining the first printed books,
will discover no stops of any kind ; but arbitrary marks
here and there, according to the humour of the printer.
AVr . I-1 century> we observe their first appearance.
e find, from the books of this age, that they were
not all produced at the same time 5 those we meet with
there in use, being only the comma, the parenthesis, the
interrogation, and the full point. To prove this, we
need but look into Bale’s Acts of English Worthies,
hlack letter, printed 1550. Indeed, in the dedication
of this book, which is to Edward VI. we discover a co¬
on : but, as this is the only one of the kind throughout
the work, it is plain this stop was not established at this
ime, and so warily put in by the printer; or if it was,
tat it vvas not in common use. Thirty years after this
ime, m that sensible and judicious performance of Sir
loams Elyot, entitled The Gove mom', imprinted
o, we sec the colon as frequently introduced as any
oticr stop; but the semicolon and the admiration were
Vol. XVII. Part IJ.
, ' -   > ......w, in x leucii ny II
and good man, 1 h.hp Mornay, lord of Plessis; in the
with 1H maSter -0 R°/er Ascham’ Printe(l ^ 1570,
with the exception of the semicolon; and in the
rewnesse of the Christian Religion,” by Sir Philip
Sulney, published in 1587, in which we find the aste-
r sk, brackets, the interrogation, the comma and the se¬
ll ico I on, all as we now use them ; and the colon and
period are square dots.
In an alchemical manuscript of the date of 1 ^2 the
semicolon is said to be met with, as well as the other
three points which axe in common use. The colon and
period are abundant in a work entitled “ Dionisius de
bitu Oi bis, printed at Venice in 1498, but none of the
o her stops or points. The single point ( . ) appears to
be the most ancient. Since the year 1485 the colon
was introduced ; the comma is first seen about the year
1521 ; and the more refined semicolon was brought into
use about the year 1570.
1 he invention of the semicolon is most probably due
to the English ; for from the Leyden edition of Pliny,
;r553» lt 18 evident that the Butch printers were not
then in the practice of using it; and if in 1570, they
were, Roger Ascham would probably have employed it;
for the Butch were the principal classical printers in
Ins time; but we find that some English books were
marked with it at that period.
The admiration was the last stop that was invented,
and seems to have been added to the rest in a period
not so far distant from our own time.
Ihus we see that these notes of distinction came into
use as learning was gradually advanced and improved ;
one invention indeed, but enlarged by several additions.
But notwithstanding what has been said relative to
the use of stops as being a modern invention, we shall
find reason to be satisfied that the ancients were not un¬
acquainted with the method of making pauses in speak¬
ing and writing, if we attend to the following elaborate
investigation of Mr Warburton, which we shall lay be¬
fore our readers in the words of the author.
“ Some species of pauses and divisions of sentences
in speaking and writing must have been coeval with the
knowledge of communicating ideas by sound or by sym¬
bols.
“ Suidas* says, that the period and the colon were * Be Thru*
discovered and explained by Thrasymachus, about 380 aymacho.
years before the Christian tera. Cicero! says, that f Cicero
I hrasymachus was the first who studied oratorical num- § 33,
hers, which entirely consisted in the artificial structure of
periods and colons. It appears from a passage in Ari¬
stotle I, that punctuation was known in his time. The £ Rh.eL
3U learned lb’ ul' e’
PUN
[ 522 1
PUN
* Beni. Or
bis erud.
Jjilerat
tab. 30.
edit. 1689.
} Cic. de
Oral. lib.
iii $ ab.
Ibid. 7.
Orat. pro
Muruaui,
i 25.
| Sen. E-
p,si. 40.
$ Quit id.
fcb.ix.c. iv
[j A. D. 340
* Hieron.
Ercef.in
Esiiam.
Vide cUatn
Prft’f. in
Josvain,
&c tom.
iit p. 20.
f Vide
Monif.
Palceog.
Gruca. life
iii c. 4.
learned Dr Edward Bernard* refers the knowledge ot
pointing to the time of that philosopher, and says, that
it consisted in the different position of one single point.
At the bottom of a letter •, thus, (A.) it was equivalent
to a comma ; in the middle (A-) it was equal to a colon j
at the top (A’) it denoted a period, or the conclusion ot
a sentence. > .
“ This mode was easily practised in Greek manu¬
scripts, while they were written in capitals. But when
the small letters tvere adopted, that is, about the ninth
century, this distinction could not be observed j a change
was therefore made in the scheme of punctuation. Un-
< idles literas hodierno vsu dicimus eas in vetustis codict-
bus, quae priscam formam servant, ac solutce sunt, nec
mvtub colligantur. Hi jus modi liter ee unciales observan-
tur in libris omnibus ad nonum usque sezculum. Monti.
Paloeog. Recens. p. xii.
“ According to Cicero, the ancient Romans as well
•ns the Greeks made use of points. He mentions them
under the appellation of librariorum notee; and in several
parts of his works he speaks of ‘ interpunctce clausula:
in orationibus\ of ‘ clausula atque interpunctce verbo-
rum\ of interpunctiones verbomm, Sfc. t.
“ Seneca, who died A. D. 65, expressly says, that
Latin writers in his time, had been used to punctuation.
‘ Nos t, cum scribimus interpungere consuevimus: Mu-
retos and Lipsius imagined that these words alluded to
the insertion of a point after each word ; but they cer¬
tainly were mistaken, for they must necessarily refer to
marks of punctuation in the division of sentences, because
in the passage in which these words occur, Seneca is
speaking of one Q. Haterius, who made no pauses m his
orations. xr 1 •
“ According toSuetonius in his Illust. Gram. Valerius
Probus procured copies of many old books, and employ¬
ed himself in correcting, pointing and illustrating them
devoting his time to this and no other part ot grammar.
Malta exemplaria contracta emendare, ac distinguere et
adnotare euravit; soli hide, nec ulhpraterca, gramma-
ikes parti deditus. .
“ It appears from hence that in the time of rrobus,
or about the year 68, Latin manuscripts had not been
usually pointed *, and that grammarians made it their
business to supply tins deficiency.
“ Quintilian, who wrote his celebrated treatise on
Oratory about the year 88, speaks of commas, colons,
and periods •, but it must be observed that by these terms
he means clauses, members, and complete sentences, and
not the marks of punctuation §.
“ iElius Donatus || published a treatise on Grammar
in the fourth century, in which he explains the distinctio,
the media distinctio, and the subdistmctio : that is, the
use of a single point in the various positions already men¬
tioned.
“ Jerom *, who had been the pupil of Donatus, m
his Latin version of the scriptures, made use of certain
distinctions or divisions, which he calls cola and com-
mata. It has however been thought probable, that the e
divisions were not made by the addition ol any points or
stops , but were formed by writing, in one line, as many
we ds as constituted a clause, equivalent to what we di¬
stinguish by a comm or a eo > n. r\ hese divisions were
c died e-Ti%oi cr fouetr* , a d In '! the appearance ot short
irre/ular vers-s in poetry. 'Ha re are some Greek ma-
* nuscripts still extant which are written in .this manneri.
“ The best treatise upon punctuation I have seen, and
from which these authorities are partly taken, wa.5 pub¬
lished some years since and dedicated to Sir Clifton
Wintringham, Bart, the name of the author 1 know
not*.”
PUNCTUM SAL1ENS, in Anatomy, the first rudi¬
ments of the heart in the formation of the toetus, where
a throbbing motion is perceived. rlhis is said to be ea¬
sily observed with a microscope in a brood-egg, wherein
alter conception, we see a little speck or cloud, in the
middle whereof is a spot that appears to beat or leap a
considerable time before the foetus is formed for batch¬
ing. See the articles Foetus and Anatomy.
Punctum stans, a phrase by which the schoolmen
vainly attempt to bring within the reach of human,
comprehension the positive eternity of God. 'Those
subtile reasoners seem to have discovered that nothing,
which is made up of parts, whether continuous or dis¬
crete, can be absolutely infinite, and that therefore eter¬
nity cannot consist of a boundless series of successive
moments. Yet, as if such a series had always existed,
and were commensurate in duration with the supreme
Being, they compared his eternity to one of the mo¬
ments which compose the flux of time arrested in its
course : and to this eternal moment they gave the name
of punctum stans, because it was supposed to stand still,
whilst the rest followed each other in succession, all va¬
nishing as soon as they appeared. We need not waste
time or room in exposing the absurdity ot this conceit,
as we have elsewhere endeavoured, in the best manner
we can, to ascertain the meaning of the words eternity
and infinity, and to show that they cannot he predicated
of time or space, of points or moments, whether flowing
or standing still. See METAPHYSICS, Part II. chap. 7.
8. and Part III. chap. 6.
PUNCTURE, in Surgery, any wound made by a
sharp-pointed instrument.
PUNDITS, or PendiTS, learned Bramins devoted
to the study of the Sanscrit language, and to the ancient
science, laws, and religion of Hindostan. See Philo¬
sophy, N° 4—12.
PUNICA, the Pomegranate Tree, a genus of
plants belonging to the icosandria class, and in the na¬
tural method ranking under the 36th order, Pomacece.
See Botany Index.
PUNISHMENT, in Law, the penalty which a per¬
son incurs on the commission of a crime. See the article
Crime and Punishment.
The ingenuity of men has been much exerted to tor¬
ment each other > but the following are the punishments
that have been usually adopted in tl* different countries
of the world. The capital punishments have been be¬
heading, crucifixion, burning, roasting, drowning, sea
ping, hanging by the neck, the arm, or the leg, star¬
ving, sawing, exposing to wild beasts, rending asunder
by horses drawing opposite ways, burying alive, shoot¬
ing, blowing from the mouth ef a cannon, compulsory
deprivation of sleep, rolling in a barrel stuck with nails
Pune „
lid j
I!
Punk
mu:
v—V J
* Mov,,
Mag. i I
186.
rock, teai mg our toe uuwtis, / .
hot pincers, the rack, the wheel, impaling, flaying aln ,
& The punishments short of death have been fine, pillo¬
ry, imprisonment, compulsory labour at the mines, ga^'
PUR
isf.mcnl leys> highways, or correction-house ; whipping, bastina'
i) ding, mutilation by cutting away the ears, the nose
, the tongue, the breasts of women, the foot, the hand •’
''v squeezing the marrow from the bones with screws or
,wedges, castration, putting out the eyes, banishment
running the gauntlet, drumming, shaving off the hair’
burning on the hand or forehead, &c.
PUNNING. See Pun. /
PUPIL, in the civil law, a boy or girl not yet arri¬
ved at the age of puberty j i. e. the boy under 14 years
the girl under 12. ’
Pupil, is also used in universities, &c. for a youth un¬
der the education or discipline of any person.
Pupil, in Anatomy, a little aperture in the middle of
the uvea and iris of the eye, through which the rays of
light pass to the crystalline humour, in order to be
painted on the retina, and cause vision. See Anatomy
Index.
PURCELL, Henry, a justly celebrated master of
music, began early to distinguish himself. As bis ge¬
nius was original, it wanted but little forming, and he
rose to the height of his profession with more ease than
others pass through their rudiments. He was made or¬
ganist to Westminster abbey in the latter end of the
reign of Charles II. In that of William, he set several
songs for Dryden’s Amphytrion and his King Arthur,
which were received with just applause. His notes in
his operas were admirably adapted to his words, and so
echoed to the sense, that the sounds alone seemed ca¬
pable of exciting those passions which they never failed
to do in conjunction. His music was very different
from the Italian. It was entirely English, and perfect¬
ly masculine. His principal works have been published
under the title of Orpheus Britannicus. He died in 1695,
in the 37th year of his age, and was interred in West¬
minster abbey, where a monument is erected to his me¬
mory.
PURCHAS, Samuel, an English divine, famous for
compiling a valuable collection of voyages, was horn in
I577> at Thacksted in Essex. After studying at Cam¬
bridge, he obtained the vicarage of Eastwood in his na¬
tive county; hut leaving that cure to his brother, he set¬
tled in London, in order to carry on the great work in
which he was engaged. He published the first volume
in folio, 1613, and the four last, 12 years after, under
the title of Pitrc/ias his Pilgrimage, or Relations of the
world, and the Religions observed in all ages and places.
Meanwhile he was collated to the rectory of St Mar¬
tin’s, Ludgate, in London, and made chaplain to Dr
Abbot, archbishop of Canterbury. His Pilgrimage, and
the learned Hackluyt’s Voyages, led the way to all the
other collections of that kind, and have been justly valued
and esteemed. But unhappily, by his publishing, he in¬
volved himself in debt: he did not, however, die in pri¬
son, as some have asserted ; but at bis own house, about
the year 1628.
PURCHASE, in Law, the buying or acquiring of
lands, &c. with money, by deed or agreement, and not
by descent or right of inheritance.
Purchase, in the sea-language, is the same as draw
m: thus, when they say, the capstan purchases a pace,
they only mean it draws in the cable a-pace.
PURE, something free from any admixture of fo¬
reign or heterogeneous matters.
PURELEW, a term in heraldry, expressing ermins,
Pmflc
Pnmatorv.
23 ] PUR
peans or any of the furs, when they compose a bordure
round a coat of arms: thus they say, He beareth gules,
a bordure, purflew, vairy; meaning, that the bordure is
vairy. > —
the art of purging, scouring, or
purifying a thing, by separating, or carrying off any
impurities found therein. Thus, ^
In pharmacy, purgation is the cleansing of a medicine
>y retrenching its supeifiuities. In chemistry, it is used
for the several preparations of metals and minerals in¬
tended to clear them of their impurities, more usually
called purification and refining. J
In medicine, purgation is an excretory motion arising
from a quick and orderly contraction of the fleshy fibre#
of the stomach and intestines, whereby the chyle, cor¬
rupted humours, and excrements lodged therein, are
protruded further and further, and at length quite ex¬
cluded the body by stool. See Materia Medica.
Purgation, in Late, signifies the clearing a person’s
self of a crime of which he is suspected and accused be¬
fore a judge.. This purgation is either canonical or vul¬
gar. Canonical purgation is prescribed by the canon-
law, and the form thereof in the spiritual court is usual¬
ly thus: The person suspected takes his oath that he is
innocent of the crime charged against him ; and at the
same time brings some of his neighbours to make oath
that they believe he swears truly. Vulgar purgation
was anciently by fire or water, or else by combat, and
was practised here till abolished by our canons. See
Battel, in law; Ordeal, &c.
PURGATIVE or Purging Medicines, medica¬
ments, which evacuate the impurities of the body by
stool, called also cathartics.
PURGATORY, a place in which the just, who de¬
part out of this life, are supposed to expiate certain of-,
fences which do not merit eternal damnation. Brough¬
ton has endeavoured to prove, that this notion has been
held by Pagans, Jews, and Mahometans, as well as by-
Christians ; and that in the days of the Maccabees the
Jews believed that sin might be expiated by sacrifice
after the death of the sinner, cannot be questioned.
Much abuse has been poured upon the church oi^aPb>t mi*-
Rome for her doctrine of purgatory, and many false re- rePJfseTtte^
presentations have been made of the doctrine itself. The Icntcd1!™'
following view of it is taken from a work which is con¬
sidered as a standard by the British Catholics. 1. Every
sin, how slight soever, though no more than an idle
word, as it is an offence to God, deserves punishment
from him, and will be punLhed by him hereafter, if not
cancelled by repentance here. 2. Such small sins do
not deserve eternal punishment. 3. Few depart this life
so pure as to be totally exempt from spots of this na¬
ture, and from every kind of debt due to God’s justice.
4. Therefore few will escape without suffering some¬
thing from his justice for such debts as (hey have carried
with them out of this world ; according to that rule
of divine justice, by which he treats every soul hereafter
according to its works, and according to the state in
which he finds it in death. From these propositions,
which the Papist considers as so many self-evident truths,
he infers that there must be some third place of punish¬
ment; for, since the infinite goodness of God can ad¬
mit nothing into heaven which is not clean and pure
from all sin both great and small; and his infinite-
justice can permit none to receive the reward of bliss,
3 U 2 wh«
PUR r 524 ] P U R
Fnr^atory, who as yet are not out of debt, but have something in
JPurifica- iustice to suffer; there must of necessity be some place
lion. or state, where souls, departing this life, pardoned as to
' ' v the eternal guilt or pain, yet obnoxious to some tempo¬
ral penalty, or with the guilt of some venial faults, are
purged and purified before their admittance into hea¬
ven. And this is what he is taught concerning purga¬
tory. Which, though he knows not where it is, of
w hat nature the pains are, or how long each soul is de¬
tained there ; yet he believes, that those that are in
this place, being the living members of Jesus Christ, are
relieved by the prayers of their fellow members here on
earth, as also by alms and masses offered up to God for
their souls. And as for such as have no relations or
friends to pray for them, or give alms, or procure mas¬
ses for their relief; they are not neglected by the
church, which makes a general commemoration of all
the faithful departed in every mass, and in every one
of the canonical hours of the divine office.
Such is the Popish doctrine of purgatory, which is
built chiefly upon 2 Macc. xii. 43, 44, 45 ; St Matth.
xii. 31, 32; and 1 Cor. iii. 15. By Protestants the
books of Maccabees are not acknowledged to be in¬
spired scripture ; but if they were, the texts referred to
would rather prove that there is no such place as pur¬
gatory, since Judas did not expect the souls departed to
reap any benefit from his sin-offering till the resurrec¬
tion. Our Saviour, in St Luke, speaks of remission in
this woi'ld, and in the world to come ; hut surely neither
of these is purgatory. The world to come is the state
after the resurrection, and the remission spoken of is
the sentrnce of absolution to be pronounced on the
penitent from the seat of general judgment. In the
obscure verse referred to in the epistle to the Corin¬
thians, the apostle is, by the best interpreters, thought
to speak of the difficulty with which Christians should
be saved from the destruction of Jerusalem. 01 the
state of souls departed he cannot wTell be supposed to
speak, as upon disembodied spirits fire could make no
impression. We cannot help, therefore, thinking with
the church of England, that “ the Romish doctrine of
purgatory is a fond thing, vainly invented, and ground¬
ed on no warranty of scripture;” hut we must confess
at the same time, that it appears to us to he a very
harmless error, neither hostile to virtue nor dangerous
to society. See Resurrection.
PURIFICATION, in matters of religion, a cere¬
mony which consists in cleansing any thing from a sup¬
posed pollution or defilement.
The Pagans, before they sacrificed, usually bathed or
washed themselves in water; and they were particularly
careful to wash their hands, because with these they
were to touch the victims consecrated to the gods. It
was also customary to wash the vessel with which they
made their libations. The Mahometans also use puri¬
fications previous to the duty of prayer ; which are also
of two kinds, either bathing, or only washing the face,
hands and feet. The first is required only in extraor¬
dinary cases, as after having lain with a woman, touch¬
ed a dead body, &c. But lest so necessary a prepara¬
tion for their devotions should be omitted, either where
water cannot be had, or when it may be of prejudice to
a person’s health, they are allowed in such cases to
make use of fine sand, or dust, instead of it; and then
they perform this duty by clapping their open hands on
the sand, and passing them over the parts, in the same tioiij
manner as if they were dipped in water. R
There were also many legal purifications among the , *>ul’Pi
Hebrews. When a woman was brought to bed of a r 1
male child, she was esteemed impure for 40 days; and
when of a female, for 60 : at the end of which time she
carried a lamb to the door of the temple to be offered
for a burnt-offering, and a young pigeon or turtle for a
sin offering ; and by this ceremony she was cleansed or
purified.
PUR1M, or The Feast of Lots, a solemn festival
of the Jews, instituted in memory of the deliverance
they received, by means of Mordecai and Esther, from
Haman’s wicked attempt to destioy them.
PURITAN, a name formerly given in derision to
the dissenters from the church of England, on account
of the profession to follow the pure word of God, in
opposition to all traditions and human constitutions. It
was likewise given in the primitive church to the No-
vatian schismatics, because they would never admit to
communion anv one who from dread of death had apo¬
statized from the faith.
PURITY, the freedom of any thing from foreign ad¬
mixture.
Purity of Style. See Oratory, p. 4II> &c’
PURLIEU, signifies all that ground near any forest,
which being made forest by King Henry II. Richard I.
and King John, was afterwards by perambulations and
grants of Henry HI. severed again from the same, and
made purlieu ; that is to say, pure and free from the
laws of the forest.—The word is derived from the
French pur, “ pure,” and lieu, “ place.”
PURLINS, in building, those pieces of timber that
lie across the ratters on the inside, to keep them from
sinking in the middle of their length.
By the act of parliament for rebuilding London,
it is provided, that all purlins from 15 feet 6 inches
to 18 feet 6 inches long, be in their square 9 inches
and 8 inches ; and all in length from 18 feet 6 inches
to 21 feet 6 inches, be in their square 12 inches and9
inches.
PURPLE, a colour composed of a mixture of red
and blue. See Colour-Making, N° 29, and Dyeing
Index.
PURPURA, in Natural History. See Murex, Con-
CHOLOGY Index. The Tyrian method ot dyeing purple
was with a liquid extracted from this fish. It has been
affirmed, however, that no such method was ever prac¬
tised. “ At Tyre (says Mr Bruce) I engaged two fish¬
ermen, at the expence of their nets, to drag in those
places where they said shell-fish might be caught, in
hopes to have brought out one of the famous purple-fish.
I did not succeed ; but in this I was, I believe, as lucky
as the old fishers had ever been. The purple-fish at
Tyre seems to have been only a concealment of their
knowledge of cochineal ; as, had they depended upon
the fish for their dye, if the whole city of Tyre applied
to nothing else but fishing, they would not have colour¬
ed 20 yards of cloth in a year.”
PURPURE, in Heraldry. The colour so called,
which signifies purple, is in engraving represented by
diagonal lines, from the left to the right. See He-
HALDRY.
It
PUS
Lic¬
it may serve to denote an administrator of justice a
lawgiver, or a governor equal to a sovereign : and ’ '
( cording to G. Leigh, if it is compounded with
r Uiches.
Quietness,
Politics.
r 525 1
put
Or, l
Arg. |
Gul.
Az.
Ver.
Sab
I
rJ-=
Fidelity.
Cruelty.
Sadness.
PURRE, or Perkin. See Agriculture Indrr
PURSER, an officer aboard a man of war, who re¬
ceives her victuals from the victualler, sees that it be well
stowed, and keeps an account of what he every day de¬
livers to the steward. He also keeps a list of the ship’s
company, and sets down exactly the day of each man’s
admission, in order to regulate the quantity of provisions
to be delivered out; and that the paymaster or treasurer
of the navy may issue out the debursements, and payoff
the men, according to his book.
See PoRTULACA> Botany Index.
PURVIEW, a term used by some lawyers for the
body of an act of parliament, or that part which begins
with “Be it enacted, &c.” as contradistinguished from
the preamble.
PURULENT, in Medicine, something mixed with,
or partaking of, pus or matter.
PUS, in Medicine, a white or yellowish matter design¬
ed by nature for the healing and cementing of wounds
and sores.
The origin and formation of pus is as much un¬
known as that of any other animal fluid. In an in¬
augural dissertation published at Edinburgh by Dr
Hendy, the author supposes pus to be a secreted
fluid. It has been thought by many, that pits is ei¬
ther a sediment from serum when beginning to putre¬
fy, or that it is the same fluid insipissated by the heat
of the body. But both these opinions are refuted by
some experiments of our author, which show, that pus
is much less inclined to putrefaction than serum, and
the putrefaction of both is hastened by an addition of
some of the red part of the blood. Some other expe¬
riments were made, in order to try whether pus could
be artificially produced. A thin piece of lamb’s flesh,
applied to an ulcer discharging laudable pus, and cover¬
ed over with lead, did not assume the appearance of
pus, but became fetid, and was much lessened. Serum,
in its inflammatory and in its ordinary state, and lymph
in different states, were applied to the same ulcer,
which still discharged good pus; but none of these
were converted into pus ; on the contrary, they became
very putrid.
In opposition to these arguments of our author,
however, it may be alleged, that if pus ivas a secreted
fluid, the vessels by which it was secreted would cer¬
tainly be visible; but no such thing has ever been ob¬
served : on the contrary, it is certain that pus cannot
e formed unless the air is excluded from the wound.
Jiiese disptres, however, are of no great consequence:
but in some cases it becomes a matter of real import¬
ance to distinguish pus from mucus ; as thus we may
he enabled to know whether a cough is consumptive,
«r merely catarrhons. See Mucus. Mr Hume, in a
issertation on the properties of pus, in which he avails
umself of the experiments of Mr Hunter, as delivered
in his 1 hysiolpgica! Lectures, says, “ that the characteri- Pll,
s ic of pus is its being composed of globules; and he I!
t links that the presence of globules seems to depend upon P«tcoH.
the pus being ,n a perfect state. It differs from the'   
blood in the colour of the globules ; in their not being
soluble m water, winch those of the blood are: and
tiom the fluid in which they swim being coagulable by
a solution of sal ammoniac, which serum is not.” Re¬
specting the formation of pus, our author adopts the idea
suggested by Mr Hunter, that the vessels of the part as¬
sume the nature of a gland, and secrete a fluid which
becomes pus. Mr Horne ascertains, by experiment,
that pus, at its formation, is not globular* but a trans¬
parent fluid, of a consistence, in some sort, reseniblin«-
jelly ; and that the globules are formed while lying up°
on the surface of the sore; requiring, in some instances,
while the influence of the external air is excluded fif¬
teen minutes for that purpose.
c J ^ ^ ULE’ a or small eruption on the skin
’ suc*1 as tl,e options of the smallpox.
"Ul AMINEiE, (from putamcn, “ a shell,”) the
name of the 25th order of Linnaeus’s fragments of a
natural method ; consisting of a few genera of plants
allied in habit, whose fleshy seed-vessel or fruit is fre¬
quently covered with a hard woody shell. See Bo¬
tany.
PUTEOLI, (Livy, Strabo) : a town of Campania; stow-'
so called either from its wells, there being many hot and burnc's
cold springs thereabouts; or from its stench, putor, Travels in
caused by sulphureous exhalations, (Varro, Strabo)’^. ^
It is now called PuzKito/i, and is pleasantly and advan-™^'
tageously situated for trade. In a very remote age, th«
Cumeans made it their arsenal and dockyard; and to
this naval establishment gave the sublime appellation of
DicearcZiia or Just Power.
The Romans were well aware of the utility of this
port, and took great pains to improve its natural advan¬
tages. Nothing remains of their works but a line of
piers, built to break the force of a rolling sea : they are
vulgarly called the bridge of Caligula, because that mad¬
man is said to have marched in triumph from Puzzuoli
to P>aiie on a bridge ; but his was a bridge of boats.
1 he ruins of its ancient edifices are widely spread
along the adjacent hills and shores. An amphitheatre
still exists entire in most of its parts, and the temple of
Serapis offers many curious subjects of observation ;
half of its buildings are still buried under the earth
thrown upon it by volcanieal commotions, or accumu¬
lated by the crumblings of the hill; the inclosure is
square, environed with buildings for priests and baths
for votaries ; in the centre remains a circular platform,
with four flights of steps up to it, vases for fire, a cen¬
trical altar, rings for victims, and other appendages of
sacrifice, entire and not displaced ; but the columns that
held its rool have been removed to the new palace of
Caserta (see Caserta). Behind this round place of
worship stand three pillars without capitals, part of the
pronaos of a large temple , they are of cipoline marble,
and at the middle of their height are full of holes eaten
in them by the file-fish*.
The present city contains near 10,000 inhabitants, *
and occupies a small peninsula ; the cathedral was a pa- Vactyhis,
gan temple, dedicated to the divinities that presided
over commerce and navigation. E. Long. 14. 40. N.
Lat. 41. 15.
In
PUT
i 526 ]
PUT
Putcoli lii the neighbourhood of Puteoli are many relick.9 ot
Futref-ic anc*en^ grandeur, of which none deserve more attention
l'ti0;r than the Campanian way paved with lava, and lined on
each side with venerable towers, the repositories ot the
dead, which are richly adorned with stucco in the inside.
This road was made in a most solid expensive manner by
order of Domitian, and is frequently the subject of en¬
comium in the poems of Statius.
PUT! caraja, in Botaivj, is a genus of Indian
plants, of which the characters, as given by Sir William
Jones in the Asiatic Researches, vol. ii. p. 351. are
these. The calyx is five-cleft, the corolla has five equal
petals, the pericarpium a thorny legumen and two seeds,
the leaves oval and pinnated, and the stem armed. “ The
seeds (says the learned president) are very bitter, and
perhaps tonic ; since one of them, bruised and given in
two dozes, will, as the Hindoos assert, cure an inter¬
mittent fever.”
PUTORIUS. See Mustela, Mammalia Index.
PUTREFACTION, is the natural process by which
organized bodies are dissolved, and reduced to what may
be called original elements.
Putrefaction differs from chemical solution ; because
in the latter, the dissolved bodies are kept in their state
of solution by being combined with a certain agent
from which they cannot easily be separated } but in pu¬
trefaction, the agent which dissolves the body appears
not to combine with it in any manner of way, but mere¬
ly to separate the parts from each other. It differs also
from the resolution of bodies by distillation with violent
fire '•) because, in distillation, new and permanent com¬
pounds are formed, but by putrefaction every thing seems
to be resolved into substances much more simple and in¬
destructible than those which are the result of any che¬
mical process.
The bodies most liable to putrefaction are those of
animals and vegetables, especially when full of juices.
Stones, though by the action ot the weather they will
moulder into dust, yet seem not to be subject to any
thing like a real putrefaction, as they are not resolved
into any other substance than sand, or small dust, winch
still preserves its lapideous nature. In like manner, ve¬
getables of any kind, when deprived of their juices by
drying, may be preserved for many ages without being
subjected to any thing like a putrefactive process. The
same holds good with respect to animals j the parts of
which, by simple drying, may be preserved in a sound
state for a much longer time than they could be without
the previous exhalation of their juices.
Putrefaction is generally allowed to be a kind of fer¬
mentation, or rather to be the last stage of that process ;
which beginning with the vinous fermentation, goes
on through the acetous, to the stage of putridity, w here
it stops.° It is argued, however, and seemingly not
without a great deal ot reason, that if putrefaction be a
fermentation, it must necessarily be a kind distinct from
either the vinous or acetous *, since we frequently observe
that it takes place where neither the vinous nor the ace¬
tous stages have gone before \ of consequence, it must
be, in some cases at least, entirely independent of and
unconnected with them. In several other respects it dif¬
fers so much from these processed that it seems in some
degree doubtful whether it can with propriety be called
•a fermentation or not. Both the vinous and acetous fer¬
mentations are attended with a considerable degree of
5
heat $ but in the putrefaction of animal matters espeti- putrefe
ally, the heat is for the most part so small, that we can- uon
not be certain whether there is any degree of it or notv-.
produced by the process. In cases, indeed, where the
quantity of corrupting animal matter is very great, some
heat may be perceived: and accordingly Dr Monro
tells us, that he was sensible of heat on thrusting his
hand into the flesh of a dead and corrupting whale.
But the most remarkable difference between the putre¬
factive fermentation and that of the vinous and acetous
kinds is, that the end of both these processes is to pro¬
duce a new and permanent compound j but that of the
putrefactive process is not to produce any new form,
but to destroy, and resolve one which already exists into
the original principles from which all things seem to
proceed. Thus the vinous fermentation produces ardent
spirits } the acetous, vinegar : but putrefaction produces
nothing but earth, and some effluvia, which, though
most disagreeable, and even poisonous to the human bo¬
dy, yet, being imbibed by the earth and vegetable crea¬
tion, give life to a new race of beings. It is commonly
supposed, indeed, that volatile alkali is a production of
the putrefactive process : but this seems liable to dis¬
pute. The vapour of pure volatile alkali is not hurtful
to the human frame, but that of putrefying substances is
exceedingly so ; and, excepting in the case of urine, the
generation of volatile alkali in putrid substances is very
equivocal. This substance, which produces more alkali
than any other, is much less offensive by its putrid fetor
than others ; and all animal substances produce a volatile
alkali on being exposed to the action of fire, of quick¬
lime, or of alkaline salts. In these cases the volatile al¬
kali is not supposed to be produced by the quicklime
or fixed salt, but only to be extricated from a kind of
ammoniacal salt pre-existing in the animal matters j the
probability is the same in the other case, viz. that vola¬
tile alkali is not produced, but only extricated, from these
substances by putrefaction.
The only thing in which the putrefactive fermenta¬
tion agrees with the other kinds is, that in ail the three
there is an extrication of fixed air. In the putrefactive
process, it has been thought that this escape of the fix¬
ed air deprives the body of its cohesion : and Dr Mac-
bride has written a treatise, in which he endeavours to
prove that fixed air is the very power of cohesion itself,
and that all bodies when deprived of their fixed air en¬
tirely lose their cohesion. According to this hypothesis,
the cause of putrefaction is the escape ot fixed air ; but it
is impossible to give a reason why fixed air, after having
so long remained in a body, and preserved its cohesion,
should of a sudden begin to fly off without being acted
upon bv something else. To a similar objection the
hypothesis of those is liable, who suppose putrefaction
to be occasioned by the escape ot phlogiston ; for phlo¬
giston is now known to be a chimera : and though it
were a reality, it would not fly oft without something
to carry it off, any more than fixed air. Animalcules
have been thought to be the cause of putrefaction : but
if animal substances are covered so as to exclude the ac¬
cess of flies or other insects, no such animalcules are to
be discovered though putrefaction has taken place ; and
indeed it requires little proof to convince us, that ani¬
mals are produced jn corrupted bodies only because such
substances prove a proper nidus for the eggs of the pa¬
rent insects. ^
PUT C 527
rcfac- To understand the true cause of putrefaction, we
l ion must take notice of the circumstances in which the pro-
h ' cess goes on most rapidly. These are, heat, a little
moisture, and confined air. Extreme cold prevents pu¬
trefaction, as well as perfect dryness ; and a free circu¬
lation of air carries off the putrid effluvia ; a stagnation
of which seems to be necessary for carrying on the pro¬
cess. It seems also to hold pretty generally, that pu¬
trefying bodies swell and become specifically lighter 5
for which reason the carcases of dead animals, after
having sunk in water, rise to the top and float. ’ This
last phenomenon, as has been observed under the article
Blood, 2p. shows that these bodies have received
a certain quantity of an elastic principle from the air,
which thus swells them up to such' a size. It may he
said indeed, that this increase of size in putrefying bo¬
dies is owing only to the extrication of air within them¬
selves : but this amounts to the same thing j for the air
which exists internally in the body of any animal, is
entirely divested of elasticity while it remains there,
and only shows its elastic properties upon beintr extri¬
cated. The elastic principle which combines with the
air fixed in the animal substance, therefore, must come
from the external atmosphere 5 and consequently the
agent in putrefaction must be the elastic principle of the
atmosphere itself, probably the same with elementary
fire.
But, granting this to be true, it is difficult to show
why putrefaction should not take place in a living body
as well as in a dead one $ seeing the one is as much ex¬
posed to the action of the air as the other. This dif¬
ficulty, however, is not peculiar to the present hypothe¬
sis ; but will equally occur whatever we may suppose the
cause of putrefaction to be. The difficulty seems to be
a little cleared up by Dr Priestley, who shows, that, by
means of respiration, the body is freed from many nox¬
ious effluvia which would undoubtedly destroy it; and
by the retention of which, he thinks, a living body
would putrefy as soon as a dead one. The way in
which respiration prevents the putrefaction of the body,
is evidently the same with that in which the wind pre¬
vents fish or flesh hung up in it from becoming putrid.
The constant inspiration of the air is like a stream of
that element continually blown upon the body, and
that not only upon its surface, but into it; by which
means putrefaction is prevented in those parts that are
most liable to become putrid. On the other hand, the
*Soe|/oo<J,elastic principle received from the air by the blood*,
by invigorating the powers of life, quickening the cir¬
culation, and incieasing perspiration, enables the body
to expel noxious particles from oJier parts of the body
which cannot conveniently be expelled by the lungs.
'Ihis leads us to consider the reason why a free ex¬
posure to the air prevents the coming on of putrefac¬
tion, or why the confining of the putrid effluvia should
be so necessary to this process. Here it will be proper
to recollect, that putrefaction is a simple resolution of
the body into earth, air, &c. of which it seems original¬
ly to have been composed. This resolution is evidently
performed by an expansive power seemingly situated in
every particle of the body. In consequence of this
principle, the body first -wells, then bursts, flies off in
vapour, and its particles fall asunder from each other.
’Iht action of the putrefactive process, then, is analo-
tion.
] PUT
of fire, and the very effects which follow the action of pufrefac.
fire upon any combust,hie body. It is therefore exceed¬
ingly probable that the agent m the air, which we have v v
a aio"£ considered as the cause of putrefaction, is no
other than fire itself; that is, the ethereal fluid expanding
itself everywhere as from a centre to a circumference.
he force of the fluid, indeed, is much less in putrefac¬
tion than in actual ignition ; and therefore the effects
also take place in a much smaller degree, and require a
muc 1 ongei time: nevertheless, the same circumstances
that are necessary for keeping up the action of fire, are
also necessary for keeping up the putrefactive process.
One of these is a free access of air, yet without too vio¬
lent a blast; for as fire cannot burn without air, neither
can it endure too much of it: thus a candle goes out
if put under a receiver, and the air exhausted ; and it
will do the same if we blow violently upon it. In like
manner, putrefaction requires a certain quantity of air,,
much less indeed than fire: and as it requires less to sup¬
port it, so it can also endure much less air than fire ; for
a stream ol air which would not put out a fire, will ef¬
fectually prevent putrefaction. The cause of this in
both is the same. Fire cannot burn because the vapour
is carried oft too fast; and thus the latent heat, which
ought to support the flame, is entirely dissipated. In
like manner putrefaction is as certainly attended with
an emission of azotic gas as fire is with an emission of
flame. These gases contain a great quantity of latent
heat, or of the expansive principle already mentioned;
and it these are carried off with greater rapiditv than the
heat ol the atmosphere can produce them, the conse¬
quence must be, that an opposite principle to that which
produces putrefaction, namely, a principle of cold, or
condensation, instead of expansion, must take place, and
the body cannot putrefy. That this must be the case,
is evident from the property which all evaporations have
of producing cold ; and it is well known that a brisk
current of air promotes evaporation to a great degree.
Hence also the reason is evident why bodies are preser¬
ved uncorrupted by cold ; for thus the action of the ex¬
pansive principle is totally overcome and suspended, so
that none of its effects can be perceived.
Thus we may say, that one reason why an animal
body does not putrefy while alive, is its ventilation, as
we may call it, by respiration ; and another is, the
continual accession of new particles, less disposed to pu¬
trefy than itself, by the food and drink which is con¬
stantly taken id. But if either of these ways of pre¬
venting the commencement of this process are omitted,
then putrefaction will take place as vrell in a living as
in a dead body. ^ Of the truth of this last fact we have
innumerable instances. When air is infected with the
putrid effluvia of marshes, and thus the natural effluvia
are not carried off’from the human body, hut, on the
contrary, some enter into it which are not natural to it,
the most putrid diseases are produced. The same thing
happens from the putrid effluvia of dead bodies. Of
this we have a remarkable instance in the fever which
took place in Germany in the war of 1755 : one rea¬
son of which is said to have been an infection of the
air by the vast numbers of people killed in battle, to
which was added a calm in the atmosphere for a long
time ; the putrid effluvia being by this prevented from
flv:ng offf. Whe : Mr Holwcll with 145 others were I See 3
-•-V. piILI ci vr JJ1 U1CIJ, ctuaiu~ (• ‘ JLAVl>YVil \ V ill! YV CJ C ?
goue to that of fixe, since these are the very properties * imprisoned in the black-hole at Calcutta, after passing
PUT t 5:
Putrefac- a night in that dismal habitation, he found himseli in
tioa. a high putrid fever. When sailors in long voyages are
■—~V " ‘ obliged to feed upon putx-id aliments} when, through
stormy weather, they are much exposed to wet j in the
one case the putrescent eftluvia being kept from flying
off, and in the other a greater quantity being thrown in¬
to the body than what it naturally contains, the scurvy,
malignant fevers, &c. make their appearance (a). Nei¬
ther can these diseases be removed without removing
every one of the causes just now mentioned : for as pu¬
trid diseases will be the consequence of confined air,
nastiness, &c. though the provisions be ever so good',
so on the other hand, if the provisions be bad, the best
air, and most exact cleanliness, nay, the best medicines
in the world, will be of no service j as hath been often
observed in the scurvy.
From this account of the nature, cause, and method
of preventing putrefaction by means of a current of
air, we may easily see the reason why it does not take
place in some other cases also. Bodies will not pu¬
trefy in vacuo, because there the atmosphere has not
access to impart its elastic principle } and though in
the vacuum itself the principle we speak of does un¬
doubtedly exist, yet its action there is by far too weak
to decompose the structure of an animal body. In ex¬
treme cold, the reason why putrefaction does not take
place, has been already shown. If the heat is extreme-
Jy great, the process of ignition or burning takes place
' instead of putrefaction. If the body is very dry, pu¬
trefaction cannot take place, because the texture is too
firm to be decomposed by the weak action of the ela¬
stic principle. Putrefaction may also be prevented by
the addition of certain substances ; but they are all of
them such as either harden the texture of the body,
and thus render it proof against the action of the ela¬
stic fluid, or, by dissolving its texture entirely, bring
it into a state similar to what it would be brought
by the utmost power of putrefaction, so that the process
cannot then take place. Thus various kinds of salts
8 ] PUT
and acids harden the texture of animal substances, and plUrc(..
thus are successfully used as antiseptics. The same tion
thing may be said of ardent spirits •, while oils and gums
of various kinds prove antiseptic by a total exclusion of
air, which is necessary in some degree for carrying on
the piocess of putrefaction. Many vegetables, by the
astringent qualities they possess, harden the texture of
animal substances, and thus prove powerfully antiseptic j ,
while, on the other hand, fixed alkaline salts, quicklime,
and caustic volatile alkali, though they prevent putre¬
faction, yet they do it by dissolving the substances in
such a manner that putrefaction could do no more
though it had exerted its utmost force. There is only
one other antiseptic substance whose effects deserve to
be considered, and that is sugar. This, though neither
acid nor alkaline, is yet one of the most effectual means
of preventing putrefaction : and this seems to be owing
to its great tendency to run into the vinous fermentation,
which is totally inconsistent with that of putrefaction ;
and this tendency is so great, that it can scarce be coun¬
teracted, by the tendency of animal substances to putrefy
in any c ircumstances whatever.
Some kinds of air are remarkably antiseptic, though
this subject has not been so fully inquired into as could
be wished. The most powerful of them in this respect
is the nitrous air; next to it, is fixed air; but the powers
of the other airs are not so well known. It is probable
that the antiseptic properties of fixed and nitrous air, are
owing to their quality of extinguishing fire, or at least
that the principle is the same j but till the nature ot
these two kinds of air are better known, little can be
said writh certainty on the subject.
Sir John Pringle has made experiments to determine
the powers of certain substances to promote or to pre¬
vent putrefaction. From these experiments he has form¬
ed the following Table, showing the relative antiseptic
powers of the saline substances mentioned. Having
found that two drams of beef put in a phial with two
ounces of water, and placed in a heat equal to 90° of
Fahrenheit’s
(A) This aeriform fluid, which is exhaled from animal bodies in a state of putrefaction, acts at certain tunes
more powerfully than at others, and is indeed in one stage of the piocess infinitely more noxious than any other
elastic fluid yet discovered. In the Gentleman’s Magazine for August 1788, Dr St Johri informs us, that he
knew a gentleman who, by slightly touching the intestines of a human body beginning to liberate this corrosive
gas, was affected with a violent inflammation, which in a very short space of time extended up almost the entire
length of his arm, producing an extensive ulcer of the most foul and frightful appearance, which continued tor se¬
veral months, and reduced him to a miserable state of emaciation. The same writer mentions a celebrated profes¬
sor who was attacked with a violent inflammation of the nerves and fauces, from which he with difficulty recover¬
ed merely by stooping for an instant over a body which was beginning to give forth this deleterious fluid. lienee
he infers, that the same gas modified or mixed, or united with others, may be the occasion of the plague, w nci las
so often threatened to annihilate the human species. It is happy, however, for mankind that this particu ar stage
of putrefaction continues but for a few hours ; and what may appear very remarkable, tins destructive gas is no
very disagreeable in smell, and has nothing of that abominable and loathsome fetor produced by dead bodies 111 a
less dangerous state of corruption 5 but has a certain smell totally peculiar to itself, by which it may be install y
discovered by any one that ever smelled it before. This is an object very worthy the attention of p lysicians . 1
is both extremely interesting, and very little known •, but at the same time it is a study in the highest degree un¬
pleasant, from the detestable smell and nastiness which attend the putrefaction «t animal bodies 5 and a man mus
be armed with uncommon philanthropy and resolution to attempt it. . •
Dr St John thinks it probable that there is a rapid fixation of the basis of vital air in dead bodies at » certain
state of putrefaction, on account of the luminous appearance which they sometimes make, and wine 1 exis s
for a few hours : but whether this luminous appearance takes place in every body, or whether it precedes
follows the exhalations of the corrosive gas above mentioned, he had not, when he wrote Ins papei, aen a e
discover. 1
u T ' [ 529 1
Falirenlieit’s thermometer, became miti lfl T, 1 ^ U T
andthatfiograiMofsea-saltpreservedasimilarlixtare ?LrmXurt0bea0af““‘‘’'"g Fabrcnhoit’.
of beef and water more than 2n Im.,r-0  a. _ mometer, began to ferment m a u  1
f a oiuiiiar mixture
of beef and water more than 30 hours, he made the an-
t.septic power of the sea-salt a standard, to which he
compared the powers of the other salts. The algebraic
character -f- signifies, that the substance to which it is
annexed had a greater antiseptic power than is expressed
by the numbers : r
Sea-salt, or the standard ...
Sal-gem
Vilriolated tartar
Spiritus Mindereri
Soluble tartar
Sal diureticus
Crude sal ammoniac
Saline mixture
Nitre
Salt of hartshorn
Salt of wormwood
Borax
Salt of amber
Alum
x +
2
2
2
2~t~
3
3
4+
4 +
4 +
12
20
30
thermometer, began to ferment in" a Pi
continued in fermentation during
it began to ferment and swell, the Dutrpftrri-’ 1 i,en
gnn ; and in a few hours afterwards, the smefi was of"
fenmve. Neat day the putrid smell leased and " ,c°d
taste and smell succeeded. Fresh alimentary vegetables
fectsas3 breadPai'TSi sc"rv='-grass- produced similar ef!
fects as bread on flesh, but in a weaker degree. From
several other experiments he found, that§animal sub
and thSatedietei M of ^table substances,
oFthe 10™.““" SUbStanCeS C°rr“t ““ Potresceney
By adding saliva to a similar mixture of flesh bread
and water, the fermentation was retarded moderated’
but rendered of twice the usual duration, and t acid
produced at last was weaker than when no saliva was
A.B. The quantities of spiritus Mindereri and of
the saline mixture were such, that each of them contain¬
ed as much alkaline salt as the other neutral salts.
Myrih, aloes, asafcetida, and terra Japonica were
found to have an antiseptic power 30 times greater than
the standard. Gum amnioniacum and sagapenum show¬
ed little antiseptic power.
Of all resinous substances, camphor was found to re¬
sist putrefaction most powerfully. Sir John Pringle be¬
lieves that its antiseptic power is 300 times greater than
that of sea-salt.
. Chamomile flowers, Virginian snaxe-root, pepper,
ginger, saffron, contrayerva root, and galls, were found
to be 12 times more antiseptic than sea-salt.
Infusions of large quantities of mint, angelica, ground-
,vy> green tea, red-roses, common wormwood, mustard,
and horse-radish, and also decoctions of poppy-heads
were more antiseptic than sea-sait.
Decoctions of wheat, barley, and other farinaceous
grains, checked the putrefaction by becoming sour.
Chalks and other absorbent powders, accelerated the
putrefaction, and resolved meat into a perfect mucus.
The same powders prevented an infusion of farinaceous
grains, from becoming mucilaginous and sour.
One dram of sea-salt was found to preserve two drams
of fresh beef in two ounces of water, above 30 hours,
uncorrupted, in a heat equal to that of the human body,
or above 20 hours longer than meat is preserved in wa¬
ter without salt: but half a dram of salt did not pre¬
serve it more than two hours longer than pure water.
Twenty-five grains of salt had little or no antiseptic
quality. Twenty grains, 15 grains, but especially 10
grains only of sea-salt, were found to accelerate and
heighten the putrefaction of two drams of flesh. These
small quantities of sea-salt did also soften the flesh more
than pure water.
The same learned and ingenious physician made ex¬
periments to discover the effects of mixing vegetable
with animal matters.
Two drams of raw beef, as much bread, and an
ounce of water, being beat to the consistence of pap,
Vol. XVII. Part II.
offUb dt d r 017 8uhstance t0 the common mixture
producedbretd,iand 'mter’ R stronger fermentation was
produced which could not be moderated by the quan-
five 1° Rhra Use1 111 the folIowin£ experiment, till some
fixed alkaline salt was added j which salt was found
W He1* rSda iVf’fit0/t?P SU<1(!enly Very hi§h fermentations!
lie did not find that small quantities of the following
salts, sal ammoniac, nitre, vitriolated tartar, sal diureti¬
cus, salt of hartshorn, salt of wormwood, were septic
as small quantities of sea-salt were. P
Sugar was found to resist putrefaction at first, as other
salts do, and also to check the putrefaction after it had
begun by its own fermentative quality, like bread and
other fermentative vegetables.
tion^1116'''^61 ma<k SOme sma^ resistance to putrefac-
Port-wine, small-beer, infusions of bitter vegetables,
of bark, and the juice of antiscorbutic plants, retarded
the fermentation of mixtures of flesh and bread. But
an unstrained decoction of bark considerably increased
that fermentation.
Crab-eyes accelerated and increased the fermentation
of a mixture of flesh and bread.
Lime-water neither retarded nor hastened the fer¬
mentation of such a mixture: but when the fermenta¬
tion ceased, the liquor was neither putrid nor acid, but
smelt agreeably.
I lesh pounded in a mortar was found to ferment sooner
than that which had not been bruised.
The tough inflammatory crust of blood was found to
be most putrescent; next to which the crassamentum,
or red coagulated mass j and lastly the serum.
Dr Macbride’s experiments confirm many of those
above related, especially those which show that the fer¬
mentation of vegetable substances is increased by a mix¬
ture of animal or purescent matter 5 that the putres-
cency of the latter is corrected by the fermentative
quality of the former j and that the putrefaction and
fermentation of mixtures of animal and vegetable sub¬
stances were accelerated by additions of absorbent earths
and of Peruvian bark. He also found, that although
unburnt calcareous earths were septic, quicklime and
lime-water prevented putrefaction, but that they de¬
stroyed or dissolved the texture of flesh.
The experiments of the author of the Essaipour ser-
vir a PHistoire de la Putrefaction, show that metallic
3 X salts,
Putrefac¬
tion.
P Y A
[ 530 ]
P Y L
Putrefac¬
tion
II
Pyanepsia
salts, resinous powders, extracts of bark, and opium, aie
very powerfully antiseptic, and that salts with eaithy
bases are less antiseptic than any other salts.
PUTTOCK-Shrouds. See Puttock-Shrouds.
PUTTY, in its popular sense, is a kind ot paste
compounded of whiting and linseed oil, beaten together
to the consistence ol a thick dough.
It is used by glaziers for the fastening m the squares
of glass in sash-windows, and by painters for stopping up
the crevices and clefts in timber and wainscots, &c. _
Putty sometimes also denotes the powder ot calci¬
ned tin, used in polishing and giving the last gloss to
works of iron and steel. _
PUY DE Dome, a department in the south ot t ranee,
forming part of the ancient province of Auvergne. The
soil is mountainous, but fertile in all kinds of grain,
vines, and fruits ; and contains mines of iron, lead, coal,
and many mineral springs. There are manufactures ot
cloth of various kinds, lace, serges, ribbons, &c. I he
territorial extent of this department is 794,37° hectares,
and the population in 1817 was 548,834. The contribu¬
tions for 1802 amounted to 3,656,547 francs. Cler¬
mont is the chief town.
Terra PUZZULANA, or Pozzolana, is a gray¬
ish kind of earth used in Italy for building under water.
The best is found about Puteoli, Baiae, and Cumae, in
the kingdom of Naples, from the first of which places it
derives its name. It is a volcanic product, composed ot
heterogeneous substances, thrown out from the burning
mouths of volcanoes in the form ol ashes; sometimes in
such large quantities, and with so great violence, that
whole provinces have been covered with it at a consider¬
able distance. In the year 79 of the common era, the
cities of Herculaneum, Pompeii, and Stabia, although
at the distance of many miles from Vesuvius, were,
nevertheless, buried under the matters of these dreadful
eruptions ; as Bergman relates in his 1 realise ot the
Volcanic Products. This volcanic earth is of a gray,
brown, or blackish colour ; of a loose glanular, or dusty
and rough, porous or spongy texture, resembling a clay
hardened by fire, and then reduced to a gross powder.
It contains various heterogeneous substances mixed with
it. Its specific gravity is from 2500 to 2800 ; and it
is, in some degree, magnetic : it scarcely efi’ervesces
W'ith acids, though partially soluble in them. It easily
melts per se ; but its most distinguishing property is,
that it hardens very suddenly when mixed with T ot its
weight of lime and water; and forms a cement which is
more durable in water than any other.
According to Bergman’s Analysis, IOO parts of it
contain from 55 to 60 of siliceous earth, 20 of argil¬
laceous, five or six of calcareous, and from 15 to 20
of iron. Its effects, however, in cement may perhaps
depend only on the iron it contains.
It is evidently a martial argillaceous marl, that has
suffered a moderate heat. Its hardening power arises
from the dry state of the half-baked argillaceous parti¬
cles, which makes them imbibe water rapidly, and thus
accelerates the desiccation ot the calcareous pait; and
also from the quantity and peculiar state ot the ii on and
manganese which it contains ; on which metals its pro¬
perties chiefly depend. It is found not only in Italy
but in France, and also in England and elsewhere.
PUZZUOLI. See Puteoli.
PYANEFSIA, in antiquity, an Athenian festival
4
celebrated on the seventh day of the month Pyancpsiun ; PyanepS,
which, according to the generality ot critics, was the |)
same with our September. JPyladeu
Plutarch refers the institution of this feast to The-
who, after the funeral of his father, on this day
paid his vows to Apollo, because the youths who re¬
turned with him safe from Crete then made their entry
into the city. On this occasion, these young men put¬
ting all that was left of their provisions into one kettle,
feasted together on it, and made great rejoicing. Hence
was derived the custom of boiling pulse on this festival.
The Athenians likewise carried about an olive branch,
bound about with wood, and crowned with all sorts
of first-fruits, to signify that scarcity and barrenness
were ceased,- singing in procession a song. And when
the solemnity was over, it was usual to erect the olive
branch before their doors, as a preservative against
scarcity and wrant. ^ -
PYCNOSTYLE, in the ancient architecture, is a
building where the columns stand very close to each
other ; only one diameter and a halt ot the column be¬
ing allowed for the intercolumniations.
According to Mr Evelyn, the pycnostyle chiefly be¬
longed to the Composite order, and was used in the most
magnificent buildings ; as at present in the peristyie at
St Peter’s at Borne, which consists of near 300 columns ;
and in such as yet remain of the ancients, among the
ruins of Palmyra.
PYGABGUS, a species of falco. See Ornitho¬
logy Index.
PYGMALION, in fabulous history, a king of Cy¬
prus, who, being disgusted at the dissolute lives of the
women of his island, resolved to live in perpetual celi¬
bacy ; and making a statue of ivory, he fell so pas¬
sionately in love with it, that the high festival of Ve¬
nus being come, he fell down before the altai ot that
goddess, and besought her to give him a wife like the
statue he loved. At his return home, he embraced, as
usual, his ivory form, when he perceived that it became
sensible by degrees, and was at last a living maid, who
found herself in her lover’s arms the moment she saw
the light. Venus blessed their union ; and, at the end
of nine months, she was delivered of a boy, who was
named Paphos. . ,
PYGMY, a person not exceeding a cubit in height.
This appellation was given by the ancients to a fabu¬
lous nation inhabiting Thrace ; who brought forth
young at five years of age, and were old at eight : these
were famous for the bloody war they waged with the
cranes. As to this story, and for the natural history ot
the true pygmy, see Simia, Mammalia Index.
PYKAR, a broker in India, inferior to those called
dallals, who transacts the business at first hand with
the manufacturer, and sometimes carries goods about for
sale. ,
PYKE, a watchman in India, employed as a guard
at night. Likewise a footman or runner on business.
They are generally armed with a spear.
PYLADES, a son of Strophius, king of Phocis,
by one of the sisters of Agamemnon. He was educa¬
ted together with his cousin Orestes, with whom he
formed the most inviolable friendship, and whom he as¬
sisted to revenge the murder of Agamemnon, by assas¬
sinating Clytemnestra and ZEgysthus. He also accom¬
panied him into Taurica Chersonesus; and tor his ser-
*■ vice*
vices Orestes rewarded him, by giving him l,is s;ster
Electra in marriage. Pylades had by her two sons
Medon and Strophius, The friendship of Orestes and
I yiades became proverbial.
PYLORUS, in Anatomy, the under orifice of the
stomach. See Anatomy, N° 91.
PYLUS, in Ancient Geography, a town of Elis : its
ruins to be seen on the road from Olympia to Elis, (Pau-
sanias) ; situated between the mouths of the Peneus and
Selles, near Mount Scollis, (Strabo). Built by Pyhis
of Megara, and destroyed by Hercules, fPausanias')
Another Pylus in Triphylia/(Strabo) by which the
Alpbeus runs, (Pausanias) 5 on the confines of Arcadia
and not in Arcadia itself, (id.).—A third in Messenia’
(Strabo, Ptolemy) ; situated at the foot of Mount g£-
galeus on the sea coast, over-against the island Sphao-ea
or Sphacteria: built by Pylas, and settled by a colony
of Leleges from Megara; but thence expelled by Ne-
leus and the Pelasgi, and therefore called Nelea, (Ho¬
mer.) A sandy territory. The royal residence of Ne-
leus, and of Nestor his son : the more ancient and more
excellent Pylus; whence the proverb Pylus ante Pylum
(Aristophanes, Plutarch), used when we want to re¬
press the arrogance and pride of any one: said to be
afterwards called Goryphasium. It made a figure in the
Peloponnesian war; for being rebuilt by the Athenians
it proved of great benefit to them for the space of j 5
years, and of much annoyance to the Lacedemonians,
(Thucydides). All the three Pyli were subject to Ne¬
stor, (Strabo).
PYRAMID, in Geometry, a solid standing on a tri¬
angular, square, or polygonal basis, and terminating in
a point at the top ; or, according to Euclid, it is a so¬
lid figure, consisting of several triangles, whose bases are
all in the same plane, and have one common vertex.
Pyramids are sometimes used to preserve the memory
of singular events, and sometimes to transmit to poste¬
rity the glory and magnificence of princes. But as
they are esteemed a symbol of immortality, they are
most commonly used as funeral monuments and temples
to the gods. Such is that of Cestius at Rome ; the
pyramids of Dashur drawn byPococke; and those other
celebrated ones of Egypt, as famous for the enormity
of their size as their antiquity. Of these the largest are
the pyramids of Geeza, so called from a village of that
name on the banks of the Nile, distant from them about
11 miles. The three which most attract the attention
of travellers stand near one another on the west side of
the river, almost opposite to Grand Cairo, and not far
from the place where the ancient Memphis stood. They
were visited by M. Savary, of whose description of them
we shall here give an abstract.
He took his journey in the night time, in order to
get up to the top of the great one by sunrise. Having
got within sight of the two great ones, while the full
moon shone upon them, he informs us, that they ap¬
peared, at the distance of three leagues, like two points
of rock crowned by the clouds.
It is in the rich territory which surrounds them that
fable has placed the Elysian fields. The canals which
intersect them are the Styx and Lethe.
“ The aspects of the pyramids, varied according to
the circuits he made in the plain, and the position of
the clouds, displayed themselves more and more to view.
]
P Y R
-t half past tin ce in llie morning we arrived (says lie)
at the foot of the greatest. We left our clothes at the
ga e ot the passage which leads to the inside, and de¬
scended, carrying each of us a flambeau in bis hand
I owards the bottom you must creep like serpents to
ge into the interior passage, which corresponds with
the former. Me mounted it on our knees, supporting
ourselves with our hands against the sides. Without
this precaution one runs the risk of slipping on the in¬
clined plane, where the slight notches are insufficient to
stop the foot, and one might fall to the bottom. To¬
wards the middle we fired a pistol, the frightful noise
Ot which, repeated in the cavities of this immense edi-
hce, continued a long time, and awakened thousands of
bats which dying round us, struck against our hands
and taces, and extinguished several of our wax caudles
Ihey are much larger than the European bats. Ar¬
rived above, we entered a great hall, the gate of which
is very low. It is an oblong square, wholly composed
ot granite. Seven enormous stones extend from one
wall to the other, and form the roof. A sarcophagus
made of a single block of marble lies at one end of it.
It is empty; and the lid of it has been wrenched off.
borne pieces of earthen vases lie around it. Under this
beautiful hall is a chamber not so large, where you find
toe entrance to a conduit filled with rubbish. After
examining these caves, where daylight never penetrated,
we descended the same way, taking care not to fall in¬
to a well, which is on the left, and goes to the very
foundations of the pyramid. Pliny makes mention of
this well, and says it is 26 cubits deep. The internal
air of this edifice never being renewed, is so hot and
mephitic that one is almost suffocated. When we came
out of it, we were dropping with sweat, and pale as
death. Alter refreshing ourselves with the external air,
rve lost no time in ascending the pyramid. It is com¬
posed of more than 200 layers of stone. They overlap
each other in proportion to their elevation, which is
from two to four feet. It is necessary to climb up all
these enormous steps to reach the top. We undertook
it at the north-east angle, which is the least damaged.
It took us, however, half an hour with great pains and
many efforts to effect it.
“ The sun was rising, and we enjoyed a pure air,
with a most delicious coolness. After admiring the
prospect around us, and engraving our names on the
summit of the pyramid, we descended cautiously, for
we had the abyss before us. A piece of stone detach¬
ing itself under our feet or hands might have sent us to
the bottom.
“ Arrived at the foot of the pyramid, we made the
tour of it, contemplating it with a sort of horror.
When viewed close, it seems to be made of masses of
rocks ; but at a hundred paces distance, the largeness
of the stones is lost in the immensity of the whole, and
they appear very small.
“ To determine its dimensions is still a problem.
From the time of Herodotus to our days it has been
measured by a great number of travellers and learned
men, and their different calculations, far from clearing
up doubts, have only increased the uncertainty. The
following table will serve at least to prove how diffi¬
cult it is to come at the truth.
3X2
Height
P Y R
Height of the gj'eat
Pyramid.
Ancients.
Herodotus
Strabo
Diodorus Siculus
Pliny
Moderns.
Le Bruyn
Prosper Alpinus
Thevenot
Niebuhr
Greaves
800
625
600 and a fraction
616
625
c 20
440
444
[
Width of one of
its sides.
French Feet.
8co
600
700
708
704
750
682
710
648
Humber of layers of Stone which form it.
Greaves
Mail let
Albert Liewenstein
Pococke
Belon
Thevenot
207
208
260
212
250
208
“ It appears that Messrs Greaves and Niebuhr have
prodigiously deceived themselves in measuring the per¬
pendicular height of the great pyramid. All the tra¬
vellers allow that it has at least 200 layers ot stone.
These layers are from two to four feet high. Accord¬
ing to Pococke, they are from four feet and a halt to
four feet high, being not so high at the top as at the
base. Prosper Alpinus informs us, that the elevation
of the first layer is five feet, but it diminishes insen¬
sibly in proportion as one mounts. Ihevenot, men¬
tions 208 steps of large stones, the thickness ot which
makes the height of them about two feet and a halt
one with another: He measured some of them more
than three feet high. I have measured several of them
which were more than three feet high, and I found
none less than two ; the least height of them we can
take as a medium therefore is two feet and a halt,
which, even according to Mr Greaves’s calculation,
who reckons 207 layers, would make 517 feet 6 inches
perpendicular height. Messrs Greaves, Maillet, Iheve-
not, and Pococke, who only differ in the number ot the
layers from 207 to 212, all mounted by the north-east
angle, as the least injured. I followed the same route,
and counted only 208 steps. But if we reflect that
the pyramid has been open on the side next the desert,
that the stones on that side have been thrown down,
that the sand which covers them has formed a consider¬
able hill, we shall not be astonished that Albert Liew¬
enstein, Belon, and Prosper Alpinus, who must have
mounted by the south-east or south-west angle, which
are less exposed to the sands of Libya, should have
found a greater number of steps : so that the calculation
of these travellers, agreeing with that oi Diodorus Si¬
culus and Strabo, appears to be nearest the tiue height
of the pyramid taken at its natural base •, whence we
may conclude with reason that it is at least 600 feet
high. Indeed this is authenticated by a passage of
Strabo. These are his words: ‘ Towards the middle
of the height of one of the sides is a stone that may be
raised up. It shuts an oblique passage which leads to a
coffin placed in the centre of the pyramid.’ This pas-
532 ] P Y It
sage, open in our days, and which in the time of Strabo Pyramid,
was towards the middle of one face ot the pyramid, is '-“"'v—
at present only 100 feet from the base. So that the
ruins of the covering of the pyramid, and of the stones
brought from within, buried by the sand, have formed
a hill in this place 200 feet high. Pliny confirms this
opinion. The great sphynx was in his time upwards
of 62 feet above the surface of the ground. Its whole
body is at present buried under the sand. Nothing
more appears ot it than the neck and head, which aie
27 feet high. If even the sphynx, though defended by
the pyramids against the northerly winds, which bring
torrents of sand from Libya, be covered as high as 38
feet, what an immense quantity must have been heaped
up to the northward of an edifice whose base is upwards
of 700 feet long ? It is to this we must attribute the
prodigious difference between the accounts ot the histo¬
rians who have measured the great pyramid at distant
periods, and at opposite angles. Herodotus, who saw
it in the age nearest to its foundation, when its true
base was still uncovered, makes it 800 feet square. This
opinion appears very probable. Pliny also says that it
covered the space of eight acres.
“ Messrs Shaw, Thevenot, and the other travellers
who pretend that this pyramid was never finished, be¬
cause it is open and without coating, are in an erroi. It
is only necessary to observe the remains of the mortar,
with the splinters of white-marble which are to be found
in many parts of the steps, to see that it has been coated.
After reading attentively the description given of it by
the ancients, every doubt vanishes, and the truth is as
clear as day-light. Herodotus tells us, ‘The great py¬
ramid was covered with polished stones, perfectly well
jointed, the smallest of which w^as 30 feet long. It
was built in the form of steps, on each of which were
placed wooden machines to raise the stones from one to
another.’ According to Diodorus, ‘ The great pyra¬
mid is built of stones, very difficult ot workmanship,
but of an eternal duration. It is preserved to our days
(towards the middle of the Augustan age) without be¬
ing in the least injured. The marble was brought from
the quarries of Arabia.’ Ibis historian thought that
the whole building was composed of stones, similar to
those ot the coating, which were of very hard marble.
Had there been some pieces torn oft, he would have
perceived under that covering a calcareous stone rather
soft. Pliny says that it ‘ is formed of stones brought
from the quarries of Arabia. It is not far from tlm
village of Busiris (which still exists under the name of
Bousir'), where those persons reside who are so skilful
as to climb up the top.’
“ This passage shows that Pliny, deceived by the
appearance, was in the same error with Diodorus
Siculus. It demonstrates also that it was covered : for
what difficulty would there have been for the inhabi¬
tants of Busiris to scale a building raised by steps ? but
it was really a prodigy for them to get up it when it
formed a mountain, the four inclined planes of which
presented a surface covered with polished marble. It is
indeed, an incontestable fact, that the great pyramid was
coated. It is as certain too that it has been shut, as
Strabo gives us to understand ", and that by removing a
stone placed in the middle of one of the sides, one found
a passage which led to the tomb of the king. ut
shall leave Mr Maillet,who visited it 40 tunes with a
imaginable
P Y R
lid.
imaginable attention, the honour of relating the means
employed to open it. I have examined the" inside of it
in two different journeys : twice I have mounted it: and
I cannot help admiring the sagacity with which that
author has developed the mechanism of that astonish¬
ing edifice.”
Our author next proceeds to give a pai'ticular de¬
scription of the methods by which it is most probable
that the pyiamids were closed, and the immense labour
requisite to open them. We must remark, that the
final outlet to the workmen he supposes to have been the
well at the entrance formerly mentioned. This well de¬
scends towards the bottom of the pyramid by a line not
quite perpendicular to the horizon, but slanting a little,
in such a manner as to resemble the figure of the He¬
brew letter Lamed. About 60 feet from the aperture
there is a square window in this passage, from whence
we enter a small grotto hewn out of the mountain j
which in this place is not a solid stone, but a kind of
gravel concreted together. The grotto extends about
I5 from east to west, where there is another groove
hollowed likewise, but almost perpendicular. It is two
feet four inches wide by two and a half in height. It
descends through a space of 123 feet, after which we
meet with nothing but sand and stones. M. Savary is
convinced that the only use of tins passage was to serve
as a retreat for the labourers who constructed the pyra¬
mid^ and of this he looks upon the slope of the conduit,
its winding road, its smallness, and its depth, to be cer¬
tain pi oofs. 1 he way out of it he supposes to have
been formed by a passage over which hung a row of
stones, wnich they had discovered the secret of suspend¬
ing, and which falling down into the passage by the
means of some spring they set in motion, shut up the
entrance for ever, as soon as the workmen were with¬
drawn from the pyramid.
It is not known in Europe when the pyramids were
built} but we have reason to expect a history of them
soon from Shanscrit records examined by Mr Wilford
lieutenant of engineers. It is as little known at what
time, or from what motive, the great pyramid was open¬
ed. Some think it was done by one of the khalifs about
the beginning of the eighth century, in expectation of
finning a great treasure; but all he met with was the
king’s body, with some golden idols which had been bu¬
ried along with it.—By others, it is supposed to have
been done by the celebrated Harun A1 Ilaschid khalif of
Bagdad; but all are agreed that this pyramid was open¬
ed in. the time of the Arabs. The second pyramid
has likewise been opened ; and an attempt was made
not long ago upon the third by one of the Beys of
Cairo : but after removing a number of stones at a con¬
siderable expence, he thought proper to desist from the
enterprise.—Mr Bryant is of opinion that the pyramids,
at least the three great ones, are not artificial structures
of stone and mortar, but solid rocks cut into a pyra¬
midal shape, and afterwards cased with stone ; and to
this we find that Mr Bruce likewise assents. The rea¬
son given for this opinion is, that the passages within
it seem rather to answer to the natural cavities and rents
in rocks than to the artificial ones in buildings. The
opinion, however, we think sufficiently confuted by
payary and Maillet: and, as an acute critic observes,
it 13 in itself as improbable, as that the caverns inha-
2
t 533 ]
P Y R
f^loeJ:^yUS ",ere ^ by 11,6 l™ds ”f
On the east side of the second pyramid is the sphynx
an enormous mass of one solid stone, but so buried in the
sand that only the top of the back is visible, which is 100
feet long. Its head rises, as we have seen, 27 feet above
the sand; and its face has been disfigured by the Arabs,
who hold all representations of men and living animals
in detestation. This figure was more completely expos-
ed by tugging round it in 1816.
In the desert of Saccara there is a great number of
pyramids, which, 111 Mr Bruce’s opinion, are composed
ot clay. I hey terminate in what the inhabitants call
z dagiour ovjalse pyramid, about two miles from the
rvile between Suf and Woodan. This is no other than
a lull cut into the shape of a pyramid, or naturally so
lormed, for a considerable height; on the top of which
is a pyramidal building of brick terminating in a point,
and having its basis so exactly adapted to the top of the
lull, that at a distance the difference cannot be percei¬
ved ; especially as the face of the stones resembles very
nearly the clay of which the pyramids of the Saccara
are composed.
But a very different opinion concerning the purposes
to which the great pyramid was originally destined, and
the period in which that extraordinary edifice was erect¬
ed is held by Mr Gabb, who has not long since pub¬
lished an elaborate treatise on this subject. According
to this author not only the great pyramid, but also the
smaller pyramids are of antediluvian origin ; the im¬
mense accumulation of sand around those stupendous
structures took place at the time of the deluge ; the
height of this sand, when the waters subsided, probably
reached the summit of the pyramid, and the apex of
the great pyramid was torn off by the violent agita¬
tion ot the waters*
But the most curious part of this author’s disquisition
concerning the pyramid relates to the purpose for which
that stupendous fabric was raised ; and here he is deci¬
dedly of opinion, that it was originally intended as a
standard of measure, and not as has been more generally
supposed as a sepulchral monument; and farther that
the excavation ot the celebrated granite chest in the
interior of the pyramid was intended not for the repo¬
sitory of a corpse, but for a standard measure of capa¬
city, as its length was for linear measure. This is also
the opinion of the French s$avans who accompanied
the army of Bonaparte to Egypt, and very successfully
ascertained the dimensions of that remarkable building.
The plan of the pyramid is a geometrical square, the
side of which is equal to 400 cubits of Cairo, or the
great Egyptian stadium. The length of the granite
chest in the upper chamber of the pyramid is exactly four
cubits, which is precisely one hundredth part of the
base of the side of the pyramid. The commensurabi-
lity of the component parts of the pyramid now men¬
tioned, as well as of others discussed by the author, is
undoubtedly* a curious circumstance.
These wondrous structures still excite the curiosity
of ingenious and enterprising men. In 1816 some re¬
searches were made by Mr Caviglia, who discovered a
chamber in the pyramid of Cheops which had not^been
visited by any modern traveller. But the most inte¬
resting discovery was made by Mr Belzoni in March-
1818
Pyramid.
P Y R [ 534 1 P Y R
pyramid, 1818. Long investigations among the monuments of
Pyrami- Egypt had enabled this traveller to detect certain rela-
dales. tions in their construction, from which he divined that
" v an entrance existed into the interior ol the pyramid oi
Cephrenes, and that this entrance w'as to be sought in a
particular part of the north side, though no outward
marks of it appeared, and though preceding travellers
had acquiesced in the opinion that no chambers were to
he found in it. With incredible labour, and after many
discouragements, he was so fortunate as to find a pas¬
sage which first led downward, at an angle of 26 degrees,
and then horizontally to the centre of the pyramid.
Here he entered a chamber 46 feet 3 inches long, 16
feet 3 inches wide, and 23 feet 6 inches high, for the
most part cut out of the solid rock, except that part of
the roof towards the western end. In the midst w7as a
sarcophagus of granite, partly buried in the ground to
the level of the floor, 8 feet long, 3 feet six inches wide,
and 2 feet 3 inches deep inside, surrounded by large
blocks of granite, being placed apparently to guard it
from being taken away. The lid of it had been opened.
He found in it only a few bones, supposed to be those
of a human skeleton, but which it is said have since been
found to belong to the skeleton of a bull. On the wall
of the western side of the chamber is an Arabic inscrip¬
tion, a translation of which was said to be sent to the
British Museum, but has not yet been published. It
testifies that this pyramid was opened by Mahomet El
Aghar, and Otman, and that it was inspected in pre¬
sence of the sultan Ali Mahomet the first, Ugloch (a
Tartaric title). There were several other inscriptions
on the walls, supposed to be Coptic. Another chamber
was found nearer the exterior of the pyramid on the
north side, but sunk farther into the rock. It was
smaller in size, and contained some inscriptions, but no
sarcophagus was observed.
In the various exterior passages opened, it has been
remarked that they have nearly all the same degree of
declivity, forming an angle of about 26 degrees with the
horizon. There is reason to suppose that this coinci¬
dence is not accidental, but that it was connected with
astronomical purposes. It may have been intended to
observe the passage over the meridian of a particular
star. The dip gives a line of direction not very diffe¬
rent from that point in the heavens where the north pole
star now crosses the meridian below the pole.
These researches tend to confirm the opinions of
Strabo and Diodorus Siculus, that the pyramids are
sepulchral monuments. Some of them were probably
destined to receive the bodies of their deities, and others
those of their kings. But the cells discovered yet in
the interior of these immense structures, occupy so small
a part of their solid contents, that it is probable many
more remain to be laid open. It is probable some will
yet be found which have never been entered by the
Arabs, or any of the other conquerors whose lust for
hidden treasures made them ransack these mysterious
depositories} and when some of these unviolated cham¬
bers are found, we will have a better idea of the original
destination and use of these singular monuments. See
Denon’s Travels, and Quarterly Review, N° 37
and 38.
PYRAMIDALES, in Anatomy, one of the mus¬
cles of the abdomen. See Anatomy, Table of the
Muscles.
PYRAMIDOID, a term which is occasionally em.pyrar!),
ployed to denote the parabolic spindle, or the solid for¬
med by the rotation of a semiparabola about its base or Pyn|,l
greatest ordinate. *"”11
PYRENEAN Mountains, or Pyrenees, are the
mountains which divide France from Spain, and are the
most celebrated in Europe, except the Alps. They
reach from the Mediterranean sea as far as the ocean,
and are about 212 miles in length. They have differ¬
ent names, according to the different p'aces wherein
they stand. Mount Perdu, the highest of the Pyrenees,
has an elevation of 1763 French toises, or 11,270
English feet.
Pyrenees, Lower, a department of France, lying
at the foot of the Western Pyrenees. The country is
beautifully diversified with mountains, valleys, forests,
and wastes. The soil is better adapted for pasturage
than tillage ; but barley, wheat, oats, and maize, and
vines, are cultivated-, and there are mines of iron, cop¬
per, cobalt, with coal, slate, and marble. There are
manufactories of coarse cloth, druggets, hosiery, linen,
dimity, cotton yarn, &c. The superficial extent of this
department is 755,950 hectares. The population in 1817
was 383,502 ; and the contributions for the year 1802
amounted to 1,523,760 francs. Pau is the chief town.
Pyrenees, Upper, a department in the south of
France, lying at the foot of the mountains of the same
name. The surface of the ground is mountainous, and
feeds great numbers of cattle and sheep. Rye and bar¬
ley are raised, but little wheat. Vines, mulberries, and
flax are also cultivated. There are in the department
45 lead mines, 13 of iron, and 9 of copper, few of
which however are wrought. It has few manufactures.
Its territorial extent is 469,915 hectares *, and the po¬
pulation in 1817 was 198,763. The contributions for
1802 amounted to 893,637 francs. Tarbes is the chief
town.
Pyrenees, Eastern, a department in the south of
France, at the eastern extremity of the mountains whose
name it bears. The soil, though mountainous, produces
corn, wine, oil, barley, flax, hemp, and legumes. Irri¬
gation is practised here, and the lands to which it is
applied yield two or three crops a-year. Oranges, le¬
mons, and pomegranates are also produced here. There
are many mines of iron j besides some of copper, lead,
and coal. Wood is scarce. There are few manufac¬
tures.- The extent of this department is 411,376
hectares. The population in 1817 was 126,625. Per¬
pignan is the chief town.
PYRITES, a metallic substance combined with sul¬
phur 5 as iron pyrites, composed of sulphur and iron ;
copper pyrites, of sulphur and copper. See Minera¬
logy Index.
PYRMONT, a town of Lippe in Germany, in the
circle of Westphalia, and capital of a country of the
same name. It has a castle, kept by a governor, who is
under the counts of Waldeck. At a small distance from
hence there are mineral waters, which are much esteem¬
ed. The Protestants have here the free exercise of
their religion. It is seated on the confines of the duchy
of Brunswick, 40 miles south-west of Hanover. E.
Long. 9. o. N. Lat. 52. o.
PYROLA, a genus of plants belonging to the de-
candria class, and in the natural method ranking under
the 18th order, Bicornes. See Botany Index.
PYROMANCY,
p nancy,
neter.
P Y R
PYROMANCY;, a kind of divination by means of
fire. See Divination, N° 6. 7 *
PYROMETER, an instrument for measurinc; the
expansion of bodies by heat. See Chemistry Indev
Muschenbroeck, who was the original inventor of this
machine, has given a table of the expansion of the dif¬
ferent metals in the same degree of heat. Havimr pre
pared cylindric rods of iron, steel, copper, brass, tin
and lead, he exposed them first to a pyrometer with
one flame in the middle ; then with two flames • and
successively to one with three, four, and five fllmes
But previous to this trial, he took care to cool them
equally, by exposing them some time upon the same
stone, when it began to freeze, and Fahrenheit’s ther¬
mometer was at 32 degrees. The effects of which ex¬
periment are digested in the following table, where the
degrees of expansion are marked in parts equal to the
part of an inch.
[ 535 ]
P Y R
Expansion of
By one flame
By two flames
placed close
together.
By two flames
24-inches di¬
stant.
By three flames
placed close
together.
fron.
80
II7
Steel
85
123
109
By four flames
placed close
together.
By five flames.
142
211
94
168
270
230 310
Copper
89
IT5
92
Brass
110
220
Tin
r53
I4I
l93
270
27S
361
3io 377
219
Lead
'55
274
263
nor three flames three times that expansion, but alwavs p
ess 5 and these expansions differ so much the more fZ
the ratio of ihe number of flames as there are more flames ^
acting at the same time.
It is also observable, that metals are not expanded
Ze Lf ^17 f “Z meUi"g’ but Son,,! m°re
ome Jess. Ihus tin began to run when rarefied 210
degrees ^whereas brass was expanded 377 decrees and
yet was far from melting. " ana
sinn^ff lhCOtr aTd’ ul)on a medium, that the expan¬
sion of bars of different metals, as nearly of the same di-
asTlbw r P0SSlb e’ b7 the Same deSree of lieat> were
Gold, Silver, Brass, Copper, Iron, Steel, Lead,
The73 95, 89 60 56 J49
Ihe great difference between the expansions of iron and
brass has been applied with g«od success to remedy the
-«es 111 pendulums arising from heat. See Pen-
Mr Graham used to measure the minute alterations,
length, of metal bars, by advancing the point of a
micrometer-screw, till it sensibly stopped against the
sm H°f I16 barrt(? 1beInieaSUred* TJlis ^revv, being
small and very lightly hung, was capable of agreement
VK.nn the three or four thousandth part of an inch.
Un this general principle Mr Smeaton contrived his
pyrometer, in which the measures are determined by
the contact of a piece of metal with the point of a mi¬
crometer-screw.
The following table shows how much a foot in length
ot each metal grows longer by an increase of heat, cor-
respond.ng to 180° of Fahrenheit’s thermometer, or to
the difference between freezing and boiling water ex¬
pressed in such parts of which the unit is equal to the
10,000th part of an inch.
It is to be observed of tin, that it will easily melt
when heated by two flames placed together. Lead com¬
monly melts with three flames placed together, especially
if they burn long.
From these experiments, it appears at first view that
iron is the least rarefied of any of these metals, whether
it be heated by one or more flames; and therefore is most
proper for making machines or instruments which we
would have free from any alterations by heat or cold,
as the rods of pendulums for clocks, &c. So likewise
the measures of yards or feet should be made of iron,
that their length may be as nearly as possible the same
summer and winter.
The expansion of lead and tin, by only one flame, is
nearly the same ; that is, almost double of the expansion
of iron. It is likewise observable, that the flames placed
together, cause a greater rarefaction than when they
have a sensible interval between them; iron in the form¬
er case, being expanded 117 degrees, and only 109 in
the latter ; the reason of which difference is obvious.
By comparing the expansions of the same metal pro¬
duced by one, two, three, or more flames, it appears
that two flames do not cause double the expansion of one,
1
2
3
4'
5
6,
7-
8.
9-
10.
11.
12.
I3*
14.
IJ-
16.
I7-
18.
19.
20.
Vv hite-glass barometer tube,
Martial regulus of antimony,
Blistered steel, - - - _
Hard steel,
Iron,
Bismuth, - _
. Copper hammered, - _ .
. Copper eight parts, with tin one,
. Cast brass,
Brass sixteen parts, with tin one,
Brass-wire,
Speculum metal, ...
Spelter solder, viz. brass two parts, zinc one,
Fine pewter, ...
Grain tin, ...
Soft solder, viz. lead two, tin one,
Zinc eight parts, with tin one, a little ham¬
mered, -
Lead, - . _
Zinc or spelter,
Zinc hammered half an inch per foot,
100
130
138
147
*5*
167
204
218
225
229
232
232
247
274
298
301
323
344
353
373
We shall close this article with a brief description
of a pyrometer invented by M. De Luc, in conse¬
quence of a hint suggested to him by Mr Ramsden.
The basis of this instrument is a rectangular piece of
deal-board two feet and a half long, 15 inches broad,
and one inch and a half thick ; and to this all the
other parts are fixed. This is mounted in the manner
of a table, with four deal legs, each a foot long and an
inch
P Y K
[ 53^ 1
P Y R
Pyrometer, inch and a half square, well fitted near its four angles,
* .-y—. i and kept together at the other ends by four firm cross¬
pieces. This small table is suspended by a hook to a
stand } the board being in a vertical situation in the di¬
rection of its grain, and bearing its legs forward in such
a manner as that the cross-pieces which join them may
form a frame, placed vertically facing the observer. This
frame sustains a microscope, which is firmly fixed in
another frame that moves in the former by means of
grooves, but with a very considerable degree of tight¬
ness •, the friction of which may be increased by the
pressure of four screws. The inner sliding frame, which
is likewise of deal, keeps the tube of the microscope in
a horizontal position, and in great part without the
frame, insomuch that the end which carries the lens is
but little within the space between the frame and the
board. This microscope is constructed in such a man¬
ner as that the object observed may be an inch distant
from the lens : and it has a wire which is situated in
the focus of the glasses, in which the objects appear re¬
versed. At the top of the apparatus there is a piece of
deal, an inch and a half thick and two inches broad,
laid in a horizontal direction from the board to the top
of the frame. To this piece the rods of the different
substances, whose expansion by heat is to be measured,
are suspended : one end of it slides into a socket, which
is cut in the thickness of the board j and the other end,
which rests upon the frame, meets there with a screw,
which makes the piece move backward and forward,
to bring the objects to the focus of the microscope.
There is a cork very strongly driven through a hole
bored vertically through this piece ; and in another
vertical hole made through the cork, the rods are fix¬
ed at the top 5 so that they hang only, and their dila¬
tation is not counteracted by any pressure. In order to
heat the rods, a cylindrical bottle of thin glass, about
21 inches high, and four inches in diameter, is placed
in the inside of the machine, upon a stand indepen¬
dent of the rest of the apparatus. In this bottle the
rods are suspended at a little less than an inch distance
from one of the insides, in order to have them near the
microscope. Into this bottle is poured water of dif¬
ferent degrees of heat, which must be stirred about, by
moving upwards and downwards, at one of the sides
of the bottle, a little piece of wood, fastened horizon¬
tally at the end of a stick : in this water is hung a
thermometer, the ball of which reaches to the middle
of the height of the rods. During these operations
the water rises to the cork, which thus determines the
length of the heated part j the bottle is covered, to
prevent the water from cooling too rapidly at the sur¬
face ; and a thin case of brass prevents the vapour
from fixing upon the piece of deal to which the rods are
fixed.
FYROPHOBTJS, formed of wvg, “ fire,’’ and (pigat,
“ I bear,” in Chemistry, the name usually given to that
substance called by some black phosphorus a chemical
preparation possessing the singular property of kindling
spontaneously when exposed to the air. See Chemistry
Index.
Pyrom
Pyr«l tii.
P Y R O T E C H N Y,
Definition. T ITERALLY signifies the art of fire, and is derived
-L' from wvg, “ fire,” and ts^vd, “ art.” Ihe term
is now, however, generally confined to denote the ait
of making artificial fire-works, which has become a par¬
ticular trade. _ .
As this art depends chiefly on chemical principles,
and as the objects about which it is employed afford
some of the most gratifying spectacles on occasions of
public rejoicing, we have not considered it unworthy of
a place in our Encyclopaedia } and we shall endeavour
to give such an account of the operations and principles
of the art as may satisfy those who wish to practise it
2 by way of rational amusement.
Origin of Of the origin of artificial fire-works nothing certain
the art un- appears to be recorded. We know that in Europe their
certain.
invention is of a recent date, and appears due to the Ita¬
lians. The use of fire-works in China seems to have been
very general long before their invention in Europe, and
that ingenious people have carried these exhibitions to a
degree of perfection which European artists have yet
scarcely attained. The following description of a Chi¬
nese display of fire-works by one of the gentlemen who
accompanied Eord Macartney’s embassy to Pekin, will
give our readers some idea of the state of the art among
that people.
Description “ The fire-works in some particulars, exceeded any
of Chinese thing of the kind I had ever seen. In grandeur, mag-
iire-works. niftCence, and variety, they were, I own, inferior to the
Chinese fire-works we had seen at Batavia, but infinitely
All
mat
com
and
Ch,
superior in point of novelty, neatness, and ingenuity of
contrivance. One piece of machinery 1 greatly admir¬
ed } a green chest of five feet square was hoisted up by
a pulley to the height of 50 or 60 feet from the ground}
the bottom was so constructed as then suddenly to fall
out, and make way for 20 or 30 strings of lanterns en- ( |
closed in the box to descend from it, unfolding them¬
selves from one another by degrees, so as at last to form
a collection of at least 500, each having a light of a
beautifully coloured flame burning brightly within it.
This devolution and developement of lanterns (which ap¬
peared to me to be composed of gauz,* and paper) were
several times repeated, and every time < xhibittd a dif¬
ference of colour and figure. On each side was a corre¬
spondence of smaller boxes, which opened in like man¬
ner as the others, and let down an immense net-work of
fire, with divisions and compartments of various forms
and dimensions, round and square, hexagons, octagons,
and lozenges, which shone like the brightest burnished
copper, and flashed like prismatic lightning, with every
impulse of the wind. The diversity of colours indeed
with which the Chinese have the secret of clothing fire
seems one of the chief merits of their pyrotechny. The
whole concluded with a volcano, or general explosion
and discharge of suns and stars, squibs, bouncers, crack-^ y,
ers, rockets, and grenadoes, which involved the gar- rrarf1
dens for above an hour after in a cloud of intolerable china^
smoke ** 2°
Till of late the French and Italian makers of fire- -!
works
T
die:
meta
orcc
»gl
SOfflf
size
A
item
’idei
tyit
mete
tkef,
lie t
cirf
Vc
aP'L pyeotechny
iratus, works much excelled our Bntlsh artists an,! „ r ,
tliniiorh thp nrarH',.0 : n novv> ^l0"1 tI,?nce to one-sixth of the diameter
Dicrcpr is an imr» r .1 • . *
trials, though the practice of the art is well understood am T’ fr-°m tl,?nce to one-sixth of the diameter. The A
l;mre-„s, its principles are almost entirely unknown ; and no edTpreserve0" Pm ^ nipP'e’ and inttnd-
E"?,xsh w;rkJ>f any respectability has appeared on the The E- f T"'!* W the Centre of ^ charge. &e. of Fire-
V subJect’ I" ^nce, the art has been mEe fortunate Ike that 7 °K f the IX,ercer the cylinder, /to
and several men of eminent literary abilities havr n ’ v ,1 * be °W the niPPIe long enough to go    
descended to make it an obieet nf through the foot, and rivet it at bottom.g Fig 2 Fi(r 2
is a former or roller for the cases, whose length from the
handle ,s seven diameters and a half, and its diameter
two-thirds of the bore. Fig. 3. is a part attached to Fig. 3.
the former, which is of the same thickness, and one
diameter and two-thirds long j the small pair, which
fits into the hole in the end of the roller when the case
y P,nching one-sixth, and one half of the mould’s
diameter thick. Fig. 4. the first drift or rammer, Fig. 4.
which must be six diameters from the handle: and this
as well as all other rammers, must be a little thinner
than the former, to prevent the sacking of the paper
when driving m the charge. In the end of this ram¬
mer is a hole to fit over the piercer: the lineK marked
on this is two diameters and one-third from the handle;
so that, when filling the rocket, this line appears at top
ot the case: you must then take the second rammer,
1 ’i 1,C 1 ^I?rn ^ie ^lant^e is four diameters, and
the hole for the piercer is one diameter and a half long.
ig. 6. is the short and solid drift which is used when Fig. 5, 6;
the case has been filled as high as the top of the pier-
, 11. r   ^ HUUllles nave
descended to make it an object of their attention. It
will be sufficient, in proof of this, to mention the names
of Ozanam and Montuda. The following works are
recommended by the latter, as containing? the best ac¬
count ot this amusing art j viz.
Trmti des Feuxd'Artifice (Treatise on Artificial
Fire-wor*\s), ty M. Frezier, a new edition of which
appeared in 1745.
Traiti des Fmx d'Artifice pour le Spectacle et pour
. (Treatise on Artificial Fire-Works, emploveil
m Fxhibitjons and in War), by M. Perrinet d’Orval
Manuel d'Artificier, (Artificial Fire-Work-Maker’s
Manuel), published at Paris in 1757, by Father d’ln-
carville.
Indeed most of the written information which we
possess on the making of fire-works, is derived from
the French j and many of these productions still re-
tam Irench names, such as gerbcs, balloons, mar room,
tour billons, savcissons, &c.
We shall divide this article into two chapters; in the
first of which we shall consider the apparatus required lor
forming the cases ofsbells of artificial fire-works, and the
materials employed in their construction ; and in the se¬
cond we shall describe the different kinds of fire works
and the most approved methods of constructing them.
Chap. I. Of the Apparatus and Materials employed
in making Fire-Works.
Sect. I. Of Apparatus.
%a us* . apparatus used in making fire works consists
chiefly of solid wooden cylinders, called formers, for rol-
mg the cases on ; similar cylinders either of wood or
metal for ramming dowm the composition ; moulds for
1 0 ding the cases while filling, a machine for choakino-
or contracting the cavity of the cases, another for grind¬
ing the materials, and a particular apparatus for boring
some cases after they are filled.
We shall begin with describing the moulds, as on the
size of these depends that of the formers and rammers.
. ■^■s performance of rockets depend much on
their moulds, it is requisite to give a description of
them and their proportions: They are made and pro¬
portioned by the diameter of their orifice, which is di¬
vided into equal parts. Fig. 1. represents a mould made
y its diameter AB: its height from C to D is six dia¬
meters aifo two-thirds ; from D to E is the height of
the foot, which is one diameter and two-thirds; F the
c ak or cylinder, whose height is one diameter and
one third ; it must be made out of the same piece as the
oot, and fit tight in the mould ; G is an iron pin that
goes through the cylinder to keep the foot fast; H
, f nipple’ which is half a diameter high, and two-
irds thick, and of the same piece of metal as the pier-
Cer ’ whose height is three diameters and a half, and
3 v 6 one-third of the diameter thick,
Rammers must have a collar of brass at the bottom
to keep the wood from spreading or splitting, and the
same proportion must be given to all moulds, from one
ounce to six pounds. We mentioned nothing concern¬
ing the handles of the rammer*! ; however, if their dia¬
meters be equal to the bore of the mould, and two dia¬
meters long, it will be a very good proportion : but the
shorter they can be used, the better; for the longer the
drift, the less will be the pressure on the composition
by the blow given with the mallet.
The following are the dimensions for rocket moulds,
when the rockets are rammed solid.
Weight 01
Rockets
-Length of the
moulds without
their feet.
lb
6
4
2
1
o
o
o 2
O I
o l
6 drams
4 drams
Inches.
34>7
38,6
I3»35
12,25
10,125
75
7:
6,2
4*9
3*9
3*5
2,2
Interior diametei
of the moulds.
Inches.
3*5
2,9
2,1
1,7
1
1,
0,9
o,7
0.55
0,5
o,3
>333
*25
Height of
the nipples
nches.
I>5
M
1,0
0,85
0,6
o,5
o*45
o,33
0,25
0,225
0,2
Vol. XVII. Part 11.
N. B. The diameter of the nipple must always be
equal to that of the former.
We shall now show the method of finding the dia¬
meters or calibres of rockets, according to their weight;
but we must first observe, that a pound rocket, is that
3 Y just
53b
A pp«4 atus,
Materials,
See. of Fire¬
works.
8
Method of
finding the
diameters
of rockets
according
to their
weight.
p Y R O T
just capable of admitting a leaden bullet of a pound
weight, and so of the rest. The calibre lor the different
sizes may be found in the two following tables, one of
which is calculated for rockets of a pound weight and
under j and the other for those from a pound to 50
pounds.
Table I. Of the Calibre of Moulds of a pound weight
and below.
Ounces.
16
12
8
7
6
5
4
3
2
1
Lines.
19^
17
15
Ml:
Hi
I2f
9$
61-
Drams.
14
12
10
8
6
4
2
Lines.
7i
7
6}
6*
5t
4t
3i
The use of this table will be understood merely by
inspection ; for it is evident that the mould for a rocket
of 12 ounces ought to be 17 lines in diameter ; one of
eight ounces, 15 lines; one of 10 drams, 6f lines; and
so of the rest.
On the other hand, if the diameter of the rocket be
given, it will be easy to find the weight of the ball cor¬
responding to that calibre. For example, if the diame¬
ter be 13 lines, it will be immediately seen, by looking
for that number in the column of lines, that it corre¬
sponds to a ball of five ounces.
II. Table of the Calibre of Moulds from one to 50
pounds ball.
Pounds.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
xo
11
12
13
M
JS
16
17
Calibre. Pounds.
100
126
144
I58
171
l8l
I91
200
208
215
222
228
235
241
247
2C2
257
l8
J9
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
3°
31
32
33
34
Calibre.
262
267
271
275
280
284
288
292
296
200
3°4
3°7
310
3I4
3X7
320
323
Pounds.
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
Calibre.
326
33°
333
336
339
341
: 344
347
3 So
353
355
358
361
363
366
368
The use of this second table is as follows: If the
weight of the ball be given, which we shall suppose to
be 24 pounds, seek for that number in the column of
pounds, and opposite to it, in the column ol calibres,
will be found the number 288. Then say, as 100 is to
3
E C H N Y.
1 p-J-, so is 288 to a fourth term, which will be the num- AppaiilSj
her of lines of the calibre required; or multiply the Mate],_
number found, that is 288, by 19I, and from the pro-^
duce 5616, cut off the two last figures ; the required , ^
calibre, therefore, will be 56,16 lines, or four inches
eight lines. . .
On the other hand, the calibre being given in lines,
the weight of the ball may be found with equal ease.
If the calibre, for example, be 28 lines, say as ipf is
to 28, so is 100 to a fourth term, which will be 143.5,
or nearly 144* But in the above table, opposite to
144 in the second column, will be found the number
3 in the first; which shows that a rocket, the diameter
or calibre of which is 28 lines, is a rocket of a thiee
pounds ball.
Fig. 7. represents a mould, in which the cases are Fig.
driven solid ; L the nipple, with a brass point at top, p,
(flat at top, and of the same length as the neck of the“ ^
case), which, when the case is filling, serves to stop thewhee ,
neck, and prevent the composition trom tailing out, as cases,
without this point it would; and, in consequence, the
air would get into the vacancy in the charge, and at
the time of firing cause the case to be burst. I hese
moulds are made of any length or diameter, according
as the cases are required; but the diameter ot the rol¬
lers must be equal to hall the bore, and the lammers
made quite solid. The nipple and cylinders must bear
the same proportion as those for rockets.
The rolling and formation of cases is so intimately
connected with the construction of moulds imd formers,
that we shall introduce what we have to say on that
subject into the same section.
Sky-rocket cases are to be made of their exterior
diameter long; and all other cases that are to be filled
in moulds must be as long as the moulds, within half its
interior diameter. . JO:
Rocket cases from the smallest to four or six pounds, Meth if
are generally made of the strongest sort of cartridge-rolliri
paper, and rolled dry; but the large sort are made ofcase-
pasted pasteboard. As it is very difficult to roll the ends
of the cases quite even, the best way will be to keep a
pattern of the paper for the different sorts of cases ;
which pattern should be somewhat longer than the case
it is designed for, and on it marked the number of sheets
required, which will prevent any paper being cut to
waste. Having cut the papers of a proper size, and the
last sheet for each case with a slope at one end, so that
when the cases are rolled it may form a spiral line round
the outside, and that this side may always be the same,
let the pattern be so cut for a guide. Before you begin
to roll, fold down one end of the first sheet, so tar that
the fold will go two or three times round the former:
then, on the double edge, lay the former with its handle
off the table ; and when you have rolled on the paper
within two or three turns, lay the next sheet on that
part which is loose, and roll it all on.
Having thus done, you must have a smooth board,
about 20 inches long, and equal in breadth to the
length of the case. In the middle of this board must
be a handle placed lengthwise. Under tins board ay
the case, and let one end of the board he on the table,
then press hard on it, and push it forwards, winch will
roll the paper very tight; do this three or four times be¬
fore you roll on any more paper. This must be repea '
ed with every other sheet of paper, till the case is thick
* enougn j
"hap
pparatus,
rtlerials,
of Fire-
;vorks.
eiii
.1
e
f S.
illon
cas
T- P Y R O T
enough •, but If the rolling hoard be drawn backwards
it will loosen the paper : you are to observe when you’
roll on the last sheet, that the point of the slope be pla-
^ ced at the small end of the roller. Having rolled your
case to fit the mould, push in the small end of the for¬
mer F, about one diameter from the end of the case, and
put in the end-piece within a little distance of the for¬
mer j then give the pinching cord one turn round the
case, between the former and the end-piece j at first pull
gently, and keep moving the case, which will make the
neck smooth, and without large wrinkles. When the
cases aie hard to choak, let each sheet of paper ^except
the fiist and last, in that part where the neck is formed)
be a little moistened with water: immediately after you
have struck the concave stroke, bind the neck of the
case round with small twine, which must not be tied in
a knot, but fastened with two or three hitches.
Having thus pinched and tied the case, so as not to
give way, put it into the mould without its foot, and
with a mallet drive the former hard on the end-piece,
which will foice the neck close and smooth. This done,
cut the case to its proper length, allowing from the
neck to the edge of the mouth half a diameter, which
is equal to the height of the nipple; then take out the
former, and drive the case over the piercer with the
long rammer, and the vent will be of a proper size.
Wheel-cases must be driven on a nipple with a point to
close the neck, and make the vent of the size required;
which, in most cases, is generally one fourth of their in¬
terior diameter. As it is very often difficult, when the
cases are rolled, to draw the roller out, you may make
a hole through the handle, and put in it a small iron
pin, by which you may easily turn the former round
and pull it out. Fig. 8. shows the method of pinching
cases ; P a treddle, which, when pressed hard with the
foot will draw the cord tight, and force the neck as
close as you please ; Q a small wheel or pulley, with a
groove round it for the cord to run in.
Cases for wheels and fixed pieces are commonly rol¬
led wet; and when they are required to contain a great
length of charge, the method of making those cases is
this: The paper must he cut as usual, only the last
sheet must not be cut with a slope : Having the paper
ready, paste each sheet on one side; then fold down the
first sheet as before directed : but be careful that the
paste does not touch the upper part of the fold ; for if
the roller be wetted; it will tear the paper in drawing
it out. In pasting the last sheet, observe not to wet the
last turn or two in that part where it is to be pinched ;
for if that pail be damp, the pinching cord will stick to
it, and tear the paper: therefore when you choke those
casts, roll a bit of dry paper once round the case before
E C H N Y.
539
you put on the pinching cord; but this hit of paper must
after the case is choked. The rolling
be taken off’     m  ..H
board, and all other methods, according to the former
directions for the rolling and pinching of cases, must be
used to these as well as all other cases.
ToUrbillon cases are generally made about eight dia¬
meters long ; but if very large, seven will lie sufficient:
tourbillons will answer very well from four ounces to
two pounds ; hut when larger there is no certainty.
The cases are best rolled wet with paste, and the last
ebeet must have a straight edge, so that the case may be
all of a thickness: when the cases have been rolled in
the manner of wheel cases, pinch them at one end quite
close ihen with the rammer drive tl,e ends down flat, Ap„„atlt,
and afterwards ram abont one-tbird of a diameter of MmeS
dried clay. The diameter of the former for these cases &c.of Fire-
must be the same as of that for sky-rockets. works.
N. B. Tourbillons are to be rammed in moulds with- '    
out a nipple, or in a mould without its foot.
ovbaUoons, first prepare an oval former turned of Balloon ca-
smooth wood; over which pasting a quantity of brown^s, or paper
or cartridge paper, let it lie till the paste has quite shells‘
soaked through ; this done, rub the former with soap or
grease, to prevent the paper from sticking to it; then
lay the paper on in small slips till you have made it
one-third of the .thickness of the intended shell. This
being done, set it to dry ; and when dry, cut it round
the middle, and the two halves will easily come off;
but observe, when you cut, to leave about one inch un¬
cut, which will make the halves join much better than
it they had been quite separated. When there are some ,
ready to join, place the halves evenly together, paste .a
slip of paper round the opening to hold them together,
and let that dry; then lay on paper all over as before,
everywhere equal, excepting that end which goes down¬
wards in the mortar, which may be a little thicker than
the rest; for that part which receives the impulse from
the powder in the chamber of the mortar requires the
greatest strength. When the shell is thoroughly dry,
burn a round hole at top, with square iron, large enough
foi the fuze . this method will do for balloons from four
inches two-fifths, to eight inches diameter; hut if they
are larger, or required to he thrown a great height, let
the first shell be turned of elm, instead of being made of
paper.
For a balloon of four inches two-fifths, let the former
be three inches one-eighth diameter, and five inches and
a half long. For a balloon of five inches and a half,
the diameter of the former must be four inches, and
eight inches Jong. For a balloon of eight inches, let
the diameter of the former be five inches and ly-ifiths,
and ii inches seven-eighths long. Fora 10-inch bal¬
loon, let the former be seven inches three-sixteenths
diameter, and 14 inches and a half long. The thick¬
ness of a shell for a balloon of four inches two-fifths,
must he one-half inch. For a balloon of five inches and
a half, let the thickness of the paper be five-eighths of
an inch. For an eight-inch balloon, seven-eighths of
an inch. And for a 10-inch balloon, let the shell he
one inch one-eighth thick.
Shells that are designed for stars only, may he made
quite round, and the thinner they are at the opening,
the better; for if they are too strong, the stars are apt
to break at the bursting of the shell: when making the
shell, use a pair of calibre compasses, or a round gage,
so that the paper may not be laid thicker in one place
than another; and also to know when the shell is of a
proper thickness. Balloons must always be made to go
easy into the mortars. 13
fort-fire cases must be made very thin, and rolled on Cases for
formers, from two inches to|-of an inch diameter, and port-fires,
from two to six inches long: they are pinched dose at
one end, and left open at the other. When they are to
be filled, put in but little composition at a titne, and
ram it lightly, so as not to break the case : thi’ee or
four rounds of paper, with the last round pasted, will
be strong enough for these cases.
Common port-fires are intended for the purpose of fir-
3 Y 2 ing
Apparatus.
Materirtl®,
8c c. ol' '-’ire¬
works.
non port¬
fires.
IS
Method of
grinding
the ingre¬
dients.
Tig 9.
Fig. 10.
Fig. ii»
Fig. H.
t6
Apparatus
for boring
rockets
that are
rammed so
lid.
in£ the works, their fire bein# very slow, ami the heat
of the flame so intense, that, if applied to rockets, lead¬
ers, &c. it will fire them immediately. Portfires may
he made oi any length, but are seldom made more than
21 inches long : the interior diameter of portfire moulds
should be io-i6ths of an inch, and the diameter of the
former half an inch. The cases must be rolled wet with
paste, and one end pinched, or folded down. T be
moulds should be made of brass, and such as will take
in two pieces lengthwise j when the case is in the two
sides, they are held together by brass rings, or hoops,
which are made to fit over the outside. The bore of the
mould must not be made quite through, so that there
will he no occasion for a toot. 1 hese portfires, when
used, are held In copper sockets, fixed on the end of
a long stick : these sockets are made like port crayons,
only with a screw instead of a ring.
'there have been many methods contrived for grind¬
ing the ingredients for fire-works to a powder, such as
large mortars and pestles made of ebony and other bard
wood, and horizontal mills with brass barrels ; but none
have proved so effectual and speedy, as that of the meal¬
ing table, represented in fig. 9* made of elm, with a rim
round its edge four or five inches high j and at the nar¬
row end A, furnished with a slider that runs in a groove,
and forms part of the rim : so that when you have taken
out ©f the table as much powder as you can with the
copper shovel (fig. io.)» sweep all clean out at the slider
A. When about to meal a quantity of powder, observe
not to put too much in the table at once ; but when you
have put in a good proportion, take the muller (fig- n«)
and rub it till all the grains are broken ; then sift it in
a lawn sieve that has a receiver and top to it, such as is
used bv the apothecaries, and that which dots not pass
through the sieve, must be returned again to the table,
and ground till it is fine enough to go through the sieve.
Sulphur and charcoal are ground in the same, manner,
only the muller must be made of ebony •, for these ingre¬
dients being harder than powder, would stick in the
grain of elm, and be difficult to grind. As sulphur is
apt to stick and clod to the table, it will best to keep
one for that purpose, by which means you will always
have your brimstone clean and well ground.
Fig. 1 2. represents the plan of an apparatus, or lathe,
for boring rockets. A the large wheel, which turns
the small one B, that works the rammer C : these ram¬
mers are of different sizes according to the rockets ;
they must be of the same diameter as the top of the in¬
tended bore, and continue that thickness a little longer
than the depth of the bore required, and their points
must be like that of an augre : the thick end of each
rammer must be made square, and all of the same size,
so as to fit into one socket, into which they are fastened
by a screw D. E the guide for the rammer, which is
made to move backw’ards and forwards •, so that, after
the rammer has been marked three diameters and a half
of the rocket from the point, set the guide, allowing
for the thickness of the fronts of the rocket boxes, and
the neck and mouth of the rocket; so that when the
front of the large box is close to the guide, the rammer
may not go too far up the charge. F, boxes for hold¬
ing the rockets, which are made so as to fit one within ;
their sides must he equal in thickness to the difference of
the diameters of the rockets, and their interior diameters
equal to the exterior diameters of the rockets. To pre- appar.
vent the rocket liom turning round while boring, a piece IWain
of wood must be placed against the end of the box in xc oii'
the inside, and pressed against the tail of the rocket., u'0l'lv
This will also hinder the rammer from forcing the ioc-^""Vv
ket backwards. G, a rocket in the box. II, a box
that slides under the rocket-boxes to receive the borings
for the rockets, which fall through holes made on pur¬
pose in the boxes } these holes must be just under the
mouth of the rocket, one in each box, and all to corre¬
spond with each other.
Fig. 13. is a front view of the large rocket-box. I, Fig. 1-,
an iron-plate, in which are holes of different sizes,
through which the rammer passes 5 this plate is fastened
with a screw in the centre, so that when the rammer is
changed the plate is turned round, but the hole you
are going to use must always be at the bottom : the
fronts of the other boxes must have holes in them to
correspond with those in the plate. K, the lower part
of the large box ; which is made to fit the inside of the
lathe, that all the boxes may move quite steadily.
Fig. 14. is a perspective view of the lathe. L, the ^
guide for the rammer, which is set by the screw at bot¬
tom.
Fig. 15. A view of the front of the guide facing thepig. i$r
rammer. M, an iron plate, of the same dimensions as
that on the front of the box, and placed in the same di¬
rection, and also to turn on a screw in the centre. N,
the rocket-box which slides backwards and forwards:
when a rocket is fixed in the box, it is to be pushed for¬
wards against the rammer •, and when the scoop of the
rammer appears to be full, draw the box back, and
knock out the composition : this must be done till the
rocket is bored, or it will be in danger of taking fire;
and if the boring be done in a hurry, wet the end
of the rammer now and then with oil to keep it
cool.
Having bored a number of rockets, you must have
taps of different sorts according to the rockets. These
taps are a little longer than the bore : but when used
they must be marked 3-J diameters from the point, al¬
lowing for the thickness of the rocket’s neck j then,
holding the rocket in one hand, tap it with the other.
One of these taps is represented by fig. 16. They arCp^ ^
made in the same proportion as the fixed piercers, and
are hollowed their whole length.
There are hand machines for boring, which answerHand;n
very well, though not so expeditious as the lathes. But(.yue f<»
they are not sti expensive, and they may be worked by boring,
one man j whereas the lathe will require three. Fig. 17. ‘I*
represents the machine. O, the rocket boxes, which
are to be fixed, and not to slide as those in the lathe.
PQ are guides for the rammers, that are made to slide
together, as the rammer moves forward •, the rammers
for these machines must be made of a proper length, al¬
lowing for the thickness of the front ot the boxes, and
the length of the mouth and neck of the case on the
square end of these rammers must be a round shoulder
of iron, to turn against the outside of the guide Q, by
which means the guides are forced forwards. K, the
stock which turns the rammer, and which while turn¬
ing, must be pressed towards the rocket by the body of
the man who works it j all the rammers are to be made
to fit one stock.
Sect.
snap.
I.
saraiu',
pyrotechny.
U',i.KSECT.n. Of the Ingredients for composing Use Charges
°J F'^tvorks.
Nitre may lie spiedily reduced to n fine nmvder fie a
ts: r,:? “•i"-“r ^ «>*» ^ - ,era.!z &
i, atei, m a kettle with a round bottom, keepino-&c
be solution over a gentle fire, and continually stirring works-
it with a wooden spatula till all the water is evaporated"     
must be teakain,r 1,0W<ler is ^ VVe11 dried- Care Speedy me-
must be taken, however, not to suffer it to remain too11^ of
jong, or expose it to too great a heat, otherwise it will Peering-
fie melted into a firm cake. The drying may fie com-“‘“,c-
K I8fif‘"S “ ‘0 'ie f,,r ‘ “ 1-P-
statesljIUT °A bl',mstone» be employed in three Sulphur,
states. i. As it is brought from the neighbourhood of
olcanoes, or what is called sulphur vivum. 2. Roll
rims tone which is sold by most grocers, and is employ,
ed or makinganatches ; and, 3. Flowers of sulphur, or
sublimed sulphur. The first of these is the cheapest
and answers very well for coarse fire-works ; the second
is considered as the strongest, and is most used ; but the
third is the purest sulphur, and will answer best for the
nicer and more delicate fire-works. It also has the ad¬
vantage ol being in a state of fine powder, whereas the
two former require to be ground or mealed, as directed
m J\ 15.
of“ ni7,’ InSener»,> ,be procured at the shops Charctal.
! toundt‘r.s and hardware dealers ; but when this is not
ie case, it may easily he prepared by putting a quan¬
tity ot small pieces of wood into a large earthen cru¬
cible or iron pot, and covering them to the head with
sand, and placing the crucible or the pot in the middle.
, a strong hre, where it must be kept red hot for an
hour or two, in proportion to the quantity of wood.
Charcoal should he chosen soft and light, and such as
may easily be reduced to powder. It should be kept
in a dry place, but is always best when fresh burned.
Several other ingredients are employed in the com- ,,
position of fire-works, such as camphor, antimony (sul-
phuret of antimony'), raspings of ivory, yellow amber,
sal ammoniac, verdigris, common pitch, and Greek
pitch, all of which are used on different occasions, to
produce a change of colour in the fire ; filings of iren
and copper, for giving a sparkling appearance to the
flame, and salt of benjamin (ben%oic acid) to produce
an agreeable odour.
Iron filings answer very well for ordinary fire-works ; Method of
but they do not produce such a brilliant appearance asP0Wdering
pow-dered cast-iron. The introduction of this latter iscast-ilon.
an improvement of the Chinese, and its use is now very
general. J
Cast-iron being of so hard a nature as not to be cut
by a file, we are obliged to reduce it into grains, though
this is rather difficult to perform; but if we consider
what beautiful sparks this iron yields, no pains should be
spared to granulate such an essential material: to do this,
procure at an iron-foundery some thin pieces of iron
such as generally run over the mould at the time of cast¬
ing : then have a square block made of cast-iron, and
an iron square hammer about four lb. weight ; then, ha¬
ving covered the floor with cloth or something to catch
the heatings, lay the thin pieces of iron on the block,
and beat them with the hammer till reduced into small
grains; which afterwards sift with a very fine sieve, to
separate the fine dust, which is sometimes used in small
cases of brilliant fire, instead of steel dust; and when
you have got out all the dust, sift what remains with a
sieve
:he
i/ges of
i works.
19
J e.
Mirod of
lS.. t tl riHE cI,ar£fs or compositions with which the cases
•e .eats that we have described are to be filled, consist chiefly of
lthe - goopowder, or of a powder composed of the same mate
rials in various proportions, and some other combustible
substances, intended either to give the composition a
stronger impeding force, or to increase the beauty and
splendour ot the exhibition. As the nature and compo¬
sition of gunpowder have been fully explained under the
article Gunpowder, It is unnecessary to consider them
in this place ; but as the makers of fire-works common¬
ly employ considerable quantities of the substances of
which gunpowder is composed, it may be proper to
give some directions for obtaining these in the greatest
purity. We may also notice, that gunpowder, in its
ordinary state, is called corn-powder; while when
ground down, as directed in N° r j. it is denominated
meal-powder.
The ingredient on which the force of the compositions
chiefly depends, is nitre or saltpetre; but as this sub¬
stance, in its usual state, is very impure, being much
contaminated with earthy matter, and as pure nitre
is now become very expensive, it is of consequence to
knovv how the nitre of commerce may be purified.
ISutre, like most other saline bodies, is much more
soluble in boiling water, than in water of the ordinary
temperature. If, therefore, the nitre of commerce be
dissolved in a small quantity of boiling water, and the
solution he properly strained, the liquor, when cold,
will atlord crystals that are very pure. The following
is the most convenient method of proceeding. Dissolve
the nitre in boiling water, in the proportion of about an
English quart, or Scotch chopin, to each pound of
nitre ; and that the solution may be more easily effect¬
ed, let the nitre be reduced to powder, and let the ves¬
sel containing the nitre and water be kept at the boil¬
ing heat till all the salt is dissolved. Then strain tire
liquor while hot through thick blotting paper, placed
in a clean funnel, and set b\ the filtered liquor in a
shallow vessel, in some cold place, till crystals are form¬
ed. These must be removed from the liquor, and dried
with a gentle heat; and if the remaining liquor he
slowly evaporated over the fire, in an earthen unglazed
vessel, till a film appears on the top, and then set by to
crystallize as before, an additional quantity of pure nitre
will be procured ; and thus, by repeated evaporations
and crystallizations, the whole of the salt will be ob¬
tained.
Jktj lof ^litre may be obtained in great purity from damaged
S im PJJnl)0wder’ which may often be bought at a cheap rate,
damld ^,,e diimagcd powder must be ground with a small
' quantity of hot water, in a large wooden or stone mor¬
tar, or it may be boiled over a gentle fire, with as much
water as will cover it. When the water seems to have
dissolved as much of the nitre as it will retain, it is to
be poured off from the sediment, and filtered or strain¬
ed through a flannel bag, then heated again, and, while
hot, filtered through blotting paper, and set by to cry¬
stallize, as in the former case. Fresh quantities of hot
water are to be successively added to the sediment, and
strained as before, till the whole of the nitre is ob¬
tained.
dcr.
542
pyrotechny.
Cha
Apparatus,
Materials,
&lc. of Fire¬
works.
28
Chinese
fire.
sieve a little larger, and so on with sieves of different
sizes, till the iron passes through about the bigness ot
small bird-shot: the iron, thus beaten and silted, is to
be put separately, according to its fineness, into wooden
boxes or oiled paper, to keep it Irom rusting. ien
used, observe the difference of its size, in proportion to
the cases for which the charge is intended} for the coarse
sort is proper only for very large gerbes ot six or eight
pounds. ,
When these pieces of iron cannot be procured, an
old cast-iron pot may he employed 5 but care must be
taken that its surface be perfectly freed from rust. 1 his
pulverized cast iron is sometimes called iron sand, and
is denominated, according to its fineness, sand of the
first, second, third, &c. order, that of the first order
being the finest.
It sometimes happens, that fire-works may be re¬
quired to be kept a long time, or sent abroad j neither
of which could be done with brilliant fires, if made
with filings unprepared, for this reason ■, that the sa t-
petre being of a damp nature, it causes the iron to rust;
the consequence of which is, that when the works are
fired, there will appear but very few brilliant sparks,
but instead of them a number of red and drossy sparks;
and besides, the charge will be so much weakened, that
if this were to take place in wheels, the fire would
scarcely be strong enough to force them round. But to
prevent such accidents, the filings may be thus prepar¬
ed: Melt in a glazed earthen pan some brimstone over a
slow fire, and when melted throw in some filings; which
keep stirring till they are covered with brimstone: this
must be done while it is on the fire; then take it 0 ,
and stir it very quickly till cold, when it must be rolled
on a board with a wooden roller, till broken as fine as
corn powder ; after which sift from it as much of the
brimstone as possible. There is another method of pre¬
paring filings, so as to keep two or three months in win¬
ter ; this may be done by rubbing them between strong
brown paper, which before has been moistened with
linseed oil. . ,
N. B. If the brimstone should take fire, it may be
extinguished, by covering the pan close at top: it does
not signify what quantity of brimstone is used, provided
there is enough to give each grain of iron a coat ; hut
as much as will cover the bottom of a pan of about one
foot diameter, will do for five or six pounds of filings or
cast-iron for gerbes. # .
Before we enumerate the various compositions gene¬
rally employed in filling cases for rockets, wheels, &c.
we shall describe two compositions that are much valued
for the brilliancy of their appearance. One of these is
called Chinese fire, and is either red or white. The fol¬
lowing tables shew the proportions of the different in¬
gredients for each of these compositions ; as they aie
adapted to rockets (in the construction of which the
Chinese fire is much employed) of from 12 to 36 lbs.
Composition of Bed Chinese Fire.
For White Chinese Fire.
Calibres.
Pounds.
I 2 to 15
18 to 21
14 to 36
Saltpetre.
Bruised
Gunpowder.
Pound'
I
I
I
Ounces.
12
11
II
Charcoal.
Oz.
7
8
8
Dr.
8
o
8
Sand of the
third order.
Oz.
11
11
12
Dr.
O
8
o
Appars;
Mater
Stc-ofl!
workiJ
Calibres.
Pounds.
12 to 15
18 to 21
24 to 36
Saltpetre
Pounds.
I
I
I
Sulphur.
Ounces.
3
3
4
Charcoal.
Ounces.
4
5
6
Sand of the
first order.
Oz.
7
7
8
Dr.
O
8
o
The other composition is called spur-fire, because the Spur-fir
sparks yielded by it have a starry appearance like the
rowel of a spur.
Spur-jire. This fire is the most beautitul ami curious
of any yet known ; and was invented by the Chinese,
but now is in greater perfection in England than in
China. As it requires great trouble to make it to per¬
fection, it will he necessary that beginners should have
full instructions; therefore care should be taken that all
the ingredients are of the best, that the lamp black is
not damp and clodded, that the saltpetre and brimstone
are thoroughly refined. This composition is generally
rammed in one or two ounce cases about five or six
inches long, but not drove very hard; and the cases
must have their concave stroke struck very smooth, and
the choak or vent not quite so large as the usual propor¬
tion : this charge, when driven and kept a few months,
will be much better than when rammed ; and will not
spoil, if kept dry, in many years. _
As the beauty of this composition cannot be seen at
so great a distance as brilliant fire, it has a better effect
in a room than in the open air, and may be fired in a
chamber without any danger: it is of so innocent a na¬
ture, that, though with an improper phrase, it may be
called a cold fire; and so extraordinary is the fire pro¬
duced from this composition, that, it well made, the
sparks will not burn a handkerchief when held m the
midst of them ; you may hold them in your hand while
burning, with as much safety as a candle ; and it you
put your hand within a foot of the mouth of the case,
you will feel the sparks like drops of rain.—M hen any
of these spur-fires are fired singly, they are called arti¬
ficial Jlower-pots ; but some of them placed round a
transparent pyramid of paper, and fired in a large
room, make a very pretty appeal ance.
The composition consists of saltpetre, lour pounds
eight ounces; sulphur two pounds, and lamp-black one
pound eight ounces ; or, saltpetre one pound sulphur,
half a pound, and lamp-black four quarts.— Ibis com¬
position is very difficult to mix. The saltpetre and
brimstone must be first sifted together, and then put
into a marble mortar, and the lamp-black with them,
which you work down by degrees with a wooden pestle,
till all the ingredients appear of one colour, winch will
be something grayish, but very near black: then drive
a little into a case for trial, and fire it in a dark p.ace,
and if the sparks which are called stars, or pwks, come
out in clusters, and afterwards spread well without any
other sparks, it is a sign of its being good, otherwise
not ; for if any drossy sparks appear, and the stars
full, it is then not mixed enough ; but it the pinks a
very small, and soon break, it is a sign that it has
rubbed too much.
Fo :ekct
ita
For
ap. P Y R O
,ratus, This mixture, when ruhhed too much, will be too
ermls, fierce, and hardly show any stars 5 and, on the contrary
^,re-when not mixed enough, will he too weak, and throw
,r • out an obscure smoke, and lumps of dross, without any
I stars. J
The following compositions are those commonly em-
o ployed in ordinary fire-works. J
ojiwes for Rockets of four ounces.—Mealed powder 1 lb. 4 oz.
si jckets.saltpetre 4 oz. and charcoal 2 oz. %
Rockets of eight ounces.—I. Mealed powder 1 lb.
saltpetre 4 oz. brimstone 3 oz. and charcoal i-J oz!
II. Meal-powder i^- lb. and charcoal 4^ oz.
Rockets of one /rawrar/.—-Meal-powder 2 lb. saltpetre 8
oz. brimstone 4 oz. charcoal 2 oz. and steel-filings i^-oz.
Sky-rockets in general.—1. Saltpetre 4 lb. brimstone
1 lb. and charcoal lb. II. Saltpetre 4 lb. brim¬
stone li lb. charcoal 1 lb. 12 oz. and meal-powder 2 oz.
Large sky-rockets—Saltpetre 4lb. meal-powder lib!
and brimstone I lb.
Rockets of a middling size.—I. Saltpetre 8 lb. sul¬
phur 3 lb. meal-powder 3 lb. II. Saltpetre 3 lb. sul-
f phur 2 lb. meal-powder 1 lb. charcoal 1 lb.
White stars.—Meal-powder 4 oz. saltpetre 12 oz.
sulphur vivum 6 oz. oil of spike 2oz. and camphor 5 oz.
Blue stars.—Meal-powder 8 oz. saltpetre 4, sul¬
phur 2, spirit of wine 2, and oil of spike 2.
Coloured or variegated stars.—Meal-powder 8 drams,
rochpetre 4 oz. sulphur vivum 2, and camphor 2.
Brilliant stars.—Saltpetre ^ oz. sulphur and
meal-powder worked up with spirits of wine only.
Common stars.—Saltpetre 1 lb. brimstone 4 oz. an¬
timony 4t» isinglass camphor and spirit of wine
Tailed stars.—Meal-powder 3 oz. brimstone 2, salt¬
petre 1, and charcoal (coarsely ground) 4.
Drove stars.—I. Saltpetre 3 lb. sulphur 1 lb. brass
dust 12 oz. antimony 3. II. Saltpetre 1 lb. antimony
4 oz. and sulphur 8.
Fixed pointed stars.—Saltpetre 84 oz. sulphur 2, an¬
timony x oz. 10 dr.
Stars of a fine colour.—Sulphur 1 oz. meal-powder 1,
saltpetre I, camphor 4 dr. oil of turpentine 4 dr.
Gold rain for sky-rockets.—I. Saltpetre 1 lb. meal-
powder 4 oz. sulphur 4, brass-dust 1, saw-dust 2^, and
glass-dust 6 dr. II. Meal-powder 1 2 oz. saltpetre 2,
charcoal 4. III. Saltpetre 8 oz. brimstone 2, glass-dust
I, antimony brass-dust and saw-dust 12 dr.
Silver rain.—I. Saltpetre 4 oz. sulphur, meal-pow¬
der, and antimony, of each 2 oz. sal prunella 4 oz.
II. Saltpetre £ lb. brimstone 2 oz. and charcoal 4.
HI. Saltpetre 1 lb. brimstone lb. antimony 6 oz.
IV. Saltpetre 4 oz. brimstone I, powder 2, and steel-
dust £ oz.
I. Meal-powder 6 lb. saltpetre 4, brimstone 3, char¬
coal 5. II. Saltpetre 1 lb. brimstone 44 oz. charcoal
6. III. Saltpetre 1 lb. brimstone 4 oz. charcoal 12.
IV. Saltpetre 4 lb. brimstone i-J lb. charcoal 1 lb. 12
oz. V. Brimstone 2 lb. saltpetre 4 lb. and meal-pow¬
der 4. VI. Saltpetre 1 lb. meal-powder 4 oz. brim¬
stone 84, charcoal 2. VII. Meal-powder 1 lb. saltpetre
T E C H N Y.
543
34
For wheels.
Ilaii
rocke
'■er
3, brimstone 1 sea-coal 1 oz. charcoal 8£, saw-dust
steel dust -J, and coarse charcoal ^ oz. VIII. Meal-
powder 1^- lb. saltpetre 3, sulphur 1^, charcoal 12 oz.
saw-dust 2.
Sinking charge for water-7'ockets.—Meal-powder
8 oz. charcoal ^ oz.
powdei 2 lb. saltpetre 4 oz. iron-filings 7. II. Meal- Materials,
powder 2 lb. saltpetre 12 oz. sulphur 4, steel-dust 3. &c.of Fire-
111. Meabpowder 4 lb. saltpetre 1 lb. brimstone 8 oz. werk*-
charcoal 4t. IV. Meal-powder 8 oz. saltpetre 4, saw¬
dust lT, sea-coal |. V. Meal-powder 1 lb.4 4 oz.
^ °j" 10 ^r* 6a^tPetre 8 oz. glass-dust 2^.
v 1. Meal-powder 12 oz. charcoal x, saw-dust 4. VII.
Saltpetre 1 lb. 9 oz. brimstone 4 oz. charcoal 4*.
VIII. Meal-powder 2 lb. saltpetre 1, brimstone 4, and
sea-coal 2 oz. IX. Saltpetre 2 lb. brimstone 1, meal-
powder 4, and glass-dust 4 oz. X. Meal-powder 1 lb
saltpetre 2 oz. and steel-dust 3^ XI. Meal-powder 2
ib. and steel-dust 2 and a half oz. with 2 and a half of
the fine dust of beat iron. XII. Saltpetre 2 lb. 13 oz.
brimstone 8 oz. and charcoal.
Slow fire for wheels.—X. Saltpetre 4 oz. brimstone 2,
and meal-powder 1 and a half. II. Saltpetre 4 oz. brim-
stone x and antimony 1 oz. 6 dr. III. Saltpetre4 oz. and
a hall, brimstone l oz. and mealed powder 1 and a half.
r Ueafifire for wheels.—X. Saltpetre x| oz. brimstone
4) lapis-calaimnans and antimony 2 dr.
I- 4ll>- saltpetre 2, brimstone and char- For filed or
coal i. 11. Meal-powder 2 lb. saltpetre 1, and steel-standing
dust 8 oz. III. Meal-powder 1 lb. 4 oz. and char-cases*
coal 4 oz. IV. Meal-powder 1 lb. and steel-dust 4 oz
V. Meal-powder 2^ lb. brimstone 4 oz. and sea-coal
6. V1. Meal-powder 3 lb. charcoal 5 oz. and saw-dust
1 and a half.
I. Meal-powder 8* lb. saltpetre lib. 2 oz. steel-dust For sun
2 Ib. 10 oz. brimstone 4. II. Meal-powder 3 lb. salt- cases,
petre 6 oz. and steel-dust 7^.
Meal-powder 11 lb. saltpetre I, brimstone 4 oz. steel- For fbril
dust 1 lb. and a half. liantfire.”
Meal-powder 6 lb. and beat-iron 2 lb. 1 oz. and a half. 38
Charge for four ounce 7bz/r^///&w.9.—Meal-powder 2 For gerbes*
lb. 4 oz. and charcoal 4 oz. and a half. For tour
Eight ounce Tourhillons.—Meal-powder 2 lb. and billons,
charcoal 4^ oz.
Largs Tourbillons.—Meal-powder 2 lb. saltpetre 1
brimstone 8 oz. and beat iron 8.
N. B. Tourbillons may be made very large, and of
different-coloured fires : only you are to observe, that
the larger they are, the weaker must be the charge ;
and, on the contrary, the smaller, the stronger their
charge.
I. Saltpetre 4 lb. brimstone 2, meal-powder 2, anti-For water
mony 4 oz. saw dust 4, and glass-dust 1 and a fourth. ba^oons>
H. Saltpetre 9 lb. brimstone 3 lb. meal-powder 6 lb.
rosin 12 oz. and antimony 8 oz.
I. Meal-powder 1 lb. and charcoal 1 lb. II. Meal-For water
powder 1 lb. and charcoal 9 oz. squibs.
I. Meal-powder I lb. and charcoal 1 oz. II. Meal- . ^
powder 9 oz. charcoal I oz. Mine ports
For firing rockets, &c.—I. Saltpetre 12 oz. brim- ^ st^eats'
stone 4 oz. and meal-powder 2 oz. II. Saltpetre 8 oz. Port-fires,
brimstone 4 oz. and meal-powder 2 oz. III. Saltpetre 1
lb. 2 oz. meal-powder 1 lb. and a half, and brimstone 10 oz.
This composition must be moistened with one gill of lin¬
seed oil. IV. Meal-powder 6 oz. saltpetre 2 lb. 2 oz.
and brimstone 10 oz. V. Saltpetre 1 lb. 4 oz. meal-
powder 4 oz. brimstone 5 oz. saw-dust 8 oz. VI. Salt¬
petre 8 oz. brimstone 2 oz. and meal-powder 2 oz.
For illuminations.—Saltpetre 1 lb. brimstone 8 oz.
and meal-powder 6 oz.
Saltpetre
44
Cones or
spiral
wheels.
544 P Y R O T
Apparatus, Saltpetre I lb. anil a half, brimstone 6 oz. meal-pow-
Materials, der oz. an(l glass-dust 14 oz.
Saltpetre 6 oz. brimstone 2 lb. antimony 4 oz. and
camphor 2 oz.
I. Saltpetre 1 lb. 10 oz. brimstone 8 oz. and meal-
powder 1 lb. 6 oz. II. Saltpetre I lb. and a half, brim¬
stone 8 oz. and meal-powder I lb. 8 oz.
Meal-powder 1 lb. 8 oz. saltpetre 12 oz. and char¬
coal 2 oz.
I. Saltpetre 5 lb. brimstone 1 lb. meal-powder 1 lb.
and a half, and glass-dust 1 lb II. Saltpetre 5 lb. 8 oz.
brimstone 2 lb. meal-powder I lb. 8 oz. and glass-dust
47 1 lb. 8 oz.
Serpentsfor I. Saltpetre 2 lb. brimstone 3 lb. antimony I lb. II.
pots des Saltpetre 34 lb. sulphur 2^- lb. meal-powder 1 lb. anti¬
mony half a lb. glass-dust 4 oz. brass-dust 1 oz.
N. B. These compositions, driven inch in a 1 oz.
case, will burn one minute, which is much longer time
than an equal quantity of any composition vet known
white flame. wiH |ast>
^ 45
Crowns or
globes.
45
Air balloon
fuzes.
brin.
X,- 43
lire pumps.
49
A slow
5°
Amber
lights.
51
Other
lights.
52
A red fire.
53
A common
fire.
54
colours.
E C H N Y. Chap
about in the composition till it becomes dry enough to Appamt|;i
roll into stars. IViMterml
Stars of a yellowish colour.—Take 4 oz. of gum-&c. of Fir
tragacanth or gum-arabic, pounded and silted through ,
a fine sieve, camphor dissolved in brandy 2 oz. saltpetre ”"**
1 lb. sulphur half a lb. coarse powder of glass 4 oz.
white amber 1 oz. and a half, orpiment 2 oz. Being well
incorporated, make them into stars alter the common
method.
Stars of another kind.—Take 4 oz. of camphor, and
melt it in half a pint of spirit of wine over a slow fire j
then add to it lb. of gum-arabic that has been dissolved ;
with this liquor mix 1 lb of saltpetre, 6 oZ. of sulphur,
and 5 oz. of meal powder; and after you have stirred
them well together, roll them into stars proportionable
to the rockets for which you intend them.
As variety of fires adds greatly to a collection ofCo’<wrspr
works, it is necessary that every artist should know the ^
different effect of each ingredient. For which reason,1
11 rvn o
Meal-powder 9 oz. amber 3 oz. This charge may
be drove in small cases, for illuminations.
Saltpetre 3 lb. brimstone 1 lb. meal-powder 1 lb. an¬
timony iOy oz. All these must be mixed with the oil
of spike.
Meal-powder 3 lb. charcoal 12 oz. and saw-dust 8 oz.
Saltpetre 3 lb. charcoal 10 oz. and brimstone 2 oz.
I. Meal-powder 4 oz. saltpetre 2 oz. brimstone 2 oz.
steel-dust 1 oz.and a half, and camphor, white amber, an-
For stars of t‘mony» ani^ mercury-sublimate, of each J oz. II. lloche-
different petre 10 oz. brimstone, charcoal, antimony, meal-pow¬
der, and camphor, of each oz. moistened with oil of
turpentine. These compositions are made into stars, by
being worked to a paste with aqua vita:, in which has
been dissolved some gum-tragacanth ; and after you
have rolled them in powder, make a hole through the
middle of each, and string them on quick-match, leav¬
ing about 2 inches between each. III. Saltpetre 8 oz.
brimstone 2 oz. yellow amber 1 oz. antimony 1 oz. and
powder 3 oz. IV. Brimstone 2-\ ox. saltpetre 6 oz.
olibanum or frankincense in drops 4 oz.; mastick, and
mercury-sublimate, of each 4 oz. meal-powder 5 oz.
white amber, yellow amber, and camphor, of each 1 oz.
antimony and orpiment half an oz. each. V. Saltpetre
I lb. brimstone half a lb. and meal-powder 8 oz. mois¬
tened with petrolio-oil. VI. Powder half a lb. brim¬
stone and saltpetre, of each 4 oz. VII. Saltpetre 4 oz.
brimstone 2 oz. and meal-powder I oz.
Stars that carr y tails of sparks.—I. Brimstone 6 oz.
crude antimony 2 oz. saltpetre, 4 oz. and rosin 4 oz.
II. Saltpetre, rosin, and charcoal, of each 2 oz. brim¬
stone I oz. and pitch 1 oz.
These compositions are sometimes melted in an ear¬
then pan, and mixed with chopped cotton-match, before
they are rolled into stars; but will do as Well if wet¬
ted, and worked up in the usual manner.
Stars that yitld some sparks.—I. Camphor 2 oz. salt¬
petre I oz. meal-powder 1 oz. ll. Saltpetre 1 oz. ditto
melted half an oz. and camphor 2 oz. YV lien you would
make stars of either of these compositions, you must wet
them with gum-water, or weak spirits, in which has
been dissolved some gum-arabic, or gum-tragacanth, that
the w'hole may have the consistence of a pretty thick li¬
quid ; having thus done, take I oz. of lint, and stir it
I
we shall here explain the colours they produce of them-*itions>
selves ; and likewise how to make them retain the same
when mixed with other bodies : as for example, sulphur
gives a blue, camphor a white or pale colour, saltpetre
a clear white-yellow, amber a colour inclining to yellow,
sal-ammoniac a green, antimony a reddish, rosin a cop¬
per colour, and Greek pitch a kind of bronze, or be¬
tween red and yellow. All these ingredients are such
as show themselves in a flame, viz.
White fame.—Saltpetre, sulphur, meal-powder, and
camphor; the saltpetre must be the chief part.
Blue flame.—Meal-powder, saltpetre, and sulphur vi-
vum ; sulphur must be the chief: or meal-powder, salt¬
petre, brimstone, spirit of wine, and oil of spike ; but let
the powder be the principal part.
Flame inclining to red.—Saltpetre, sulphur, antimony,
and Greek-pitch ; saltpetre the chief.
By the above method may be made various colours
of fire, as the practitioner pleases ; for, by making a few
trials, he may cause any ingredient to be predominant
in colour.
as
thr
sig
wli
Hi
F
eat
boi
int
ren
dov
the
be
pla
the
frai
the
sho
The set colours of fire produced by sparks are di-Sparkling
vided into four sorts, viz. the black, white, gray, and
red. The black charges are composed of two ingredi-choake4
ents, which are meal-powder and charcoal ; the white ofcases.
three, viz. saltpetre, sulphur, and charcoal ; the gray of
four, viz. meal-powder, saltpetre, brimstone, and char¬
coal ; and the red of three, viz. meal-powder, charcoal,
and saw-dust.
There are, besides these four regular or set charges,
two others, which are distinguished by the names of
compound and brilliant charges; the compound being
made of many ingredients, such as meal-powder, salt¬
petre, brimstone, charcoal, saw-dust, sea-coal, antimony,
glass-dust, brass-dust, steel filings, cast-iron, tannei’s
dust, &c. or any thing that will yield sparks ; all which
must be managed with discretion. The brilliant fires
are composed of meal-powder, saltpetre, brimstone, and
steel-dust; or with meal-powder and steel-filings only. ^
The beauty of fire-works depends much on the com-Qfmixing
positions being well mixed ; therefore great care must the compo*
be taken in this part of the work, particularly for thesitioiw.
composition tor sky-rockets. YV hen there are lour or five
pounds of ingredients to be mixed, which is a suflicient
quantity at a time (for a larger proportion will not do
alb
you
frai
pou
in 1
for
Out<
l
frar
1
Skit
isin
405
I
.>*
it a
|1k
can
jf|ri
into
serp
leav
iii wen
% papf
Y V
1 yb of a
V
ct
«aP-L ' PYROTECHNY.
^. .ratus, so well), first put the different ingredients together •
mi ppials. —   !i'  i i .•»« . . c> y
rftire-then W°rk them. wit!l y°ur hands> till you think they
545
Coin
quir,
4
Toucnta-
^ ' ' J wjuirv tucy
jrks. are pretty well incorporated : al ter which put them into
v—' a lawn sieve with a receiver and top to it; and if after
it is fitted, any remains that will not pass through the
sieve, grind it again till fine enough ; and if it be twice
sifted, it will not be amiss ; hut the compositions for
wheels and common works are not so material, and need
not he so fine. But in all fixed works, from which the
fire is to play regularly, the ingredients must be very
fine, and great care taken in mixing them well toge¬
ther; and in all compositions in which are iron filings,
the hands must not touch j nor will anv works which
have iron or steel in their charge keep long in damp
weather, unless properly prepared, according to the for-
mer directions.
Cotton quick-match is generally made of such cotton
as is put in candles, of Several sizes, from one to six
threads thick, according to the pipe for which it is de¬
signed ; which pipe must be large enougli for the match,
when made, to be pushed in easily without breaking.
Having doubled the cotton into as many threads as is
proper, coil it very lightly into a flat-bottomed copper ox-
earthen pan -, then put in the saltpetre and the liquor, and
boil them about twenty minutes; after which coil it again
into another pan, as in fig. . and pour on it what liquor
.remains ; then put in some meal powder, and press it
down with the hand till it is quite wet; afterwax-ds place
the pan befox-e the wooden frame (fig. 18.) which must
be suspended by a point in the centre of each end ; and
place yourself before the pan, tying the upper end of
the cotton to the end of one of the sides of the frame.
When every thing is ready, an assistant must turn the
frame round, while the cotton passes through the hand,
holding it very lightly, and at the same time keeping
the hand full of the wet powder; but if the powder
should be too wet to stick to the cotton, more must be
added, so as to keep a continual supply till the match is
all wound up ; it may he wound as close on the frame as
you please, so that it may not stick together; when the
frame is full, take it off the points, and sift dry meal-
powder on both sides the match, till it seem quite drv :
in winter the match will be a fortnight before it is fit
for use ; when it is thoroughly dry, cut it along the
outside of one of the sides of the frame, and tie it up in
skains for use.
N. B. The match must be wound tight on the
, frames.
T/ie ingredients for the match, are, cotton I lb. 12 oz.
saltpetre I lb. spirit of wine 2 quarts, water 3 quarts,
isinglass 3 gills, and meal powder 10 lb. To dissolve
4 oz. of isinglass, take 3 pints of water.
Dissolve in spirit of wine or vinegar, a little salt
- r      C' 7     
P?rfoitap-petre ; then take some purple or blue paper, and w-et
D1IW •, •. 1 .1 • . . 1 . .
ping $
worksJ.
6.
Paste
rtPresei.
it with this liquor, and when dry it will be fit for use ;
when this paper is to be pasted on any fire-w'orks, take
care that the paste does not touch that part which is to
burn. The method of using this paper is by cutting it
into slips, long enough to go once round the mouth of a
serpent, cracker, &c. When these slips are pasted on,
leave a little above the mouth of the case not pasted ;
then prime the case with meal-powder, and twist the
mals and other obiects in rp„ .
take sulphur reJced t„ a vek h^eaZr *"*?>*'> Appara,,,,.
ofsulnhni- -AnA h^r\ t 06 powder, or flowers Materials,
cover wh-V T g f°rmed 11 Int0 a Paste with starch, &c. ofF.re-
covei with it the figure you are desirous of representing Works
on lire: it is here to be observed, that the figure must' *  
first be coated over with clay, to prevent it from being
paper to a point.
.   We are indebted to the Chinese for the contrivance
‘"'frtjns of a paste which may be employed for representing ani-
iaSre- VOL. XVII. Part If.
When the figure has been covered with this paste,
besprinkle it while still moist with pulverized gun¬
powder ; and when the whole is perfectly dry, arrange
some small matches on the principal parts of it, that the
lire may be speedily communicated to it on all sides.
Ibe same paste may be employed on figures of clay,
0 orm devices and various designs. Thus, for example,
festoons, garlands, and other ornaments, the flowers of
which might he imitated by fire of different colours,
could be formed on the frieze of a piece of architecture
covered with plaster.. The Chinese imitate grapes ex-
cettingy well, by mixing pounded sulphur with the
pulp ol.the jujube, instead of flour paste.
It is usual to paint the frames or stands'of large fire-Meth^ of
wm ks ol some dark colour, hut this renders them very preserving
combustible. It would be better to wash them with the^re-works
following composition, which will both give them a,lom being-
proper colour, and render them less combustible. Take fasily -)Urnt
equal parts of brick-dust, coal-ashes, and iron-filings,denT"1*
and mix them with a double size while hot. With this
wash over the frames, &c. and when dry repeat the
washing.
Chap. II. Of the principal varieties of Fire-Works,
and the most approved JVIethods of constructing them.
62
Artificial fire-works differ from each other very Division of
much in point of simplicity of constmction. Some re- fire-works,
quire very little dexterity in the preparation ; and are
either employed as appendages to works of greater im¬
portance, or, if used by themselves, are confined to the
sports of schoolboys. Of this nature are squibs, serpents,
crackers, stars, sparks, marrons, saucissons, pin wheels,
leaders, and ger besox Roman candles. Others are very
complex in their structure, require considerable address
and ingenuity, and form the amusement of fashionable
circles on occasion of public rejoicings or private festi¬
vity : Such are rockets, of various kinds, wheels, suns,
globes, balloons, pyramids, &c. We shall first describe
the more simple kinds, and then give an account of the
method of constructing those of a more complex na¬
ture.
Sect. I. Of Simple Fire-Works.
As in the subsequent directions for fire-works, we Leaders,
shall h ave frequent occasion to mention pipes of com¬
munication commonly called leaders, by which the se¬
veral parts of a compound fire work are connected with
each other, it will be proper to show how these are con¬
structed. Leaders consist of small tubes of paper of dif¬
ferent lengths, according to the distance to which they
must extend ; and these tubes are filled with a combus¬
tible composition that will not burn too fast.
The best paper for leaders is that called elephant;
which is cut into long slips 2 or 3 inches broad, so that
they may go 3 or 4 times round the former, but not
more : when they are very thick, they are too strong
T 3 z
54^
P Y R O T
Varieties f°r ^ie paper Avbich fastens them to the works, and will
of Construe-sometimes ily otf without leading the fire. W\c foi-
tion. mers f0r these leaders are made from 2 to 6-i6ths ot an
v inch diameter j but 4-^6ths is the size generally used.
The formers are made of smooth brass wire . when
used, rub them over with grease, or keep them wet
with paste, to prevent their sticking to the paper,
which must be pasted all over. In rolling pipes,
make use of a rolling-board, but use it lightly : having
rolled a pipe, draw out the former with one hand,
holding the pipe as light as possible with the other j lor
if it press against the former, it will stick and tear the
paper.
jV. B. Make the leaders of different lengths, or in
clothing works many will be wasted. Leaders for
inarron batteries must be made of strong cartridge
paper.
Joining and placing leaders is a very essential part
of fire-works, as it is on the leaders that the perloim-
anee of all complex works depends j for which reason
the method of conducting pipes of communication shall
be here explained in as plain a manner as possible. Your
works being ready to be clothed, proceed thus : Cut your
pipes of a sufficient length to reach from one case to the
other •, then put in the quick-match, which must always
be made to go in very easy: when the match is in, cut
it off within about an inch of the end ol the pipe, and
let it project as much at the other end : then fasten
the pipe to the mouth of each case with a pin, and put
the loose ends of the match into the mouths of the cases,
with a little meal-powder: this done to all the cases,
paste over the mouth of each two cr three bits of paper.
The preceding method is used for large cases, and the
following for small, and for illuminations : First thread
a long pipe } then lay it on the tops of the cases, and
cut a bit off the under side, over the mouth of each case,
so that the match may appear 5 then pin the pipe to
every other case •, but before you put on the pipes, put
a little meal-powder in the mouth of each case. If the
cases thus clothed are port-fires or illuminated works,
cover the mouth of each case with a single paper 5 but
if they are choked cases, situated so that a number of
sparks from other works may fall on them before they
are fired, secure them with three or four papers, which
must he pasted on very smooth, that there may be no
creases for the sparks to lodge in, which often set fire to
the works before their time. Avoid as much as pos¬
sible placing the leaders too near, or one across the other
so as to touch, as it may happen that the flash of one
will fire the other j therefore if your works should be so
formed that the leaders must cross or touch, be sure to
make them very strong, and secure at the joints, and at
every opening.
When a great length of pipe is required, it must be
made by joining several pipes in this manner: Having
put on one length of match as many pipes as it will
hold, paste paper over every joint j but, if a still greater
length is required, more pipes must be joined, by cut¬
ting about an inch off one side of each pipe near the end,
and laying the quick-match together, and tying them
fast with small twine j after which, cover the joining
.jyith pasted paper.
One of the simplest fire-works is what is called a ser¬
pent, which consists of a cylindrical paper case, about
4 or 5 inches long, and not made very thick. AC,
E C H N Y. Chap. [
fig. 19. represents the usual form of the serpent, except Variet,
that in general they have not the contraction in the ofCons (
middle, represented in this figure. rI he name serpent tioi
has been given to this fire-work, either from the his¬
sing noise which it makes when fired, or from the zig¬
zag or undulating direction in which it moves, when
properly constructed. The case or cartridge is rolled
round a cylindrical stick, rather larger than a goose
quill, and provided at one end with a narrow appendage,
such as that used for rockets, fig. 3. by means of which
it is choked at one end. This case is filled about half
way with some of the compositions described for making
<r4
jfsxpents.
small rockets, see N° 30, rammed moderately hard in
the proper mould, and then it is either choked in the
middle, or some obstructing body, such as a small piece
of paper, is introduced, and the remainder of the case
is filled with grained or corn powder. Lastly, this
other extremity is well secured with twine, and com¬
monly dipt into melted pitch j a little moistened meal
powder is introduced into the extremity next the choak, (
and a piece of touch-paper being properly fastened on
this end, the serpent is complete. fJ
Crackers are composed of a pretty long paper case, Crack
filled with the proper composition, as will be described
immediately, and folded up in such a manner as, when
fired, to make successive reports at short intervals. . lo
construct these crackers, cut some cartridge paper into
pieces 34 inches broad,' and one toot long; one edge ot
each fold down lengthwise about of an inch broad ;
then fold the double edge down -J of an inch, and turn
the single edge back half over the double fold ; then
open it and lay all along the channel, which is formed
by the folding of the paper, some meal-powder ; then
fold it over and over till all the paper is doubled up,
rubbing it down every turn ; this done, bend it back¬
wards and fonvards, 2 inches and a half, or thereabouts,
at a time, as oft as the paper will allow; then hold all
these folds flat and close, and with a small pinching
cord give one turn round the middle of the cracker, and
pinch it close ; then bind it with a packthread as tight
as possible; then in the place where it was pinched,
prime one end of it, and cap it with touch-papet.
When these crackers are fired, they will give a report
at every turn of the paper: if you would have a great
number of reports, the paper must be cut longer, or
join them after they are made ; but if they are made
very long before they are pinched, you must have
a piece of wood with a groove in it, deep enough to
let in half the cracker; this will hold it straight while I
it is pinching. Fig. 20. represent# a cracker com- CC(,| It
pletc* •
Stars are small balls, nrepared of a composition which starsJ
emits a brilliant, radiating light, and are much employ¬
ed in the construction of rockets, Roman candles, and
similar fire-works. They are made of various sizes, but
generally about as large as a musket bullet. Compositions
for stars have been described in N° 31. and 34. Ihe in¬
gredients must be thoroughly incorporated, and in form¬
ing the ball, unless the paste is sufficiently glutinous, it
must be wrapped up in a piece of paper, or iincn raS’
tied closely round with pack thread, and a hole must
he pierced through its middle for the insertion of a piece
of match. These stars, when lighted, will exhibit a
most beautiful appearance; for the fire, as it issues iom
the two ends of the hole in the middle, will extend ^
lap. 1T* P Y R O T
meties a great distance, and thus make the fiery ball appear
much larger. ^
, Strung stars. First take some thin paper, and cut it
into pieces of one inch and a half square, or thereabouts •
then on each piece lay as much dry star-composition as
the paper will easily contain ; then twist up the paper
as tight as possible j when done, rub some paste on your
hands, and roll the stars between them j then set them
to dry : the stars being thus made, get some llax or fine
tow, and roll a little of it over each star ; then paste
the hand and roll the stars as before, and set them again
to dry ; when they are quite dry, with a piercer make
a hole through the middle of each, into which run a
cotton quick-match, long enough to hold 10 or 12 stars
at ^ oi 4 inches distance . but any number ol stars may
be strung together by joining the match.
Tailed stars. T-hese are called tailed sturs^ because
there are a great number of sparks issuing from them
which represent a tail like that of a comet. Of these
there are two sorts; which are rolled, and di'iven : when
rolled, they must be moistened with a liquor made of
half a pint of spirit of wine and half a gill of thin size,
of this as much as will wet the composition enough to
make it roll easy; when they are rolled, sift meal pow¬
der over them, and set them to dry.
When tailed stars are driven, the composition must
be moistened with spirit of wine only, and not made so
wet as for rolling : I and 2 oz. cases, roiled dry, are
best for this purpose : and when they are filled, unroll
the case within 3 or 4 rounds of the charge, and all that
are unrolled cut oft'; then paste down the loose edge :
2 or 3 days after the cases are filled, cut them in pieces
5 or 6 8ths of an inch in length : then melt some wax,
and dip one end of each piece into it, so as to cover the
composition : the other end must be rubbed with meal-
powder wetted with spirit of wine.
Driven stars. Cases for driven stars are rolled with
paste, but are made of paper very thin. Before they
are filled, damp the composition with spirit of wine
that has had some camphor dissolved in it: ram them
indifferently hard, so that the case be not broken or
sacked ; to prevent which, they should fit tight in the
mould. They are driven in cases of several sizes, from.
8 drams to 4 oz. When they are filled in half ounce
cases, cut them in pieces of three fourths of an inch
long ; if 1 oz. cases, cut them in pieces of 1 inch ; if 2
ez. cases, cut them in pieces of x and one fourth inch
long; and if 4 oz. cases, cut them in pieces of 1 inch
and a half long : having cut the stars of a proper size,
prime both ends with wet meal-powder. These stars
are seldom put in rockets, they being chiefly intended
for air-balloons, and driven in cases, to prevent the
composition from being broken by the force of the
blovving powder in the shell.
Rolling stars are commonly made about the size
of a musket ball ; though they are rolled of several
sizes, from the bigness of a pistol ball to I inch dia¬
meter ; and sometimes very small, but are then called
sparks. Great care must be taken in making stars,
first, that the several ingredients are reduced to a fine
powder ; secondly, that the composition may be well
worked and mixed. Before beginning to roll, take
about a pound of composition, and wet it with the fol¬
lowing liquid, enough to make it stick together and roll
easy: Spirit of wine 1 quart, in which dissolve one fourth
E C H N Y.
547
° ,.an °”nce of fa'.55- 11 a gre.t quantity of compn- v,,**.
.Itton be wetted at once, the spirit will evaporate, and .?<i„
cave 1 ny, >efoie it is rolled into stars : having rolled stnictiou.
up one proportion, shake the stars in meal-powder ‘   
and set them to dry, which they will do in 2 or 4
days ; but if they should be wanted for immediate use
try them in an earthen pan over a slow heat, or in an
oven, ft is very difficult to make the stars all of
an equal size when the composition is taken up pro¬
miscuously with the fingers ; but by the following-
method they may be made very exactly. When the
mixture is moistened properly, roll it on a flat smooth
stone and cut it into square pieces, making each square
large enough for the stars intended. There is another
method used by some to make stars, which is by rol¬
ling the composition in long pieces, and then cuttin-r
oft the star, so that each star will be of a cylindrical
form: but this method is not so good as the for¬
mer ; for, to make the composition roll this way, it
must be made very wet, which makes the stars heavy,
*9 well as weakens them. All stars must be kept as
much from air as possible, otherwise they will grow
weak and bad. °
. kpai'ks differ from stars, only In their size and dura- Spark’s!
tion, as they are made smaller than stars, and are sooner
extinguished. The following is the most approved me¬
thod of making them. Having put into an earthen ves¬
sel an ounce of mealed gunpowder, 3 oz. of powdered
saltpetre, and 4 oz. of camphor, reduced to powder by
rubbing it in a mortar with a little spirit of wine ; pour
over this mixture some weak gum water, or some rveak
brandy, in which some gum dragant has been dissolved,
till the composition acquires the consistence of thick
soup. Then take some lint or caddice, which has been
boiled in brandy, vinegar, or with saltpetre, and after¬
wards dried and unravelled, and throw into the compo¬
sition as much of it as is necessary to absorb the whole,
taking care to stir it well. This matter is to be form-’
ed into small balls of about the size of a pea, which
being dried in the air, are to be sprinkled with meal
gunpowder, that they may more readily take fire.
Another method of making sparks is, to take some
saw dust of any wood that burns readily, such as fir,
and boil it in water that has been saturated with salt¬
petre. When it has been boiled for some time, the
vessel is to be removed from the fire, and the solution
of nitre poured off', so as to leave the saw dust at the
bottom. The saw dust thus impregnated with nitre, is
then to be poured on a table, and, while moist, to be
sprinkled with powdered sulphur, to which a little
bruised gunpowder has been added ; and when the whole
is well mixed, and of a proper consistence, sparks are
to be made of it as before.
Marroons are small boxes made either of paper or jj..rr^.
pasteboard, and of a roundish or cubical form, so pre¬
pared as when fired to make a loud and sudden report.
They are usually employed either as appendages to
other fire-works, or a great many of them are so arran¬
ged, as to explode successively at certain intervals.
Formei's for marroons are from three fourths of an
inch to one and a half diameter ; but the paper for the
cases twice the diameter of the former broad, and long
enough to go three times round. When you have rolled
a case, paste down the edge and tie one end close ; then
with the former drive it down to take away the wrin-
3 Z 2 kies.
Fig. 21.
69
Marroon
batteries.
kies, and make it flat at bottom j then fill the case with
corn powder one diameter and one lourth high, and told
down the rest of the case tight on the powder. I he
marroon being thus made, wax some strong pack-thread
with shoemakers wax : this thread wind up in a ball,
then unwind two or three yards of it, and that pait
which is near the ball make fast to a hook •, then take a
marroon, and stand as far from the hook as the pack¬
thread will reach, and wind it lengthwise round the
marroon as close as possible, till it will hold no more
that way j then turn it, and wind the packthread on the
short way, then lengthwise again, and so on till the pa¬
per is all covered ; then make fast the end ot the pack¬
thread, and beat down both ends of the marroon to
bring it in shape. The method of firing marroons is by
making a hole at one end with an awl, and putting in
a piece of quick-match j then taking a piece of strong
paper, in which wrap up the marroon with two leaders,
which must be put down to the vent, and the paper-
tied tight round them with small twine . these leadeis
are bent on each side, and their loose ends tied to the
other marroons, and are nailed in the middle to the rail
of the stand, as in fig. 21. The use of winding the
packthread in a ball is, that it may be let out as wanted,
according to the quantity the marroon may require ;
and that it may not he tied in knots, which would spoil
the marroon. These oblong marroons aie, by tnc
French, called Saucissons, as they are supposed to re¬
semble a saussage.
Batteries of Marroons.—These, if well managed, will
keep time to a march, or a slow piece of music. Mar¬
roon batteries are made of several stands, with a num¬
ber of cross rails for the mai roonsj which are regulated
by leaders, by cutting them ot different lengths, and
nailing them tight, or loose, according to the time of
the music. In marroon batteries you must use the large
and small marroons, and the nails for the pipes must
have flat heads.
The proper marroon boxes are made of strong paste¬
board, cut as represented in fig. 22. so as to fold up in
the form of a cube, one side of which is to be left unce-
mented till the box be filled. The cavity being filled
with gun powder, strong paper is to be pasted over the
box in various directions, and the whole is to be wrap¬
ped round with strong pack-thread dipt in glue. Last¬
ly, a hole is to be made in the corner of the box, and
a piece of match introduced, by which it may be
fired.
Sometimes it is required to render marroons luminous,
or to prepare them in such a way, that they shall emit a
brilliant light before they burst, i 0 eflect this, they
are to be covered on the outside with one of the com¬
positions directed for stars, and then rolled in bruised
gunpowder.
Pin-wheels. " For Pin-Wheels.—Yivst roll some paper pipes about
14 inches long each } these pipes must not be made
thick of paper, two or three rounds of elephant paper
being sufficient. When the pipes are thoroughly dried,
you must have a tin tube 12 inches long, to fit easy in¬
to the pipes ■, at one end of this tube fix a small conical
cup, called a funnel\ then bend one end of one of
the pipes, and put the funnel in at the other as far as it
will reach, and fill the cup with composition : then
draw out the funnel by a little at a time, shaking it up
and down, and it will fill the pipe as it comes out.
4
PYKOTECHNY. Chap. ,
Having filled some pipes, have some small circular Vaiie;
r~ 1
blocks made about one inch diameter and half an inch of C6i>
thick : round one of these blocks wind and paste a pipe, istr»<u
and to the end of this pipe join another ; which must be ^
done by twisting the end of one pipe to a point, and
putting it into the end ot the otfier with a little paste:
in tlTis°manner join four or five pipes, winding them one
upon the other so as to form a spiral line. Having
wound on your pipes, paste two slips of paper across
them to hold them together : besides these slips ot pa¬
per, the pipes must be pasted together.
There is another method of making these wheels, viz.
bv winding on the pipes without paste, and sticking
them together with sealing-wax at eveiy half turn} so
that when they are fired, the end will fall loose every
time the fire passes the wax, by which means the circle
of fire will be considerably increased. The formers for
these pipes are made from one and a half to 4-16ths ot
an inch diameter j and the composition for them is as
follows : Meal-powder 8 oz. saltpetre 2 oz. and sulphur
1 ; among these ingredients maybe mixed a little steel-
filings or the dust of cast iron : this composition should
be very dry, and not made too fine, or it will stick in
the funnel. These wheels may be fired on a large pin,
and held in tbe hand with safety. 7,
There is a pleasing decoration frequently added to Shower
rockets, called a shower of fire, rain, or rain fall, and it fire orr
is called gold or silver rain, according as its colrur is
more or less.intense. It consists of several small cases
filled with a brilliant composition, such as the following
variety of Chinese fire, viz. meal powder 1 pound,
flower of sulphur 2 oz. and iron sand of the first order,
5 oz- . . . , • ,
Gold and silver rain compositions are rammed in cases
that are pinched quite close at one end j if rolled dry, 4
or 5 rounds of paper will be strong enough 5 hut if they
are pasted, 3 rounds will do ; and the thin sort of car¬
tridge-paper is best for those small cases, in rolling
which you must not turn down the inside edge as in
other cases, for a double edge would be too thick for so
small a bore. The moulds for rain-falls should be made
of brass, and turned very smooth in the inside j or the
cases, which are so very thin, would tear in coming
out j for the charge must be rammed in tight; and the
better the case fits the mould, the more driving it will
bear. These moulds have no nipple, but instead of it
they are made flat. As it would be very tedious and
troublesome to shake tbe composition out of such small
ladles as are used for these cases, it will be necessary to
have a funnel made of thin tin, to fit on the top ol the
ease, by the help of which they may be filled very fast.
For single rain-falls for 4 oz. rockets, let the diameter
of the former be 2-i6ths of an inch, and the length ot
the case 2 inches; for 8 oz. rockets, 4-i6ths and 2 dia¬
meters of the rocket long, for 1 ib. lockets, y 1 I'-j
and 2 diameters of the rocket long 5 for 2 lb. rockets,
c-i6ths, and 3 inches and a half long', for 4 lb. rock¬
ets, 6-i6ths, and 4 inches and a half long ', and tor
6-pounders, 7-i6ths diameter, and 5 inches 1°HF-
Of double rain-falls there are two sorts. lor ex¬
ample, some appear first like a star, and then the rain ,
and some appear first like vain, and then like a star.
When you would have stars first, you must fill the cases,
within half an inch of the top, with rain-composition, am
the remainder Mill star-composition 5 but when you in-
ap. II, P Y R O T
■ieties tend the rain should be first, drive the case half an inch
Sn 'Vit!l stiar-coml)0sition> an(1 tlie ^st with rain. By this
tK niet!lod may be made many changes of fire j for in large
rockets you may make them first burn as stars then
rain, and again as stars; or they may first show rain
then stars, and finish with a report ; but when thus ma¬
naged, cut open the first rammed end, after they are fil¬
led and bounced, at which place prime them. The
star-composition for this purpose must be a little stronger
I72 than for rolled stats. b
. C)es consist ol a strong case ol thick paper or paste¬
board, filled with a brilliant composition, and generally
witn stars or balls placed at small distances, so that the
composition and the balls are introduced alternately.
Immediately below each bail is placed a little grained
powder. These lastgerbes are sometimes tailed Roman
candles. When fired, they first throw up a beautiful
jet of flame, which in some measure resembles a water¬
spout, whence the name. Oerbes are either employed
singly, or batteries are formed of them, and frequently
those filled with brilliant fire without balls, are placed
in rows along the front of the frames of large compound
fire-works. They are sometimes made perfectly cylin¬
drical ; at others they have a contracted part at the ton
called the r/eci.
Fij -.ami Fig. 23. represents a wooden/o/wr; fig. 24. a gerbe
complete with its foot or stand. The eases for gcrbes
are made very strong, on account of the strength of the
composition 5 which, when fired, comes out with great
velocity; therefore, to prevent their bursting, the paper
should be pasted, and the cases made as thick at the top
as at the bottom. They should also have very long
necks, for this reason 5 first, that the particles of iron
will have more time to he heated, by meeting with
greater resistance in getting out, than with a short
neck, which would be burnt too wide before the
charge he consumed, and spoil the effect : secondly,
thnt with long necks the stars will be thrown to a great
E C H N Y.
549
height, and will not fall before they are spent,
spread too much ; but, when made to perfection, will
rise and spread in such a manner as to form exactly a
wheat sheaf.
In ramming of gerhes, there will be no need of a
mould, the cases being sufficiently strong to support
themselves. But you must be careful, before you begin
to ram, to have a piece of wood made to fit in the neck; '
for if this be not done, the composition will fall into the
neck, and leave a vacancy in the case, which will cause
the case to hurst as soon as the fire arrives at the vacancy.
Yon must likewise observe, that the first ladleful of
charge, or second, if proper, be of some weak composi¬
tion. When the case is filled, take out the piece of
wood, and fill the neck with some slow charge. Gerbes
are generally made about six diameters Jong, from the
bottom to the top of the neck : their bore must be one-
filth narrower at top than at bottom. The neck S is
one-sixth diameter and three-fourths long. T, a wooden
foot or stand, on which the gerbe is fixed. This may
be made with a choak or cylinder four or five inches
long to fit the inside of the case, or with a hole in it to
put in the gerbe ; both these methods will answer the
same purpose. Gerbes produce a most7brilliant fire,
and are very beautiful when a number of them are
fixed in the front of a building or a collection of fire¬
works.
N. B. Gerbes are made by their diameters and their -tr ■ -•
case, at bottom one-fourth thick. The method of find- o? Con’
ng the interior diameter of a gerbe is this : Supposing motion.
he exterior diameter of the case, when made, to be five ' 
inches, then, by taking two-fourths for the sides of the
ease there will remain 2| inches for the bore, which
w.l be a very good size. These gerbes should be ram¬
med very hard.
iSW-// Gerhes, or white Fountains.
Riay he made of four ounces, eight ounces, or one
pound cases, pasted and made very strong, of any length:
but. before they are filled, drive in clay one diameter of
their orifice high ; and when the case is filled, bore a
vent through the centre of the clay to the composition-
the common proportion will do for the vent, which
must be primed with a slow charge. These cases, with¬
out the clay, may be filled with Chinese fire.
Sect. II. Of Compound Fire-works.
Among the most pleasmg compound fire-works are Itocklts
rockets, which are of various kinds. Some are made
to ascend to a great height in the air, where they burst,
and throw out the contents of the head with which they
are provided, i hese are caWeA sky-rockets. Others
are so constructed as to run with great velocity along a
line, and are called line-rockets. Some are arranged at
the extremities of the .spokes ol a wheel, :ind are deno¬
minated wheel rockets; while a fourth variety have their
cases made water tight, and are filled with a very strong
composition, so as to admit of their burning below wa¬
ter. _ These last are called water-rockets. Skyrockets
are tied to a stick, which renders their ascent into the
air more equable and steady.
I1 ig. 25. represents a rocket complete without its Sky-iwk-
stick. Its length from the neck is five diameters one-ets.
sixth . the cases .shou t! always be cut to this length after fis- 25*
they are filled. M is the head, which is two diameters
high, and one diameter one-sixth and a half in breadth;
N the cone or cap, whose perpendicular height must be
one ^ diameter one-third. Fig. 26. the collar to which f,v „c
the head is fixed : this is turned out of fir or any light &
wood, and its exterior diameter must be equal to the in¬
terior diameter of the head ; one-sixth will be sufficient
for its thickness, and round the outside edge must be a
groove ; the interior diameter of the collar must not be
quite so wide as the exterior diameter of the rocket :
when this is to be glued on the rocket, two or three
rounds of paper must be cut off the case, which will
make a shoulder for it to rest upon. Fig. 27. a former p;,,.
for the head : two or three rounds of paper well pasted ^ 2/‘
will be enough for the head, which, when rolled, put
the collar on that pait of the jhi'mer marked O, which
must fit the inside of it ; then, with the pinching cord,
pinch the bottom of the head into the groove, and tie
it with small twine. Fig. 28. a former for the cone. pj0- 2S
To make the caps, cut the paper in round pieces, equal °
in diameter to twice the length of the cone to be made;
which pieces being cut into halves, will make two caps
each, without wasting any paper; having formed the
caps, paste over each of them a thin white paper, which
must be a little longer than the cone, so as to project
about half an inch below the bottom : this projection of
paper, being notched and pasted, serves to fasten the cap
to the head.
When
P Y R O T
When you load t!ie lieads of the rockets with stars,
rains, serpents, crackers, or any thing else, according to
fancy, remember always to put one ladleful of meal-
powder into each head, which will be enough to burst
the head, and disperse the stars, or whatever it contains:
when the heads are loaded with any cases, let their
mouths be turned downwards ; and after the heads are
filled^ paste on the top of them a piece of paper before
putting on the caps. As the size of the stars often dif¬
fers, it would be needless to give an exact number for
each rocket; but this rule may be observed, that the
heads may be nearly filled with whatever they are to
contain.
E C H N Y. . Chap.d
much composition put into them at a time as when ram- Vavie,
75.
Dimens.ons
and poise
of rocket-
-sdieks.
Fig. 2<
Dimensions and Poise of Pocket-sticks.
Weight
of the
Rocket.
Length of
the stick.
lb. oz
*'1.
14 O
12 10
4
I io£
Thickness
at top.
Breadth
at top.
Square at
bottom.
Inches.
1,125
0,725
0,5
o,375o
o,3
0,25
0,125
0,1
Inches.
1,85
1,40
I,
0,8o
0,70
o,55
o,45
o,35
0,20
0,15
Poise from
the point of
the cone.
Inches.
o,75
0,625
o,525
o,375
0,25
o,35
0,15
0,10
0,16
o,5
FI.
4
3
2
2
1
1
1
11
8
5
1.5
9,
9»
1,
10,5
8.5
3,
o,
o,
o,5
The last column on the right, in the above table, ex¬
presses the distance from the top of the cone, where the
stick, when tied on, should balance the rocket, so as to
stand in an equilibrium on one’s finger, or the edge of a
knife. The best wood for the sticks is dry fir, and they
are thus made : When you have cut and planned the
stick, according to the dimensions given in the tabic,
cut, on one of the flat sides at the top, a groose the
length of the rocket, and as broad as the stick will al¬
low } then on the opposite flat side, cut two notches
for the cord, which ties on the rocket, to lie in 5 one
of these notches must be near the top of the stick, and
the other facing the neck of the rockets j the distance
between these notches may easily be known, tor the top
of the stick should always touch the head of the rocket.
When the rockets and sticks are ready, lay the rockets
in the grooves in the sticks and tie them on. Those
who, merely for curiosity, may choose to make rockets
of different sizes from those expressed in the table of di¬
mensions, may find the length of their sticks, by making
them for rockets, from half an ounce to one pound, 60
diameters of the rocket long-, and for rockets above one
pound 50 or 52 diameters will be a good length ; their
thickness at top may be about half a diameter, and their
breadth a very little more ; their square at bottom is
generally equal to half the thickness at top. But al¬
though the dimensions of the sticks be very nicely ob¬
served, wre can depend only on their balance 5 for, with¬
out a proper counterpoise, the rockets, instead of mount¬
ing perpendicularly, will take an oblique direction, and
fall to the ground before they are burnt out.
Rockets rammed over a piercer must not have so
5
ceed thus: Have some nipples made of brass or iron,
ot
med solid ; for the piercer, taking up great part of the ofCo^
bore of the case, would cause the rammer to rise too .
high } so that the pressure of it would not be so great on ^ J
the composition, nor would it be rammed everywhere Metlim
equal. To prevent this, observe the following rule: rammi:
That for those rockets which are rammed over a piercer,‘'octal
let the ladle hold as much composition as, when drove,
will raise the drift one-half the interior diameter of the
case, and for those rammed solid to contain as much as
will raise it one-half the exterior diameter of the case :
ladles are generally made to go easy in the case, and
the length of the scoop about one and a half of its own
diameter.
The charge of rockets must always be rammed one
diameter above the piercer, and on it must be rammed
one-third of a diameter of clay 5 through the middle of
which bore a small bole to the composition, that, when
the charge is burnt to the top, it may communicate its
tire, through the hole, to the stars in the head. Great
care must be taken to strike with the mallet, and with
an equal force, the same number of strokes to each ladle¬
ful of charge j otherwise the rockets will not rise with
an uniform motion, nor will the composition burn equal¬
ly and regularly : for which reason they cannot carry a
proper tail : for it will break before the rocket has got
half way up, instead of reaching from the ground to the
top, where the rocket breaks and disperses the stars,
rains, or whatever is contained in the head. "Vyhen
ramming, keep the drift constantly turning or moving;
and when you use the hollow rammers, knock out ot
them the composition now and then, or the piercer will
split them. To a rocket of four ounces, give to each
ladleful of charge, 16 strokes to a rocket of one
pound, 28 to a two pounder, 36; to a four pounder,
42 } and to a six pounder, 56; but rockets of a larger
soil cannot he rammed well by hand, but must be ram¬
med with a machine made in the same manner as those
for driving piles.
The method of ramming wheel cases, or any other
sort, in which the charge is rammed solid, is much the
same as in sky-rockets j for the same proportion may be
observed in the ladle, and the same number of strokes
given, according to their diameters, all cases being di¬
stinguished by their diameters. In this manner, a case,
whose bore is equal to a rocket of four ounces, is called
a four ounce case, and that which is equal to an eight
ounce rocket an eight ounce case, and so on, according
to the different rockets.
Having taught the method of ramming cases m
moulds, we shall here say something concerning thorse
filled without moulds which method, for strong pasted
cases, will do extremely well, and save the expence of
making so many moulds. U he reader must here ob¬
serve, when filling any cases, to place the mould on a
perpendicular block of wood, and not on any place
that is hollow ; for we have found by experience, that
when cases were rammed on driving benches, which
were formerly used, the works frequently miscarrie ,
on account of the hollow resistance of the benches,
which often jarred and loosened the change in the cases >
hut this accident never happens when the driving blocks
are used.
When eases are to he filled without moulds, pro
.II-
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IL P Y R O T
of several sizes, in proportion to the cases, and to screw
or fix in the top of the driving block; when you have
fixed in a nipple, make, at about one inch and a half
from it, a square hole in the block, six inches deep and
one inch diameter; then have a piece of wood, six indies
longer than the case intended to be filled, and two
inches square ; on one side of it cut a groove almost
the length of the case, whose breadth and depth must be
sufficient to cover near one-half of the case ; then cut
the other end to fit the hole in the block, but take care
to cut it so that the groove may be at a proper distance
from the nipple ; this half mould being made and fix¬
ed tight in the block, cut, in another piece of wood
nearly of the same length as the case, a groove of the
same dimensions as that in the fixed piece ; then put the
case on the nipple, and with a cord tie it and the two
half moulds together, and the case will be ready for fil-
| lin£-
The dimensions of the above-described half-moulds
are proportionable for cases of eight ounces, but notice
must be taken, that they differ in size in proportion to
the cases.
The best wood for mallets is dry beech. If a person
uses a mallet of a moderate size, in proportion to the
locket, according to his judgment, and if the rocket
succeeds, he may depend on the rest, by using the same
mallet; yet it will be necessary that cases of different
sorts be driven with mallets of'different sizes.
The following proportion of the mallets for rockets
of any size, from one oz. to six lb. may be observed; but
as rockets are seldom made less than one oz. or larger
than six lb. we shall leave the management of them to
the curious ; but all cases under one oz. may he rammed
with an ounce rocket mallet. The mallets will strike
more solid, by having their handles turned out of the
same piece with the head, and made in a cylindrical form.
Let their dimensions be worked by the diameters of the
rockets : for example ; let the thickness of the head be
three diameters, and its length four, and the length of the
handle five diameters, whose thickness must be in pro¬
portion to the hand.
Asceimf . As the cause which occasions the ascent of a rocket
^ts into the air is the same as that which makes a musket
recoil when fired, it will he proper, before explaining
the ascent of rockets, to show how the recoil of fire-arms
is produced. When the powder is suddenly inflamed in
the chamber, or at the bottom of the barrel, it neces¬
sarily exercises an action two ways at the same time;
that is to say, againstthebreech of the piece, and against
the bullet or wadding, which is placed above it. Be¬
sides this, it acts also against the sides of the chamber
which it occupies ; and as they oppose a resistance al¬
most insurmountable, the whole effort of the elastic fluid,
produced by the inflammation, is exerted in the two de¬
fections above mentioned. But the resistance opposed by
the bullet, being much less than that opposed by the mass
of the barrel or cannon, the bullet is forced out with
great velocity. It is impossible, however, tliat the body
of the piece itself should not experience a movement
backwards;, for if a spring is suddenly let loose, between
two moveable obstacles, it will impel them both, and
communicate *o them velocities in the inverse ratio of
their masses ; the piece, therefore, must acquire a velo¬
city backwards nearly in the inverse ratio of its mass to
sky-:
E c K N Y. 55I
that of the bullet. We make use of the term nearly. Varieties
because there are various circumstances which give to of Con¬
ns ratio certain modifications ; but it is always true slructionu
that the body of the piece is driven backwards, and that ' v '
J 11 with its carriage 1000 times more than
tiie bullet, it acquires a velocity which is 1000 times
less, and which is soon annihilated by the friction of the
wheels against the ground, &c.
The cause of the ascent of a rocket is nearly the same.
At the moment when the powder begins to inflame, its
expansion produces a torrent of elastic fluid, which acts
m evciy direction ; that, is, against the air which op¬
poses its escape from the cartridge, and against the,up¬
per part of the rocket; but the resistance of the air is
more considerable than the weight of the rocket, on ac¬
count of the extreme rapidity with which the elastic
lluul issues through the neck of the rocket to throw it¬
self downwards, and therefore the rocket ascends by tlie
excess of the one of these forces above the other.
This however would not be the case, unless the rocket
were pierced to a certain depth. A sufficient quantity
of elastic fluid would not he produced; for the composi¬
tion would inflame only in circular coats of a diameter
equal to that of the rocket; and experience shews that
this is not sufficient. Becourse then is had to the very in¬
genious idea of piercing the rocket with a conical hole,
which makes the composition burn in conical strata which *Hutt6n,sr
have much greater surface, and therefore produce a much Rtcrea-
greater quantity of inflamed matter and fluid. This ex- vo1*
pedient was certainly not the work of a moment *. U1* P J61*
When sky-rockets are fixed one on the top of an-To fix one
other, they are called towering rockets, on account ofroe^et 011
their mounting so very high. " Towering rockets are*het°P°‘r
made after this manner: Fix on a pound-rocket a bead in0t er’
without a collar; then take a four ounce rocket, which
may be headed or bounced, and rub the mouth of it with
meal-powder wetted with spirit of wine : this done, put
it in the head of the large rocket with its mouth down¬
wards; but before it is put in, stick a bit of quick-match
in the hole of the clay of the pound-rocket, which match
should be long enough to go a little way up the bore of
the small rocket, to fire it when the large rocket is burnt
out. As the four ounce rocket is too small to fill the head
of the other, roll round it as much tow as will make it
stand upright in the centre of the head: the rocket being
thus fixed, paste a single paper round the opening of the
top of the head of the large rocket. The large rocket
must have only half a diameter of charge rammed above
the piercer; for, if filled to the usual height, it would
turn before the small one takes fire, and entirely destroy
the intended effect: when one rocket is headed with
another, there will he no occasion for any blowing pow¬
der; for the force with which it goes off’will be suffi¬
cient to disengage it from the head of the first fired
rocket. The sticks for these rockets must be a little
longer than for those headed with stars, rains, &c. 79
Caduceus rockets are such as, in rising, form two spi- Caduceus
ral lines, by reason of their being placed obliquely, one™0*^18
opposite to the other; and their counterpoise in their
centre, which causes them to rise in a vertical direction.
Rockets for this purpose must have their ends choaked
close, without either head or bounce, for a weight at
top would be a great obstruction to their mounting.
No caduceus rockets ascend so high as single^ because of
them'
striiction.
So
Honorary
rockets.
552 P Y K O T
Varieties their serpentine motion, and likewise the resistance of
Of Con- air, which is much greater than two rockets ot the same
size would meet with'if fired singly.
Fig. ^O. shews the method of fixing these rockets .
the sticks for tins purpose must have all their sides equal,
and the sides should he equal to the breadth ot a stick
proper for a sky-rocket of the same weight as those you
intend to use, and made to taper downwards as usual,
long enough to balance them, one length ol a rocket
from the cross stick j which must be placed from the
large stick six diameters of one of the rockets, and its
length seven diameters •, so that each rocket, when tied
on, may form with the large stick an angle of 60 oe-
grees. In tying on the rockets, place their heads on the
opposite sides of the cross stick, and their ends on the op¬
posite sides of the long stick j then carry a leader from
the mouth of one into that of the other., V* hen these
rockets are to be fired, suspend them between two hooks
or nails, then burn the leader through the middle, and
both will take fire at the same time. Ilockets oi one
lb. are a good size for this use.
Honorary rockets are the same.as sky-rockets, except
that they carry no head nor report, but are closed at
top, on which is fixed a cone : then on the case, close to
the top of the stick is tied on a two ounce case, about
five or six inches long, filled with a strong charge, and
pinched close at both ends 5 then in the reverse sides, at
each end, bore a hole in the same manner as in tourbit-
lons, to be presently described ; from each hole carry a
leader into the top of the rocket. ’When the rocket is
fired, and arrived to its proper height, it will give fire
to the case at top} which will cause both rocket and
stick to spin very fast in their return, and represent a
worm of fire descending to the ground.
There is another method of placing the small case,
which is by letting the stick rise a little above the top
of the rocket, and tying the case to it, so as to rest 011
the rocket : these rockets have no cones.
A third method by which they are managed is this ;
In the top of a rocket fix a piece of wood, in winch
drive a small iron spindle ; then make a hole in the
middle of the small case, through which put the spindle:
then fix on the top of it a nut, to keep the case from fal¬
ling off j when this is done, the case will turn very fast,
without the rocket: but this method does not answer so
well as either of the former.
Fig. 31. is the honorary rocket complete. The best
sized rockets for this purpose are those ot one lb.
Having some rockets made, and headed according to
fancy, and tied on their sticks j get some sheet tin, and
cut it into round pieces about three or lour inches dia¬
meter*, then on the stick of each rocket, under the mouth
of the case, fix one of these pieces of tin 16 inches from
the rocket’s neck, and support it by a wooden bracket,
as strong as possible: the use of this is, that when the
rocket is ascending the fire may play with great force
on the tin, which will divide the tail in such a manner
that it will form an arch as it mounts, and will have a
very good effect when well managed : if there is a short
piece of port-fire, of a strong charge, tied to the end of
the stick, it will make a great addition *, but this must
rise in the be lighted before the rocket is fired.
same divec- Take sj[Xj or any number of sky-rockets, of any size*,
ri^then cut some strong packthread into pieces ol three or
distance, four yards long, and tie each end of these pieces to a
E C H N Y. Chap
rocket in this manner J Having tied one end of the Van
packthread round the body of one rocket, and the other ofc.
end to another, take a second piece of packthread, ami istni(-:
make one end of it fast to one of the rockets already
tied, and the other end to a third rocket, so that all
the rockets, except the two on the outside, will be
fastened to two pieces of packthread : the length ol
thread from one rocket to the other may be what the
maker pleases ; but the rockets must be all of a size,
and their heads filled with the same weight of stars,
rains, &c.
Having thus done, fix in the mouth of each rocket a
leader of the same length; and when about to fire them,
hang them almost close 5 then tie the ends of the leaders
together, and prime them: this prime being fired, all
the rockets will mount at the same time, and divide as
far as the strings will allow 5 and this division they will
keep, provided they are all rammed alike, and well
made. They are sometimes called chained rockets.
Signal rockets are made of several kinds, according
to the different signals intended to be given *, but in ar-10r 'j
tificial fire-works, two sorts are only used, which are one
with reports and the other without; but those for the
use of the navy and army are headed with stars, ser¬
pents, &c.—Rockets which are to be bounced must
have their cases made one and a half or two diameters
longer than the common proportion j and alter they are
filled, drive in a double quantity of clay, then bounce
and pinch them after the usual manner, and fix on each
a cap.
Signal sky-rockets without bounces, are only sky¬
rockets closed and capped: these are very light, there¬
fore do not require such heavy sticks as those with load¬
ed heads j for which reason the rocket may be cut from
the stick, or else be made thinner.
Signal rockets with reports are fired in small flights 5
and often both these, and those without reports, are
used for a signal to begin firing a collection ot works
I.
1.11
'A >'Jii
-1 [»«•
81
To make
a rocket
form an
arch in
rising.
cas
for
the
sid
iet
cloi
be
¥
tier
mei
thai
mar
the
Two, three, or six sky-reckets, fixed on one stick,1'0 61,
i r 1 . ..1  « .......m.1 on/1 Iif-uiititnl
iron
the
port
stan
ets 10 t
8a
To make
several
rockets
and fired together, make a grand and beautiiul appear-(
ance j for the tails of all will seem but as one of an im-same| k,
mense size, and the breaking of so many heads at once
will resemble the bursting of an air-balloon. The ma¬
nagement of this device requires a skiltul hand; but
if die following instructions be well observed, even by
those who have not made a great progress in this art,
there will be no doubt of the rockets having the desired
effect.
Rockets for this purpose must be made with the great¬
est exactness, all rammed by the same hand, in the same
mould, and filled with the same proportion of composi¬
tion *, and after they are filled and headed, must all be
of the same weight. The stick must also be well made
(and proportioned) to the following directions: first,
supposing the rockets to be half pounders, whose sticks
arc six feet six inches long, then if two, three, or six ot
these are to be fixed on one stick, let the length.of it be
nine feet nine inches : then cut the top of it into as ma¬
ny sides as there are rockets, and let the length of each
side be equal to the length of one of the rockets without
its head*, and in each side cut a groove (as usual) ; then
from the grooves plane it round, down to the bottom,
where its thickness must be equal to halt the top ol
the round part. As their thickness cannot be exactly
ascertained, we shall give a rule which generally answer
tor
rect
thus
but
man
sail
tie#
1
tom
tbe
«|ii;
fact
and
lead
(ip
ieties
3on-
;tion.
Tofi
rockt
with
«tick
P Y R O T
for any number of rockets above two: the rule is this •
that the stick at top must be thick enough, when the
^ grooves are cut, for all the rockets to lie, without pres¬
sing each other, though as near as possible. ^
When only two rockets are to be fixed on one stick
let the length of the stick be the last given proportion’
but shaped after the common method, and the breadth
and thickness double the usual dimensions. The point
of poise must be in the usual place (let the number of
rockets be what they will) : if sticks made by the above
directions should be too heavy, plane them thinner-
and if too light, make them thicker j but always make
them of the same length.
When more than two rockets are tied on one stick
there will be some danger of their flying up without the’
stick, unless the following precaution is taken : For
cases being placed on all sides, there can be no notches
for the cord which ties on the rockets to lie in •
therefore, instead of notches, drive a small nail in each
side of the stick, between the necks of the cases : and
let the cord, which goes round their necks, be brought
close under the nails j by this means the rockets will
be as secure as when tied on singly. The rockets being
thus fixed, carry a quick-match, without a pipe, from
the mouth of one rocket to the other j this match being
lighted will give fire to all at once.
_ Though the directions already given may he suffi¬
cient for these rockets, we shall here add an improve¬
ment on a very essential part of this device, which is,
that of hanging the rockets to be fired ; for before the
following method was contrived, many attempts proved
unsuccessful. Instead, therefore, of the old and common
manner of hanging them on nails or hooks, make use of
the following contrivance : Have a ring made of strong
iron wire large enough for the stick to"go in as far as
the mouths of the rockets ; then have another ring sup¬
ported by a small iron, at some distance from the post or
stand to which it is fixed : then have another ring fit to
receive and guide the small end of the stick. Rockets
thus suspended will have nothing to obstruct their fire ;
but when they are hung on nails or hooks, in such a
manner that some of their mouths are against or upon a
nail, there can be no certainty of their rising in a ver¬
tical direction.
To fire rockets without sticks, you must have a stand,
of a block of wood, a foot diameter, and make the bot¬
tom flat, so that it may stand steady : in the centre of
the top ol this block draw a circle two inches and a half
diameter, and divide the circumference of it into three
equal parts ; then take three pieces of thick iron wire,
each about three feet long, and drive them into the
block, one at each point made on the circle ; when
these wires are driven in deep enough to hold them fast
and upright, so that the distance from one to the
other is the same at top as at bottom, the stand is com¬
plete.
The stand being thus made, prepare the rockets
thus : Take some common sky-rockets of any size,
and head them as you please ; then get some halls of
lead, and tie to each a small wire two or two feet and a
half long, and the other end of each wire tie to the neck
of a rocket. These halls answer the purpose of sticks
when made of a proper weight, which is about two-
thirds the weight of the rocket 5 but when they are of a
proper size, they will balance the rocki t in the same
VoL. XVII. Part II. t
E C H N Y.
manner as a stick, at the usual point of poise. To fire v • ^
these, hang them, one at a time, between the tons of tb! Yr
rndetheeballSg I'1611' 'TadS "r1 °n the P°int °f the wIre3> 8'ruct^n-
and the balls hang down between them : if the wires ^^
t llffie fitt0° T'f f°r ^ r°CketS’ IJreSS them tether
they fit, and if too close, force them open ; the wires
for this purpose must be softened, so as not to have anv
1 g, or they will not keep their position when pressed
close or opened. 1
le^a^r"8 f‘’“'‘’.I’-6 maiIe f0“l'0r five lncll<-s i-S-nkor
length, and their interior diameters three-eighths of an Eckels,
me ). one end of these cases must be pinched quite close
before beginning to fill; and when filled, close the other
end . then in the opposite sides make a small hole at each
end, to the composition, as in tourbillons ; and prime
them with wet meal powder. You may put in the head
ot a rocket as many of these cases as it will contain :
being fired they turn very quick in the air, and form a
scroll or spiral line. They are generally filled with a
strong charge, as that of serpents or brilliant fire.
ockets that pass under the denomination of swarm- Summers
ers, are those from two ounces downwards. These roc- ^ " '
kets are fired sometimes in flights, and in large water¬
works &c. Swarmers of one and two ounces" are bor¬
ed, and made in the same manner as large rockets, ex¬
cept that, when headed, their heads must he put on
without a collar : the number of strokes for driving- one
ounce must be eight, and for two ounces twelve.
A rockets under one ounce are not bored, but must
be tilled to the usual height with composition, which
generally consists of fine meal-powder four ounces, and
charcoal or steel-dust two drams: the number of strokes
tor ramming these small swarmers is not material, pro¬
vided they are rammed truly, and moderately hard.
1 he necks of unbored rockets must be in the same pro¬
portion as in common cases.
Care must be taken, in placing the rockets, when Stands for
ley are to be bred, to give them a vertical direction mckets.
at their first setting out ; which may be managed thus :
Have two rails of wood, of any length, supported at
each end by a perpendicular leg, so that the rails may
>e horizontal, and let the distance from one to the other
be almost equal to the length of the sticks of the rockets
intended to be fired ; then in the front of the top rail
drive square hooks at eight inches distance, with their
points turning sidewise, so that when the rockets are
hung on them, the points will he before the sticks and
keep them from falling or being blown off by the wind ;
m the fi ont of the rail at bottom must be staples, dri¬
ven perpendicular under the hooks at top; through
these staples put the small ends of the rocket sticks.
Rockets are fired by applying a lighted port-fire to their
months.
-^T- B. Vv hen sky-rockets are made to perfection, and
fired, they will stand tivo or three seconds on the hook
before they rise, and then mount up briskly, with a
steady motion, carrying a large tail from the ground all
the way up, and just as they turn, break, and disperse
the stars.
Girandole chests are generally composed of four sides Girandole
of equal dimensions; but may be made of any diame-cliests
ter, according to the number of rockets designed to
fired; their height must be in proportion to the rockets,l°C ^
hut must always be a little higher than the rockets with
their sticks. When the sides are joined, fix in the top
4 A as
sanction.
554 P Y R O T
v-e ties as far dotvn the cliest as the length of one of the roc-
of Con- kets with its cap on. In this top, make as many squaie
or round holes to receive the rocket sticks as there are
' to he rockets ; but let the distance between them be
sufficient for the rockets to stand without touching one
another ; then from one hole to another cut a groove
larpe enough for a quick match to lie in •, the top being
thus fixed, put in the bottom, at about one foot and a
half distance from the bottom of the chest, in this bot¬
tom must be as many holes as in the top, and all to cor¬
respond : but these holes need not be so large as those
in the top. ^ i i • i •
To prepare the chest, a quick match must be laid in
all the grooves, from hole to hole : then take some sky¬
rockets, and rub them in the mouth with wet meal-
powder, and put a bit of match up the cavity of each J
which match must be long enough to hang a little be¬
low the mouth of the rocket. The rockets and chest
being prepared according to the above directions, put
the sticks of the rockets through the holes in the top
and bottom of the chest, so that their mouths may rest
on the quick-match in the grooves: by which all the
rockets will be fired at once *, for by giving fire to any
part of the match, it will communicate to all the roc¬
kets in an instant. As it would be rather troublesome
to direct the sticks from the top to the proper holes m
the bottom, it will be necessary to have a small door in
one of the sides, through which, when opened, you
may see how to place the sticks. Flights of rockets
being seldom set off at the beginning of any fire-works,
they are in danger of being fired by the sparks from
wheels, &c. •, therefore, to preserve them, a cover should
be made to fit on the chest, and the door m the sme
^Line-rockets are made and rammed as the sky-rockets,
but have no heads, and the cases must be cut close to the
clay: they are sometimes made with six or seven chan¬
ges, but in general not more than four or five. Ihe
method of managing these rockets is the following .
First, have a piece of light wood, the length of one of
the rockets turned round about two inches and a hal dia¬
meter, with a hole through the middle lengthwise, large
enough for the line to go easily through *, if tour chan¬
ges are intended, have four grooves cut in the swivel,
one opposite the other, in which to lay the rockets.
The mouths of the rockets being rubbed with wet
meal-powder, lay them in the grooves head to tail,
and tie them fast •, from the tail of the first rocket carry
a leader to the mouth of the second, and from the se¬
cond to the third, and so on to as many as there are
on the swivel, making every leader very secure j but in
fiximr these pipes, take care that the quick-match does
not enter the bores of the rockets: the rockets being
fixed on the swivel and ready to be fired, have a line
ioo yards long, stretched and fixed up tight, at any
height from the ground ; hut be sure to place it hori¬
zontally : this length of line will do for half-pound
rockets ; but if larger, the line must be longer. Be¬
fore rou put up the line, put one end of it through the
swivel; and when you fire the line rocket, let the mouth
of that rocket which is first fired face that end of the
line where you stand } then the first rocket will cany
the rest to the other end of the line, and the second will
brine- them back} and so they will run out and in ac-
cordtng to the number of rockets : at each end of the
2
E C H N Y. Chap.
line there must be a piece of fiat wood for the rocket Varied
93
I^ne-
iockets.
to strike against, or its force will cut the line. Let the oft’c
line be well soaped, and the hole in the swivel very
smooth. .
To line rockets may be fixed a great variety of fi- Diftlre,
gures, such as flying dragons, Mercuries, ships, &c. ;deeora
or they may he made to run on the line like a wheel jtionsfc
which is done in this manner. Have a flat swivel made
very exactly, and on it tie two rockets obliquely one on
each side, which will make it turn round as it goes, and
form a circle of fire } the charge for these rockets should
he a little weaker than common. If you would show
two dragons fighting, get two swivels made square, and
on each tie three rockets together on the under side }
then have twTo flying dragons made of tin, and fix one of
them on the top of each swivel, so as to stand upright}
in the mouth of each dragon put a small case of com¬
mon fire, and another at the end ol the tail } put two
or three port-fires, of a strong charge, on one side of
their bodies, to show them. This done, put them on
the line, one at each end } but let there he a swivel in
the middle of the line to keep the dragons from strik¬
ing together : before firing the rockets, light the cases
on the dragons } and if care be taken in firing both at
the same time, they will meet in the middle of the line,
and seem to fight. Then they will run back and return
with great violence, which will have a very pleasing ef¬
fect. The line for these rockets must be very long, or
they will strike too hard together.
Cases for Chinese flyers may be made of different Cases fe
sizes, from one to eight ounces j they must be made thick Chinm
of paper, and eight interior diameters long } they arefi)erSi
rolled in the same manner as tourbillons, with a straight
pasted edge, and pinched close at one end. The method
of filling them is, the case being put in a mould, whose
cylinder, or foot, must be flat at top without a nipple,
fill it within half a diameter of the middle } then ram
in half a diameter of clay, on that as much composition
as before, on which drive half a diameter of clay } then
pinch the case close, and drive it down flat : after this
is done, bore a hole exactly through the centre of the
clay in the middle } then in the opposite sides, at both
ends, make a vent} and in that side intended to he fired
first make a small hole to the composition near the clay
in the middle, from which carry a quick-match, cover¬
ed with a single paper, to the vent at the other end}
then, when the charge is burnt on one side, it will, by
means of the quick-match, communicate to the charge
on the other (which may be of a different sort), l ie
flyers being thus made, put an iron pin, that must be
fixed in the work on which they are to be fired, and on
which they are to run, through the hole m the middle}
on the end of this pin must be a nut to keep the fiver
from running off. If they are to turn back again after
they are burnt, make both the vents at the ends on the ,
same side, which will alter its course the contrary way.
Table rockets are designed merely to show the truth Table
of driving, and the judgment of a fire-worker; they roc «
bavin" no other effect, when fired, than spinning round
in the&same place where they begin, till they are burnt
out, and showing nothing more than an horizontal circle
The method of making these rockets is,—Have a cone
turned out of hard wood two inches and a half in dia¬
meter, and as much high ; round the base of it drive a
7 line,
#«■ 5
rep
to
ttai
tWf
on
01
tpp
be
All
»oc
for
4(
1
or,
oft
oft
94
A “i ll
flyn or
be ».
ri 3J.
l,nc > ftn t1llS lll1c fo1^ spokes, each hvo inches ionsr
so as to stand one opposite the other-, then fill four nine-
inch one pound cases with any strong composition
within two inches of the top : these cases are made like
tom-billons, and must be rammed with the greatest ex¬
actness.
The rockets being filled, fix their open ends on the
whorl spokes; then in the side of each case bore a hole
near the clay ; all these holes, or vents, must be so made
that the fire of each case may act the same way; from
these vents carry leaders to'the top of the cone, and
tie them together. When the rockets are to be fired,
wet them on a smooth table, and light the leaders in the*
middle, and all the cases will fire together (see fig. 32.)
and spin on the point of the cone.
These rockets may be made to rise like toudiillons, ky
making the cases shorter, and boring four holes in the
under side of each at equal distances : this being done
they are called double tourbillons.
Note, All the vents in the under side of the cases
must be lighted at once ; and the sharp point of the cone
cut oil; at which place make it spherical.
Fireworks called aerial globes or bombs consist of
a spherical case made of strong paper, or of wood, pre¬
pared as will be immediately described, and thrown from
a mortar commonly made of pasteboard, rvith a copper
chamber to contain the charge, such as AB, fig. 33.
This small mortar must be made of light wood, or of
paper pasted together, and rolled up in the form of a
cylinder, or truncated cone, the bottom excepted;
which, as already said, must be of wood. The cham¬
ber for the powder AC must be pierced obliquely, with
a small gimlet, as seen at BC; so that the aperture B
corresponding to the aperture of the metal mortar, in
which this paper mortar must be placed when the globe
is fired, the fire applied to the latter may be communica¬
ted to the powder which is at the bottom of the cham¬
ber AC, immediately below the globe. By these means
the globe will catch fire and make an agreeable noise
as it rises into the air; but it would not succeed so
well if any vacuity were left between the powder and
globe.
A profile or perpendicular section of such a globe is
represented by the right-angled parallelogram ABCD,
fig. 34.; the breadth of which AB is nearly equal
to the height AD. The thickness of the wood to¬
wards the two sides L, M, is equal to about the
twelfth part of the diameter of the globe ; and the
thickness E, F, of the cover, is double the preceding,
or equal to a sixth part of the diameter. The height
GK, or HI of the chamber GH1K, where the match is
applied, and which is terminated by the semicircle
LGKM, is equal to the fourth part of the (breadth
AB, and its breadth GH is equal to the sixth part of
AB.
We must here observe, that it is dangerous to put
wooden covers, such as EF, on aerial balloons or globes,
for these covers may be so heavy as to wound those on
whom they happen to fall. It will be sufficient to place
turf or hay above the globe, in order that the powder
tnay experience some resistance.
The globe must be filled with several pieces of cane
or common reed, equal in length to the interior height
of the globe, and charged with a slow composition, made
©f three ounces of pounded gunpowder, aa ounce of sul-
P Y R O T E C H N Y.
555
pl'ur moistened with a small quantity of petroleum oil, Varieties
ami two ounces of charcoal ; and in order that tiiese <>f t on-
reeds or canes may catch fire sooner, and with more fa- stn,cl!0«-
cility, they must be charged at the lower ends, which "
rest on the bottom of tbe globe, with pulverized gun¬
powder moistened in the same manner with petroleum
oil, or well besprinkled with brandy, and then dried.
I he bottom of the globe ought to be«covered with a
little gunpowder half pulverized and half grained ;
which, when set on fire by means of a match applied to
the end of the chamber GH, will set fire to the lower
pai t of the reed. But care must have been taken to fill
the chamber with a composition similar to that in the
reeds, or with another slow composition made of eight
-ounces of gunpowder, four ounces of saltpetre, two
ounces of sulphur, and one ounce of charcoal : the
whole must be well pounded and mixed.
# Instead of reeds, the globe may he charged with run¬
ning rockets, or.paper petards, and a quantity of fiery
stais or sparks mixed with the pulverized gunpowder,
placed without any order above these petards, which
must be choked at unequal heights, that they may
perform their effect at different times.
These globes may be constructed in various other
ways, which it would be tedious here to enumerate. We
shall only observe, that when loaded they must be well
covered at the top ; they must be wrapped up in a piece
of cloth dipped in glue, and a piece of woollen cloth
must be tied round them, so as to cover the hole which
contains the match.
Fuzes for air balloons are sometimes turned out of^n2esf°r
dry beech, with a cup at top to hold the quick-match,gIobes 01
or other firing material; but if made with pasted paper,a'rbaliot>,'s‘
they will do as well: the diameter of the former for
fuzes for coehorn balloons must be half an inch ; for a
royal fuze, five-eighths of an inch ; for an eight inch
fuze, three-fourths of an inch ; and for a ten inch fuze,
seven-eighths cf an inch. Having rolled the cases, pinch
and tie them almost close at one end : then drive them
down, and let them dry. Before beginning to fill them,
mark on the outside of the case the length of the charge
required, allowing for the thickness of the bottom ; and
when the composition is rammed in, take two pieces of
quick-match about six inches long, and lay one end of
each on the charge, and then a little meal-powder,
which ram down hard; the loose ends of the match
double up into the top of the fuze, and cover it with a
paper cap to keep it dry. When the shells are put into
the mortars, uncap the fuzes, and pull out the loose ends
of the match, and let them hang on the sides of the bal¬
loons. The use of the match is, to receive the fire from
the powder in the chamber of the mortar, in order to
light the fuze : the shell being put in the mortar with
the fuze uppermost, and exactly in the centre, sprinkle -
over it a little meal-powder, and it will be ready to be
fired. Fuzes made of wood must be longer than those
of paper, and not bored quite through, but left solid
about half an inch at bottom ; and when used saw them
off to a proper length, measuring the charge from the
cut at top.
To make TownW/iw.?.—Having filled some cases with- TourhU-
in about one diameter and a half, drive in a ladleful oflons'
clay; then pinch the ends close, and drive them down
with a mallet. When done, find the centre of gravity
of each case: where the nail and stick are tied, which
4 A 2 should
l
PYROTECHNY.
Chap.
97
Aigrettes.
should be half an inch broad at the middle, and run-
a little narrower to the ends : these sticks must have
their ends turned upwards, so that the cases may turn
horizontally on their centres : at the opposite sides of
the cases, at each end, bore a hole close to the clay
with a gimblet, the size of the neck of a common case
of the same nature : from these holes draw a line round
the case, and at the under part of the case bore a hole
with the same gimblet, within half a diameter of each
line towards the centre j then from one hole to the
other draw a right line. Divide this line into three
equal parts ; and at X and Y (fig. 35.) bore a hole ;
then from these holes to the other two lead a quick-
match, over which paste a thin paper. Fig. 36. repre¬
sents a tourbillon as it should lie to be fired, with a
leader from one side hole A to the other B. When
tourbillons are fired lay them on a smooth table, with
their sticks downwards, and burn the leader through the
middle with a portfire. They should spin three or four
seconds on the table before they rise, which is about the
time the composition will be burning from the side holes
to those at bottom.
To tourbillons may be fixed reports in this manner:
In the centre of the case at top make a small hole, and
in the middle of the report make another j then place
them together, and tie on the report, and with a single
paper secure it from fire : this done, the tourbillon is
completed. By this method you may fix on tourbil¬
lons small cones of stars, rains, &c. but be careful not
to load them too much. One eighth of an inch will be
enough for the thickness of the sticks, and their length
equal to that of the cases.
Mortars to throw aigrettes are generally made of
pasteboard, of the same thickness as balloon mortars,
and two diameters and a hall long in the inside from the
top of the foot: the foot must be made of elm without a
chamber, but flat at top, and in the same proportion as
those lor balloon mortars j these mortars must also be
bound round with a chord : sometimes eight or nine of
these mortars, of about three or four inches diameter,
are bound all together, so as to appear but one : but
when they are made for this purpose, the bottom of the
foot must be of the same diameter as the mortars, and
only half a diameter high. I he mortars being bound
well together, fix them on a heavy solid block of wood.
To load these mortars, first put on the inside bottom of
each a piece of paper, and on it spread one ounce and a
half of meal and corn powder mixed j then tie the ser¬
pents up in parcels with quickmatch, and put them in
the mortar with their mouths downwards ; but take care
the parcels do not fit too tight in the mortars, and that
all the serpents have been well primed with powder
wetted with spirit of wine. On the top of the serpents
in each mortar lay some paper or tow ; then carry a
leader from one mortar to the other all round, and then
from all the outside mortars iato that in the middle :
these leaders must be put between the cases and the
sides of the mortar, down to the powder at bottom : in
the centre of the middle mortar fix a fire pump, or bril¬
liant fountain, which must be open at bottom, and long
enough to project out of the mouth of the mortar j then
paste paper on the tops of all the mortars.
Mortars thus prepared are called a nest of serpents, as
represented by fig. 37. When these mortars are to be
fired, light the fire pump C, which when consumed will
3
95
communicate to all the mortars at once by means of Vaiie
the leaders. For mortars of 8, 9, or 10 inches diame- of Cc:
ter, the serpents should be made in one and two ounce ,struc^
cases, six or seven inches long, and fired by a leader r
brought out of the mouth of the mortar, and turned
down the outside, and the end of it covered with paper,
to prevent the sparks of the other works from setting it
on fire. For a six-inch mortar, let the quantity of
powder for firing be two ounces j for an eight-inch, two
ounces and three quarters 5 and for a ten-inch, three
ounces,and three quarters. Care must be taken in these,
as well as small mortars, not to put the serpents in too
tight for fear of bursting the mortars. These mortars
may be loaded with stars, crackers, &c.
If the mortars, when loaded, are sent to any distance,
or liable to be much moved, the firing powder should
be secured from getting amongst the serpents, which
would endanger the mortars, as well as hurt their per¬
formance. To prevent this, load the mortars thus:
First put in the firing powder, and spread it equally
about j then cut a round piece of blue touch-paper,
equal to the exterior diameter of the mortar, and draw
on it a circle equal to the interior diameter of the mor¬
tar, and notch it all round as far as that circle : then
paste that part which is notched, and put it down the
mortar close to the powder, and stick the pasted edge
to the mortar $ this will keep the powder always smooth
at bottom, so that it may be moved or carried anywhere
without receiving damage. The large single mortars
are called pots des aigrettes.
Pots des Brins are formed of pasteboard, and must be Pot8 ^
rolled pretty thick. They are usually made three or')rlDS'
four inches diameter, and four diameters long 5 and
pinched with a neck at one end, like common cases.
A number of these are placed on a plank thus : Having
fixed on a plank two rows of wooden pegs, cut in the
bottom of the plank a groove the whole length under
each row of pegs j then, through the centre ot each peg,
bore a hole down to the groove at bottom, and on every
peg fix and glue a pot, whose mouth must fit tight on
the peg through all the holes run a quickmatch, one
end of which must go into the pot, and the other into
the groove, which must have a match laid in it from
end to end, and covered with paper, so that when light*
ed at one end it may discharge the whole almost instan¬
taneously : in all the pots put a’bout one ounce of meal
and corn powder j then in some put stars, and in others
rains, snakes, serpents, crackers, &c.: when they are all
loaded, paste paper over their mouths. Two or three
hundred of these pots being fired together make a very
pretty show, by affording so great a variety ot fires.
Fig. 38. is a range of pots des brins, with a leader A,
bv which they are fired. ^ 9P
Pots des Saucissons are generally fired out of large
mortars without chambers, the same as those for aigrettes,sau
only somewhat stronger. Saucissons are made of one
and two ounce cases, five or six inches long, and choke
in the same manner as serpents. Half the number
which the mortar contains must be driven one diame¬
ter and a half with composition, and the other half two
diameters, so that when fired they may give two volleys
of reports. But if the mortars are very strong, and
will bear a sufficient charge to throw the saucissons very
high, you may make three volleys of reports, by divid¬
ing the number of cases into three parts, and making a
b difference
(toe*
[ta- 1
100
S ile rer
t J
t ds.
Ho^ntal
fla
1L P Y R O T
difference in the height of the charge. Afrer they are
filled, pinch and tie them at top of the charge almost
close; only leaving a small vent to communicate the
fire to the upper part of the case, which must he filled
with corn-powder very near the top ; then pinch the
end quite close, and t,e it: after this is done, bind the
case very tight with waxed packthread, from the choke
at top of the compositi&n to the end of the case • this
will make the case very strong in that part, and cause
the report to he very loud. Saucissons should be rolled
a little thicker of paper than the common proportion.
W hen they are to be put in the mortar, they must be
primed m their mouths, and fired by a case of brilliant
fire fixed m tfieir centre.
Tlie charge for these mortars should be one-sixth or
one-eighth more than for pots des aigrettes of the same
diameter.
There are different sorts of vertical wheels; some ha¬
ving their fells of a circular form, others of an hexagonal
octagonal, or decagonal form, or of any number of sides
according to the length of the cases you design for the
w-heel : the spokes being fixed in the nave, nail slips
ol tin, with their edges turned up so as to form grooves
foi the cases to lie in, from the end of one spoke to that
of. another ; then tie the cases in the grooves head to
tail, in the same manner as those on the horizontal water¬
wheel, so that the cases successively taking fire from one
another, will keep the wheel in an equal rotation. Two
of these wheels are very often fired together, one on each
side of a building ; and both lighted at the same time,
and all the cases filled alike, to make them keep time
together ; as they will, if made by the following di-
iection> : In all the cases of both wheels, except the
first, on eacfi wheel drive two or three ladiesful of slow
fire, in any part of the cases; but be careful to ram the
same quantity in each case, and in the end of one of
the cases, on eacfi wheel, you may ram one ladleful
of dead-fire composition, which must be very lightly
driven; you may also make many changes of fire by this
Let the hole in the nave of the wheel be lined with
biass, and made to turn on a smooth iron spindle. On
the end of this spindle let there be a nut, to screw off
and on ; when you have put the wheel on the spindle,
screw on the nut, which will keep the wheel from fly¬
ing off. Let the mouth of the first case be a little raised.
ee fig. ^ertical wheels are made from ten inches
to three feet diameter, and the size of the cases must
differ accordingly; four-ounce cases will do for wheels
of 14 or 16 inches diameter, which is the proportion
generally used. The best wood for wheels of all sorts
is a light and dry beech.
Horizontal wheels are best when their fells are made
circular ; in the middle of the top of the nave must be
a pintle, turned out of the same piece as the nave, two
inches long, and equal in diameter to the bore of one of
the cases of the wheel: there must be a hole bored up
the centre of the nave, within half an inch of the top of
the pintle. I he wheel being made, nail at the end of
cadi spoke (of which there should he six or eight) a
J)i:ce of wood, with a groove cut in it to receive the
case, fix these pieces in such a manner that half the
eases may incline upwards and half downwards, and that,
'\hen they are tied on, their heads and tails may come
'cry nearly together ; from the tail of one case to the
E C H N Y.
mouth of the other carry a leader, which should be se¬
cured with pasted paper. Besides these pipes, it will be
necessary to put a little meal-powder within the pasted
paper, to blow oft the pipe, that there may be no ob¬
struction to the fire from the cases. By means of these
pipes the cases will successively take fire, burning one
upwards and the other downwards. On the pintle fix a
case of the same sort as those on the wheel; this case
must be fired by a leader from the mouth of the last case
on 1^ w icel, which case must play downwards: instead
of a common case in the middle, you may put a case of
Uiinese fire, long enough to burn as long as two or three
ot the cases on the wheel.
Horizontal wheels are often fired two at a time, and
made to keep time like vertical wheels, only they are
made without any slow or dead fire ; 10 or 12 inches
wil be enough for the diameter of wheels with six Plate
spokes. Iig. 4o. represents a wheel on fire, with theCCCCLIV-
first case burning. %• 40.
Spiral wheels, are only double horizontal wheels, andSpiml*
made thus: The nave must be about six inches long, wheels,
and rather thicker than the single sort; instead of the
pintle at top, make a hole for the case to be fixed in,
and two sets of spokes, one set near the top of the nave’
and the other near the bottom. At the end of each
spoke cut a groove wherein you tie the cases, there be¬
ing no fell; the spokes should not be more than two
inches and a half long from the naves, so that the wheel
may not be more than eight or nine inches diameter ;
the cases are placed in such a manner, that those at top
play down, and those at bottom play up, but let the
timd or fourth case play horizontally. The case in the
middle may begin with any of the others : six spokes
will be enough for each set, so that the wheel may con¬
sist of 1 2 cases, besides that on the top : the cases six
inches each.
J lural ivkccls are made to turn horizontally, and to Tcp
consist of three sets of spokes, placed six at top, six at ^heelg
bottom, and four in the middle, which last must be a
little shorter than the rest: let the diameter of the wheel
be 10 inches; the cases must be tied on the ends of the
spokes in grooves cut on purpose, or in pieces of wood
nailed on the end of the spokes, with grooves cut in
them as usual: in clothing these wheels, make the up¬
per set of cases play obliquely downwards, the bottom
set obliquely upwards, and the middle set horizontally.
In placing the leaders, they must be managed so that the
cases may burn thus, viz. first up, then down, then ho¬
rizontal, and so on with the rest. But another change
may be made, by driving in the end of the eighth cast-
two or three ladiesful of slow fire, to burn till the
wheel has stopped its course ; then let the other cases
be fixed the contrary way, which will make the wheel
run back again: for the case at top you may put a small
gerbe; and let the cases on the spokes be short, and fill¬
ed with a strong brilliant charge.
Illuminated spiral wheels.—First have acircular hori- Mummated-
zontal wheel made two feet diameter, with a hole quite spiral
through the nave,; then take three thin pieces of deal, wheels,
tb ree feet long each, and three-fourths of an inch broad
each : one end of each of these pieces nail to the fell of
the wheel, at an equal distance from one another, and
the other end nail to a block with a hole in its bottom,
which must be perpendicular to that in the block of the
wheel, but not so large. The wheel being thus made,
have
558 P Y R O T
Vanities have a hoop planed doAvn very thin and flat*, then na;!
of Con- one end of it Into the fell of the wheel, and wind it
stinotion. j-0Und (Pe three sticks in a spiral line from the wheel to
~~~ the block at top : on the top of this block fix a case of
Chinese fire *, on the wheel you may place any number
of eases, which must incline downwards, and burn two
at a time. If the wheel should consist of ten cases, you
may let the illuminations and Chinese fire begin with
the second cases. The spindle for this wheel must be a
little longer than the cone, and made very smooth at
top, on which the upper block is to turn, and the whole
105 weight of the wheel to rest. See fig. 41.
Double Double spiral wheel.—For this wheel the block, or
nave, must he as long as the height of the worms, or
spiral lines, but must he made very thin, and as light as
possible. In this block must be fixed several spokes,
which must diminish in length, from the'wheel to the
top, so as not to exceed the surface of a cone of the same
height. To the ends of these spokes nail the worms,
which must cross each other several times : clothe these
worms with illuminations, the same as those on the single
wheels ; but the horizontal wheel you may clothe as
you like. At top of the worm place a case of spur-fire,
or an amber light, see tig. 4^* this figure is shown
tc5 without leaders, to prevent a confusion of lines.
Ttfdloou Balloon wheels are made to turn horizontally : they
wheels. must ma(]e two feet diameter, without any spokes j
and very strong, with any number of sides. On the top
pf a wheel range and fix 111 pots, three inches diameter
and seven inches high each, as many ot these as theie
are cases on the wheel : near the bottom of each pot
make a small vent j into each of these vents carry a
leader from the tail of each case) load some ot the pots
with stars, and some with serpents, crackers, &c. As
the wheels turn, the pots will successively be fired, and
throw into the air a great variety of fires.
Fruiloiii Fbr j'ruiloni wheels first have a nave made nine inches
wheek. long and three in diameter *. near the bottom of tins
nave fix eight spokes, with a hole in the end of each,
large enough to receive a two or four ounce case . each
of these spokes may he 1.4 inches long from the block.
Near the top of this block fix eight more of the same
spokes, exactly over the others, but not so long by two
inches. As this wheel is to run horizontally, all the
cases in the spokes must play ohlitfuely upwards, and all
those in the spokes at bottom obliquely downwards.
This being done, have a small horizontal wheel made
with eight spokes, each five inches long from the block :
on the top of this wheel place a case of brilliant fire :
all the cases on this wheel must play in an oblique di¬
rection downwards, and burn two at a time, and those
on the large wheel four at a time ; that is, two of those
in the top set of spokes, and two of those in the bottom
set of spokes.
The four first cases on the large wheel, and the two
first on the small, must he fired at the same time, and
the brilliant fire at top at the beginning of the last cases.
The cases of the wheels may be filled with a gray
charge. When these wheels are completed, you must
have a strong iron spindle, made four feet six inches
long, and fixed perpendicularly on the top of a stand :
on this put the large wheel, whose nave must have a hole
quite through from the bottom to the top. This hole
must be large enough to turn easily round the bottom of
E C H N Y. ^napp
the spindle, at which place there must be a shoulder, to Van-J,,
keep the wheel from touching the stand : at the top of of) j.
the spindle put the small wheel, and join it to a large
one with a leader, in order that they may be fired both ^
together. _ d
Cascades of fice are made of any size*, hut one made Casas,,^
according to the dimensions of that shown in fig. 43.
will he large enough for eight-ounce cases. Let the
distance from A to B he three feet; from B to C two
feet six inches } and from C to L» two feet ; anti let the
cross piece at A be four feet long : then from each end
of this piece draw a line to T) ; then make the other
cross pieces so long as to come within those lines. 1 ha
top piece D may he ot any length, so as to hold the
oases, at a little di>tance from each other j all the cros*
pieces are fixed horizontally, and supported by brackets j
the bottom cross piece should be about one foot six
inches broad in the middle, the second one foot, the
third nine inches, and the top piece four inches : the
cases may be made of any length, but must be filled
with a brilliant-charge. On the edges ot the cross
pieces must be nailed bits of wood, with a groove cu^
in each piece, large enough lor a case to lie m. i hese
bits of wood are fixed so as to incline downwards, and
that the fire from one tier of cases may play over that of
the other. All the cases being tied last on, carry lead¬
ers from one to the other ", anil let there be a pipe hung
from the mouth of one ot the cases, covered at the end
with a single paper, which you burn to file the cascade.
Tin- Fire Tree.—To make a fire tree, as shown by Firs u 1
fig. 44. you must first have a piece ol wood six feet long,
and three inches square ; then at E, nine inches from
the top, make a hole in the Iront, and in each side j 01,
instead of holes, you may fix short pegs, to fit the insid«
of the cases. At 1*, nine inches from E, fix thiee more
pegs *, at G, one foot nine inches from F, fix three pegs;
at H nine inches from G, fix three pegs; at I, nina
inches from H, fix three pegs, inclining downwards ;
but all the other pegs must incline upwards, that the
cases may have the same inclination as is seen in the
figure : then at top place a four-inch mortar, loaded
with stars, rains, or crackers. In the middle of this
mortar place a case filled with any sort of charge, but
let it be fired with the other cases : a brilliant charge
will do for all the cases ; but the mortar may he made
of any diameter, and the tree of any size ; and on it
any number of cases, provided they are placed in the
manner described. . nj
Chinese Fountains.—To make a Chinese fountain, you Chined
must have a perpendicular piece of wood seven feet longfountaif
and two inches and a half square. Sixteen inches from
the top, fix on the front a cross piece one inch thick,
and two and a half broad, with the broad side up¬
wards ; below this, fix three more pieces of the same
width and thickness, at sixteen inches from each other;
let the bottom rail be five feet long, and the others of
such a length as to allow the fire-pumps to stand m
the middle of the intervals of each other. The pyra¬
mid being thus made, fix jn the holes made in the 0 -
tom rail five fire pumps, at equal distances ; on the se¬
cond rail, place four pumps ; on the third, three; on
the fourth, two; and on the top of the post, one; but
place them all to incline a little forwards, that, when
they throw out the stars, they may not strike against
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n. P Y R O T
the cross rails. Having Hved your fire.pumps, clotlle
them with leaders, so that they may all be fired tone,
ther. See fig. 45. ' °
Of illuminated Globes with horizontal Wheels. The
hoops for these globes may be made oh wood, tin, or
iron wire, about two feet in diameter. For a single
globe, take two hoops, and tie them together, one
within the other, at right angles j then have a horizon¬
tal wheel made, whose diameter must be a little wi¬
der than the globe, and its nave six inches long j on the
top of which the globe is fixed, so as to stand three or
four inches tiom the wheel: on this wheel you may put
any number of cases, filled with what charge you please j
but let two of them burn at a time ; they may be pla¬
ced horizontally, or to incline downwards, just as you
choose. Now, when the wheel is clothed, fix on the
hoops as many illuminations as will stand within two
inches and a half of each other : fasten these on the
hoops with small iron binding wire ; and when they are
all on, put on the pipes of communication, which must
be so managed as to light them all with the second or
third case on the wheel. The spindle on which the globe
is to run must go through the block of the wheel, up to
the inside ol the top ol the globe j where must be fix¬
ed a bit of brass, or iron, with a hole in it to receive
the point of the spindle, on which the whole weight of
the wheel is to bear, as in fig. 46., which represents a
globe on its spindle. By this method may be made a
crown, which is done by having the hoops bent in the
form of a crown. Sometimes globes and crowns are
managed so as to stand still, and the wheel only to turn
round ; but when you would have the globe or crown
to stand still, and the wheel to run by itself, the block
of the wheel must not be so long, nor the spindle any
longer than just to raise the globe a little above the
wheels; and the wheel cases and illumination must be¬
gin together.
The Dodecahedron—So called because it nearly re¬
presents a twelve-sided figure, is made thus : First have
a ball turned out of some hard wood, 14 inches diame¬
ter : divide its surface into 14 equal parts, from which
bore holes one inch and a half diameter, perpendicular
to the centre, so that they may all meet in the middle :
then let there be turned in the inside of each hole a fe¬
male screw ; and to all the holes but one must be made
a round spoke five feet long, with four inches of the
screw at one end to fit the holes ; then in the screw-end
of all the spokes bore a hole, five inches up, which must
be bored slanting, so as to come out at one side, a little
above the screw ; from which cut a small groove along
the spoke, within six inches of the other end, where
make another hole through to the other side of the
spoke. In this end fix a spindle, on which put a small
wheel of three or four sides, each side six or seven inches
E C H N Y.
• • 559
non screw m the top of it, to fit one of the holes in v ■
the ball: on the screw fix the ball; then in the top oTcT
long ; these sides must have grooves cut in them, large
t- .. , H , unit, men in the top oi Con-
! ° 6 ot .U;e ball put a little meal-powder, and some ^ruction.
loose quick-match : then screw in all the s ,okes - and    
m one side of the ball bore a hole, in which put i lea
der and secure ,t at the end j and the work will be
ready to be hied By the leader the powder and match
,n he "enItre 18 ,fired. which will light the match at tin
enough to receive a two or four ounce case. When
these wheels are clothed, put them on the spindles, and
at tbe end of each spindle put a nnt to keep the wheel
from falling oft. The wheels being thus fixed, carry a
pipe from the mouth of the first case on each wheel,
through the hole in the side of the spoke, and from
thence along the groove, and through the other hole, so
as to hang out at the screw-end about an inch. The
spokes being all prepared in this manner, you must have
a post, on which you intend to fire the work, with an
„,..i, <• ,1 , "icticii ai tne
ends of the spokes all at once, whereby all the wheels
wi 1 be lignted at once. There may be an addition to
this piece, by fixing a small globe ouVach'wbeel" or
one on the top wheel only. A gray charge will be pro¬
per for the wheel cases. 1
The Yew Tree of Brilliant Fire is represented by Yew tL
ng. 47. as it appears when burning. First, let A beot ,)rbhttut
an upright piece of wood, four feet long, two inches^'
broad and one thick: at top of the piece, on the flat
side, fix a hoop 14 inches diameter $ and round its edge
and front place illuminations, and in the centre a five-
pointed star; then at E, which is one foot and a half
from the edge of the hoop, place two cases of brilliant
ire, one on each side j these cases should be one foot
long each : below these fix two more cases of the same
size, and at such a distance that their mouths may al¬
most meet them at top : then close to the ends of these
fix two more of the same cases j they must stand parallel
to them at E. The cases being thus fixed, clothe them
with leaders j so that they, with the illuminations and
stars at top, may all take fire together.
Stars with Points for regulated Pieces, &c.—These Stars vvitii
stars are made of different sizes, according to the work P°iuts-
for which they are intended ; they are made with cases
from one ounce to one pound, but in general with four-
ounce cases, four or five inches long : the case must be
rolled with paste, and twice as thick as that of a rocket
of the same bore. Having rolled a case, pinch one end
ot it quite close : then drive in halt a diameter of
day 5 and when the case is dry, fill it with composition
two or three inches to the length of the cases with
which it is to burn : at top of the charge drive some
clay ; as the ends of these cases are seldom pinched, they
would be liable to take fire. Having filled a case, di¬
vide the circumference of it at the pinched end close
to the clay into five equal parts; then bore five holes
with a gimblet about the size of the neck of a common
four-ounce case, into the composition : from one hole to
the other carry a quick-match, and secure it with pa¬
per : this paper must be put on in the manner of that
on the end of wheel-cases, so that the hollow part, which
projects iiom the end of the case, may serve to receive
a leader from any other work, to give fire to the points
of the stars. These stars may be made with any num¬
ber of points.
Fixed Sun with a transparent Face.—To make a sun Fixed sun
of the best kind, there should be two rows of cases, as in "hh a
fig. 48. which will show a double glory, and make the lransParcnt
rays strong and full. The frame or sun-wheel, must be iilCC’
made thus : Have a circular flat nave made very strong,
12 inches diameter: to this fix six strong flat spokes,
A, B, C, D, E, F. On the front of these fix a circular fell*
five feet diameter ; within which fix another fell, the
length of one of the sun-cases less in diameter ; within
this fix a third fell, whose diameter must be less than
the second by the length of one case and one-third. The
wheel being made, divide the fells into so many equal
parts
560
PYROTECHNY.
Varieties parts as there ate to he cases (which may be done from
of Con- 24 to 44) : at each division fix a flat iron staple j these
ttniction.^ gtaples must be made to fit the cases, to hold them fast
' v on the wheel; let the staples be so placed, that one row
of cases may lie in the middle of the intervals of the
other.
In the centre of the block of the sun drive a spindle,
on which put a small hexagonal wheel, whose cases
must be filled with the same charge as the cases of the
sun : two cases of this wheel must burn at a time, and
begin with them on the fells. Having fixed on all the
cases, carry pipes of communication from one to the
other, as you see in the figure, and from one side of
the sun to"the wheel in the middle, and from thence to
the other side of the sun. These leaders will hold
the wheel steady while the sun is fixing up, and will
also be a sure method of lighting both cases of the
wheel together. A sun thus made is called a brilliant
sun, because the wood work is entirely covered with
fire from the wheel in the middle, so that there appears
nothing but sparks of brilliant fire : but if you would
have a transparent face in the centre, you must have
one made of pasteboard of any size. The method of
making a face is, by cutting out the eyes, nose, and
mouth for the sparks of the wheel to appear through *,
but instead of this face, you may have one painted on
oiled paper, or Persian silk, strained tight on a hoop ;
which hoop must be supported by three or four pieces of
wire at six inches distance from the wheel in the centre,
so that the light of it may illuminate the face. By this
method may be shown in the front of a sun, ^ ivat Bex,
cut in pasteboard, or Apollo painted on silk j but, for
a small collection, a sun with a single glory, and a wheel
in front, will be most suitable. Half pound cases, filled
ten inches with composition, will be a good size for a
sun of five feet diameter j but if larger, the cases must
6 be greater in proportion.
Three ver- Three Vertical Wheels illuminated, whichturn on t heir
tical wheels own Naves upon a horizontal Table.—A plan of this is
illumiua
ted.
shown by fig* 49- Let II be a fir table three feet in
diameter: this table must be fixed horizontally on the
‘ top of a post *, on this post must be a perpendicular iron
spindle, which must comethrougn the centre of the table:
then let A, B,C, be three spokes joined to a triangular
flat piece of wood, in the middle of which make a hole
to fit easily over the spindle : let E, F, G, be pieces of
wood, four or five inches long each, and two inches
square, fixed on the under sides of the spokes •, in these
pieces make holes lengthwise to receive the thin part of
the blocks of the wheels, which, when in, are prevented
from coming out by a small iron pin being run through
the end of each. K, L, M, are three vertical octagonal
wheels, 18 inches diameter each: the blocks of these
wheels must be long enough for three or four inches to
rest on the table ; round which part drive a number of
sharp points of wire, which must not project out of the
blocks more than i-i6th of an inch : the use of these
points is, that, when the blocks run round, they will
stick in the table, and help the wheels forward : it the
naves are made of strong wood, one inch will be enough
for the diameter of the thin part, which should be made
to turn easily in the holes of the pieces E, F, G. On
the front of the wheels make four or five circles of
strong wire, or flat hoops, and tie on them as many il_
-laminations as they will hold at two inches distant from
Cliap. j
each other: instead of circles, you may make spiral Variet
lines, clothed with illuminations, at the same distance of Co
from each other as those on the hoops. When illumi- stmcu
nations are fixed on a spiral line in the front of a wheel, ^J
they must be placed a little on the slant, the contrary
way from that in which the wheel runs ; the cases for
these wheels may be filled with any coloured charge,
but must burn only one at a time.
The wheels being thus prepared, you must have a
globe, crown, or spiral wheel, to put on the spindle in
the middle of the table : this spindle should be just long-
enough to raise the wheel of the globe, crown, or spi¬
ral wheel, so high that its fire may play over the three
vertical wheels : by this means their fires will not be
confused, nor will the wheels receive any damage from
the fire of each other. In clothing this work, let the
leaders be so managed, that all the wheels may light to¬
gether, and the illuminations after two cases of each
wheel are burned. ,,
Illuminated works are much admired by the Italians, IllumiiiE i
and indeed are a great addition to a collection of works : cliandeE
in a grand exhibition an illuminated piece should be
fired after every two or three wheels, or fixed pieces
of common and brilliant fires 5 and likewise illuminated
works may be made cheap, quick, and easy.
To make an illuminated chandelier, you must first
have one made of thin wood (see fig. 5o0' chan-
delier being made, bore in the front of the branches,
and in the body, and also in the crown at top, as many
holes for illuminations as they will contain at three
inches distance from each other : in these holes put il¬
luminations filled with white, blue, or brilliant charge.
Having fixed in the port-fires, clothe them with leaders,
so that the chandelier and crown may light together
The small circles on this figure represent the mouths of
the illuminations, which must project straight from the
front. . “H
To make a flaming star with brilliant wheels, you must ^
first have made a circular piece of strong wood about one
inch thick and two feet diameter? round this block fix
eight points, two feet six inches long each •, four of these
points must bestraightand four flaming : these points be¬
ing joined on very strong,and even with the surface of the
block, nail tin or pasteboard on their edges, from the
block to the end of each, where they must be joined ;
this tin must project in front eight inches, and be joined
where they meet at the block ; round the front of the
block fix four pieces of thick iron wire, eight inches
long each, equally distant from each other : this being
done, cut a piece of pasteboard round, two feet diame¬
ter, and draw on it a star, as may be seen in fig. 51. Cut^.J
out this star, and on the back of it paste oiled paper j
then paint each point halt red and half yellow, length¬
wise ; but the body of the star must be left open, where¬
in must run a brilliant wheel, made thus : Have a light
block turned nine inches long : at each end of it fix six
spokes •, at the end of each spoke put a two ounce case
of brilliant fire: the length of these cases must be in
proportion to the wheel, and the diameter of the wbee
when the cases are on must be a little less than the dia¬
meter of the body of the small star : the cases on the
spokes in front must have their mouths incline outwards,
and those on the inside spokes must be placed so as to
form a vertical circle of fire. When you place the
leaders, carry the first pipe from the tail of one of the
’ ' cases
:liap. II. PY.RO T
cas“.,n '‘'“"VV'f T0"11' of one of "'O -•'.side cases
fand, T tl,e tal1 “ , tl’»“ ano.lier in fro„e, a„a so ^
to all the cases. 1 he wheel be.ng made, ^ut it on a
spindle, m the centre of the star; thisspindl' must have
a Shoulder at bottom, to keep the wheel at a little dis-
tance from the block. '1 he wheel must be kept on the
spindle by a nut at the end; having fixed on the wheel
fasten the transparent star to the four pieces of wire •’
ween you fire it, you will only see a common horixontai
wheel; but when the first case is burnt out, it will fire
“,ne °f !,%Vnlt,'Ca ““a* ',l,!ch "ill «l»wthe transparent
star, and nil the large fumes and points with fire ; then
it will again appear like a common wheel, and so on for
E C H N Y. 5l
eaeh side of every star is placed a four ounce case of v*k
i i , i rt ounce case oi Ymu'i-uVu
b ack or gray charge ; these cases must he placed with of Co„
then mouths sidewise, so that their fires may cross each strucUon.
119
iected
1 .alited
tc with
ations.
12 charges
A regulated piece, if well executed, is as curious as
any in fire-works : it consists of fixed and moveable
pieces on one spindle, representing various figures
which take fire successively one from another, without
I a assi3taiice a^ter 1‘ghting the first mutation. See
* & fig- 53-
. CCLV. J* Names of the mutations, with the colour of fire
and size of the case belonging to each.
First mutation is a hexagon vertical wheel, illuminat¬
ed in front with small portfires tied on the spokes: this
wheel must be clothed with two ounce cases, filled with
black charge; the length of these cases is determined
by the size of the wheel, but must burn singly.
Second mutation is a fixed piece, called * golden glory
by reason of the cases being filled with spur-fire. The
cases must stand perpendicular to the block on which
they are fixed, so that, when burning, they may repx-esent
a g!my of fire. 'I his mutation is generally composed of
five or seven two ounce cases.
Third mutation is moveable \ and is only an octagon
veitical wheel, clothed with four ounce cases, filled with
brilliant charge : two of these cases must burn at a time.
In this wheel you may make changes of fire.
Fourth mutation is a fixed sun of brilliant fire, con¬
sisting of 12 four ounce cases ; the necks of these’cases
must be a little larger than those of four ounce wheel-
cases.. In this mutation may be made a change of fire,
by filling the cases half with brilliant charge, and half
with gray.
Fifth mutation is a fixed piece, called the porcupine"1 s
quills. This piece consists of x 2 spokes, standing per¬
pendicular to the block on which they are fixed j on
each of these spokes, near the end, must be placed a four
ounce case of brilliant fire. All these cases must incline
either to the right or left, so that they may all play one
Sixths mutation is a standing piece, called the cross¬
fire* Ihis mutation consists of eight spokes fixed in a
block ; near the end of each of those spokes must he tied
two four ounce cases of white charge, one across the
other, so that the fires from the cases on one spoke may
may intersect the fire from the cases on the other.
Seventh mutation is a fixed wheel, with two circular
fells, on which are placed 16 eight ounce cases of bril-
fiant fire, in the form of a star. This piece is called a
fixed star of wildfire.
Eighth mutation.—This is a beautiful piece, called a
brilliant star-piece. It consists of six spokes, which are
strengthened by two fells of a hexagon form, at some
distance from each other : at the end of each spoke, in
the front, is fixed a brilliant star of five points ; and on
Vol. XVII. Part II. ' f
Ninth mutation is a wheel-piece. This is composed
f n 1 % °n^ Sp°^es’ "’V11 a hexagon vertical wheel at the
nf ft.0 eaC,h : tht“f 'vheels run 011 sP*ndles in the front
•e spokes ; all the wheels are lighted together : two
ounce cases will do for these wheels, and may be filled
with any coloured charge.
II. Proportions of the mutations, with the method of
conveying the fire from one to the other, and the distance
at which they stand one from the other on the spindle.
. f mutation must be a hexagon vertical wheel,
14 inches diameter 5 on one side of the block, whose
diameter is two inches and a quarter, is fixed a tin bar¬
rel A (see fig. 53. N° 1.). This barrel must be a little
less in diameter than the nave ; let the length of the
barrel and block be six inches. Having fixed the cases
on the wheel, carry a leader from the "tail of the last
case into the tin barrel through a hole made on purpose,
two inches from the block j at the end of this leader
let there be about one inch or two of loose match, but
take care to secure well the hole wherein the pipe is
put, to prevent any sparks falling in, which would light
the second mutation before its time, and confuse the
whole.
Second mutation is thus made : Have a nave turned
two inches and a half diameter, and three long; then
let half an inch of that end which faces the first wheel
he turned so as to fit easy into the tin barrel of the first
mutation, which must turn round it without touching.
On the other end of the block fix a tin barrel Bt N° 2.
This barrel must he six inches long, and only half an
inch of it to fit on the block. Pound the nave fix five
spokes, one inch and a half long each ; the diameter of
the spokes must he equal to a two ounce former. On
these spokes put five seven inch two ounce cases of spur-
fire, and carry leaders from the mouth of one to the other,
that they may all light together. Then from the mouth
of one of the cases carry a leader through a hole bored
slantwise in the nave, from between the spokes, to the
front of the block near the spindle hole : the end of this
leader must project out of the hole into the barrel of the
first mutation, so that when the pipe which comes from
the end of the last case or. the first wheel flashes, it may
take fire, and light the second mutation. To commu¬
nicate the fire to the third mutation, bore a hole near
the bottom of one of the five cases to the composition,
and from thence carry a leader into a hole made in the
middle of the barrel B : this hole must be covered with
pasted paper.
Third mutation may be either an octagon or hexagon
wheel, 20 inches diameter; let the nave be three inches
and a quarter diameter, and three and a half in length;
one inch and a half of the front of the nave must be made
to fit in the barrel B. On the other end of the block fix
a tin barrel C, N° 3. This barrel must be six inches
and a half in length, one inch of which must fit over the
block. The cases of this wheel must burn two at a
time ; and from the mouths of the first two cases carry
a leader, through holes in the nave, into the barrel of
the second mutation, after the usual manner: but be¬
sides these leaders let a pipe go across the wheel from
the first case to the other; then from the tail of one of
4 B tW
the last cases carry a pipe into a hole m the
the barrel C: at the end of tins pipe let there be son
loose quick-match. , j„BrP;KPd
Fourth andfifth mutations.— These may be »«scr “ed
under one bead, as their naves are made of one pm.
which from E to F is 14 tnchc; E, a block
diameter, with , o or 12 short spokes on " are fixed
11 inch eight ounce cases: let the front ol tins block
be made to fit easily in the barrel C, and chithe 'he case
so that they may all light together j and let a pipe be
carried through a hole In the block into the barrel C,m
order to receive the fire from the leader °|IP; ^
the last case on the wheel. G is the nave 5
mutation j whose diameter must be four mches and a
half: in this nave fix io or 12 spokes, one loot and a
half in length each ; these spokes must stand seven
inches distant from the spokes of the 4th mutation ; and
at the end of each spoke tie a lour ounce case, as IV 5.
All these cases are to be lighted together, by a leader
brought from the end of one of the cases on IN 4. I^t
F and H be of the same piece of wood as F and G, but
as much thinner as possible, to make the work light.
Sixth and seventh mutations.—The blocks ot these
two mutations are turned out of one piece of wood, whose
length from F to V is 15 inches. L, a block five inches
diameter, in which are fixed eight spokes, each two ieet
four inches long-, at the end of each spoke tie two tour
ounce cases, as in N° 6. All these cases must be fired
at the same time, by a pipe brought from the em 0
one of the cases on the 5th mutation. Let the distance
between the spokes at L, and those in the 5th mutation,
be seven inches. M, the nave of the 7th mutation,
whose diameter must be five inches and a half: in this
nave fix eight spokes, and on the front of them two cir¬
cular fells, one of four feet eight inches diameter, and
one of three feet 11 diameter; on these fells tie 16 eight
ounce or pound cases, as in N° 7. and carry leaders
from one to the ether, so that they may be all fired to¬
gether. This mutation must be fired by a leader brought
from the tail of one of the cases on the 6th mutation.
Eighth and ninth mutations.—'The blocks of these
may be turned out of one piece, whose length from P
to D must be 12 inches. O, the block of the 8th mu¬
tation, which must be six inches diameter; and in it must
be fixed six spokes, each three feet in length, strengthen¬
ed by a hexagon fell within three or four inches of the
ends of the spokes: close to the end of each spoke, m
the front, fix a five-pointed brilliant star ; then seven
inches below each star tie two 10 inch eight ounce
cases, so that the upper ends of the cases may rest on the
fells, and their ends on the spokes. Each of these cases
mut he placed parallel to the opposite lell (see N° 8.)
NNN, &c. are the cases, and kkk, &c. the stars.
The 9th mutation is thus made : Let D be a block
seven inches diameter. In this block must he screwed six
spokes, six feet long each, with holes and grooves for
leaders, as those in the dodecahedron; at the end of each
spoke, in the front, fix a spindle for a hexagon vertical
wheel, 10 inches diameter, as in N° 9. When these
wheels are on, carry a leader from each into the block,
so that they may all meet ; then lead a pipe from the
end of one of the cases of the 8th mutation, through a
hole bored in the block D, to meet the leaders from the
vertical wheels, so that they may all be fired together.
The spindles ior larger pieces are required to be
PYROTECHNY. Chap. II,
made very strong, and exact as possible; for a piece 0! Varieties,
nine mutations, let the spindle he at the large end one »lc«n
Inch diameter, and continue that th.ckness as far as the
7th mutation ; and thence to the 5th, let its diameter be
three-fourths ot an inch ; from the fifth to the fourth,,
five-eighths of an inch ; from the fourth to the second halt
an inch; and from the second to the end three eighths of
an inch. At the small end must he a nut to keep on the
first wheel, and at the thick end must be a large nut, as
shown by the figure; so that the screw part of the spimfie
being put through a post, and a nnt screwed on tight, the
spindle will he held fast and steady : hut you are to ob¬
serve, that that part of the spindle on which the move¬
able pieces are to run, be made long enough lor the
wheels to run easy without sticking ; the fixed pieces be¬
ing made on different blocks, the leaders must he joined
after they are fixed on the spindle. The best method
of preventing the fixed mutations from moving on the
spindle, is to make that part of the spindle which goes
through them square; but as it would be difiicult to make
square holes through such long blocks as are sometimes
required, it will he best to make them thus : Bore a hole
a little larger than the diameter ot the spindle; and at
each end of the block, oyer the hole, fasten a piece of
brass with a square hole in it to fit the spindle. no
To make a horizontal wheel change to a vertical wheel Horizonu
with a sun in front.—The sudden change of this piece^j
is very pleasing; and gives great surprise to those who^
are not acquainted with the contrivance. A wheel tor
this purpose should be about three feet diameter, and its
fell circular: on which tie 16 half pound cases filled
witli brilliant charge : two of these cases must burn at a
time: and on each end of the nave must be a tin barrel
of the same construction as those on the regulated piece.
The wheel being completed, prepare the post or stand
thus: First have a stand made of any height, about
three or four inches square; then saw off from the top
a piece two feet long; this piece join again at the place
where it was cut wTth a hinge on one side, so that it
may lift up and down in the front of the stand ; then fix
on the top of the bottom part of the stand, on each side,
a bracket ; and these brackets must project at right
angles with the stand, one foot from the front, for the
short piece to rest on. These brackets must he placed
a little above the joint of the post, so that when the up¬
per stand falls, it may lie between them at right angles
with the bottom stand ; which may be done by fixing a
piece of wood, one foot long, between the brackets, and
even with the top of the bottom stand ; then, as the
brackets rise above the bottom stand, they will form a
channel for the short post to lie, and keep it steady
without straining the hinge. On the side of the shor
post, opposite the hinge, nail a piece of wood, of such a
length, that, when the post is perpendicular, it mav reacli
about one foot and a half down the long post; to which
being tied, it will hold the short stand upright 1 he
stand being thus prepared, in the top ol it fix a "'P1111 e
10 inches long: on this spindle put the wheel: then tix
on a brilliant sun with a single glory; the diameter 0
this sun mu-t be six indies less than that ot the v'Jt'e *
When von fire this piece, light the wheel first, a,'d le‘
it run horizontally till four cases aie consumed: the
from the end of the fourth case carry a leader into t ie
tin barrel that turns over the end of the stand, tu
leader must he met by another brought through the top
sap- A- P Y R O T
indies of tlie post, from a case filled with a strong port-fire
charge, and tied to the bottom post, with&its month
facing the packthread which holds up the stand; so that
when this case is lighted, it will burn the packthread,
and let the wheel fall forward, by which means it will
become vertical: then from the last case of the wheel,
carry a leader into the barrel next the sun, which will
begin as soon as the wheel is burnt out.
Grand volute illuminated with a projected wheel in
lit
land il-
;.liu ii- #   — ^ i LVricCl Til
jxinated front.—Yv^X have two hoops made of strong iron wire,
;
• 54'
h
ieT'1 tars.
' . l    “‘ uwwug nun sviir,
one of six feet diameter, and one of four feet two inches;
these hoops must be joined to scrolls A, A, A, &c. as
in fig. 54. These scrolls must be made of the same sort
of wire as the hoops ; on these scrolls tie, with iron-
binding wire, as many illuminating port-fires as they
will hold, at two inches distance; clothe these port-fires
with leaders, so that they may all take fire together.—
Then let C be a circular wheel of four spokes, three feet
six inches diameter ; and on its fell tie as many four
ounce cases, head to tail, as will complete the circle,
only allowing a sufficient distance between the cases’
that the fire may pass free; which may be done by cut¬
ting the upper part of the end of each case a little shelv¬
ing: on each spoke fix a four ounce case, about three
inches from the fell of the wheel: these cases are to burn
one at a time, and the first of them to begin with those
on the fell, of which four are to burn at a time ; so
that the wheel will last no longer than one-fourth of
the cases on the fell, which in number should be 16 or
20. On the front ol the wheel form a spiral line with
strong wire, on which tie port fires, placing them on a
slant, with their mouths to face the same way as the
cases on the wheel : all these port-fires must be fired
with the second cases of the wheel. Let D, D, D, &c.
be spokes of wood, all made to screw into a block in the
centre; each of these spokes may be in length about four
feet six inches ; in the top of each fix a spindle, and on
each spindle put a spiral wheel of eight spokes, such as
E, E, E, &c. I he blocks of these rvheels must have a
hole at top for the centre case, and the spindle must have
nuts screwed on their ends; which nuts should fit in the
holes at top of the blocks, so that all the wheels must
be put on before you fix in the centre cases : as some of
these wheels, from their situation, will not bear on the
nut, it will be necessary to have smooth shoulders made
on the spindles for the blocks to run on. The cases of
these wheels are to burn double ; and the method of fir¬
ing them, is by carrying a leader from each down the
spokes into the block in the centre, as in the dodecahe¬
dron, but the centre case of each wheel must begin with
the two last cases as usual. It is to be observed, that
the large circular wheel in front must have a tin barrel
on its block, into which a pipe must be carried from one
of the second cases on the wheel; this pipe being met by
another from the large block, in which the eight spokes
are screwed, will fire all the spiral wheels and the illu¬
minating port-fires at the same time. The cases of the
projected wheel may be filled with a white charge, and
those of the spiral wheels with a gray charge.
Let fig. be a smooth circular board six feet dia¬
meter : out of the middle of it cut a circular piece 1 2
or 14 inches diameter; and over the vacancy put white
Persian silk, on which paint a moon’s face : then let
I, I, I, &c. be stars, each four or five inches diameter,
«ut out with five points, and covered with oiled silk: on
E C H N Y. *
the front of the large circular board draw a seven point- Varieties
ed star as large as the circle will allow; then on the lines of Con-
which form this star boreholes, wherein fix pointed stars. ftruction.
M hen this case is to be fired, it must be fixed upon the
front of a post, on a spindle, with a wheel of brilliant
fire behind the face of the moon; so that while the wheel
burns, the moon and stars will appear transparent: and
when the wheel has burnt out, they will disappear, and
the large star in front, winch is formed of pointed stars,
will begin, being lighted by a pipe of communication
from the last case of the vertical wheel, behind the moon;
this pipe must be managed in the same manner as those
in regulated pieces.
Double cone-wheel illuminated.—This piece is repre- Double^
sented by fig. 56. Let A be a strong decagonal or ten-cone wheel
sided wheel, two feet six inches diameter; then on each i,lumiDa'
side ol it fix a cone B and C : these cones are to consist ^
of a number of hoops, supported by three or four pieces ^ 5
of wood, in the manner of the spiral wheels. Let the
height of each cone be three feet six inches; and on all
the hoops tie port-fires horizontally, with their mouths
outwards, and clothe the wheel with eight-ounce cases,
all to play horizontally, two at a time : the cones may
be fired with the first or second cases. The spindle for
this piece must go through both the cones, and rise three
feet above the point of the cone at top; so that its length
will be 10 feet four inches from the top of the post H,
in which it is fixed, allowing four inches for the thick¬
ness of the block of the wheel. The whole weight of
the wheel and cones must bear on a shoulder in the
spindle, on which the block of the wheel must turn 
Near the top of the spindle must be a hole in the front,
into which screw a small spindle, after the cones are on:
then on this small spindle fix a sun L), composed of six¬
teen nine inch four-ounce cases of brilliant fire ; which
cases must not be placed on a fell, but only stuck into a
block of six inches diameter: then in the front of this
sun must be a circular vertical wheel, 16 inches diameter;
on the front of this wheel form with iron-wire a spiral
line, and clothe it with illuminations after the usual me¬
thod. As this wheel is not to be fired till the cones are
burnt out, the method of firing it is this : Let the hole
in the block, at the top of the uppermost cone, be a lit¬
tle larger than the spindle which passes through it.
Then, from the first case of the vertical wheel before the
sun, carry a leader down the side of the spindle to the
top of the block of the horizontal wheel, on which must
be a tin barrel: then this leader being met by another
brought from the end of the last case of the horizontal
wheel, will give fire to the vertical wheel as soon as the
cones are extinguished : but the sun D must not be fired
till the vertical wheel is quite burned out.
Cases for fire pumps are made as those for tourbil- Fire put mi,-.
Ions ; only they are pasted, instead of being rolled dry. P P>‘
Having rolled and dried the cases, fill them : first put
in a little meal-powder, and then a star; on which ram
lightly a ladleful or tw7o of composition, then a little
meal-powder, and on that a star, then again composi¬
tion ; and so on till the cases are filled. Stars for fire
pumps should not be round; but must be made either
square, or Hat and circular, with a hole through the mid¬
dle : the quantity of powder for throwing the stars must
increase near the top of the case ; for, if much powder
be put at the bottom, it will burst the case. The stars
must differ in size in this manner: Let the star which is
4 B 2 pnt
I.a5,
Vertical
scroll
■wheel,
fig- 57-
125
Fire-globe
p Y R O T
rut in first be about a quarter less than tbe bore of tbe
Lse but let tbe next 'star be a little arger, and the
third star a little larger than the second, and so on. let
them increase in diameter till within two oi he top ol
the case, which two must fit in tight. As the loading
of fire-pumps is rather difficult, it wil be necessary to
make two or three trials before depending on their per¬
formance : when you fill a number of pumps, take caie
not to put in each an equal quantity ot charge between
tbUxs, so that when they are bred, they may no
throw up too many stars together. Cases for fire-pumps
should be made very strong, and rolled on iotu 01 ig
ounce formers, 10 or 12 inches long each.
A vertical scroll wheel may he made of any diameter,
hut must be constructed as in fig. 57- to do which pro¬
ceed thus : Have a block made of a moderate size, in
which fix four flat spokes, and on them fix a flat circu¬
lar fell of wood •, round the front of this fell place port¬
fires ; then on the front of the spokes lorm a scroll, ei¬
ther with a hoop or strong iron wire-, on this scroll tie
cases of brilliant fire, in proportion to the wheel, head
to tail, as in the figure. When you fire this wheel,
light the first case near the fell; then, as the cases fire
successively, the circle of fire will gradually diminish j
but whether the illuminations on the fell begin with the
scroll or not, is immaterial. #
N. B. This wheel may be put in the Iront ot a re¬
gulated piece, or fired by itself, occasionally.
• There are two sorts vifire-globes; one with projected
cases-, the other with the cases concealed. For the latter
have a globe made of wood, of any diameter, and divide
the surface of it into 14 equal parts, and at each division
bore a hole perpendicular to the centre: these holes
must be in proportion to the cases intended to be used :
in every hole, except one, put a case filled with brilliant
or any other charge, and let the mouths ot the cases be
even with the surface of the globe } then cut in the globe
a groove, from the mouth of one case to the other, tor
leaders which must be carried from case to case, so that
thev mav all be fired together this done, cover the
globe with a single paper, and paint it. These globes
may be used to ornament a building.
Fire-globes with projected cases are made thus: the
globe being made with 14 holes bored in it as usual, fix
in every hole except one, a case, and let each case pro¬
ject from the globe two-thirds of its length ; then clothe
all the cases with leaders, so that they may all take fire
at the same time. Fire-globes are supported by a pintle,
made to fit the hole in which there is no case,
wicuiin* of Nothing adds more to the appearance of fire-works
placing fire-t|ian p]acing them properly, though this chiefly depends
wo.ks io beon the jU(|gment 0f the maker. The following are the
rules generally observed, whether the works are .o he
fired on a building or on stands : if they are a double
set, place one wheel of a sort on each side of the build¬
ing j and next to each of them, towards the centre,
place a fixed piece, then wheels, and so on ; leaving a
sufficient distance between them for the fire to play from
one without burning the other. Having fixed some ot
the works thus in front, place the rest behind them, in
the centre of their intervals : The largest piece, which
is generally a regulated or transparent piece, must be
placed in the centre of the building, and behind it a sun,
which must always stand above all the other works. A
little, before the building, or stands, place the large
E C H N Y.
Chap. II
gerbes -, and at the back of the works six marroon bat- Varieties
teries, pots dcs aigrettes, pots ties brim, pots ties sau- ofCon.
cissons, air-balloons, and flights of rockets : the rocket > ld(^
stands may be fixed behind, or anywhere else, so as not
to be in the way of the works.
Single collections are fired on stands-, which are made
in the same manner as theodolite stands, only the top
part must be long or short occasionally : these stands
may be fixed up very soon without much trouble.
T/ie following order of Firing will serve as a specimen
oj the Plan to be pursued in an exhibition oj Fn e~
works.
1. Two signal
2. Six sky rockets
3. Two honorary
4. Four caduceus _
y -> r vertical
6. [- Two 4 spiral _
7. j transparent stars
8. A line rocket of five changes
Four tourhillons
I
wheels illuminated
f horizontal wheels
air balloons illuminated
J Chinese fountains
I regulating pieces of four mutations each
\_pots des aigrettes
127
Method of
9
10
u. I
12. ^ Two
13- I
14- J -
1 ?. Three large gerbes
16. A flight of rockets
17* C balloon wheels
18. 5 t cascades of brilliant fire
19. Twelve sky rockets
20. 7 'V V illuminated yew trees
2T. ^ lw0 | air-balloons of serpents and two compound
22. Four tourbillons
7 CFruiloni yvheels
24. ^w0 ^illuminated globes with horizontal wheek
25. One pot des sauctssons
26. Two plural wheels
27. Marroon battery
28. Two chandeliers illuminated
29. Range oi pots des brins
30. Twelve sky-rockets
31. Two yew-trees of fire
32. Nest of serpents
33. Two double cones illuminated
34. Regulating piece of seven mutations, vi®»
1. Vertical wheel illuminated
2. Golden glory
3. Octagon vertical wheel
4. Porcupine’s quills
5. Cross fires
6. Star-piece with brilliant rays
7. Six vertical wheels
35. Brilliant sun
36. Large flight of rockets.
When water-works are to be exhibited, divide then®
into several sets, and fire one set after every fifth or sixth
change of land and air-works. Observe this rule m
firing a double set of works : Always begin with sky¬
rockets, then two moveable pieces, then two fixed pieces,
and so on -, ending with a large flight of rockets, or a
marroon battery : if a single collection, fire a fixed
piece after every wheel or two, and now and then some
air and water-works.
lap.
IT- P Y R O T
rieties Fig. 58. represents a fountain of 30 rockets. Let A
con- be a perpendicular post, 16 feet high from the ground
cti0n', a»d 4 inches square. Let the rail, or cross piece c’
Z b,e. 01ne s,x incl,es lonfer» ti,ree inches broad, and one
ttain of thick. Ihe rail 1), at bottom, must be six feet long,
•ockets.one foot broad, and one inch thick. F and G are the
5s- two sides which serve to supply the rails 1) E FI f C ■
these sides are one foot broad at bottom, and’cut’in the
front with a regular slope, to three inches at top; but
their back edges must be parallel with the front of the
pots A. The breadth of the rails E, H, I, will be de¬
termined by the breadth of the sides : all the rails must
be lixed at two feet distance from each other, and at
right angles with the pots, Having placed the rails
thus, bore in the bottom rail ic holes, at equal distances,
large enough to receive the stick of a one pound rock¬
et . in l he back edge of this rail cut a groove from one
end to the other, lit to contain a quick-match j then
cut a groove in the top of the rail, from the edge of
each hole, into the groove in the hack : in the same
manner cut in the second rail, E,eight holes andgrooves j
in the third rail, H, six holes and grooves; in the fourth
rail, I, four holes and grooves; and in the top rail, two
holes and grooves. B, a rail with holes in it to guide
the ends ol the rocket sticks ; this rail must he fixed six
feet from the rail D. The fountain frame being thus
made, prepare the rockets thus: Tie round the mouth of
eachapieceot thin paper, large enough togo twice round,
and to project about an inch and a half from the mouth
of the rocket, which must be rubbed with wet meal-
powder; in the mouth of each rocket put a leader, which
secure well with the paper that projects from the mouth
ofthe case: these leaders must be carried into the grooves
m the back of the rails, in which lay a quick-match
from one end to the other, and cover it with pasted
papei . holes must be made in the rail 1), to receive the
ends of the sticks of the rockets in the rail E, and so on
to the fourth rail; so that the sticks of the rockets at
top may go through all the rails. The rockets being
so prepared, fix a gerbe, or white flower-pot, on eachrail^
belore the post, with its mouth inclininga little forwards:
these gerbes must be lighted all at once. Behind or be¬
fore each gerbe, fix a case of brilliant or slow fire : these
cases must be filled so that they may burn out one after
the other, to regulate the fountain ; which may be done
by carrying a leader from the end of each slow or bril¬
liant fire, into the groove in the back of each rail. Dif¬
ferent fixed rockets may be used in these fountains: but
it will he best to fill the heads of the rockets on each
rail with different sorts of things, in this manner; those
at top with crackers, the next with rains, the third
with serpents, the fourth with tailed stars, and the last
night with common or brilliant stars.
1 he piece called a palm tree, though made of com¬
mon fires, and of a simple construction, has a very plea¬
sing effect; from the fires intersecting so often, that
they resemble the branches of trees. Let A (fig. 59.)
PtrPenflicnlar poit, of any thickness, so that it be
sufficiently strong to hold the cases ; let the distance
from B to C be two feet six indies, and from C to D
two feet six inches, and let the length of each cross¬
piece 1) two feet; on each end of each fix a five-point¬
ed star : then fix, on pegs made for the purpose, twelve
inch hall-pound cases ol brilliant fire, as in the figure.
E C H N Y.
565
All the cases and stars must be fired at once This v- • .•
piece should be fixed high from the ground* of Con-
An illuminated pyramid, with Archimedian screws, a struction.
globe, and vertical sun, may be of any size. One made ' v *
according to the dimensions of fig. 60. will he of a good llluj^n°alcA
proportion, whose height is 21 feet ; from C to D, six pyramid
leet; from L to i', nine feet: the space between the
rails must be six inches, and the rails as thin as possible : p,atc
m aH the rails stick portfires at four inches distance. CCCCLVL
Ihe Archimedian screw's, G, K, are nothing more than
double spiral wheels, with the cases placed on their
wheels horizontally instead of obliquely. The vertical
sun, I, need not consist ol more than 12 rays, to form
a single glory. The globe at top must be made in pro-
poition to the pyramid ; which being prepared accord-
ing to the preceding directions, place the leaders so that
all the illuminating portfires, screws, globe, and sun,
may take fire together. The pyramid must be support¬
ed by the two sides, and by a support brought from a
pole, which must be placed two feet from the back of
tne pyramid, that the wheels may run freely.
1 A rose-piece may be used for a mutation of a regu- Rose pkc*
fated piece, or fired by itseli : it makes the best appear-and sun.
ance when made large; if its exterior diameter be six*^ 6l’
feet, it will be ot a good size. Fig. 61. shows the man¬
ner ,n which it appears before it is fired. Let the outer
fell be made of wood, and supported by four wooden
spokes: all the other parts, on which the illuminations
are fixed, must be made of strong iron wire: on the
outer fell place as many half-pound cases of brilliant
charge as you think proper, but the more the better;
lor the nearer the cases are placed, the stronger will be
the rays ; the illuminations should he placed within
three inches of each other : they must all be fired toge¬
ther, and burn some time before the sun is lighted:,
winch may be done by carrying a leader from the mid¬
dle of one of the illuminations, to the mouth of one of
the sun cases.
1' ig. 62. represents an illuminated star. Let the dia- Transpa-
meter from A to B be two feet, and from C to D seven rcnt stars
feet. First make a strong circular back or body of the with iliumi~
star, two feet diameter, to which fix the illuminated^/^
rays: in the centre of the front of the body fix a spindle,
on which put a double triangular wheel, six inches dial
meter, clothed with two ounce cases of brilliant charge:,
the cases on this wheel must burn but one at a time.
Bound the edge of the body, nail a hoop made of thin
wood or tin : this hoop must project in front six or seven
inches ; in this hoop cut three or four holes to let out
the smoke from the wheel. The star and garter may
be cut out of strong pasteboard or tin, made in this
manner: Cut a round piece of pasteboard or tin, two
feet diameter, on which draw a star, and cut it out;
then oyer the vacancy paste Persian silk ; paint the let¬
ters yellow ; four ofthe rays yellow, and four red ; the
cross in the middle may be painted half red and half ’
yellow, or yellow and blue. This transparent star must
be fastened to the wooden hoop by a screw, made so as
to take off and on ; the illuminated rays are made of
thin wood, with tin sockets fixed on their sides within
four inches of each other ; in these sockets stick illu¬
minating portfires : behind the point of each ray fix a
half-pound case ot gray, black, or Chinese fire.
N. B. The illuminated rays are to be lighted at the
s« • ■ I7!,?T
?£:■ r; “z&SsX XtiasS
struction. the wheel, after the manner of those in the regulate
*     pieces. Into this barrel carry a leader from the lUunn-
nated rays, through the back of the star and this lead-
er must be met by another, brought from the tail of the
T., last case on the wheel.
Fl* 63. represents a iM star, whose .hameter from
rent iliumi- £ to F, is 12 feet j and from E to I, four feet. Ini
nated table pt0pOrt,on, observed on each side, will make the centre
frame four feet square : in this square fix a transparent
S 3' star, as in the figure. This star may he painted hhie
and its rays made as those of the flaming stars descri lee
before. The wheel for this star may be composed of
different coloured fires, with a charge or two ot slow
fire •, the wheels a, a,«, a, may be clothed with any
number of cases, so that the star-wheel consist of the
same: the illuminating portfires, which must be placed
very near each other on the frames, must be so managed
as to burn as long as the wheels, and lighted at the
.. same time. . . ,
Regulated T/ie regulatedilhmnnatecl spiral piece, wi th a projected
Illuminated star-wheel illuminated, is represented by fig. 64. and is
spiral piece. t|ius made. Have a block made eight inches diameter j
Jig. 64. screw six iron spokes, which must serve foi
spindles for the spiral wheels : these wheels are made an
usual, each one foot and a half diameter, and three feet
in height: the spindles must be long enough to keep the
wheels four or five inches from one another : at the end
of each spindle must be a screw-nut, on which the wheels
that hang downwards will run 5 and on the spindles
which stand upwards must be a shoulder, for the blocks
of the wheels to run on.
The projected star-wheel must turn on the same
spindle on which the large block is fixed } this spindle
must be long enough to allow’ the star-wheel to projecc.
a little before the spiral wheels : the exterior diameter
of the star-wheel must he three feet five inches. On
this wheel fix three circles of iron wire, and on them
portfires •, on the block place a transparent star, or a large
five-pointed brilliant star. The cases on this wheel may
burn four at once, as it will contain nearly twice the
number of one of the spiral wheels : the cases on the
spiral wheels must be placed parallel to their fells, and
burn two at a time.
Illuminated A figure piece illuminated with five-pointed stars.—
figure piece. The construction of this piece is very easy, as shown by
6S’ fig* 6 ?. whose diameter from B to C is eight feet, and
from D to F two feet: the vertical wheel in the centre
must be one foot diameter, and consist of six four-ounce
cases of different coloured charge, which cases must burn
double : on the frames fix five-pointed brilliant or blue
stars, rammed four inches with composition : let the
space between each star be eight inches; at each point
fix a gerbe, or case of Chinese fire. When to be fired,
let the gerbe, stars, and wheel, be lighted at the same
time.
Illuminated The star-wheel illuminated, is shown by fig. 66. Its
star wheel, exterior fell is made of wood, three feet six inches or
Fig* 66. |*eej. ti;ameter . -within this fell, form with iron
wire three circles, one less than the other, so that the
’ diameter of the least may be about 10 inches: place
the portfires on these fells with their mouths inclining
outwards, and the portfires on the points of the star
with their mouths projecting in front 5 let the exterior
E C H N Y.
Chap. |j
fell be clothed with four-ounce cases of gray charge: Varie,
these cases must burn four at a time, and be lighted at of Ccj
the same time as the illuminations. ;ui)i jf|
Pyramid offiowcr-pols is represented at fig. 67. and
made thus. Let the distance from A to B be six feet-, Pyramlf
and from one rail to the other, two : on the bottom rail flower-,J„
fix five paper mortars, each three inches and a half dia-tih,()1|
meter } these mortars load with serpents, crackers, stars,
&.C.
In the centre of each mortar fix a case of spur-fire,
on the second rail fix four mortars, so as to stand exactly
in the middle of the intervals of those on the bottom
rail; on the third rail place three mortars; on the
fourth, two ; and on the top of the posts, 1 ; the bot¬
tom rail must be six feet long : all the mortars must in¬
cline a little forwards, that they may be easily dischar¬
ged ; and the spur-fires rammed exactly alike, that the
mortars may all be fired at the same time. Having pre¬
pared the pyramid according to the preceding directions,
carry pipes of communication from one spur-fire to the
other. .
Fig 68 represents one half of the illuminated regu- Illumi:. d
kiting piece.—A, A, A, A, are flat wooden spokes, eachreeuto I
five feet long: at the end ot each place a vertical wheel, _ ^
10 inches diameter, clothed with six four-ounce cases of pl
brilliant fire : these cases must burn but one at a time:CCCCL |
on two of the spokes of each wheel place two portfires,
which must be lighted with the first case of the wheel:
on each spoke A, A, &c. behind the wheels, place six
cases of the same size with those on the wheels : these
cases must be tied across the spokes with their mouthsall
one way, and be made to take fire successively one after
the other, so that they may assist the whole piece to turn
round.
The diameter of the large wheel must be two feet
and a half; and its fell made of wood, which must be
fixed to the large spokes : on this wheel place 24 cases
of the same sort with those on the small wheels; these
cases must burn four at a time : in this wheel make
three circles with iron wire, and on them place illumi¬
nating portfires, as in the figure : the star-points on the
large spokes may be made of thin ash-hoops ; the diame¬
ter of these points close to the centre-wheel must be 11
inches : on these points place portfires, at three inches
and a half distance one from the other.
Fig. 69. represents the blocks of this piece. The dia- Figf
meters of these blocks, at A and B, must be eight
inches; and C and II, four inches and a half, tie
length of each of those blocks must be six inches : at
the small ends ot these blocks fix an iron wheel, ve
inches diameter, and th^se wheels must have teeth, to
turn the rvlieel E : this wheel is fixed on a small spindle
screwed into the large spindle, which goes through the
two blocks, and on which they run.
Supposing fig. 68. to be on the block A, in fig. 9*
and to turn to the right, and another piece of the same
construction on the block B, with its fires placed so as
to turn it to the left ; you will find them move very
true and fast, by the help of the three iron wheels,
which serve to regulate their motions, as well as to as¬
sist them in turning : let the iron circles in the front ot
the great wheels be of different diameters, so that w
fired there may appear six circles. When this piece is
fired all the wheels and illuminations must be lighted at
one time. . ,.
Ayuatit
, If.
ap.
II.
PYROTECHNY.
uatio
works
39
■P
Vir-roc
k
Kp )f
eoi ■ ni-
cati for
mts
Horntal
wtii
Aquatic Fireworks.
Works that sport in the water are much esteemed by
most admirers of fireworks, particularly water-rockets:
and as they seem of a very extraordinary nature to those
who are unacquainted with this art, they merit a parti¬
cular explanation. 1
Water-rockets, may be made from four ounces to two
pounds. If larger, they are too heavy j so that it will
be difficult to make them keep above water without a
cork float, which must be tied to the neck of the case'-
but the rockets will not dive so well with as without
floats.
Cases for these are made in the same manner and pro¬
portion as sky-rockets, only a little thicker of paper.
When you fill those which are driven solid, put in first
one ladleful of slow fire, then two of the proper charge
and on that one or two ladles of sinking charge, then
the proper charge, then the sinking charge again, and
so on, till you have filled the case within three diame¬
ters ; then drive on the composition one ladleful of clay;
through which make a small hole to the charge ; then
fill the case* within half a diameter, with corn powder,
on which turn down two or three rounds of the case in
the inside; then pinch and tie the end very tight; hav¬
ing filled the rockets (according to the above direc¬
tions), dip their ends in melted rosin or sealing-wax, or
else secure them well with grease. When you fire those
rockets, throw in six or eight at a time ; but, if you
would have them all sink, or swim, at the same time,
you must fill them with an equal quantity of composi¬
tion, and fire them altogether.
Fipes of communication, which may be used under
water, must be a little thicker in the paper than those
for land. Having rolled a sufficient number of pipes,
and kept them till dry, wash them over with drying oil)
and set them to dry ; hut when you oil them, leave’
about an inch and a half at each end dry, for joints ;
as if they were oiled all over, when you come to join
them, the paste would not stick where the paper is
greasy; after the leaders are joined, and the paste dry,
oil the joints. These pipes will lie many hours under
water, without receiving anv damage.
To make horizontal wheels for the water, first net a
large wooden howl without a bandit ; then have an
eight-sided wheel made of a flat board 18 inches diame¬
ter, so that the length of each side may he near seven-
inches : in all the sides cut a groove for the cases to lie
in. This wheel being made, nail it on the top of the
bowl ; then take four eight-ounce cases, filled with a
proper charge, each about six inches in length. Now,
to clothe the wheel with these cases, get some whitish-
brown paper, and cut it into slips four or five inches
broad and seven or eight long: these slips being pasted
all over on one side, take one of the cases, and roll one
of the slips of paper about an inch and a half on its end,
so that there will remain about two inches and a half of
the paper hollow from the end of the case: tie this case
on one of the sides of the wheel, near the corners of
which must he holes bored, through which put the pack¬
thread to tie the cases: having tied on the first case at
the neck and end, put a little meal powder in the hol¬
low paper ; then paste a slip of paper on the end of an¬
other case, the head of which put into the hollow paper
on the first, allowing a sufficient distance from the tail
567
of one to the head of the other for the pasted paper to Aquatic
bend without tearing: tie on the second case as you did Fireworks,
the first: and so on with the rest, except the last, which '
must be closed at the end, unless it is to communicate
to any thing on the top of the wheel, such as fire-pumps
or brilliant fires, fixed in holes cut in the wheel, and
fired by the last or second case, as the fancy directs:
six, eight, or any number, may be placed on the top
of the wheel, provided they be not too heavy for the
bowl. J
Before tying on the cases, cut the upper part of all
their ends, except the last, a little shelving, that the fire
from one may play over the other, without being ob¬
structed by the case. AVheel cases have no clay drove
in their ends, nor pinched, but are always left open, on¬
ly the last, or those which are not to lead fire, which
must be well secured.
lor water mines you must have a bowl with a wheel Water
on it, made in the same manner as the water-wheel; on-nlineiii•
ly in its middle there must be a hole, of the same dia¬
meter as that of the intended mine. These mines are
tin pots, with strong bottoms, and a little more than
two diameters in length : the mine must be fixed in the
hole in the wheel, with its bottom resting on the bowl *
, loa(1£d ^ith serpents, crackers, stars, small water-
rockets, <xc« in the same manner as pots of aigrettes ;
but in their centre fix a case of Chinese fire, or a small
gerbe, which must he lighted at the beginning of the
last case on the wheel. These wheels are to be clothed
as usual.
Bowls for water-globes must be very large, and the Flre-tfobes
icels on them of ten sides ; on each side nail a piece for the wa-
oy wood four inches long; and on the outside of eachUr*
piece cut a groove, wide enough to receive about one-
iourth of tne thickness of a four-ounce case: these pieces
of wood must be nailed in the middle of each face of
the wheel, and fixed in an oblique direction, so that the
hre from the cases may incline upwards: the wheel be-
ing thus prepared, tie in each groove a four-ounce case
filled with a gray charge; then carry a leader from the
tail of one case to the mouth of the other.
Globes for these wheels are made of two tin hoops
with their edges outwards, fixed one within the other
at right angles. The diameter of these hoops must be
rather less than that of the wheel. Having made the
globe drive in the centre of a wheel an iron spindle
which must stand perpendicular, and its length four or
six inches more than the diameter of the globe.
The spindle serves for an axis, on which is fixed the
globe, which must stand four or six inches from the
wheel : round one side of each hoop must be soldered
little bits of tin, two inches and a half distance from
each other; which pieces must be two inches in leno-th
each, and only fastened at one end, the other ends be¬
ing left loose, to turn round the small portfires, and hold
them on: these portfires must be made of ‘■uch a length
as will last out the cases on the wheel. There need not
be any portfires at the bottom of the globe within four
mebes of the spindle; as they would have no effect, but
to burn the wheel: all the portfires must be placed’per¬
pendicularly from the centre of the tdobe, with their
mouths outwards ; and must be clothed with leaders so
as ad to take fire with the second case of the wheel -
and the cases mmt burn two at a time, one opposite the
other. When two cases of a wheel begin together, two
will
S68
loons.
p Y R O T
Anintic "ill end together j tlierefore the two opposite end cases
rfreworks. must have their ends pinched and secured from fire.
‘   ' method of firing such wheels is, by carrying a leader
from the mouth of one of the first cases to tha
other •, and the leader being burnt through the middle,
„ wiH jrive fire to both at the same time.
Odoriferous Odoriferous water balloons are made in the same man-
water-bal- npr as air balloons, but very thin of paper, and in dia¬
meter one inch and three-fourths, with a vent of halt an
inch diameter. The shells being made, and quite dry,
fill them with any of the following compositions, which
must he rammed in tight : these balloons must be fired
at the vent, and put into a bowl of water. Odoriferous
works are generally fired in rooms.
Composition I. Saltpetre two ounces, flour of sulphur
one ounce, camphor half an ounce, yellow amber ha t
an ounce, charcoal-dust three-fourths of an ounce, salt
of benjamin half an ounce, all powdered very fine and
well mixed.
II. Saltpetre 12 ounces, meal-powder three ounces,
frankincense one ounce, myrrh half an ounce, camphor
half an ounce, charcoal three ounces, all moistened wit i
the oil of spike.
III. Saltpetre two ounces, sulphur half an ounce, an-
timony half an ounce, amber half an ounce, cedar rasp¬
ings one-fourth of an ounce, all mixed with the oil of
roses and a few drops of bergamot.
IV. Saltpetre four ounces, sulphur one ounce, saw¬
dust of juniper half an ounce, saw-dust of cypress one
ounce, camphor one-fourth of an ounce, myrrh two
drams, dried rosemary one-fourth of an ounce, all moist¬
ened a little with the oil of roses.
N. B. Water-rockets may be made with any of the
above compositions, with a little alteration, to make
them weaker or stronger, according to the size of the
cases.
Having procured four or five small ships, of two or
three feet in length, make a number of small reports,
which are to serve for guns. Of these range as many as
you please on each side of the upper decks •, then at the
head and stern of each ship fix a two-ounce case, eight
inches long, filled with a slow portfire composition •, but
take care to place it in such a manner that the fire may
fall in the water, and not burn tbe rigging : in these
cases bore holes at unequal distances from one another,
hut make as many in each case as half the number of
reports, so that one case may fire the guns on one side,
and the other those on the opposite. The method ot
firing the guns is, by carrying a leader from the holes
in the cases to the reports on the decks *, you must make
these leaders very small, and be careful in calculating
the burning of the slow fire in the regulating cases, that
more than two guns be not fired at a time. When you
would have a broadside given, let a leader be carried to
a cracker, placed on the outside of the ship} which
cracker must be tied loose, or the reports will be too
slow: in all the ships put artificial guns at the port¬
holes (a).
Having filled and bored holes in two portfires for
146
.A sea-fight
with small
;ships and
a fire-ship.
E C H N Y. Chap.
regulating the guns in one ship, make all the rest exact- AqJ
ly the same •, then, when you begin the engagement, Fire¬
light one ship first, and set it a sailing, and so on with
the rest, sending them out singly, which will make them
fire regularly, at different times, without confusion ; for
the time between the firing of each gun will be equal to
that of lighting the slow fires.
The fire-ship may be of any size; and need not be
very good, for it is always lost in the action. 'Io pre¬
pare a ship lor this purpose, make a portfire equal in size
with those in the other ships, and place it at the stern j
in every port place a large portfire, filled with a very
strong composition, and painted in imitation ot a gun,
and iet them all he fired at once by a leader from the
slow fire, within two or three diameters of its bottom j
all along both sides, on the top of the upper deck, lay
star-composition about halt an inch thick and one broad,
which must be wetted with thin size, then primed with
meal-powder, and secured from fire by pasting paper
over it ; in the place where you lay this composition,
drive some little tacks with flat heads, to hold it fast to
the deck : this must be fired just after the sham guns,
and when burning will show a flame all round the ship:
at the head take up the decks, and put in a tin mortar
loaded with crackers, which mortar must be fired by a
pipe from the end of the slow fire ; the firing of this
mortar will sink the ship, and make a pretty conclusion.
The regulating portfire of this ship must be lighted at
the same time with the first fighting ship..
Having prepared all the ships for fighting, we shall
next proceed with the management of them when on
the water. At one end of the pond, just under the sur¬
face of the water, fix two running blocks, at what dis¬
tance you choose the ships should fight ; and at the
other end of the pond, opposite to each of these blocks,
under the water, fix a double block j then on the land,
by each of the double blocks, place two small wind¬
lasses 5 round one of them turn one end of a small cord,
and put the other end through one of the blocks; then
carry it through the single one at the opposite end ot
the pond, and" bring it back through the double block
again, and round the other windlass : to this cord, near
the double block, tie as many small strings as half the
number of the ships, at any distance •, but these strings
must not be more than two feet long each : make fast
the loose end of each to a ship, just under her bowsprit',
for if tied to the keel, or too near the water, it will
overset the ship. Half the ships being thus prepared,
near the other double block fix two more windlasses, to
which fasten a cord, and to it tie the other half of the
ships as before : when you fire the ships, pull in the cord
with one of the windlasses, to get all the ships together j
and when you have set fire to the first, turn that wind¬
lass which draws them out, and so on with the rest, ti
they are all out in the middle of the pond ; then, by turn¬
ing the other windlass, you will draw them back again ;
by1 which method you may make them change sides, and
tack about backwards and forwards at pleasure, tor
the fire ship fix the blocks and windlasses between the
(a) Reports for these and similar occasions are made, by filling small cartridges with grained pou cr ■, p1
ing them close at each end, and, when used, boring a hole in the side, to which is placed a match or ca er
jflring them.- 5
PYROTECHNY.
PLATE CCCCLH
\
Fielding sculp?
P'iff. Jfi.
{
fur. IS.
fur.^ 17.
fu.
fir/. 2.
♦
. 19.
ficr. 8.
fiff. JO.
b
fi#. 14.
fio. //.
fir,. 4.
7.
I
/
i
K M '■«( ^ 'ft
PYROTECHNY.
jEjtfifcAsl/ ’Scit/fi
I’VROTECJIXV.
PLATE CCrCL/l
F^.40. Sk,.*/
v
PYROTECH^y.
SjLA'J’E ccccza
E Mfc/,,///,■'„//,
Pyrotechny.
/ 7/;-rrccL jy.
Fig. GO.
Fig. G2:
Fig. 6 <5.
Fig. 0'S.
Fig 66 .
Fig. 6/
-E'-A/r f o/iy?// ^
Fi&. 6y.
I’VUOT kciiny
Pl a TE CL L'CL I u.
Fig. 7c.
ClwP' 1T- PYROTECHNY.
Aquatic (’t‘'iers 5 so "’lien she sails out, she will be between
,0cket* ua
watui'.
14?
if. 7*
... , .   » ",v' >v,“ ue uetween
fireworks the other ships : you must not let this ship advance till
--^v ' the guns at her ports take fire.
ted.- T;‘-Iirc skV rockets under water, yon must have stamls
made as iisual, only the rails must be placed flat instead
of edgewise, and have holes in them lor the rocket-
sticks to go through ; lor il they were hung upon hooks
the motion of the water would throw them off- the*
stands being made, if the pond is deep enough,’ sink
them at the sides so deep, that, when the rockets are
in, their heads may just appear above the surface of the
water 5 to the mouth of each rocket fix a leader, which
put through the hole with the stick ; then a little above
the water must be a board, supported by the stand, and
placed along one side of the rockets ; then the ends of
the leaders are turned up through holes made in this
board, exactly opposite the rockets. By this means
you may fire them singly or all at once. Rockets may
he fired by this method in the middle of a pond, by a
Neptune, a swan, a water-wheel, or any thing else you
^ choose. ' J
Teptane in ^ To represent Neptune in his chariot, you must have a
ueJianot. Neptune (made of wood, or basket work) as big as life,
fixed on a float large enough to bear his weight ; on
which must be two horses heads and necks, so as°to seem
swimming, as shown by fig. 70. For the wheels of the
chariot, tliere must be two vertical wheels of black fire,
and on Neptune’s head a horizontal wheel of brilliant
fire, with all its cases, to play upwards. When this
wheel is made, cover it with paper or pasteboard, cut
and painted like Neptune’s coronet; then let the trident
be made without prongs, but instead of them, fix three
cases of a weak gray charge, and on each horse’s head
put an eight ounce case of brilliant fire, and on the
mouth of each fix a short case, of the same diameter,
filled with the white-flame composition enough to last
out all the cases on the wheels ; these short cases must
be open at bottom, that they may light the brilliant
fires; for the horses eyes put small portfires, and in each
nostril put a small case half filled with gray charge, and
the rest with portfire composition.
If Neptune is to give fire to any building on the wa¬
ter ; at his first setting out, the wheels of the chariot,
and that on his head, with the white flames on the
horses heads, and the portfires in their eyes and nostrils,
must all be lighted at once ; then from the bottom of
the white flames carry a leader to the trident. As Nep¬
tune is to advance by the help of a block and cord, you
must manage it so as not to let him turn about, till the
brilliant fires on the horses and the trident begin ; for
it is by the fire from the horses (which plays almost up¬
tight) that the building, or work, is lighted ; which
must be thus prepared. From the mouth of the case
which is to be first fired, hang some loose quick-match
to receive the fire from the horses. When Neptune is
only to he shown by himself, without setting fire to any
other works, let the white flames on the horses be very
short, and not to last longer than one case of each wheel,
and let two cases ot each wheel burn at a time.
If you would have swans or ducks discharge roc¬
kets into the water, they must be made hollow, °and of
paper, and filled with small water rockets, with some
blowing powder to throw them out : but if this is not
one, they may be made of wood, which will last many
times. Having made and painted some swans, fix them
Vol. XVII. Part II. -j.
569
on floats : then in the places where their eyes should be, Optical
bore holes two inches deep, inclining downwards, and Imitation,
wide enough to receive a small portfire; the portfire of
cases for this purpose must be made of brass, two inches 'V0lU
long, and filled with a slow bright charge. In the mid- "J
die of one of these cases make a little hole ; then put
the portfire in the eye-hole of the swan, leaving about
half an inch to project out ; and in the other eye put
another portfire, with a hole made in it: then in the
neck ol the swan, within two inches of one of the eyes,
bore a hole slantwise, to meet that in the portfire ; in
this hole put a leader, and carry it to a water-rocket,
that must be fixe'd under the tail with its mouth upwards.
On the top of the head place two one-ounce cases, four
inches long each, drove with brilliant fire; one of these
cases must incline forwards, and the other backwards :
these must he lighted at the same time as the water-roc-
kct; to do which, bore a hole between them in the top
of the swan s head, down to the hole in the portfire, to
which carry a leader: if the swan is filled with rockets,
they must be fired by a pipe from the end of the water-
rocket under the tail. When you set the swan a swim¬
ming, light the two eyes.
Io make a fire-fountain for the water, first have a Water dre-
lloat made of wood, three feet diameter; then in the fountains,
middle fix a round perpendicular post, four feet high,
and two inches diameter; round this post fix three cir¬
cular wheels made of thin wood, without any spokes.
The largest of these wheels must he placed within two
or three inches of the float, and must be nearly of the
same diameter. The second wheel must be two feet two
inches diameter, and fixed at two feet distance from the
first. The third wheel must be one foot four inches dia¬
meter, and fixed within six inches of the top of the post:
the wheels being fixed, take 18 four or eight-ounce
cases of brilliant fire, and place them round the first
wheel with their mouths outwards, and inclining down¬
wards; on the second wheel place 13 cases of the same,
and in the same manner as those on the first; on the
third, place eight more of these cases, in the same man¬
ner as before, and on the top of the post fix a gerbe ;
then clothe all the cases with leaders, so that botli they
and the gerbe may take fire at the same time. Before
firing this work, try it in the water to see whether the
float is properly made, so as to keep the fountain up»
right.
As the artificial fire-works which we have described, nniiVaHn,;
require considerable caution in their preparation and ma- tation<! of
nageraent, and are attended with great expence, at-^re'wor^fc‘
tempts have been made to imitate some of the more
simple kinds by optical delusion, and to give to the ob¬
jects represented the appearance of moving fire, though
they be really fixed, and no fire be employed. These
attempts have been tolerably successful ; and by means
of this invention, a spectacle of artificial fire-works may
be apparently exhibited at a trifling expence ; and if the
pieces employed are constructed with ingenuity, and
with a proper attention to the rules of perspective, while
in viewing them we employ glasses which magnify the
objects, and prevent them from being too distinctly seen,
a very agreeable illusion will be produced.
The artificial fire-works imitated with most success
by this invention, are fixed suns, gerbes, and jets of
fire, cascades, globes, pyramids, and columns, moveable
around their axes. To represent a gerbe of fire, take
4 C P»P«s
57°
P Y R O T E ' C H N Y.
Fig. 71.
no.icil paper blackened on both sides, and very opaque J and
Imitations having delineated on a piece of white paper the igme
of Fire- 0f a gerbe of hre, apply it to the black paper, ami u itn
works the point of a very sharp penknife make several slashes
' ' (Plate CCCCLVII. fig. 71-) in ^ as 3’ 5> «r 7> Pr¬
eceding from the origin of the gerbe : these lines must
not be continued, but cut through at unequal intervals.
Pierce these intervals with unequal holes made with a
pinking iron, in order to represent the sparks ol such a
oerbe. In short, you must endeavour to paint, by these
fines and holes, the well known effect of the fire of in¬
flamed gunpowder, when it issues through a small aper-
According to the same principles, you may delineate
the cascades (fig. 72.) and jets of fire winch you are de¬
sirous of introducing into this exhibition, which is pure¬
ly optical 5 and those jets of fire which proceed Irom
the radii of suns, either fixed or moveable. It may ea¬
sily be conceived, that in this operation taste must be
the guide. . .,
If you are desirous of representing globes, pyramids,
or revolving columns, draw the outlines of them on pa¬
per, and then cut them out in a helical form •, that is,
cut out spirals with the point of a penknife, and of a
size proportioned to that of the piece.
It is to be observed also, that as these different pieces
have different colours, they may be easily imitated by
pasting on the hack of the paper, cut as here described,
very fine silk paper coloured in the proper manner. As
jets, for example, when loaded with Chinese fire, give
a reddish light, you must paste to the back of these jets
transparent paper, slightly tinged with red •, and pro¬
ceed in the same manner in regard to the other colours
by which the different fire-works are distinguished.
When these preparations have been made, the next
thing is to give motion, or the appearance of motion, to
this fire, which may he done two ways, according to
circumstances.
If a jet of fire, for example, is to be represented,
prick unequal holes, and at unequal distances from each
other, in a band of paper, fig. 73. and then move this
hand, making it ascend between a light and the above
jet; the rays of light which escape through the holes of
the moveable paper will exhibit the appearance of sparks
rising into the air. It is to be observed that one part of
the paper must be whole •, that another must be pierced
with holes thinly scattered ; that in another place they
must be verv close, and then moderately so : by these
means it will represent those sudden jets of fire observ¬
ed in fire-works.
To represent a cascade, the paper pierced with holes,
instead of moving upwards, must be made to descend.
This motion may be easily produced by means of two
rollers, on one of which the paper is rolled up, while it
is unrolled from the other.
Suns are attended with some more difficulty ; because
in these it is necessary to represent fire, proceeding from
the centre to the circumference. The artifice for this
purpose is as follows.
On strong paper describe a circle, equal in diameter
to the sun which you are desirous to exhibit, or even
somewhat larger j then trace out on this circle two spi¬
rals, at the distance of a line or half a line from each
other, and open the interval between them with a pen¬
knife, in such a manner, that the paper may be cut
Chapin
from the circumference, decreasing in breadth to a cer- al
tain distance from the centre, fig. 74.: cut the remain- Inn; <>ni
der of the circle into spirals of the same kind, open of «-
and dose alternately ; then cement the paper circle to ^^
small iron hoop, supported by two pieces of iron,
: r
Iktl
i y
crossing each other in its centre, and adjust the whole
to a small machine, which will suffer it to revolve round
its centre. If this moveable paper circle, cut in this
manner, be placed before the representation of your sun,
with a light behind it, as soon as it is made to move to¬
wards that side to which the convexity of the spirals is
turned, the luminous spirals, or those which afford a pas¬
sage to the light, will give, on the image of the radii
or jets of fire of your sun, the appearance of fire in con¬
tinual motion, as if undulating from the centre to the
circumference.
The appearance of motion may he given to columns,
pyramids, and globes, cut through in the manner above
described, by moving in a vertical direction a band of
paper cut through into apertures, inclined at an angle
rather different from that of the spirals. By these means
the spectators will suppose that they see fire continually
circulating and ascending along the spirals ; and thus
will he produced an optical illusion, in consequence of
which the columns or pyramids will seem to revolve.
We have thus briefly explained the principle on which
artificial fire-works may be imitated 5 and as the taste of
the artist may suggest to him many circumstances which
may improve the representation, and render the illusion
stronger, we shall not enlarge further on the subject,
but shall conclude this article with a few observations
on illuminated prints and drawings, which are some¬
times introduced as accompaniments in these mutations
of artificial fire-works.
The mode of preparing these illuminations is thus de¬
scribed in Hutton’s translation of Montucla’s Recrea¬
tions. Take some prints representing a castle, or palace,
&c. 5 and having coloured them properly, cement paper
to the back of them, in such a manner that they shall
he only semitransparent} then, with pinking irons of
different sizes, prick small holes in the places and on
the lines where the lamps are generally placed, as along
the sides of the windows, on the cornices or balu¬
strades, &c. But care must be taken to make these
holes smaller and closer, according to the perspective
diminution of the figure. With other irons of a larger
size, cut out, in other places, some stronger lights, so
as to represent fire.pots, &c. Cut out also the panes in
some of the windows, and cement to the back of them
transparent paper of a green or red colour, to represent
curtains drawn before them, and concealing an illumi¬
nated apartment.
When the print is cut in this manner, place it in the
front of a sort of small theatre, strongly illuminated
from the back part, and look at it through a convex
glass of a pretty long focus, like that used in those small
machines called optical boxes. It the rules of perspec¬
tive have been properly observed in the prints, and 11
the lights and shades have been distributed with taste,
this spectacle will be highly agreeable.
Before dismissing this subject, it may not be improper Mart*' *
to point out the most effectual means of relieving th086";*’' ,ol*
’ * ‘ 1 £ » T-— — "’"'k exposed,
burns, to -which fire-workers are so much
When the burn is first received, and before blisters
arise, the best applications are oil of turpentine, strong
’ spirits,,
ap*ir- PYBOTECHNY.
nane- spirits, rectified spirit of wine, or camphorated spirit,
" with which linen rags must be wetted and kept moisten
(the pai t till the pain abates. If no other remedy can
be piocured, immersing the part for a long time in cold
water will often afford great relief. When these means
have been neglected, and blisters arise, if these are
small, they should not be opened j but if large, the wa¬
ter must be let out, and the sore covered with ra<rs,
spread with a mixture of linseed oil and lime waterXn
the proportion of one part of the former to three of the
latter. We must remark, however, that in all cases of
extensive burns, or where some very delicate part is in¬
jured, speedy recourse should be had to medical assist¬
ance.
P Y R
•yrotics PY ROT ICS, in Medicine, caustics, or remedies
Pyrrho. ?ither a.ctually or potentially hot j and which accord-
ingly will burn the flesh, and raise an eschar. See Cau¬
sticity.
PYRRHICA, in antiquity, a kind of exercise on
horseback, or a feigned combat, for the exercise of the
cavalry. \
It was thus called from its inventor Pyrrhichus, or
Pyrrhus of Cydonia, who first taught the Cretans to
march in measure and cadence to battle, and to ob¬
serve tue pace of the Pyrrhic foot.—Others derive
the name from Pyrrhus the son of Achilles, who insti¬
tuted this exercise at the obsequies of his father.—
Aristotle says, that it was Achilles himself who invent¬
ed it.
Ine Romans also called it Indus Trojanus, “ the
Trojan game and Aulus Gellius decursus.—It is
doubtless this exercise that we see represented on me¬
dals by two cavaliers in front running with lances, and
the word decursio in the exergum.
PYRRHICHIUS, in the Greek and Ijatin poetry,
a foot consisting of two syllables, both short 5—as,
Deus.—Among the ancients this foot is also called pe-
riambus ; bv others hegemona.
PYRRHO, a Greek philosopher, born at Elis in
Peloponnesus, flourished about 300 B. C. He was the
disciple of Anaxarchus, whom he accompanied as far
as India, where he conversed with the Brachmans and
Gymnosophists. He had made painting his profession
belore he devoted himself to the study of philosophy.
He established a sect whose fundamental principle was,
Tdiat there is nothing true or false, right or wrong,
honest or dishonest, just or unjust j or that there is no
standard of any thing beyond law or custom, and that
uncertainty and doubt belong to every thing. From
this continual seeking after truth and never finding it,
the sect obtained the name of Sceptics or Pyrrhonians,
from the founder, who is said to have acted upon his
own principles, and to have carried his scepticism to
such a ridiculous extreme, that his friends were obliged
to accompany him wherever he went, that he might not '
be run over by carriages, or fall down precipices. If
this was true, it was not without reason that he was
ranked among those whose intellects wrere disturbed by
intense study. But it is treated by a modern writer
as a mere calumny invented by the dogmatists j and we
are strongly inclined to be of his opinion, (see Scep¬
tics). Pyrrho died about the 90th year of his age,
when his memory was honoured with a statue at A-
thens, and a monument erected to him in his own
country.
P Y T
Pi RRHUS, the name of two kings of Epirus. See Pyrrhus
Epirus. 3 y
PYRUS, the Pear-tree. See Botany //z<&vr ,• P^hagoras
and for the culture of this fruit, see Gardening. For
an account ot the processes followed in making perry,
see Agriculture.
Pi i HAGORAS, a celebrated philosopher of an¬
tiquity, respecting the time and place of whose birth
the learned are much divided. Eratosthenes asserts,
that in the 48th Olympiad *, when he was very young,* An. nnte
lie was a victor at the Olympic games. Hence Hr^br. 5S8.
Bentley t determines the date of his birth to be the 4th t Dissert.
year of the 43d Olympiad ; whilst Lloyd J, who denies0”
that the Olympic victor was the same person with the/,;/ ^
philosopher places it about the 3d year of the 48th O-1 Chron. of
lympiad. Air Hodwell § differs from both, and wishes Pythago-
to fix the birth of Pythagoras in the 4th year of the™*'
52d Olympiad. Of the arguments of these learned wri- IXatiX*'
ters, Le Clerc has given a summary in the Bibliotheque^nthTTge
Choisee, tom. x. p. 81. &c. and from a review of the 0/ Phalere-
whole, it would appear that he was not born earlier than ws and
the 4th year of the 43d Olympiad, or later than thetha%oras-
4th year of the J2d ; but in what particular year of
that period bis birth took .place, cannot with any degree
of certainty be ascertained. It is generally believed
that he v.'as born in the island of Samos, and that he
flourished about 500 years before Christ, in the time of .
Tarquin the last king of Rome*. . His father Mne- q.//*"*
sarchus, who is thought by some to have been a lapida- Jib//
ry, and by others a me reliant of Tyre, appears to have cap. x.
been a man of some distinction, and to have bestowed
upon his son the best eduction.
Jamblicust relates a number of wonderful stories re-1 ^V-
specting Pythagoras’s descent from Jupiter, his birth,thas' 6'
and early life-, and represents him even in his youth as
a prodigy of wisdom and manly seriousness. But most
of these idle tales confute themselves, afford nothing of
importance to be depended upon, and only prove the
credulity, carelessness, and prejudice of their author.
Of 1 lis childhood and early education we know nothing,
except that be was first instructed in bis own countrv
by Creophilus, and afterwards in Scyrus by Pherecydes
(see Pherecydes). According to the custom of the
times lie was made acquainted with poetry and music ;
eloquence and astronomy became his private studies,
ami in gymnastic exercises he often bore the palm for
strength and dexterity. He first distinguished himself
in Greece at the Olympic games, where, beside gaining
the prize, he is said to have excited the highest admi¬
ration by the elegance and dignity of bis person, and
the brilliancy of bis understanding.
4 C 2 Soon
Pythagoras.
P Y T [
Soon after his appearance at these games, Pythago-
> —v - ' ras commenced his travels in quest ol knowledge. He
first visited Egypt, where, through the interest ot 1 oly-
crates tyrant of Samos, he obtained the patronage ot
Amasis king of Egypt, by whose influence, combined
with his own assiduity, patience, and perseverance, he
at length gained the confidence ol the priests •, horn
whom lie learned their sacred mysteries, theology, and
the whole system of symbolical learning. In Egypt,
too, he became acquainted with geometry and the true
solar system *, and, before he left that country, made
himself master of all the learning for which it was so
famed among the nations ol antiquity.
He afterwards visited Persia and Chaldea, where
from the Magi he learnt divination, the interpreting of
dreams, and astronomy. He is likewise said to have
travelled into India, to have conversed with the Gym-
nosophists, and to have acquired from them a knowledge
of the philosophy and literature of the east *, and such
was his ardour in the pursuit of science, that in quest ol
* Dc Pint- it, we are told by Cicero *, he crossed many seas, and
bus, lib. iv. travelled on foot through many barbarous nations.
$ 2S‘ After Pythagoras had spent many years in gathering
information on every subject, especially respecting the
nature of the gods, the rites of religion, and the immor¬
tality of the human soul, he returned to his native island,
and attempted to make his knowledge useful by institu¬
ting a school for the instruction of his countrymen.
Failing of success in this laudable undertaking, he re¬
paired to Delos, where he pretended to receive moral
dogmas from the priestess of Apollo. He also visited
Crete, where he was initiated into the most sacred my¬
steries of Greece. He went likewise to Sparta and
Elis, and again assisted at the Olympic games •, where
in the public assembly he rvas saluted with the title of
sophist or wise man, which he declined for one more
humble. See Philology, N° i. and Philosophy,
N° t.
He returned to Samos enriched
learning and mysterious rites, and
school. His mysterious symbols and oracular precepts
made this attempt more successful than the former had
been ; but meeting with some opposition, or being de¬
tected in some pious frauds, he suddenly left Samos, re¬
tired to Magna Grecia, and settled at Crotona.
Here he founded the Italic sect (see Philosophy,
N° 20.) j and his mental and personal accomplishments,
the fame of bis distant travels, and his Olympic crown,
soon procured him numerous pupils. His bold and
manly eloquence and graceful delivery attracted the
most dissolute, and produced a remarkable change in
the morals of the people of Crotona. His influence
w'as increased by the regularity of his own example,
and its conformity to his precepts. He punctually at¬
tended the temples of the gods, and paid his devotions
at an early hour j he lived upon the purest and most
innocent food, clothed himself like the priests of Egypt,
and by his continual purifications and regular oft’eiings
appeared to be superior in sanctity to the rest of man¬
kind. He endeavoured to assuage the passions of his
scholars with verses and numbers, and made a practice of
composing his own mind every morning, by playing on
his harp, and singing along with it the paeans of Thales.
To avoid the temptations of ease and the seductions of
572 ] . P Y T
idleness, bodily exercises also made a considerable part pyt]iap )s
of his discipline. 1 r»-i
At Crotona he had a public school for the general
benefit of the people, in which he taught them their
duty, praising virtue and condemning vice y and parti¬
cularly instructing them in the duties of social life.
Besides this, he had a college in his own house, which
he denominated *«<ve/3<8v, in which there were two classes
of students, viz. e|»T£g»*«», who were also called auscul-
tantes, and rlhe former of these were proba¬
tioners, and were kept under a long examen. A si¬
lence of five years was imposed upon them j which A-
puleius thinks was intended to teach them modesty and
with mythological
again instituted a
attention ; but Clemens Alexandrinus thinks it was for
the purpose of abstracting their minds from sensible
objects, and inuring them to the pure contemplation of
the Deity. The latter class of scholars were called
gennini, perfect!, mathemattci, and, by way of eminence,
Pythagoreans. They alone were admitted to the know¬
ledge of the arcana and depths of Pythagoric discipline,
and were taught the use of ciphers and hieroglyphic
writings.
Clemens observes, that these orders corresponded very
exactly to those among the Hebrews : for in the schools
of the prophets, there were two classes, viz. the sons of
the prophets, who were the scholars, and the doctors or
masters, who were also called perfect!; and among the
Levites, the novices or tyros, who had their quinquen¬
nial exercises, by way of preparation, Lastly, even
among the proselytes there were two orders j eaoterisci,
or proselytes of the gate 5 and intrinscci or perfecti,
proselytes of the covenant. He adds, it is highly pro¬
bable, that Pythagoras himself had been a proselyte of
the gate, if not of the covenant. Gale endeavours to
prove that Pythagoras borrowed his philosophy from
that of the Jews ; to this end producing the authorities
of many of the fathers and ancient authors, and even
pointing out the tracks and footsteps of Moses in several
parts of Pythagoras’s doctrine. But we believe the
learned author was misled by the Christian Platonists.
The authority of Pythagoras among his pupils was
so great, that it was even deemed a crime to disputa
his word ; and their arguments were considered as in¬
fallibly convincing, if they could enforce them by add¬
ing, that “ the master said so j” an expression which af¬
terwards became proverbial in jurare in ver ba magistri.
This influence over his school was soon extended to the
world, and even his pupils themselves divided the ap¬
plause and approbation of the people with their master j
and the rulers and legislators of all the principal towns
of Greece, Sicily, and Italy, boasted of being the dis¬
ciples of Pythagoras. To give more weight to his
exhortations, as some writers mention, Pythagoras re¬
tired into a subterraneous cave, where his mother sent
him intelligence of every thing which happened during
his absence. After a certain number of months he
again re-appeared on the earth with a grim and ghastly
countenance, and declared in the assembly ol the people
that he was returned from hell. From similar exag¬
gerations it has been asserted that he appeared at the
Olympic games with a golden thigh, and that he could
write in letters of blood whatever he pleased on a look¬
ing-glass ; and that by setting it opposite to the moon,
when full, all the characters which were on the glass
became
P Y T
tltagora* became legible on the moon’s disc.    
  that by some magical words he tamed a bear, stopped
the flight of an eagle, and appeared on the same day
and at the same instant in the cities of Crotona and
Metapontum, &c.
At length his singular doctrines, and perhaps his
itrenuously asserting the rights of the people against
their tyrannical governors, excited a spirit of jealousy,
and raised a powerful party against him ; which soon
became so outrageous as to oblige him to fly for his life.
His friends fled to Rhegium 5 and he himself, after
being refused protection by the Locrians, fled to Me¬
tapontum, where he was obliged to take refuge in the
temple of the muses, and where it is said he died of
hunger about 497 years before Christ. Respecting the
the time, place, and manner of his death, however,
there are various opinions, and many think it uncertain
when, where, or in what manner he ended his days.
After his death his followers paid the same respect to
him as was paid to the immortal gods j they erected
statues in honour of him, converted his house at Cro¬
tona into a temple to Ceres, appealed to him as a deity,
and swore by his name.
Pythagoras married Theano of Crotona, nr, accord-
ing to others, ol Crete, by whom he had two sons, Te-
lauges and Mnesarchus, who, after his death, took care
ol Ins school, xie is said also to have hud a daughter
called Humr).
Whether he left any writings behind him is disputed.
It seems probable, however, that he left none, and that
such as went under his name were written by some of
his followers. The golden verses which Hierocles illus¬
trated with a commentary, have been ascribed to Epi-
charmus or Empedocles, and contain a brief summary
of his popular doctrines, from this circumstance, and
from the mysterious secrecy with which he taught, our
information concerning his doctrine and philosophy is
very uncertain, and cannot always be depended on.
The purpose of philosophy, according to the system
of Pythagoras, is to free the mind from incumbrances,
and to raise it to the contemplation of immutable truth
and the knowledge of divine and spiritual objects. To
bring the mind to this state of perfection is a work of
some difficulty, and requires a variety of intermediate
steps. Mathematical science w-as with him the first
step to wisdom, because it inures the mind to contem¬
plation, and takes a middle course between corporeal
and incorporeal beings. The whole science he divided
into two parts, numbers and magnitude; and each of these
he subdivided into two others, the former into arithme¬
tic and music, and the latter into magnitude at rest and in
motion; the former of which comprehends geometry, and
the latter astronomy. Arithmetic he considered as the
noblest science, and an acquaintance with numbers as
the highest good. He considered numbers as the princi¬
ples of every thing*, and divided them into scientific and
intelligible. Scientific number is the production of the
powers involved in unity, and its return to the same ;
number is not infinite, but is the source of that infinite
divisibility into equal parts which is the property of all
bodies. Intelligible numbers are those which existed
m the divine mind before all things. They are the mo¬
del or archetype of the world, and the cause of the es¬
sence of beings. Of the Monad, Duad, Triad, Tetrad,
[ 573 3 P Y T
They also relate, and Decad, various explanations have been given by
various authors j but nothing certain or important is
known of them. In all probability, numbers were used
by Pythagoras as symbolical representations of the first
principles and forms of nature, and especially of those
eternal and immutable essences which Plato denomina¬
ted ideas; and in this case the Monad was the simple
root from which he conceived numbers to proceed, and
as such, analogous to the simple essence of deity; from
whence, according to his system, the various properties
of nature proceed.
Music followed numbers, and was useful in raising
the mind above the dominion of the passions. Pytha¬
goras considered it as a science to be reduced to mathe¬
matical principles and proportions, and is said to have
discovered the musical chords from the circumstance of
several men successively striking with hammers a piece
of heated iron upon an anvil. This story Hr Eurney
discredits; but allows, from the uniform testimony of
writers ancient and modern, that he invented the har-
monical canon or monochord, (see Monochord). The
music of the spheres, of which every one has heard, was
a most fanciful doctrine of Pythagoras. It was pro¬
duced, he imagined, by the planets striking on the ether
through which in their motion they passed; and he con¬
sidered their musical proportions as exact, and their har¬
mony perfect.
Pythagoras, as we have already seen, learned geome¬
try in Egypt; but by investigating many new theorems,
and by digesting its principles, he reduced it to a more
regular science. A geometrical point, which he defines
to be a monad, or unity with position, he says corre¬
sponds to unity in arithmetic, a line to two, a superfi¬
cies to three, and a solid to four. He discovered se¬
veral of the propositions of Euclid; and on discovering
the 47th of book 1st, he is said to have offered a heca¬
tomb to the gods ; but as he was averse to animal sa¬
crifices, this assertion is surely false. His great pro¬
gress in astronomical science has been mentioned else¬
where. See Astronomy, N° 11, 22. and Philosophy,
N° 15, 16.
M isdom, according to Pythagoras, is conversant with
those objects which are naturally immutable, eternal,
and incorruptible ; and its end is to assimilate the hu¬
man mind to the divine, and to qualify us to join the
assembly of the gods. Active and moral philosophy
prescribes rules and precepts for the conduct of life, and
leads us to the practice of public and private virtue.—
On these heads many of his precepts were excellent, and
some of them were whimsical and useless. Theoreti¬
cal philosophy treats of nature and its origin, and is,
according to Pythagoras, the highest object of study.
It included all the profound mysteries which he taught,
of which but little is now known. God he considers
as the universal mind, diffused through all things, and
the self-moving principle of all things (ccvTeftxTio-fAos rut
nxvTGiv), and of whom every human soul is a portion*.
It is very probable, that he conceived of the Deity as a
subtle fire, eternal, active, and intelligent; which is not
inconsistent with the idea of incorporeality, as the an¬
cients understood that term. This Deity was primarily
combined with the chaotic mass of passive matter, but
he had the power of separating himself, and since the
separation he has remained distinct. The learned Cud-
worth
Pythagom*
* Hh ton/
of Music,
vol. i.
p. 441.
* Cicero tie
Sencct.
IMhagora
* Sat
5^-
? Y T [ 574
s,wortli contends, tliat Pythagoras maintained a trinity ot
hypostases in the divine nature, similar to the Platonic
triad (see Platonism). We cannot say that his argu¬
ments appear to have much force ; hut tve think the con¬
clusion which he wishes to establish extremely probab e,
as Plato certainly drew his doctrine from some ot the
countries which Pythagoras had visited betore him.
Subordinate U the Deity there were in the Pytha¬
gorean creed three orders of intelligences, gods, demons,
and heroes, of different degrees of excellence and digni¬
ty. These, together with the human soul, were consi¬
dered as emanations from the Deity, the particles ol
subtle ether assuming a grosser clothing the farther they
receded from the fountain. Hierocles defines a hero
to be a rational mind united with a luminous hoc y.
God himself was represented under the notion of mo¬
nad, and the subordinate intelligences as numbers de¬
rived from and included in unity. Man is considered
as consisting of an elementary nature and a divine or
rational soul' His soul, a self moving principle, is com¬
posed of two parts ; the rational, seated in the brain ; and
the irrational, including the passions, in the heart. In
both these respects he participates with the brutes,
whom the temperament of their body, &c. allows not
to act rationally. The sensitive soul perishes-, the other
assumes an ethereal vehicle, and passes to the region oi
the dead, till sent back to the earth to inhabit seme
other body, brutal or human. See Metempsychosis.
It was unquestionably this notion which led Pythago¬
ras and his followers to deny themselves the use of flesh,
and to he so peculiarly merciful to animals ot every de¬
scription. Some authors, however, say, that flesh and
beans, the use of which he also forbade, were prohibited,
because he supposed them to have been produced from
the same putrified matter, from which, at the creation
of the world, man was formed.
Of the symbols of Pythagoras little is known. They
have been religiously concealed j and though they have
awakened much curiosity, and occasioned many ingeni¬
ous conjectures, they still appear to us dark and tri¬
fling. As a specimen we give the following : “ Adore
the sound of the whispering wind. Stir not the fire
with a sword. Turn aside from an edged tool. Pass
not over a balance. Setting cut on a journey, turn not
back, for the furies will return with you. Breed no¬
thing that hath crooked talons. lleceive not a swal¬
low into your house. Look not in a mirror by the
light of a candle. At a sacrifice pare not your nails.
Eat not the heart or brain. Taste not that which hath
fallen from the table. Break not bread. Sleep not at
noon. When it thunders touch the earth. Pluck not
a crow. Boast not that which has been boiled. Sail
not on the ground. Plant not a palm. Breed a cock,
hut do not sacrifice it, for it is sacred to the sun and
moon. Plant mallows in thy garden, but eat them not.
Abstain from beans.”
The foliowiug precepts are more important : “ Dis¬
course not of Pythagorean doctrines without light.
Above all things govern your tongue. Engrave not
the image of God in a ring. Quit not your station with
out the command of your general. Remember that the
paths of virtue and of vice resemble the letter Y. To
4 this symbol Persius refers *, when he says,
-j p Y T
Et tibi quee Samios diduxit litera ramos,
Surgentem dexlro monstravit hmite collem.
There has the Samian Y’s instructive makq
Pointed the road thy doubtful foot should, take j
There warn’d thy raw and yet unpractis’d youth,
To tread the rising right-hand path of truth.
The scantiness and uncertainty of our information
respecting Pythagoras, renders a regular and complete
account of his life and doctrines impossible. A mo-
dern author t of profound erudition, pronounces him
to have been unquestionably the wisest man that ever^
lived, if las masters the Egyptian priests must not be
excepted. This is saying a great deal too much j but
that he was one of the most distinguished philosophers
of antiquity, or, as Cicero expresses it, vir preestanti
sapientia, appears very evident 5 and his moral charac¬
ter has never been impeached. I he mysterious air
which he threw over his doctrines, and the apparent
inanity of some of his symbols, have indeed subjected
him to the charge of imposture, and perhaps the charge
is not wholly groundless $ but when we consider the
age in which lie lived, and the nature or the people
with whom he had to deal, who would in all probabi¬
lity have resisted more open innovations, even tins v\ill
not appear so blameable as at first sight we are apt to
think it ; and it is worthy of notice, that the worst sto¬
ries of this kind have come down to us in a very que¬
stionable shape, and with much probability appeal to be
false.
PYTHAGOREANS, a sect of ancient philosophers,
so called from being the followers ot Pythagoras. Set
the preceding article.
PYTHIA, the priestess of Apollo at Delphi, by
whom he delivered oracles. She was so calltd from
Pythius, a name of that god, which is said to have been
given him on account of his victory over the serpent
Python.
The Pythia was at first required to be a young girl,
but in latter times she was a woman of 50 years of age.
The first and most famous Pythia was Phemonoe. 0-
racles were at first delivered by her in hexameter verse.
AH the pythias were to be pure virgins, and all of them
delivered their oracles with great enthusiasm and violent
agitations. See Oracle and Delphi.
PYTHIAN GAMES, in Grecian antiquity, sports
instituted near Delphos in honour of Apollo, on account
of his slaying the serpent .Python. See Apollo. -
These games, at their first institution, were celebrated
only once in nine years but afterwards every fifth
year, from the number of the Parnassian nymphs who
came to congratulate Apollo, and to make him jue-
sents on his victory. The victor was crowned with gar¬
lands.
PYTHON, in fabulous history, a monstrous serpent,
produced by the earth after Deucalion’s deluge. Juno
being exasperated at Latona, who was beloved by Jupi¬
ter, commanded this serpent to destroy her but flying
from the pursuit of the monster, she escaped to Delos,
where she was delivered of Diana and Apollo ; the latter
of whom at length destroyed Python with his arrows, m
memory of which victory the Pythian games were insti¬
tuted. See Apollo.
QUA
[ 575 ]
QUA
Q.
Qor q, the 16th letter and 12th consonant of
5 onr alphabet; but is not to be found either in
the Greek, old Latin, or Saxon alphabets ; and in¬
deed some would entirely exclude it, pretending that
k ought to be used wherever this occurs. However, as
it is formed in the voice in a different manner, it is un¬
doubtedly a distinct letter: for, in expressing this
sound, the cheeks are contracted, and the lips, particu¬
larly the under one, are put into a canular form, for
the passage of the breath.
The q is never sounded alone, but in conjunction
with u, as in quality, question, quite, quote, &c. and
never ends any English word.
As a numeral, Q stands for 500; and with a dash
over it, thus Q, for 500,000.
Used as an abbreviature q signifies quantity, or quan¬
tum. Thus, among physicians, q. pi. is quantum placet,
" as much as you please” of a thing ; and q. s. is
"i Bra-
quantum sufficit, i.e. “as much as is necessary.” Q.E.D.
among mathematicians, is quoderat demonstrandum, i. e.
“ which was to be demonstrated and Q. E. F. is
quod erat faciendum, i. e. “ which was to be done.”
Q. D. among grammarians is quasi dictum, i. e. “ as if
it were said ;” or, “ as who should say.” In the notes
of the ancients, Q stands for Quintus, or Quintius;
Q- B. V. for quod bene vertat; Q. S. S. S. for quee su¬
pra scripta sunt; Q. M. for Quintus Mutius, or quomo-
do; Quint, for Quintilius; and Quaes, for qucestor.
QUAB, in Ichthyology, the name of a Russian fish,
which is said to be at first a tadpole, then a frog, and
at last a fish. Hr Mounsey, who made many inquiries
concerning these pretended changes, considers them all
as fabulous. He had opportunity of seeing the fish it¬
self, and found that they spawned like other fishes, and
grew in size, without any appearances to justify the re¬
port. Fie adds, that they delight in very clear water,
in rivers with sandy or stony bottoms, and are never-
found in standing lakes, or in rivers passing through
marshes or mossy grounds, where frogs choose most to be.
QUABES, are a free people of Africa, inhabiting
the southern banks of the river Sestos, and between that
and Sierra Leona. They are under the protection of
the emperor of Manow.
QUACHA, or Quagga. See Equus, Mammalia
Index.
QUACHILTO, in Ornithology, is the name of a
very beautiful Brasilian bird, called also ifccatzinlli nnA
porphyrio Americanus. It is of a fine blackish purple
colour, variegated with white ; its beak is white while
young, but becomes red as it grows older, and has a
naked space at its basis, resembling in some sort the
coot ; its legs are of a yellowish green ; it lives about
the waters, and feeds on fish, yet is a very well tasted
bird. It imitates the crowing of a common cock, and
makes its music early in the morning.
QUACK, among physicians, the same with empiric.
See Empiric.
QUADI, (Tacitus) ; a people of Germany, situated
to the south-east of the mountains of Bohemia, on the Quad!
banks ol the Danube, and extending as far as the river H
Marus, or March, running by Moravia, which country Quadl'ant-
they occupied. J ' v f
QUADRAGESIMA, a denomination given to lent,
from its consisting of 40 days. See Lent.
QUADRANGLE, in Geometry, the same with a
quadrilateral figure, or one consisting of four sides and
four angles.
QUADRANS, the quarter or fourth part of any
thing, particularly the as, or pound.
Quadrans, in English money, the fourth part of a
penny. Before the reign of Edward I. the smallest
com was a sterling, or penny, marked with a cross ; by
the guidance ol which a penny might be cut into halves
for a halfpenny, or into quarters or four parts for far¬
things ; till, to avoid the fraud of unequal cuttings, that
king coined halfpence and farthings in distinct round
pieces.
QUADRANT, in Geometry, the arch of a circle,
containing 90°, or the fourth part of the entire peri¬
phery.
Sometimes also the space or area, included between
this arch and two radii drawn from the centre to each
extremity thereof, is called a quadrant, or, more pro-
perly, a quadrantal space, as being a quarter of an en¬
tire circle.
Quadrant, also denotes a mathematical instrument
of great use in astronomy and navigation, for taking the
altitudes of the sun and stars, as also for taking angles
in surveying, &c. ° ^
This instrument is variously contrived, and furnished
with different apparatus, according to the various uses
it is intended for; but they all have this in common
that they consist ol a quarter ol a circle, whose limb is
divided into 90°. Some have a plummet suspended
from the centre, and are furnished with sights to look
through.
The principal and most useful quadrants are the
common surveying quadrant, astronomical quadrant,
Adams’s quadrant, Cole’s quadrant, Gunter’s quadrant,
Hadley’s quadrant, horodictical quadrant, Sutton’s or
Collins’s quadrant, and the sinical quadrant,. &c. Of
each of which in order.
1. The common surveying quadrant, is made of brass,
wood, or any other solid substance ; the limb of which
is divided into 90°, and each of these farther divided
into as many equal parts as the space will allow, either
diagonally or otherwise. On one of the semidiameters
are fitted two moveable sights ; and to the centre is
sometimes also fixed a label, or moveable index, bearing
two other sights; but in lieu of these last sights there
is sometimes fitted a telescope : also from the centre
there is hung a thread with a plummet ; and on the
under side or face of the instrument is fitted a ball and
socket, by means of which it may be put into any po¬
sition. The general use of it is for taking angles in a
vertical plane* comprehended under right lines going
from
QUA
r 576 ]
QUA
Quadrant, from the centre of the instrument, one of which is .10-
--v ' montal, anti the other is tlirectetl to some visihle poin .
But besides the parts already described, there is ue-
quently added to the face, near the centre, a kind ot
compartment, called the quadrat, or geometrical square.
See Quadrat.
This quadrant may be used in different situations:
for observing heights or depths, its plane must be dispo¬
sed perpendicularly to the horizon *, but to take hori¬
zontal distances, its plane is disposed parallel theie 0.
Ao-ain, heights and distances may be taken two ways,
viz. by means of the fixed sights and plummet, or y
the label: As to which, and the manner ot measuring
angles, see Geometry and Mensuration.
2. The astronomical quadrant is a large one, usua y
made of brass, or wooden liars faced with iron plates 5
having its limb nicely divided, either diagonally or
otherwise, into degrees, minutes, and seconds ^ and fur¬
nished with two telescopes, one fixed on the side ot the
quadrant, and the other moveable about the centre, by
means of the screw. There are also dented wheels
which serve to direct the instrument to any object or
phenomenon.—The use of this curious instrument, in
takimr observations of the sun, planets, and fixed stars,
is obvious; for being turned horizontally upon its axis,
by means of the telescope, till the object is seen through
the moveable telescope, then the degrees, &c. cut by
the index give the altitude required. See Astronomy
Index.
3. Cole’s quadrant is a very useful instrument invent¬
ed by Mr Benjamin Cole. It consists of six parts, viz.
the staff AB (fig. 1.) j the quadrantal arch DE; three
vanes A, B, C; and the vernier EG. Ihe stall is a
bar of wood about two feet long, an inch and a quarter
broad, and of a sufficient thickness to prevent it from
bending or warping. rI he quadrantal aren is also of
wood ; and is divided into degrees, and third-parts of
a degree, to a radius of about nine inches; to its ex¬
tremities are fitted two radii, which meet in the centre
of the quadrant by a pin, round which it easily moves.
The sight-vane A is a thin piece of brass, almost two
inches In height and one broad, placed perpendicularly
on the end of the staff A, by the help of two screws
passing through its foot. Through the middle of this
vane is drilled a small hole, through which the coinci¬
dence or meeting of the horizon and solar spot is to be
viewed. The horizon vane B is about an inch broad,
and two inches and a half high, having a slit cut through
it of near an inch long and a quarter of an inch broad •,
this vane is fixed in the centre-pin of the instrument, in
a perpendicular position, by the help of two screws pas¬
sing through its foot, whereby its position with respect
to the sight-vane is always the same, their angles of in¬
clination being equal to 45 degrees. The shade-vane
C is composed of two brass plates. The one, which
serves as an arm, is about four inches and a half long,
and three quarters of an inch broad, being pinned at
one end to the upper limb of the quadrant by a screw,
about which it has a small motion ; the other end lies
in the arch, and the lower edge of the arm is directed
to the middle of the centre-pin : the other plate, which
is properly the vane, is about two inches long, being
fixed perpendicularly to the other plate, at about half
an inch distance from that end next the arch ; this vane
may be used either by its shade or by the solar spot
Plate
4SCCCLV1II.
fiir. t.
cast by a convex lens placed therein. And, because the
wood-work is often apt to warp or twist, therefore this —
vane may be rectified by the help of a screw, so that the
warping of the instrument may occasion no error in the
observation, which is performed in the following man¬
ner : Set the line G on a vernier against a degree on
the upper limb of the quadrant, and turn a screw on
the backside of the limb forward or backward, till the
hole in the sight-vane, the centre of the glass, and tht
sunk spot in the horizon-vane, lie in a right line.
To find the sun’s altitude by this instrument: Turn
your back to the sun, holding the instrument by the
staff with your right hand, so that it he in a veitical
plane passing through the sun ; apply your eye to tho
sight-vane, looking through that and the horizon-vane
till you see the horizon ; with the left hand slide the
quadrantal arch upwards, until the solar spot or shade,
cast by the shade-vane, fall directly on the spot or slit
in the horizon-vane ; then will that part of the quad¬
rantal arch, which is raised above G or S (according
as the observation respected either the solar spot or
shade) show the altitude of the sun at that time. But if
the meridian altitude be required, the observation must
be continued ; and as the sun approaches the meridian,
the sea will appear through the horizon-vane, and then
is the observation finished; and the degrees and mi¬
nutes, counted as before, will give the sun’s meridian
altitude : or the degrees counted from the lower limb
upwards will give the zenith-distance.
4. Adams’s quadrant differs only from Cole’s qua¬
drant in having an horizontal vane, with the upper
part of the limb lengthened ; so that the glass, which
casts the solar spot on the horizon-vane, is at the sams
distance from the horizon-vane as the sight-vane at th#
end of the index.
5. Gunter’s quadrant, so called from its inventor Ed¬
mund Gunter, besides the usual apparatus of other
quadrants, has a stereographical projection of the
sphere on the plane of the equinoctial. It has also
a kalendar of the months, next to the divisions of the
limb.
Use of Gunter's quadrant. 1. To find the sun’s me¬
ridian altitude for any given day, or the day of th#
month for any given meridian altitude. Lay the thread
to the day of the month in the scale next the limb ; and
the degree it cuts in the limb is the sun s meridian^
altitude. Thus the thread, being laid on the 15th of
May, cuts 590 30', the altitude sought; and, contrari-
Jy, the thread, being set to the meridian altitude, show*
the day of the month. 2. To find the hour of the day.
Having put the bead, which slides on the thread, to
the sun’s place in the ecliptic, observe the sun’s alti¬
tude by the quadrant ; then, if the thread be laid over
the same in the limb, the bead will fall upon the hour
required. Thus suppose on the 10th of April, th#
sun being then in the beginning of Taurus, I observ#
the sun’s altitude by the quadrant to be 36° ; I pla«
the bead to the beginning of Taurus in the ecliptic,
and lay the thread over 36° of the limb ; and find the
bead to fall on the hour-line marked three and nine ; ac¬
cordingly the hour is either nine in the morning or three
in the afternoon. Again, laying the bead on the hour
given, having first rectified or put it to the sun’s place,
the degree cut by the thread on the limb gives the alti¬
tude. Note, the bead may be rectified otherwise, by
bringing
Quads;
-y- J
QUA [ :
^bringing the thread to the day of the month, and the
^ bead to the hour-line of i 2. 3. To find the sun’s decli¬
nation from his place given, and contrariwise. Set the
bead to the sun’s place in the ecliptic, move the thread
to the l«»e of declination, and the bead will cut the
degree of declination required. Contrarily, the bead
being adjusted to a given declination, and the thread
moved to the ecliptic, the bead will cut the sun’s place.
4. 1 he sun’s place being given, to find his right ascen¬
sion or contrarily. Lay the thread on the sun’s place
in the ecliptic, and the degree it cuts on the limb is the
right ascension sought. _ Contrarily, laying the thread
on the right ascension, it cuts the sun’s place in the
ecliptic. 5. rI he sun’s altitude being given, to find his
azimuth, and contrariwise. Rectify the bead for the
time, as in the second article, and observe the sun’s al
titude : bring the thread to the complement of that al-
77 ]
QUA
titude ; thus the bead will
give the azimuth sought,
among the azimuth lines. 6. To find the hour of the
night from some of the five stars laid down on the qua¬
drant. (1.) Put the bead to the star you would ob¬
serve, and find how many hours it is off the meridian,
by article 2. (2.) Then, from the right ascension of
die star, subtract the sun’s right ascension converted
into hours, and mark the difference; which difference
added to the observed hour of the star from the meri¬
dian shows how many hours the sun is gone from the
meridian, which is the hour of the night. Suppose on
the 15th of May the sun is in the 4th degree of Ge-
rnini, I set the bead to A returns j and, observing his al¬
titude, find him to be in the west about ^2° high and
the bead to fall on the hour-line of two in the afternoon:
then will the hour be 11 hours 50 minutes past noon
or 10 minutes short of midnight: for 62°, the sun’s
right ascension, converted into time, makes four hours
eight minutes ; which, subtracted from 13 hours c8
minutes, the right ascension of Arcturus, the remainder
will be nine hours 50 minutes ; which added to two
hours, the observed distance of Arcturus from the me¬
ridian, shows the hour of the night to be 11 hours co
minutes. J
The mural quadrant has been already described under
the article Astronomy. It is a most important instru¬
ment, and has been much improved by Mr Ramsden
who has distinguished himself by the accuracy of his di¬
visions, and by the manner in which he finishes the
p anes by working them in a vertical position. He
places the plumb-line behind the instrument, that there
may be no necessity for removing it when we take an
observation near the zenith. His manner of suspending
the glass, and that of throwing light on the object-glass
and on the divisions at the same time, are new, and im¬
provements that deserve to be noticed. Those of eight
teet, which he has made for the observatories of Padua
and Yilna, have been examined by Dr Maskelyne ; and
the greatest error does not exceed two seconds and a half.
1 hat or the same size for the observatory of Milan is in
a very advanced state. The mural quadrant, of six
teet at Blenheim, is a most admirable instrument. It
is fixed to four pillars, which turn on two pivots, so
that it may be put to the north and to the south in one
minute. It was for this instrument Mr Ramsden in-
vented a method of rectifying the arc of 90 degrees, on
which an able astronomer had started some difficulties ;
but by means of an horizontal line and a plumb-line,
VOL. XVII. Part II.
°in mg a kind of cross, without touching the circle, QUR,]ra,it
lie showed him that there was not an error of a single
second m the 93 degrees; and that the difference was
occasioned by a mural quadrant of Bird, in which the
arc of 90 degrees was too great by several seconds, and
which had never been rectified by so nice a method as
that or Mr xiamsclen.
But the quadrant is not the instrument which stands
highest in Mr Ramsden’s opinion ; it is the complete
circle : and he has demonstrated to M. de la Lande
that the former must be laid aside, if we would arrive at
the utmost exactness of which an observation is capable.
Mis principal reasons are: 1. The least variation in the
centre is perceived by the two diametrically opposite
points. 2. I he circle being worked on the turn, the
surface is always of the greatest accuracy, which it is
impossible to obtain in the quadrant. 3/We may al¬
ways have two measures of the same arc, which will
serve for the verification of each other. 4. The first
point of the division may he verified every day with the
utmost facility. 5. The dilatation of the metal is uni-
lorm, and cannot produce any error. 6. This instru¬
ment is a meridian glass at the same time. 7. It also
becomes a moveable azimuth circle by adding a hori¬
zontal circle beneath its axis, and then gives the refrac¬
tions independent of the mensuration of time.
6. Hadley’s quadrant is an instrument of vast utility
both m navigation and practical astronomy. It derives
its name from Mr Hadley, who first published an ac¬
count of it, though the first thought originated with
the celebrated Dr Hooke, and was completed by Sir
Isaac Newton (see Astronomy, N° 32. and also N° 1 7.
and 22.). The utility of this quadrant arises from the
accuracy and precision with which it enable us to de¬
termine the latitude and longitude; and to it is naviga¬
tion much indebted for the very great and rapid advances
it has made of late years. It it easy to manage, and of
extensive use, requiring no peculiar steadiness of band
nor any such fixed basis as is necessary to other astro¬
nomical instruments. It is used as an instrument for
taking angles in maritime surveying, and with equal fa¬
cility at the mast head as upon the deck, by which its
sphere of observation is much extended ; for supposing
many islands to be visible from the mast head, and only
one from deck, no useful observation can be made by
any other instrument. But by this, angles may be ta¬
ken at the mast bead from the one visible object with
great exactness ; and further taking angles from
heights, as hills, or a ship mast’s head, is almost the
only way of describing exactly the figure and extent of
shoals.
It has been objected to the use of this instrument for
surveying, that it does not measure the horizontal angles,
by which alone a plan can be laid down. This objection’
however true in theory, may be reduced in practice by
a little caution ; and Air Adams has given very good
directions for doing so. J b
Notwithstanding, however, the manifest superiority
of this instrument over those that were in use at the
time of its publication, it was many years before the
sailors could be persuaded to adopt it, and lay aside
their imperfect and inaccurate instruments, so great is
the difficulty to remove prejudice, and emancipate the
mind from the slavery of opinion. No instrument has
undergone, since the original invention, more changes
4 D than
qua f
than tlie quadra,it of Uadloy; of the various altera-
lions, many had no better foundation than ,lie '‘'P'
of the makers, nho hy these attempts ^
.lerert the instrument more complicated in constructio ,
and more difficult in use, than it was m its original
state.
It is an essential property of this instrument, derived
from the laws of reflection, that half degrees on the arc
answer to whole ones in the angles measured t hence an
octant or the eighth part of a circle, or 45 degrees on
rTe arrh, sorvc .o measure 90 degrees ; and sextant,
will measure an angular distance of 120 degrees though
the arch of the instrument is no more than 60 degrees.
It is from this property that foreigners term that in¬
strument an octant, which we usually call a quadtan ,
and which in effect it is. This property reduces in¬
deed considerably the hulk of the instrument : but at
the same time it calls for the utmost accuracy in he
divisions, as every error on the arch is doubled in the
observation. .111
Another essential, and indeed an invaluable, proper-
iy of this instrument, whereby it is rendered peculiarly
advantageous in marine observations, is, that it is not
liable to be disturbed by the ship’s motion j lor provid¬
ed the mariner can see distinctly the two objects in the
field of his instrument, no motion nor vacillation ot the
jship will injure bis observation.
Thirdly, the errors to which it is liable are readily
discovered and easily rectified, while the application and
use of it is facile and plain.
To find whether the two surfaces of any one ot the
reflecting glasses be parallel, apply your eye at one end
of it, and observe the image ot some object re fleeted
very obliquely from it; if that image appear sing e,
and well-defined about the edges, it is a proof that the
surfaces are parallel : on the contrary, it the edge ot
the reflected images appear misted, as it it threw a
shadow from it, or separated like two edges, it is a
proof that the two surfaces of the glass are inclined to
each other: if the images in the speculum, particularly
if that image be the sun, he viewed through a small te¬
lescope, the examination will he more perfect.
To find whether the surface of a reflecting glass be
plane. Choose two distant objects, nearly on a level
with each other: hold the instrument in an horizontal
position, view the left-hand object directly through the
transparent part of the horizon-glass, and move the in¬
dex till the reflected image of the other is seen below it
in the silvered part; make the two images unite just
at the line of separation, then turn the instrument round
slowly on its own plane, so as to make the united images
move along the line of separation of the horizon-glass.
If the images continue united without receding from
each other, or varying their respective position, the re¬
flecting surface is a good plane.
To find if the two surfaces of a red or darkening glass
are parallel and perfectly plane. This must be done by
means of the sun when it is near the meridian, in the fol¬
lowing manner: hold the sextant vertically, and direct
the sight to some object in the horizon, or between you
and the sky, under the sun; turn down the red glass and
move the index till the reflected image of the sun is in
contact with the object seen directly: fix then the index,
and turn the red glass round in its square frame ; view
the sun’s image and object immediately, and if the sun’s
57® J . H . .
image is neither raised nor depressed, hut continues m Qua(jUf
contact with the object below, as before, then the sur-^-v-ji
faces of the darkening glass are true.
For a more particular description of Hadley’s qua¬
drant, and the mode of using it, see Navigation,
Book II. chap. i.
This instrument has undergone several improvements
since its first invention, and among these improvers must
be ranked Mr Bamsden. He found that the essential
parts of the quadrant had not a sufficient degree of so¬
lidity ; the friction at the centre was too great, and
in general the alidada might be moved several minutes
without any change in the position of the mirror ; the
divisions were commonly very' inaccurate, and Mi Rams-
den found that Abbe de la'Caille did not exceed the
truth in estimating at five minutes the error to which
an observer was liable in taking the distance between
the moon and a star ; an error capable of producing *
mistake of 50 leagues in the longitude. On this ac¬
count Mr Ramsden changed the principle of construc¬
tion of the centre, and made the instrument in such a
manner as never to give an error of more than half a
minute ; and he has now brought them to such a de¬
gree of perfection as to warrant it not more than six
seconds in a quadrant of fifteen inches. Since the timo
of having improved them, Mr Ramsden has constructed
an immense number ; and in several which have been
carried to the East Indies and America, the deficiency
has been found no greater at their return than it had
been determined by examinations before their being ta¬
ken out. Mr Ramsden has made them from 15 inches
to an inch and a half, in the latter of which the minutes
are easily distinguishable; but he prefers for general use
those of 10 inches, as being more easily handled than
the greater, and at the same time capable of equal ac¬
curacy. See Sextant.
A great improvement was also made in the con¬
struction of this quadrant hy Mr Peter Hollond, fa¬
mous for his invention of achromatic telescopes, xbe
glasses of the quadrants should be perfect planes, and
have their surfaces perfectly parallel to one another. By
a practice of several years, Mr Hollond found out me¬
thods of grinding them of this form to great exact¬
ness ; but the advantage which should have arisen from
the goodness of the glasses was often defeated by the
index-glass being bent by the frame which contains it.
To prevent this, Mr Dollond contrived the frame so,
that the glass lies on three points, and the part that
presses on the front of the glass has also three points op¬
posite to the former. These points are made to confine
public LU nit AV71 •   J  • V +1
the glass by three screws at the back, acting directly
opposite to the points between which the glass is pla¬
ced. The principal improvements, however, are m the
methods of adjusting the glasses, particularly for the
hack-observation. The method formerly practised for
adjusting that part of the instrument by means ot the
opposite horizons at sea, was attended with so many
difficulties that it was scarcely ever used : for so little
dependence could be placed on the observations taken
this way, that the best Hadley’s sextants, made tor the
purpose of observing the distances of the moon from the
sun or fixed stars, have been always made without the
horizon-glass for the back-observation ; for want 0
which, many valuable observations of the sun and moo
have been lost, when their distance exceeded 120 <c-
Fi?
Fi?.
T Q U A t 5
drant. grccs. To make the adjustment of the back-observa¬
tion easy and exact, he applied an index to the back
horizon-glass, by which it may be moved in a parallel
position to the index-glass, in order to srive it the two ad¬
justments in the same manner as the tore horizon-^lass
is adjusted. Then, by moving the index to which the
back horizon-glass is fixed exactly QO degrees ^which
is known by the divisions made for that purpose), the
glass will thereby be set at right angles to the index-
glass, and will be properly adjusted for use ; and the
observations may be made with the same accuracy by
this as by the fore-observation. To adjust the horizon-
glasses in the perpendicular position to the plane of the
instrument, he contrived to move each ot them by a
single screw, which goes though the frame of the qua¬
drant, and is turned by means of a milled head at the
back j which may be done by the observer while he is
looking at the object. To these improvements also
he added a method invented by Dr Maskelyne, of
placing darkening-glasses behind the horizon-glasses.
-These, which serve for darkening the object seen by
direct vision, in adjusting the instrument by the sun or
moon, he placed in such a manner as to he turned be¬
hind the fore horizon-glass, or behind the back horizon-
glass : there are three of these glasses of different de¬
grees of darkness.
We have been the more particular in our description
and use of Hadley’s quadrant, as it is undoubtedly the
best hitherto invented.
7- ilorodictical quadrant, a pretty commodious in-
itrnnient, so called from its use in telling the hour of
the day—-Its construction is this ; trom the centre of
the quadrant, C, fig. whose limb AB is divided into
90°, describe seven concentric circles at intervals at
pleasure ; and to these add the signs of the zodiac, in
the order represented in the figure. Then applying a
ruler to the centre C and the limb AB, mark upon
the several parallels the degrees corresponding to the
altitude of the sun when therein, for the given hours ;
connect the points belonging to the same hour with a
curve line, to which add the number of the hour. To
the radius CA fit a couple of sights, and to the centre
of the quadrant C tie a thread with a plummet, and
upon the thread a bead to slide. If now the thread be
brought to the parallel wherein the sun is, and the qua¬
drant directed to the sun, till a visual ray pass through
the sights, the bead will show the hour j for the plum¬
met, in this situation, cuts all the parallels in the de¬
grees corresponding to the sun’s altitude. Since the
bead is in the parallel which the sun describes, and
through the degrees of altitude to which the sun is ele¬
vated every hour there pass hour lines, the head must
show the present hour. Some repj-esent the hour-lines
by arches of circles, or even by straight lines, and that
without any sensible error.
8. Sutton’s or Collins’s quadrant (fig. 4.) is a stereo-
graphic projection of one quarter of the sphere be¬
tween the tropics, upon the plane of the ecliptic, the
eye being in its north pole : it is fitted to the latitude
of London. The lines running from the right hand
to the left are parallels ol altitude j and those crossing
them are azimuths. The lesser of the two circles
bounding the projection, is one-fourth of the tropic of
Capricorn ; the greater is one-fourth of that of Cancer.
The two ecliptics are drawn from a point on the left
79 ] QUA
edge of the quadrant, with the characters of the signs Quadrant,
upon them } and the two horizons are drawn from the —v——j
same point. The limb is divided both into degrees and
and, by having the sun’s altitude, the hour of
time
the day may be found here to a minute. The qua-
drantal arches next the centre contain the kalendar of
months ; and under them, in another arch, is the sun’s
declination. On the projection are placed several of
the most noted fixed stars between the tropics ; and the
next below the projection is the quadrant and line of
shadows, lo find the time of the sun’s rising or set-
ting, his amplitude, his azimuth, hour of the day, &c.
by this quadrant: lay the thread over the day and the
month, and bring the bead to the proper ecliptic, either
of summer or winter, according to the season, which h
called rectifying ; then, moving the thread, bring the
bead to the horizon, in which case the thread wilf cub
the limb in the time ot the sun’s rising or setting before
or after six ; and at the same time the bead will cut the
horizon in the degrees of the sun’s amplitude.—Again,
observing the sun’s altitude with the quadrant, and sup¬
posing it found 450 on the fifth of May, lay the thread
over the fifth of May, bring the bead to the summer
ecliptic, and carry it to the parallel of altitude 450} in
which case the thread will cut the limb at 550 15', and
the hour will he seen among the hour-lines to be either
41' past nine in the morning, or 19' past two in the af¬
ternoon.—>Last!y, the bead among the azimuths shows
the sun’s distance from the south 50° 41'. But note,
that il the sun’s altitude be less than what it is at six
o clock, the operation must he performed among those
parallels above the upper horizon, the head being rec¬
tified to the winter ecliptic.
9. binical quadrant (fig. 5*) consists of several con-Fi
centnc quadrantal arches, divided into eight equal parts
by radii, with parallel right lines crossing each other
at right angles. Now any one of the arches, as EC,
may represent a quadrant of any great circle of the
sphere, but is chiefly used for the horizon or meridian.
It then BC be taken for a quadrant ol the horizon,
either of the sides, as AB, may represent the meridian ;
and the other side, AC, will represent a parallel, or line
of east and west: and all the other lines, parallel to AB,
will be also meridians j and all those parallel to Acj
east and west lines, or parallels.— Again, the eight
spaces into which the arches are divided by the radii,
represent the eight points of the compass in a quarter
of the horizon j each containing ii° 15'. The arch BC
is likewise divided into 90°, and each degree subdivid¬
ed into 12, diagonal-wise. lo the centre is fixed a
thread, which, being laid over any degree of the quad¬
rant, serves to divide the horizon.
If the sinical quadrant be taken for a fourth part of
the meridian, one side thereof, AB, may be taken for
the common radius of the meridian and equator j and
then the other, AC, will be half the axis of the world.
The degrees of the circumference, BC, will represent
degrees of latitude \ and the parallels to the side AB,
assumed from every point of latitude to the axis AC,
will be radii of the parallels of latitude, as likewise the
sine complement of those latitudes.
Suppose, then, it be required to find the degrees of
longitude contained in 83 of the Ipsser leagues in the
parallel of 48° ; lay the thread over 48° of latitude on
the circumference, and count thence the 83 lean-ues on
4 T> 2 * A E,
O U A C 5^° ^ ^ ^
" this will terminate in H, allow- measuring altitudes, amplitudes, azimuths, &c. See
iiiis . , Astronomy.
QUADRANTAL, in Antiquity, the name ot a
vessel in use among the Romans (or the measuring ot
liquids. It was at first called amphora; and afterwards
quadrantal, from its form, which was square every way
like a die. Its capacity was 80 librae, or pounds ot
water, which made 48 sextaries, two urnae, or eight
congii. ... nii
QUADRAT, a mathematical instrument, called also
a Geometrical Square, and Line of Shadows: it is Ire-
i^val Then tracing oat
the parallel HE, from the point H to the 1 ,read ’
part AE of the thread shows that 125 greater or equi¬
noctial leagues make 6o° 15' *, and therefore that the 8 3
lesser leagues AH, which make the difference of longi-
tiuleTof the course’, and are equal to the ra ms ot the
parallel HE, make 6o° 15' ot the said parallel.
J If the ship sails an oblique course, such course, >
sides the north and south greater leagues, gives lesser
leagues easterly and westerly, to be reduce. « te^ee" "enUy an additional member on the face of the com-
of iX'r Son tS In qLdrant, as also on those of Gunter, and Sutton,
Quadi
Fig 6.
of arrival, but in all the intermediate ones, we must
find a mean proportional parallel between them, lo
find this, we have on the instrument a scale of cross la¬
titudes. Suppose then it were required to find ji mean
parallel between the parallels ot 40 and 60 j wit
your compasses take the middle between the 4Cth and
60th decree on this scale: the middle point will teirui¬
nate against the 51st degree, which is the mean parallel
16 Tim principal use of the sinical quadrant is to form
triangles upon, similar to those made by a ship s way
with the meridians and parallels; the sides ot wn.c 1
triangles are measured by the equal intervals between
the concentric quadrants and the lines IS and S, E and
W ■ and every fifth line and arch is made deeper than
the'rest. Now, suppose a ship to have sailed 150 leagues
north-east, one-fourth north, which is the third point,
and makes an angle of 33° 44' ™th the north part ot
the meridian : here are given the course and distance
sailed, by which a triangle may be formed on the in¬
strument similar to that made by the ship, course; and
hence the unknown parts of the triangle may be found.
Thus, supposing the centre A to represent the place ot
departure, count, by meansof the concentric circles along
the point the ship sailed on, viz. AD, i-5o league^:
then in the triangle AED, similar to that of the ships
course, find AEzrdifference of latitude, and DE=d.t-
feaence of longitude, which must be reduced according
to the parallel of latitude come to.
10. Gunner, quadrant (fig. 6.), sometimes called
a-unner's square, is that used for elevating and pointing
cannon mortars, &c. and consists of two branches ei¬
ther of brass or wood, between which is a quadrantal
arch divided into 90 degrees, beginning from the shorter
branch, and furnished with a thread and plummet, as
represented in the figure.—The use of the gunner,
quadrant is extremely easy; for if the longest branch
be placed in the mouth of the piece, and it be elevated
till the plummet cut the degree necessary to hit a propo¬
sed object, the thing is done. Sometimes on one of the
surfaces of the long branch are noted the division of dia¬
meters and weights of iron bullets, as also the bores of
pieces. '
Quadrant of Altitude, is an appendage of the arti¬
ficial globe, consisting of a lamina, or slip of brass, the
length of a quadrant of one of the great circles of the
globe, and graduated. At the end, where the division
terminates, is a nut rivetted on, and furnished with a
screw, by means whereof the instrument is fitted on the
meridian, and moveable round upon the rivet to all
points of the horizon.—Its use is to serve as a scale in
4
mon quadrant,
quadrants. _ .
Quadrat, in Printing, a piece of metal used to htl
up the void spaces between words, &.c. 1 here are qua¬
drats of different sizes ; as m-quadrats, n-quadrats, &c.
which are respectively of the dimensions of these letters,
only lower, that they'may not receive the ink.
QUADRATIC EQUATIONS, in Algebra,' those
wherein the unknown quantity is of two dimensions, or
raised to the second power. See Algebra.
QUADRATRIX, in Geometry, a mechanical line,
by means whereof we can find right lines equal to the
circumference of circles, or other curves, and their se¬
veral parts.
QUADRATURE, in Geometry, denotes the squa¬
ring, or reducing a figure to a square. I bus, the find-
ing&of a square, which shall contain just as much sur¬
face or area as a circle, an ellipsis, a triangle, c£c. is
the quadrature of a circle, ellipsis, &c. I he quadra¬
ture, especially among the ancient mathematicians, was
a great postulatum. The quadrature of rectilineal fi¬
gures is easily found, for it is merely the finding their
areas or surfaces, i. e. their squares ; for the squaies 01
equal areas are easily found by only extracting the roots
of the areas thus found. The quadrature of curvilinear
spaces is of more difficult investigation ; and in this re¬
spect extremely little was done by the ancients, except
the finding thequadratureof the parabola by Archimedes*.
In 1657, Sir Paul Neil, Lord Brouncker, and Sir Chris¬
topher Wren, geometrically demonstrated the equality
of some curvilinear spaces to rectilinear spaces ; and soon
after the like was proved both at home and abroad ot
other curves, and it was afterwards brought under an
analytical calculus; the first specimen of which was
given to the public in 1688 by Mercator, in a demon¬
stration of Lord Brouncker’s quadrature of the hyper¬
bola, by Dr Wallis’s reduction of a fraction into an in¬
finite series by division. Sir Isaac.Newton, however,
had before discovered a method of attaining the quas-
tity of all quadruple curves analytically by his huxions
before 1668. It is disputed between Sir Christopher
Wren and Mr Huyghens which of them first discovered
the quadrature of any determinate cycloidal space. Mr
Leibnitz afterwards found that of another space ; ami in
1669 Bernoulli discovered the quadrature of an infinity
of cycloidal spaces both segments and sectors, &c. ee
Squaring the Circle.
Quadrature, in Astronomy, that aspect of the moon
when she is 90° distant from the sun ; or when she is in
a middle point of her orbit, between the points of con¬
junction and opposition, namely, in the first ant tun
garters. See Astronomy In**. QD(iDRATlJS;
quadrant.
Plate rrrr/j'///
Fig O.
Gunners Qnailrauf.
Piff. L.
S utLons Q Tiadrant.
E.Aft Mi r// Sr/iZ/i '
QUA [ 581
QUADRATUS, in Anatomy, a name given to seve¬
ral muscles on account of their square figure. See
Anatomy, Table of the Muscles.
QUADREL, in Building, a kind of artificial stoner
so called from its being perfectly square. The quad-
rels are made of a chalky earth, &c. and dried in the
shade for two years. These were formerly in great re¬
quest among the Italian architects.
QUADRIGA, in Antiquity, a car or chariot drawn
by four horses. On the reverses of medals, we fre¬
quently see the emperor or Victory in a quadriga, hold¬
ing the reins of the horses; whence these coins are,
among the curious, called nummi quadrigati, and vic¬
tor iati.
QUADRILATERAL, in Geometry, a figure whose
perimeter consists of four sides and four angles ; whence
it is also called a quadrangular figure.
QUADRILLE, a little troop or company of cava¬
liers, pompously dressed, and mounted for the perform¬
ance of carousals, justs, tournaments, runnings at the
ring, and other gallant divertiseinents.
Quadrille, a game played by four persons, with
40 cards; which are the remains of a pack after the
four tens, nines, and eights are discarded ; these are
dealt three and three, and one round' four, to the right-
hand player ; and the trump is made by him that plays
with or without calling, by naming spades, clubs, dia¬
monds, or hearts, arid the suit named is trumps. If the
person who names the trump should mistake, and say
spades instead of clubs, or if he name two suits, the
first named is the trump.
In this game the order of the cards, according to their
natural value, is as follows : of hearts and diamonds,
king, queen, knave, ace, deuce, three, four, five, six,
seven; in all 10: ol spades and clubs, king, queen,
knave, seven, six, five, four, three, deuce ; in all 9.
The reason why the ace of spades and ace of clubs are
not mentioned, is, because they are always trumps in
whatever suit that is played. The ace of spades being
always the first, and the ace of clubs the third trump,
for the cards ranked according to their value when
trumps stand in the following order.
Hearts and diamonds, spadill, or the ace of spades ;
manill, the seventh of the two red suits ; basto, the
ace of clubs ; PONTO, the ace of hearts and diamonds ;
king, queen, knave, deuce; three, four, five, six; in all
12. Spades and clubs, spadill, the ace of spades,
MANILL, the deuce of spades and clubs, basto the ace
of clubs, king, queen, knave, seven, six, five, four,
three; in all 11. It is here to he observed, that the
card which is manill and the second trump, is always
the lowest in its suit when not trumps ; and that the
ace of hearts or diamonds, which when trump is above
the king, is below the knave when not trump.
There are three matadores ; spadill, manill, and ba¬
sto; the privilege of which is, that when the player
has no other trumps but them, and trumps are led, he
is not obliged to play them, but may play what card
he thinks proper, provided, however, that the trump
led is of an inferior rank ; but if spadill should he led,
] QUA
he that has manill or basto only is obliged to play it; QaadrUk.
it is the same ot mamll basto, with respect to the supe- ^ ■— v— i
1 lor matadore always forcing the inferior. Though there
are properly but three matadores, nevertheless all those
trumps which follow the three first without interruption,
are likewise called matadores ; but the three first only
enjoy the privilege above mentioned.
Each person is to play as he judges most convenient
for his own game. He is not to encourage his friend
to play ; but each person ought to know what to do
when it is his turn to play. rI be stakes consist of seven
equal mils or contrats, as they are sometimes called,
comprising the ten counters and fishes, which are given
to each player. A mil is equal to ten fish, and each fish
to ten counters : the value of the fish is according to the
players agreement, as also the number of tours, which
are generally fixed at ten, and marked by turning the
corners of a card.
If the cards should happen not to be dealt right, or
that there should be two cards of the same sort, as
two deuces of spades, for example, there must be a
new deal ; provided it is discovered before the cards
are all played. The cards must,likewise be dealt over
again in case a card is turned in dealing, as it might
be of prejudice to him who should have it, and of
course it there should be several cards turned. Thej$
rs no penalty for dealing, wrong, he who does so must
only deal again.
AV hen each player has got his ten cards, he that is
on the right hand of the dealer, after examining bis
game, and finding his hand fit to play, asks if they
p1 ay ; or it he has not a good hand, he passes, and so
the second, third, and fourth. All the four may pass ;
but he that has spadill, after having shown or named
it, is obliged to play by calling a king. Whether the
deal is played in this manner, or that one of the play¬
ers has asked leave, nobody choosing to play without
calling, the eldest hand must begin the play, first na¬
ming the suit, and the king which he calls; he who
wins the trick plays another card, and so of the rest till
the game is finished. The tricks then are counted; and
if the ombre, that is, be who stands the game, has to¬
gether with him who is the king called, six tricks, they
have won and are paid the game, the consolation, and
the matadores, if they have them, and divide what is up¬
on the game, and the beasts if there are any. But if
they make only five tricks, it is a remise, and they are
beasted, what goes upon the game, paying to the other
players the consolation and the matadores. If the tricks
are equally divided betwixt them, they are likewise beast¬
ed ; and if they make only four tricks between them,
it is a remise; if they make less they lose codill (a),
and in that case they pay to their adversaries what they
should have received if they had won ; that is, the
game, the consolation, and the matadores, if they have
them, and are beasted what is upon the game : they
who win codill, divide the stakes. The beast and every
thing else that is paid, is paid equally betwixt the two
losers ; one half by him that calls, and the other half
by him that is called, as well in case of codill as a re-
(a) Codill is when those who defend the pool make more tricks than they who stand the game ; which is call¬
ed winning the codill.
QUA
t
©•tadnlle. mlse; unless the ombre does not make three tricks, m
%   which case he that Is called Is not only exempted trom
paying half the beast, hut also the game, the consolation,
and the matadores if there are any, which the ombre
in that case pays alone; and as well in case of a codi
as a remise. This is done in order to oblige players
not to play games that are unreasonable. There is ne¬
vertheless, one case in which if the ombre makes only
one trick, he is not beasted alone, and that is, when
not having a good hand he passes, and all the other
players have passed likewisej he having spadillis obliged
to play. Here it would be unjust to oblige him to make
three or four tricks j in this case, therefore, he that is
called pays one half of the losings. For which reason
he that has spadill with a bad hand, should pass, that
if he is afterwards obliged to play by calling a king
(which is called forced spadill), he may not be beasted
alone. He that has once passed cannot be admitted
to play j and he that has asked leave cannot refuse to
play, unless any one should offer to play without call¬
ing. -
He that has four kings, may call a queen to one ot
his kings, except that which is trump. He that wants
one or more kings, may call one of those kings j but
in that case, he must make six tricks alone, and conse¬
quently he wins or loses alone. The king of that suit
in which he plays cannot be called. No one should
play out of his turn, although he is not beasted for so
doing. If he who is not the eldest hand has the king
called, and plays spadill, manill, or basto, or even the
king called in order to show that he is the friend, ha¬
ving other kings that he fears the ombre should trump,
he is not to be allowed to go for the vole ; he is even
beasted, if it appears to be done with that intent. It
is not permitted to show a hand though codill may al¬
ready be won j that it may be seen whether the ombre
is beasted alone. If the ombre or his friend shows
their cards before they have made six tricks, thinking
that they have made them, and there appears a possi¬
bility of preventing their making them, the other
players can oblige them to play their cards as they think
proper.
A player need only name his suit when he plays,
without calling a king. He who plays without calling
must make six tricks alone to winfor all the other
players are united against him, and they are to do what
they can to prevent his winning. He who plays with¬
out calling, is admitted to play in preference to him
who would play with calling *, however, if he that has
asked leave will play without calling, he has the pre¬
ference of the other who would force him. These are
the two methods of play without calling that are called
forced.
As he who plays without calling does not divide the
winnings with any person, he consequently, when he
loses, pays all by himself : if he loses by remise he is
beasted, and pays each of the other players the conso¬
lation, the sans appellcr (which is commonly, but im¬
properly, called the sans prendre), and the matadores
if there are any ) if be loses codill he is likewise beast¬
ed and pays to each player what he would have re¬
ceived from each if he had won. They who win co-
dill divide what there is ; and if there are any coun¬
ters remaining, they belong to him of the three who
«hall have spadill or the. highest trump the oext deal. It
S
582 ] QUA
is the same with regard to him who calls one of his own Qnadrili
kings ; he wins alone or loses alone as in the other case,v—
except the sans appeller, which he does not pay if he
loses, or receive if he wins, although he plays alone.
If he plays sans appeller, though he may have a sure
game, he is obliged to name his suit j which if he ne¬
glects to do, and shows his cards, and says “ I play sans
appeller j” in that case neither of the other players can
oblige him to play in what suit he pleases, although he
should not have one trump in that suit.
He who has asked leave is not permitted to play sans
appeller, unless he is forced •, in which case, as was
said before, he has the preference of the other that
forces him.
A player is not obliged to trump when he has none
of the suit led, nor play a higher card in that suit if
he has it, being at his option although he is the last
player, and the trick should belong to the ombre j but
he is obliged to play in the suit led if he can, other¬
wise he renounces. If he separates a card from his
game and shows it, he is obliged to play it, if by not
doing it the game may be prejudiced, or if he can give
any intelligence to his friend ; but especially if it should
be a matadore.—He that plays sans appeller, or by
calling himself, is not subject to this law. He may
turn the tricks made by the other players, and count
what has been played as often as it is his turn to play,
but not otherwise. If instead of turning a player’s tricks,
he turns and see his game, or shows it to the other
players, he is beasted, together with him whose cards
he turned ; and each of them must pay one half of the
beast.
If any one renounces, he is beasted as often as he
has renounced and it is detected ; but a renounce is not
made til! the trick is turned. If the renounce is disco¬
vered before the deal is finished, and has been detrimen¬
tal to the game, the cards must be taken up again, and
the game replayed from that trick where the renounce
was madej but if the cards are all played, the beast i»
still made, and the cards must not be replayed } except
there should be several renounces in the same deal: then
they are to be played again, unless the cards should be
mixed. If several beasts are made in the same deal,
they all go together, unless it is otherwise agreed at the
beginning of the party j and when there are several
beasts, the greatest always goes first.
A great advantage accrues from being eldest hand at
quadrille, which often renders it very disagreeable to the
rest of the players, being obliged to pass with a good
hand unless they choose to play alone j and when it hap¬
pens that the eldest hand having asked leave, the second
player has three matadores, several trumps in back, and
all small cards, he cannot then even play alone *, and
having no chance of being called, he must pass with this
good hand. On account of which, this method has
been thought expedient to remedy this defect ot the
game 5 each player having an opportunity ot availing
himself of the goodness of his game, by adding to the
usual method of playing the game that of the media-
teur, and the favourite suit.
The first thing to he observed is that of drawing for
places, which is done in this manner : One ot the
players takes four cards; a king, a queen, a knave,
and an ace j each player draws one of these cards ; and
commonly he who comes in last, draws first. The per¬
son
yftdrille,
,t*dripar
itton.
QUA [ 583 1
son trno diaws the king sits where he pleases, the queen into four equal parts,
at his right hand, the knave next the queen, and the
^ ace on the left of the king. The king draws the fa-
~ vourite suit. The number of cards and persons is the
same at this game as the other, and is played in the
same manner.
The favourite suit is determined by drawing a card
out oi the pack, and js of the same suit, during the whole
party, of the card so drawn.
A king is the mediateur, which is demanded of the
others by one of the players, who has a hand he expects
to make five tricks of; and through the assistance of
this king he can play alone and make six tricks.
In return for the king receive*?, he gives what card
he thinks proper with a fish; but must give two fish if
it is in the favourite suit. He who asks by calling in the
favourite suit, has the preference to him who asks by
calling in another; he who asks with the mediateur, has
the preference to him who asks by calling in the favou¬
rite suit, and by playing alone is obliged to make six
tricks to win. He who asks with the mediateur in the
favourite suit, has the preference to him who asks with
the mediateur in any other suit, and is obliged to play
alone, and to make six tricks.
11 sans prendre is played in any other suit than the
favourite, he who plays it has the jjreference to him
who asks only, or with the mediateur, or even he who
plays in the favourite suit with the mediateur; and the
sans prendre in the favourite suit has the preference to
all other players whatever.
'Hie only difference between this method of playing
the game and the other is, that when one of the players
demands the mediateur he is obliged to play alone, and
to make six tricks, as it he played sans prendre. In this
case he should judge from the strength of his hand,
whether the aid of the king will enable him to play
alone or not.
With the mediateur and without the favourite suit it
is played in this manner. The game is marked and
played the same as in common, except that a fish extra¬
ordinary is given to him who plays the mediateur, and
to him who plays sans prendre ; that is, he who wins
the mediateur receives ig counters from each ; and if
he loses by remise he pays 1 2 to each ; and 13 if by
codill. The winner of sans prendre receives 17 coun¬
ters from each ; and if by remise he loses, he pays 16
to each, and 17 if by codill.
The vole with the mediateur receives one fish only,
as at common quadrille. The beasts are also the same as
the common game. The last game is generally played
double, and is called pew la ns ; but for those who choose
to play a higher game, they may play the double colour,
which is called the Tut'k, and is double of the favourite
suit. There is also a higher game than this, called the
auSde, which is paying whatever is agreed to him who
happens to hold the two aces in his hand.
We have omitted many things respecting the mode
of marking the game, and playing the vole, because
these are different in different cases, and are to be learn¬
ed only by practice. The game itself is a very infe¬
rior one ; but he who wishes to know more of it, may
consult Hoyle’s games improved by James Beaufort, Esq.
from which we have, with very little alteration, taken
this article.
QUADRIPARTITION, the dividing by four, or
QUA
He,lce comes the term quadri- Quadripar.
pa) tile, the fourth part, or something divided into four. titiou
QUADRUPEDS, in Zoology ; those animals which II.
have four limbs or legs proceeding from the trunk of. Quai1, .
their body. See Mammalia. ' f
QUADRUPLE, four-fold, or something taken four
times, or multiplied by four, on which account it is the
converse of quadripartition.
QHZESTOR, see Questor.
QUAGGA, or Quacha. See Equus, Mammalia
Index.
QUAIL. See Tetrad, Ornithology Index.
Quails are to be taken by means of the call during
their whole wooing time, which lasts from April to
August. The proper times for using the call are at
sunrising, at nine o’clock in the morning, at three in
the afternoon, and at sunset; for these are the natural
times of the quail’s calling. The notes of the cock
and hen quail are very different; and the sportsman who
expects to succeed in the taking them must be expert ia
both : for when the coek calls, the answer is to be made
in the hen’s note ; and when the hen calls, the answer
is to be made in the cock’s. By this means they will
come up to the person, so that he may, with great ease,
throw the net over them and take them. If a cock-quail
be single, on hearing the hen’s note he will immediately
come; but if he have a hen already with him, he will
not forsake her. Sometimes, though only one quail an¬
swers to the call, there will three or four come up'; and
then it is best to have patience, and not run to take up
the first, hut stay till they are all entangled, as they
will soon be.
The quail is a neat cleanly bird, and will not run
much into dirty or wet places : in dewy mornings, they
will often fly instead of running to the call; and in this
case, it is best to let them go over the net, if it so hap¬
pens that they fly higher than its top ; and the sports¬
man then changing sides, and calling again, the bird
will come back, and then will probably be taken in the
net.
The calls are to be made of a small leather purse,
about two fingers wide, and four fingers long, and
made in the shape of a pear ; that is to be stuffed half-
lull of horse-hair, and at the end of it is to be placed a
small whistle, made of the bone of a rabbit’s leg, or
some other such bone : this is to be about two inches
long, and the end formed like a flageolet, with a little
soft wax. This is to be the end fastened into the
purse ; the other is to be closed up with the same wax,
only that a hole is to be opened with a pin, to make
it give a distinct and clear sound. To make this
sound, it is to be held full in the palm of the hand,,
with one of the fingers placed over the top of the wax ;
then the purse is to be pressed, and the finger is to
shake over the middle of it, to modulate the sound it
gives into a sort of shake. This is the most useful call;
for it imitates the note of the hen quail; and seldom,
fails to bring a cock to the net if there be cue near the
place.
The call that imitates the note of the cock, and is
used to bring the hen to him, is to be about four inches
long, and above an inch thick ; it is to be made of a
piece of wire turned round and curled, and covered
with leather; and one end of it must be closed up with
a piece of fiat wood, about the middle of which there
must*
Quail,
Quakers
QUA [
must be a small thread or strap of leather, and at the
other end must he placed the same sort of pipe, made
— v of hone, as is used in the other call. I he noise is made
by opening and closing the spiral, and gives the same
sound that the cock does when he gives the hen a signal
that he is near her. .
QUAKERS, a religious society, which took its rise
in England about the "middle of the 17th century, and
rapidly found its way into other countries in Europe,
and into the English settlements in North America—
The merribers of this society, we believe, called them¬
selves at first seekers, from, their seeking the truth j hut
after the society was formed, they assumed the appella¬
tion of friends. The name of quakers was given to
them hy their enemies; and though an epithet of re¬
proach, seems to he stamped upon them indelibly.
Their founder is generally believed to have been George
Fox, an illiterate shoemaker (see George Fox), hut this
* See opinion has been lately controverted. An ingenious
Month. writer* having found, or fancied, a similarity of senti-
Rev. Sept, merits among the ancient Druids and modern Quakers,
1793-art 5-seerns to think that Fox must have been nothing more
than a tool employed hy certain deists to pave the way
for their system of natural religion, by allegorizing the
distinguishing article of the Christian faith.
It must be confessed, for experience will not allow it
to be denied, that extremes in religion are very apt to
beget each other-, and if the deists alluded to reasoned
from this fact, they could not have pitched upon a tool
fitter for their purpose than George Fox. From his
works still extant he appears to have been one of the
most extravagant and absurd enthusiasts that ever lived,
and to have fancied himself, in his apostolic character,
something infinitely superior to man. In a book called
News coming out of the North, (p. 15.), he says of him¬
self, “ I am the Door that ever was, the same Christ
yesterday, to-day, and for ever.” And in the intro¬
duction to his Battle-door for Teachers and Professors,
584 ] .QUA
which is a praise to them that do well ; which is a pro- Quai;
tection to them that do well, and not the evil; and  ^
such soldiers as are put in place no false accusers must
be, no violence must do, but be content with their
wages : and that magistrate bears not the sword in vain,
from under the occasion of that sword do I seek to bring
people : my weapons are not carnal but spiritual, and
my kingdom is not of this world; therefore with carnal
weapon I do not fight, but am from those things dead,
from him who is not of this world, called of the world
by the name of G: F: and this I am ready to seal with
my blood \ this I am moved to give forth for the truth’s
sake, who a witness.stands against all unrighteousness,
and all ungodliness, who a sufferer is for the righteous
seed’s sake, waiting for the redemption of it, who a
crown that is mortal seeks not, for that fadeth away ;
but in the light dwells which comprehends that crown,
which light is the condemnation of all such, in which
light I witness the crown that is immortal, which fades
not away from him who to all your souls is a friend,
for establishing of righteousness, and clearing the land
of evil doers, and a witness against all the wicked in¬
ventions of man, and murderer’s plots, which answer
shall he with the light in all your consciences, which
makes no covenant with death •, to which light in you
all I speak, and am clear, G: F: who a new name hath,
which the world knows not (a).”
The Quakers, however, did not long entrust the de¬
fence of their principles to such senseless enthusiasts as
George Fox: They were joined hy a number of learned,
ingenious, and pious men, who new-modelled their
creed and though they did not bring it to what is ge¬
nerally deemed the Christian standard, they so reformed
it as that its tenets do not shock common sense, nor the
duties prescribed scandalize a man of piety. The chief
of these reformers were George Keith, the celebrated
Penn, and our countryman Barclay. Keith was indeed
excommunicated for the liberties which he took with
he savs “ All lannuaves are to me no more than dust, the great apostle } but we have not a doubt but his
’ ’ . . » 6 ^ f • • .-i.i .1  j ..r 13  j
who was before languages were.” But one of the
most extraordinary and blasphemous things that he ever
wrote, is an answer to the Protector, who had required
him to promise not to disturb his goverement as then
established. It is as follows :
“ I who am of the world called G: F: doth deny
the carrying or drawing any carnal sword against any,
or against thee O: C: or any man, in the presence of
the Lord I declare it, God is my witness, hy whom I
am moved to give this forth for the truth’s sake, from
him whom the world calls G.: Fox, who is the son of
God, who is sent to stand a witness against all violence
and against the works of darkness, and to turn the peo¬
ple from darkness to light, and to bring them from the
occasion of the war and from the occasion of the magi¬
strates sword, which is a terror to the evil doer, which
acts contrary to the light of the Lord Jesus Christ;
writings contributed to the moderation of Penn, and
to the elegant and masterly apology of Barclay. From
that apology we selected the summary of their opinions
which was given in the former edition of this work j
but they have lately published such a summary them¬
selves, of which the reader will he pleased with the
following abstract:
They tell us, that about the beginning of the
17th century a number of men, dissatisfied with all
the modes of religious worship then known in the
world, withdrew from the communion of every vi¬
sible church to seek the Lord in retirement. Among
these was their honourable elder George Fox, who
being quickened by the immediate touches of di¬
vine love, could not satisfy his apprehensions of duty
to God without directing the people where to find
the like consolation and instruction. In the course ol
his
(a) We have transcribed this letter from the theological works of Mr Leslie, where it is preserved in its ori¬
ginal form. The Quakers, after the death of their apostle, expunged from their edition of it the words which
we have printed in Italics *, ashamed, as we hope, of the blasphemy imputed to them : but that Mr Leslie’s copy
is authentic, is thus attested by two of the friends, who saw Fox deliver it to the protector’s messenger: “ M «
are witnesses of this testimony, whose names in the flesh are, Tho. Adam.
Bob. Craven”
,iaker*
QUA
[ 585 ]
QUA
Ins travels, he met with many seeking persons In clr- of Christ Inwardly revealed, can do nothing' to the ol0 n 1
cumstances similar to Ins own. and these reaHJW 1.:.. .... > .• g . § . Quakers,
cumstances similar to Ins own, and these readily receiv
ved Ins testimony. They then give us a short account
of their sufferings and different settlements ; and with a
degree of candour which does them infinite credit, they
vindicate Charles I[. from the character of a perse¬
cutor ; acknowledging, that though they suffered much
during his reign, he gave as little countenance as he
ft could to the severities of the legislature. They even
tell us, that he exerted Ins influence to rescue their
friends from the unprovoked and cruel persecutions of
the New England fanatics ; and they speak with be¬
coming gratitude of the different acts passed in their
favour during the reigns of William and Mary, and
George I. 1 hey then proceed to give us the following
account of their doctrine :
“ We agree with other professors of the Christian
name, in the belief in one eternal God, the Creator and
Preserver of the universe ; and in Jesus Christ his Son,
the Messiah, and Mediator of the new covenant (Heb.
xii. 24.).
“ When we speak of the gracious display of the love
of God to mankind, in the miraculous conception, birth,
life, miracles, death, resurrection, and ascension of our
Saviour, we prefer the use of such terms as we find in
Scripture 5 and, contented with that knowledge which
divine wisdom hath seen nuet to reveal, we attempt not
to explain those mysteries which remain under the veiG
nevertheless, we acknowledge and assert the divinity of
Christ, who is the wisdom and power of God unto salva¬
tion (1 Cor. i. 24 ).
“ To Christ alone we give the title of the Word of
God (John i I.), and not to the Scriptures; although
we highly esteem these sacred writings, in subordination
to the Spirit (2 Pet. i. 21.), from which they were gi¬
ven forth ; and we hold, with the apostle Paul, that
they are able to make wise onto salvation, through faith
which is in Christ Jesus (2 Tim. iii. 15.).
“ We reverence those most excellent precepts which
are recorded in Scripture to have been delivered by our
great Lord, and we firmly believe that they are practi¬
cable, and binding on every Christian ; and that in the
life to come every man will be rewarded according to
his works (Mat. xvi. 27.). And farther, it is our°be¬
lief, that, in order to enable mankind to putin practice
these sacred precepts, many of which are contradictory
to the unregenerate will of man (John i. 9.), every man
coming into the world is endued with a measure of the
^ght* grace, or good Spirit of Christ; by which, as it
is attended to, he is enabled to distinguish good from
evil, and to correct the disorderly passions and corrupt
propensities of his nature, which mere reason is alto¬
gether insufficient to overcome. For all that belongs
to man is fallible, within the reach of temptation ; but
this divine grace, which comes by Him who hath over¬
come the world (John xvi. 33.) is, to those who hum¬
bly and sincerely seek it, an all-sufficient and present
help in time of need. By this the snares of the enemy
are detected, his allurements avoided, and deliverance
is experienced through faith in its effectual opera¬
tion ; whereby the soul is translated out of the king¬
dom of darkness, and from under the power of Satan,
into the marvellous light and kingdom of the Son of
God.
“ Being thus persuaded that man, without the Spirit
Vol. XVII. Part II. f
17 of God, or to effect his own salvation ; we think this
influence especially necessary to the performance of the
highest act of which the human mind is capable, even
the worship of the Father of lights and of spirits, in
spirit and in truth ; therefore we consider as obstruc¬
tions to pure worship, all forms which divert the at¬
tention ol the mind from the secret influence of this
unction from the Holy One (1 John ii. 20, 27.). Yet
although true worship is not confined to time and place’
we think it incumbent on Christians to meet often to¬
gether (Heb. x. 25.) in testimony of their dependence
on the heavenly Father, and for a renewal of their spi¬
ritual strength : nevertheless, in the performance of wor¬
ship, we dare not depend for our acceptance with Him,
on a formal repetition of the words and experiences of
others; but we believe it to be our duty to cease from
the activity of the imagination, and to wait in silence
to have a true sight of our condition bestowed upon us*
believing even a single sigh (Rom. viii. 26.) aiising
from such a sense of our infirmities, and of the need we
have of divine help, to be more acceptable to God, than
any performances, however specious, which orimnate in
the will of man.
“ From what has been said respecting worship, it fol¬
lows, that the ministry we approve must have its ori¬
gin from the same source ; for that which is needful for
a man’s own direction, and for his acceptance with God
(Jer. xxiii. 30. to 32 ), must be eminently so to enable
him to be helpful to others. Accordingly, vve believe
the renewed assistance of the light and power of Christ
to be indispensably necessary for all true ministry : and
that this holy influence is not at our command, or to
be procured by study, but is the free gift of God to his
chosen and devoted servants.—From hence arises our
testimony against preaching for hire, and in contradic¬
tion to Christ’s positive command, 1,1 Freely ye have re¬
ceived, freely give” (Mat. x. 8.) ; and hence our con¬
scientious refusal to support such ministry by tithes or
other means.
“ Vs we dare not encourage any ministry but that
which we believe to spring from the influence of the
Holy Spirit, so neither dare we attempt to restrain this
influence to persons of any condition 111 life, or to the
male sex alone ; but, as male and female are one in
Christ, we allow such of the female sex as we believe
to be endued with a right qualification for the mini¬
stry, to exercise their gifts for the general edification of
the church : and this liberty we esteem to be a pecu¬
liar mark of the gospel dispensation, as foretold by the
prophet Joel (Joel ii. 28, 29.), and noticed by the apos¬
tle Peter ( Acts ii. 16, 17.).
“There are two ceremonies in use amongst most pro¬
fessors of the Christian name; Water-baptism, and what
is termed the Lord’s Supper. The first of these is gene¬
rally esteemed the essential means of initiation into the
church of Christ; and the latter of maintaining commu¬
nion with him. But as we have been convinced, that
nothing short of his redeeming power, inwardly reveal¬
ed, can set the soul free from the thraldom of sin, by
this power alone we believe salvation to be effected. We
hold that as there is one Lord and one faith (Eph. iv.
5.), so his baptism is one in nature and operation ; that
nothing short of it can make us living members of his
mystical body; and that the baptism with water, admi-
4 -E nistered
QUA
[ 586 ]
QUA
Quakers nisteretl by his fore-runner John, belonged, as the latter
' „ ~ v < confessed, to an inferior and decreasing dispensation
(John iii. 30.)* ... .
“ With respect to the other rite, we believe that
communion between Christ and his church is not main¬
tained by that nor any other external performance, but
only bv a real participation of his divine nature (2 -ret.
i. 4.) through faith ; that this is the supper alluded
to in the Revelation (Rev. iii. 20.), “ Behold I stand
at the door and knock, if any man hear my voice, and
open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with
him, and he with me 5” and that where the substance
is attained, it is unnecessary to attend to the shadovv,
which doth not confer grace, and concerning which
opinions so different, and animosities so violent, have
arisen.
“ Now, as we thus believe that the grace of God,
which comes by Jesus Christ, is alone sufficient for sa -
vation, we can neither admit that it is conferred on a
few only, whilst others are left without it; nor, thus,
asserting its universality, can we limit its operation to a
partial cleansing of the soul from sin, even in this life.
We entertain worthier notions both of the power and
goodness of our heavenly J ather, and believe that he
doth vouchsafe to assist the obedient to experience a
total surrender of the natural will to the guidance of his
pure unerring Spirit j through whose renewed assistance
they are enabled to bring forth fruits unto holiness, and
to stand perfect in their present rank (Mat. v. 48.
Eph. iv. 13. $ Col. iv. 12.).
“ There are not many of our tenets more generally
known than our testimony against oaths and against
war. With respect to the former of these, we abide
literally by Christ’s positive injunction, delivered in his
sermon on the mount, “ Swear not at all” (Mat. v.
* See Oath. 34.) *. From the same sacred collection of the most
excellent precepts of moral and religious duty, from the
example of our Lord himself (Mat. chap. v. 39* 44»
ch. xxvi. 52, 53. •, Luke xxii. 51.John xviii. I I.), and
from the correspondent convictions of his Spirit in our
hearts, we are confirmed in the belief that wars and
fightings are, in their origin and effects, utterly repug¬
nant to the Gospel, which still breathes peace and good¬
will to men. We also are clearly of the judgment, that
if the benevolence of the Gospel were generally preva¬
lent in the minds of men, it would effectually prevent
them from oppressing, much more from enslaving, their
brethren, (of whatever colour or complexion), for whom,
as for themselves, Christ died *, and would even influence
their conduct in their treatment of the brute creation,
which would no longer groan the victims of their ava¬
rice, and of their false ideas of pleasure.
“ Some of our tenets have in former times, as hath
been shown, subjected our friends to much suffering from
government, though to the salutary purposes of govern¬
ment our principles are a security. They inculcate
submission to the laws in all cases wherein conscience is
not violated. But we hold, that as Christ’s kingdom
is not of this world, it is not the business of the civil
magistrate to interfere in matters of religion j but to
maintain the external peace and good order of the com- Quakei
munity. We therefore think persecution, even in the
smallest degree, unwarrantable. We are careful in re¬
quiring our members not to be concerned in illicit trade,
nor in any manner to defraud the revenue.
“ It is well known that the society, from its first ap¬
pearance, has disused those names of the months and
days which, having been given in honour of the heroes
or false gods of the heathens, originated in their flat¬
tery or superstition j and the custom of speaking to a
single person in the plural number (b), as having ari¬
sen also from motives of adulation. Compliments, su¬
perfluity of apparel and furniture, outward shows of re¬
joicing and mourning, and observation of days and
times, we esteem to be incompatible with the simplicity
and sincerity of a Christian life \ and public diversions,
gaming, and other vain amusements of the world, we
cannot but condemn. They are a waste of that time
which is given us for nobler purposes, and divert the
attention of the mind from the sober duties of life, and
from the reproofs of instruction, by which we are guid¬
ed to an everlasting inheritance.
“ To conclude, although we have exhibited the se¬
veral tenets which distinguish our religious society, as
objects of our belief, yet we are sensible that a true and
living faith is not produced in the mind of man by his
own effort j hut is the free gift of God (Eph. ii. 8-)
in Christ Jesus, nourished and increased by the progres¬
sive operation of his spirit in our hearts, and our pro¬
portionate obedience (John vii. ly*)* Therefore, al¬
though, for the preservation of the testimonies given us
to bear, and for the peace and good order of the so¬
ciety, we deem it necessary that those who are admit¬
ted into membership with us, should be previously con¬
vinced of those doctrines which we esteem essential j yet
we require no formal subscription to any articles, either
as the condition of membership, or to qualify for the
service of the church. We prefer the judging of men
by their fruits, in a dependence on the aid of Him
who, by his prophet, hath promised to be “ a spirit
of judgment to him that sitteth in judgment” (Isaiah
xxviii. 6.). Without this, there is a danger of re¬
ceiving numbers into outward communion, without
any addition to that spiritual sheepfold, whereof our
blessed Lord declared himself to be both the door
and the shepherd (John x. 7, 11.), that is, such as
know his voice, and follow him in the paths of obe¬
dience.”
Such are the doctrines of this people as we find them
stated in a small pamphlet lately presented by themselves
to the public j and in the same tract they give the fol¬
lowing account of their discipline.
“ In the practice of discipline, we think it indispen¬
sable that the order recommended by Christ himself be
invariably observed: (Matth. xviii. 15. to I70- *1*
thy brother shall trespass against thee, go and tell him
his fault between thee and him alone : if he shall hear
thee, thou hast gained thy brother but if he will not
hear thee, then take with thee one or two more, that in
the mouth of two or three witnesses every word may
(b) Speaking of this custom, Fox says} “ When the Lord sent me into the world, he forbade me to put •
my hat to any j and I was required to thee and thou, all men and women.'’ Journal, p. 24.
QUA
Httakers. ^ established ; and if he shall ileglect to hear them, tell
it unto the church.’
. “ To effect ‘l16 salutary purposes of discipline, meet¬
ings were appointed, at an early period of the society,
which, from the times of their being held, were called
quarterly meetings. It was afterwards found expedient
to divide the districts of those meetings, and to meet
more often 5 whence arose monthly meetings, subordi¬
nate to those held quarterly. At length, in 1669, a
yearly meeting was established, to superintend, assist,
and provide, rules for the whole ; previous to which
general meetings had been occasionally held.
A monthly meeting is usually composed of several
particular congregations, situated within a convenient
distance of each other. Its business is to provide for
the subsistence of their poor, and for the education of
their offspring; to judge of the sincerity and fitness of
persons appearing to be convinced of the religious prin¬
ciples of the society, and desiring to be admitted into
membership j to excite due attention to the discharge
of religious and moral duty 5 and to deal with disor-
derly members. Monthly meetings also grant to such
of their members as remove into other monthly meet¬
ings, certificates of their membership and conduct-
without which they cannot gain membership in such
meetings. Each monthly meeting is required to appoint
certain persons under the name of overseers, who are to
take care that the rules of our discipline be put in prac¬
tice ; and when any case of complaint or disorderly con¬
duct comes ta their knowledge, to see that private ad¬
monition, agreeable to the gospel rule before mention¬
ed, be given previously to its being laid before the
monthly meeting.
“ When a case is introduced, it is usual for a small
committee to be appointed to visit the offender, to en¬
deavour to convince him of his error, and to induce him
to forsake and condemn it. If they succeed, the person
is by minute declared to have made satisfaction for the
o ence 5 if not, he is disowned as a member of the so¬
ciety.
“ In disputes between individuals, it has long been
the decided judgment of the society that its members
should not sue each other at law. It therefore enjoins
all to end their differences by speedy and impartial ar¬
bitration, agreeable to rules laid down. If any refuse
to adopt this mode, or, having adopted it, to submit to
the award, it is the direction of the yearly meeting that
such be disowned.
“ T® monthly meetings also belongs the allowing of
marriages ; for our society hath always scrupled tiTac-
knowledge the exclusive authority of the priests in the
solemnization of marriage. Those who intend to mar¬
ry, appear together and propose their intention to the
monthly meeting j and if not attended by their parents
or guardians, produce a written certificate of their con¬
sent, signed in the presence of witnesses. The meeting
then appoints a committee to inquire whether they are
clear of other engagements respecting marriage ; and
if at a subsequent meeting, to which the parties also
t 587 ]
qua
come and declare the continuance of their intention, no
objections are reported, they have the meeting’s con¬
sent to solemnize their intended marriage. This is
done in a public meeting for worship j towards the
close whereof the parties stand up, and solemnly take
each other for husband and wife. A certificate of the
proceedings is then publicly read, and signed by the
parties, and afterwards by the relations and others as
witnesses. Of such certificates the monthly meeting
keeps a record ; as also of the births and burials of its
members. A certificate of the date, of the name of
the infant, and of its parents, signed by those present
at the birth, is the subject of one of these last-men¬
tioned records ; and an order for the interment, coun¬
tersigned by the grave-maker, of the other. The
naming of children is without ceremony. Burials are
also conducted in a simple manner. The body, follow-
c by the relations and friends, is sometimes, previously
to interment, carried to a meeting j and at the grave a
pause is generally made; on both which occasions it
fiequently falls out that one or more friends present have
somewhat to express for the edification of those who at¬
tend j but no religious rite is considered as an essential
part of burial.
. Several monthly meetings compose a quarterly meet-
ing. At the quarterly meeting are produced written
answers from the monthly meetings, to certain queries
respecting the conduct of their members, and the meet¬
ing’s care over them. The accounts thus received are
digested into one, which is sent, also in the form of an¬
swers to queries, by representatives, to the yearly meet¬
ing.—Appeals from the judgment of monthly meetino's
are brought to the quarterly meetings; whose business
also it is to assist in any difficult case, or where remiss¬
ness appears in the care of the montlily-meetings over
the individuals who compose them.
“ The yearly meeting has the general superintendance
ol the society in the country in which it is established (c);
and therefore, as the accounts which it receives dis¬
cover the state of inferior meetings, as particular exi¬
gencies require, or as the meeting is impressed with a
sense of duty, it gives forth its advice, makes such
regulations as appear to be requisite, or excites to the
observance of those already made; and sometimes
appoints committees to visit those quarterly meetings
which appear to be in need of immediate help. Ap¬
peals from the judgment of quarterly meetings are
here finally determined; and a brotherly correspon¬
dence, by epistles, is maintained with other yearly
meetings. }
“ In this place it is proper to add, that as we believe '
women may be rightly called to the work of the mini¬
stry, we also think, that to them belongs a share in the
support of our Christian discipline ; and that some parts
of it, wherein their own sex is concerned, devolve on
them with peculiar propriety. Accordingly they have
monthly, quarterly, and yearly meetings of their own
sex, held at the same time and in the same place with
those of the men ; but separately, and without the power
4 E 2 0f
Er2„T,,™| ^ year,y meetings, 1st, London, to winch come representatives from Ireland ; 2d, New-
lieafand’Geo’Ja “ > 4th’ P™"S>'lvama a“d New-Jersey ; yth, Maryland ; 6th, Virginia ; 7tb, the Caro-
Q.nakcrs.
qua
Quakers.
the imprisonment of so many of the men, the eare of
the poor often fell on the women, and was by them sa¬
tisfactorily administered. . . .. •
“ In order that those who are in the situation ot n -
nisters may have the tender sympathy and ^«n.sel «
those of either sex, who, by their experience in
,,0,-k of religion, are qualified t-a aervice ; he
QUA [ 5^8 ]
, . . lr ,1 flnriny books, and with the management of its stock; and Quake-
of making rules: and it may be remarke io^fe considered as a standing committee of the yearly Qualiw
the persecutions, which in the jast cen^ y ^ ^ ^ meeting, it hath a general care of whatever may arise,
during the intervals of that meeting, affecting the socie¬
ty, and requiring immediate attention: particularly of
those circumstances which may occasion an application to
government.
“ There is not in any of the meetings which have
been mentioned any president, as we believe that Di-
work or rengiou, ‘ i V erb under the vine Wisdom alone ought to preside j nor hath any mem-
monthly meeting are adtW to select ‘«h,on<lutbe pr^mimme over the rest. The
, -r TW and mm.sters approved b^a r g ^ ^ ^ undertaken
member \ as is also the keeping
ian
denomination otelders. These, and ministers approved
t their monthly meetings (d), have meetings peculiar
tl themselves, called meetings of ministers and elder , I J
in which they have an opportunity of exciting each of the
other to a discharge of their several duties, and o ex¬
tending advice to those who may appear weak, without
any needless exposure. These meetings are generally
held in the compass of each monthly, quarterly, and
yearly meeting. They are conducted by rules pre¬
scribed by the yearly meeting, and have no authoiity to
make any alteration er addition to them. The members
of them unite with their brethren in the meetings tor
discipline, and are equally accountable to the latter for
their conduct. T j
“ It is to a meeting of this kind held in London,
called the second-day-morning-meeting, that the revisal
of manuscripts concerning our principles, previous y to
publication, is intrusted by the yearly meeting held in
London; and also the granting, in the intervals o the
yearly meeting, certificates of approbation to such mi¬
nisters as are concerned to travel in the work of the
ministry in foreign parts. When a visit of this kind
doth not extend beyond Great Britain, a certifi¬
cate from the monthly meeting of which the mini¬
ster is a member is sufficient ‘7 if to Ireland, the con¬
currence of the quarterly meeting is also required.
Regulations of similar tendency obtain in other yearly
meetings. , . _ , . ,,
“ The yearly meeting held in London, in the year
1675, appointed a meeting to be held in that city, tor
the purpose of advising and assisting in cases ot sufler-
ing for conscience sake, which hath continued with
great use to the society to this day. It is composed
of friends under the name of correspondents, chosen by
the several quarterly meetings, and who reside in or
near the city. The same meetings also appoint mem¬
bers of their own in the country as correspondents, who
are to join their brethren in London on emergency.
The names of all these correspondents, previous to their
being recorded as such, are submitted to the approba¬
tion of the yearly meeting. Those ol the men who are
approved ministers are also members ot this meeting,
■which is called the meeting for sufferings; a name aris¬
ing from its original purpose, which is not yet become
entirely obsolete.
“ The yearly meeting has intrusted the meeting for
sufferings with the care of printing and distributing
some , _ _
of the records. Where these are very voluminous,
and require a house for their deposite (as is the case in
London, where the general records ot the society in
Great Britain are kept), a clerk is hired to have the
care of them j but except a tew clerks ot this kind,
and persons who have the care of meeting-houses, none
receive any stipend or gratuity for their seivices in our
religious society.”
it is remarkable, that all the settlements of the Eu¬
ropeans in America, except the Quaker settlement of
Pennsylvania, were made by force of arms, with very lit¬
tle regard to any prior title in the natives. 1 he kings
of Spain, Portugal, France, and Britain, together with
the States of Holland, then the only maritime powers,
gave grants of such parts of America as their people
could lay hold on, studying only to avoid interference
with their European neighbours. But Mr Penn, being
a Quaker, did not think Ins power fromKing Chas.IL a
sufficient title to the country since called Pennsylvania :
He therefore assembled the sachems or princes then in
that country, and purchased from them the extent of
land that he wanted. The government of this province
is mostly in the hands of the Quakers, who never have
any quarrels with the natives. When they desire to ex¬
tend their settlements, they.purchase new lands of the
sachems, never taking any thing from them by force.
How unlike is this conduct to that of the Spaniards,
who murdered millions of the natives of Mexico, Terra
Firma, Peru, Chili, &c.
QUALITY is a word which, as used in plnlosoplu-Qoalit
cal disquisitions, cannot be explained by any periphrasis."
That which is expressed by it must be brought into the ^
immediate view of the senses or intellect, and the name
properly applied, or he who is a stranger to the word
will never be made to comprehend its meaning. Ari¬
stotle, who treated it as a general conception, second in
order among the ten predicaments ox categories (see Ca-
TEGORy), gives several characters ot it j but though they
are all in some respects just, no man could from them,
without other assistance, learn what quality is. Thus he*
tells us *, evawiorjis ececlx to oioiev ^
& TO jttaA/ov Kott TO »t1ov tx Trotx. And again, Opo>x 08^
IS
till
an
be
ca
CO
IM
nn
tn
ivi
DO
ne
col
be
co
re:
sai
is
ita th
th,
V xvouotx xxlx povxi TXf ttoiotvIxs , teyerxi opoioy
sltg*. ovx. tilt *.<*]’ xvhr, » xxt 0 ttoiov
When
(D) “ Those who believe themselves required to speak in meetings for worship, are not immediately acknow¬
ledged as ministers by their monthly meetings j hut time is taken for judgment, that the meeting may ^
of their call and qualification. It will sometimes happtn, that such as are not appiove , \vi o i n c .
as ministers, to the tfrief of their brethern j but much forbearance is used towards these, before the dis pp
tion of the meeting is publicly testified.
QUA
lility.
i
Nting
k Vn but
5 Jtie*.
^ •tint
When a man comprehends, by means of Ills senses
jand intellect, what it is which the word quality denotes,
he will indeed perceive that the first of these characters
is applicable to some qualities and not to others 5 that
the second is more applicable to quantity than toquality;
and that it is only the third which can with propriety
be considered as the general characteristic of this predi¬
cament. Thus when we have learned by our sense of
sight that whiteness is a quality of snow, and blackness of
coal} and by means of observation and leflection, that
wisdom is a quality of one man anA folly of another w'e
must admit that the sensible quality of the snow is con-
trary to that of the coal ; and the intellectual quality of
wisdom contrary to that of folly. There is, however,
no contrariety between wisdom and whiteness or black¬
ness, nor between hardness or softness and any particular
colour ; for sensible and intellectual qualities can never
be compared 5 and it is not easy, if possible, to make a
comparison between qualities perceptible only by diffe¬
rent senses : Nay, amonsi qualities perceptible by the
same sense, we often meet with a difference where there
is no contrariety, for though the figure of a cube is dif¬
ferent fiom that of a sphere, and the figure of a square
from that of a circle, the sphere is not contrary to the
cube, nor the circle to the square.
His second characteristic of this genus is still less pro¬
per than the first. It is indeed true that some qualities
admit oiintension nnAremission ; for snow is whiter than
paper, and one woman is handsomer than another j but
of the species of quality called figure we cannot predi¬
cate either more or less. A crown-piece may have as
much of the circular quality in it as the plane of the
equator, and a musket bullet as much of the spherical
quality as the orb of the sun. It is indeed a property
of all quantity to admit of intension and remission; and
therefore this ought to have been given as the charac¬
ter not of the second but of the third category. See
Quantity.
That it is only from a comparison of their qualities
that things are denominated like or unlike, or that one
thing cannot resemble another but in some quality, is in¬
deed a just observation. We know nothing directly but
qualities sensible and intellectual (see Metaphysics,
N° 149, 1 jo, 151, and 227) *, and as these have no re¬
semblance to each other, we conclude that body or mat¬
ter, the subject of the former, is a being unlike mind,
the subject of the latter. Even of bodies themselves we
can say, that one is like or unlike another only by vir¬
tue of their qualities. A ball of ivory resembles a ball
of snow in its figure and colour, but not in its coldness or
hardness ; a ball of lead mav resemble a ball of snow in
its figure and coldness, but not in its colour ; and a cube
of ivory resembles not a ball of lead either in figure, co¬
lour, or coldness. The mind of a brute resembles that of
a man in its powers of sensation and perception, but does
not resemble it in the powers 0$volition and reasoning ;
or at least the resemblance, in this latter instance, is
verv slight. All bodies resemble one another in being
solid and extended, and all minds in being more or less
active. Likeness or unlikeness therefore is the univer¬
sal characteristic of the category quality.
Aristotle has other speculations respecting quality,
which are worthy of notice. He distinguishes between
qualities which are essential*\\A those which are acciden¬
tal} between qualities which are natural and those
[ 589 J
qua
which are acquired; and he speaks of the qualities of ^
capacity and those at completion. Extension and figure in ■ qtli"ity-
general are qualities essential to all bodies: but * par ti-
cufar extension, such as an inch or an ell, and a parti¬
cular figure, such as a cube or a sphere, are qualities acci¬
dental to bodies. Among the wr/^/ro/qualities of glass
it is one to transmit objects of vision ; but to enlarge
these objects is an adventitious or acquired quality. The
same quality may be natural in one substance, as attrac¬
tion in the magnet ; and acquired in another, as the
same attraction in the magnetic bar. Docility may be
callid a quality natural to the mind of man, science an
acquired one. To understand what he means by quali¬
ties of capacity and completion, it may be sufficient to ob¬
serve that every piece of iron has tin qualities of a ra¬
zor in capacity, because it may be converted into steel,
and formed into a razor: when it is so formed, it has
in the language of this sage, the quality of a razor in
completion. Among the qualities of capacity and comple¬
tion, the most important, and what may lead to interest¬
ing speculations, is the reasoning faculty of man. A
capacity of reasoning is essential to the human mind j
but the completion of this capacity or actual reasoning is
not, otherwise infants and persons asleep would be ex¬
cluded from the human species.
Mr Locke has puzzled his readers, and perhaps him-over]Joked
self, with a question respecting the species of an idiot by Locke,
or changeling, whom he pronounces to be something
between a man and a brute *. It is not often that we * Book iy-
feel ourselves inclined to regret Locke’s ignorance of^'^ ^
Aristotle’s distinctions j but we cannot help thinking,^0
that had the British philosopher attended to the Siagy-
rite’s account of qualities in capacity and qualities in
completion, this perplexing question would never have
been started. It is justly observed in the Essay on Hu¬
man Understanding, that of real essences we know no¬
thing : but that every man selects a certain number of
qualities which he has always perceived united in certain
beings ; and forming these into one complex conception,
gives to this conception a specific name, which he ap¬
plies to every being in which he finds those qualities
united. This is undoubtedly the process of the mind in strange
forming genera and species j and as the excellent author conse- *
refuses the name of man to the changeling, it is obvious <lucnce o{-
that the complex conception, to which he gives that19* 0VCI>
name, must imply rationality ortheactual exercise of rea- ^ *
son. But this limitation will exclude many beings from
the species man, whom Mr Locke certainly considered as
men and worn* n. Not to mention infants and persons
in sound sleep, how shall we class those who, after hav¬
ing lived 30 or 40 years in the full exercise of reason,
have been suddenly or by degrees deprived of it by some
disorder in the brain ?
From Marlb’rough’s eyes the streams of dotage flow ;
And Swift expires a driveller and a show. Johnson.
But were the hero and the wit in those deplorable cir¬
cumstances excluded from the human species, and classed
between men and brutes ? No surely j they were both
acknowledged to be men, because they were known to
have the quality of reason in what Aristotle would have
called capacity. Their dotage and drivelling originated
from some disorder in their bodies, probably in the re¬
gion of the brain j and Locke himself contends that no
defect in body is sujfjicient to degrade a person from the
rank
Quality
R
Quail g-
ping-fou.
Fallacy of
his doc¬
trine re¬
specting
the human
species.
True doc¬
trine.
QUA C 59°
rank of manhood. Again, lunatics have the exercise ot
reason, except at new and full moon. Are these un¬
happy beings sometimes men and sometimes a species
by themselves between men and brutes? _
It appears, therefore, that not the actual exercise ot
reason, but reason in capacity, ought to be included m
the complex conception to which we give the specihc
name of as some of the greatest men that ever lived
have been during parts of their lives deprived o the
power of actual reasoning. This, however, it will be
said, does not remove the difficulty j for the occasional
exercise of reason in lunatics, and the great exertions ot
it in such men as Swift and Marlborough, show that
they had it in capacity at all times j whereas we have no
evidence that changelings have even a capacity of rea¬
soning at any time, since they never do a rational action,
nor ever utter a sentence to the purpose. 1 hat we have
no direct and positive evidence of the minds ot change¬
lings being capable of reasoning, were they supplied
with proper organs, must be granted * but the probabi¬
lities of their being so are many and great. We know
by experience that the actual exercise of reason may be
interrupted by an occasional and accidental pressure on
the brain : and therefore we cannot doubt but that if
this pressure were rendered permanent by any wrong
configuration of the skull given to it in the womb, or
in the act of being born into the world, an infant, with
a mind capable of reasoning by means of proper organs,
would by this accident be rendered, through the whole
of life, an idiot or changeling. That idiotism is caused
by such accidents, and is not the quality of an inferior
mind occasionally given to a human body, will at least
seem probable from the following considerations.
It does not appear that an animal body can live and
move but while it is actuated by some mind. Whence
then does the unborn infant derive its mind ? It must be
either immediately from Ood, or ex traduce Irom its
parents*, but if the mind of man be immaterial, it can¬
not be ex traduce. Now, as idiots are very few in num¬
ber when compared with the rational part of the human
species, and as God in the government of this world
acts not by partial but by general laws *, we must con¬
clude that the law which he has established respecting
the union of mind and matter, is, that human bodies
shall be animated with minds endowed wuth a capacity
of reasoning, and that those who never exert this capa¬
city are prevented by some such accident as we have
assigned.
For a further account of qualities, why they are sup¬
posed to inhere in some subject, together with the usual
distinction between the primary and secondary qualities
of matter, see Metaphysics, Part II. chap. i.
Chemical Qualities, those qualities principally in¬
troduced by means of chemical experiments, as fumi¬
gation, amalgamation, cupellation, volatilization, pre¬
cipitation, &c.
Quality, is also used for a kind of title given to
certain persons, in regard of their territories, signiories,
or other pretensions.
QUANGA. See Capra.
QUANG-Ping-FOU, a city in China, is situated in
the northern part of the province of Pe-tcheli, between
the provinces of Chang-tong and Ho-nan, and has nine
cities of the third class dependent on it $ all its plains
are well watered by rivers. Among its temples, there
3
] qua
is one dedicated to those men who, as these Chinese
Quan
pretend, discovered the secret of rendering themselves ping.;
immortal. _ H I
QUANGSI, a province of China, bounded on the , ^
north by Koe-Tcheau and Hu-Quang*, on the east, by i
Yunan and Qwantong j on the south, by the same and
Tonquin ; and on the west, by Yun-nan. It produces
great plenty of rice, being watered by several large ri¬
vers *, and contains 10,000,000 of inhabitants. The
southern part is a flat country, and well cultivated; but
the northern is full of mountains covered with trees. It
contains mines of all sorts; and there is a gold mine
lately opened. The capital town is Quie-ling.
A very singular tree, says Grosier, grows in this
province; instead of pith, it contains a soft pulp, which
yields a kind of flour : the bread made of it is said to
be exceedingly good. Besides paroquets, hedgehogs,
porcupines, and rhinoceroses, a prodigious number of
wild animals, curious birds, and uncommon insects, are
found here. This province contains 1 2 cities of the
first class, and 80 of the second and third. See China,
Supplement.
QUANG-toNG, a province of China, bounded on
the east by Kiang-si and Fokien ; on the south, by the
ocean ; and on the west, by Tonquin. This province
is diversified by valleys and mountains ; and yields two
crops of corn in a year. It abounds in gold, jewels, silk,
pearls,tin, quicksilver, sugar, brass, iron, steel, saltpetre,
ebony, and several sorts of odoriferous wood ; besides
fruits of all sorts proper to the climate. They have a
prodigious number of ducks, whose eggs they hatch in
ovens ; and a tree, whose wood is remarkably hard and
heavy, and thence called iron-wood. Ihe mountains
are covered with a sort of osiers which creep along the
ground, and of which they make baskets, hurdles, matts,
and ropes.
Although the climate of this province is warm, the
air is pure, and the people are robust and healthy. They
are very industrious ; and it must be allowed that they
possess in an eminent degree the talent of imitation : if
they are only shown any of our European works, they
execute others like them with the most surprising exact¬
ness. This province suffered much during the civil
wars ; but at present it is one of the most flourishing
in the empire ; and, as it is at a great distance from
court, its government is one of the most important.
This province is divided into ten districts, which con¬
tain ten cities of the first class, and 84 ot the second
and third. Canton is the capital town. 1
QUANTITY, as explained by the great English Quanti
lexicographer, is that property of any thing which may
be increased or diminished. This interpretation of
the word is certainly just, and for the purposes of com¬
mon conversation it is sufficiently determinate ; but the
man of science may expect to find in a work like ours
a definition of the thing signified. T his, however, can¬
not be given him. A logical definition consists of the
genus under which the thing defined is ranked, and the
specific difference (see Logic, N° 20, &c.) ; but quan¬
tity is ranked under no genus. In that school where
such definitions were most valued, it was considered as
one of the ten categories, or general conceptions, under
which all the objects of human apprehension were mus¬
tered, like soldiers in an army (see Category and Phi¬
losophy, N° 22.). On this account, even Aristotle
himself,
QUA
1 Utity
' v 
I 12
f|a'te'
by
J Ltle.
edit
Tke
iect
ofm
B»ti
'Mil lg.
himself, who delighted in definitions, and was not easi¬
ly deterred from a favourite pursuit, could not consist¬
ently with bis own rules attempt to define quantity. He
characterizes it, however, in several parts of his works :
and particularly in the 15th chapter of the 4th book of
his metaphysics, where he gives the following account
of the three first categories: TcrSlet pu ^ ^ 6vrM.
tpota 2’ *>v yi TToioiYig pix i<ru to ttoo-ov tv. “ Things
are the same of which the substance is one j similar,
of which the quality is one ; equal, of which the
QUANTITY vs one. Again, he tells us *, that the chief
characteristic of quantity is, that it may be denomina¬
ted equal and unequal.
That any man can become wiser by reading such de¬
scriptions as these, none but an idolater of Aristotle
will suppose. There is, indeed, no periphrasis by
which we can explain what is meant by quantity to
those who have not previously formed such a notion. 
All that can be done by making the attempt is only to
settle language, by stating exactly the cases in which
we use this word in the greatest conformity to general
custom ; for there is a laxness or carelessness of expres¬
sion in the language of most men, and our notions are
frequently communicated by speech in a way by no
means precise j so that it is often a great chance that
the notions excited in the mind of the hearer are
not exact counterparts of those in the mind of the
speaker.
'I he understandings of men differ in nothing more re¬
markably than in their power of abstraction, and of ra¬
pidly forming conceptions so general and simple as not
te be clogged with distinguishing circumstances, which
may be different in different minds while uttering and
hearing the same words : and it is of great consequence
to a man of scientific habits, either to cultivate, if pos¬
sible, this talent, or to supersede its use, by studiously
forming to himself notions of the most important
sals in his own course of contemplation, by careful ab¬
straction of every thing extraneous. His language by
this means becomes doubly instructive by its extreme
precision ; and he will even judge with greater certain¬
ty of notions intended to be communicated by the more
slovenly language of another person.
We cannot say that there is much ambiguity in the
general use of the term quantity: But here, as in all
other cases, a love of refinement, of novelty, and fre¬
quently of vanity, and the wish of appearing ingenious
and original, have made men take advantage of even
the small latitude with which the careless use of the
word will furnish them, to amuse themselves and the
public by giving the appearance of science to empty
sounds.
Mathematics is undoubtedly employed in discovering
and stating many relations of quantity ; and it is in this
category alone that any thing is contemplated by the
mathematician, whether in geometry, arithmetic, or al¬
gebra. Hence mathematics has been called the science
of quantity. The simplicity of the object of the ma¬
thematician’s contemplation, and the unparalleled di¬
stinctness with which he can perceive its modifications,
have enabled him to erect a body of science, eminent
not only for its certainty, but also for the great length
to which he can carry his reasonings without danger of
error; and the intimate connection which this science
kas with the arts of life, and the important services
[ 591 ]
QUA
Quantity.
which it has performed, have procured it a most respect¬
able place in the circle of the sciences. Ingenious men
have availed themselves of this pre-eminence of mathe¬
matics, and have endeavoured to procure respect for
their disquisitions on other subjects, by presenting them
to the public as branches of mathematical science, and
therefore susceptible of that accuracy and certainty
which are its peculiar boast. Our moral affections, our
sensations, our intellectual powers, are all susceptible of
augmentation and diminution, are conceivable as greater
and less when stated together, and are familiarly spoken
of as admitting of degrees of comparison. We are
perfectly well understood when we say that one pain,
heat, grief, kindness, is greater than another ; and as
this is the distinguishing characteristic of quantity, and
&o quantity is the subject of mathematical discussion, we
suppose that these subjects may be treated mathemati¬
cally. Accordingly, a very celebrated and excellent
philosopher* has said, among many things of the same * Dr Fran-
kind, that the greatness of a favour is in the direct
compound ratio of the service performed and the dig-sore‘
mty of the performer, and in the inverse ratio of the me- whi.h «
nt and rank of the receiver; that the value of a cha-improperly
racter is in the compound ratio of the talents and virtue introduced
&c.; and he has delivered a number of formal propo-©Uit»
sitions on the most interestingquestions in morals, couch-SUbjCCtS*
ed in this mathematical language, and even expressed by
algebraic formulae. But this is merely play, and conveys
no instruction. We understand the words ; they con¬
tain no absurdity ; and in as far as they have a sense, we
believe the propositions to be true. But they give no
greater precision to our sentiments than the more usual
expressions would do. If we attend closely to the
meaning of any one of such propositions, we shall find
that it only expresses some vague and indistinct notions
of degrees of those emotions, sentiments, or qualities,
which would be just as well conceived by means of the
expressions of ordinary language; and that it is only
by a sort of analogy or resemblance that this mathema¬
tical language conveys any notions whatever of the sub¬
jects.
The object of contemplation to the mathematician is The ma-
not whatever is susceptible of greater and less, but what themati-
is measurable ; and mathematics is not the science of c*an con-
magnitude, in its most abstracted and general accepta-
tion, but of magnitude which can be measured. It is, Sties^hat"
indeed the science of MEASURE, and whatever is are mea-
treated in the way of mensuration is treated mathema-sarable.
tically. Now, in the discourse of ordinary life and
ordinary men, many things are called quantities which
we cannot or ih not measure. This is the case in the
instances already given of the affections of the mind,
pleasure, pain, beauty, wisdom, honour, &c. We do
not say that they are incapable of measure; but we
have not yet been able to measure them, nor do we
think of measuring them when we speak rationally and
usefully about them. We therefore do not consider
them mathematically ; nor can we introduce mathema¬
tical precision into our discussions of these subjects till
v/e can, and actually do, measure them. Persons who
are precise in their expression will even avoid such phrases
on these subjects as suppose, or strictly express, such
measurement. We should be much embarrassed how to
answer the question, How much pain does the tooth¬
ache give you just now ; and how much is it easier since
yesterday ?.
QUA [ 59
(Quantity yesterday? Yet the answer (if we had a measure)
Y—^ would be as easy as to the. question, How many guinea,
did you win at cards ? or how much land have you
bought? Nay, though we say famihady, I know
well how much such a misfortune would affect you,
and are understood when we say it, it would be awk¬
ward language to say, “ I know well the quantity of
your grief!” ^ It is in vain, therefore, to expect mathe¬
matical precision in our discourse or conceptions of quan¬
tities in the most abstracted sense. Such precision is
confined to quantity which may be and is measured (a).
It is only trifling with the imagination when we employ
mathematical language on subjects which -have not this
^ It wfll therefore be of some service in science to dis¬
criminate quantities in this view ; to point out what are
6 susceptible of measure, and what are not.
Measuring What is measuring ? It is one ot these two things . 1
explained. jg elther fading out some known magnitude of the thing
measured, which we can demonstrate to be equal to it •,
or to find a known magnitude of it, which being ta¬
ken so many times shall be equal to it. The geometer
measures the contents of a parabolic space when he ex¬
hibits a parallelogram of known dimensions, and demon¬
strates that this parallelogram is equal to the parabolic
space. In like manner, he measures the solid contents
of an infinitely extended hyperbolic spindle, when he
exhibits a cone of known dimensions, and demonstrates
that three of these cones are equal to the spindle.
In this process it will be found that he actually sub¬
divides the quantity to be measured into parts of which
it consists, and states these parts as actually making up
the quantity, specifying each, and assigning its boun¬
daries. He goes on with it, piece by piece, demon¬
strating the respective equalities as he goes along, till
he has exhausted the figure, or considered all its parts.—
When he measures by means of a submultiple, as when
he shows the surface of a sphere to be equal to four of
its great circles, he stops, after having demonstrated the
equality of one of these circles to one part of the sur¬
face : then he demonstrates that there are other three
parts, each of which is precisely equal to the one he
has minutely considered. In this part of the process he
expressly assigns the whole surface into its distinct por¬
tions, of which he demonstrates the equality.
But there is another kind of geometrical measurement
which proceeds on a very different principle. The geo¬
meter conceives a certain individual portion of his figure,
whether line, angle, surface, or solid, as known in re¬
spect to its dimensions. He conceives this to be lifted
from its place, and again laid down on the adjoining
part of the figure, and that it is equal to the part which
it now covers j and therefore that this part together
with the first is double of the first: he lifts it again, and
lays it down on the next adjoining part, and affirms that
this, added to the two former, make up a quantity tri¬
ple of the first. He goes on in this way, making simi-
2 ] QUA
lar inferences, till he can demonstrate that he has in Quani
this manner covered the whole figure by twenty appli-v—-v
cations, and that his moveable figure will cover no more j
and he affirms that the figure is twenty times the part
employed.
This mode is precisely similar to the manner of prac¬
tical measurement in common life : we apply a foot-rule
successively to two lines, and find that 30 applications
exhaust the one, while it requires 35 to exhaust the ?
other. We say therefore, that the one line is 30 and Euclid
the other 35 feet long •, and that these two lines are tolourlh
each other in the ratio of 30 to 35. Having measuredposllm
two shorter lines by a similar application of a stick of an
inch long, 30 times to the one and 35 times to the other,
we sav that the ratio of the two first lines is the same
with that of the two last. Euclid has taken this method
of demonstrating the fourth proposition ot the first book
of his celebrated Elements.
But all this process is a fiction of the mind, and it is
the fiction of an impossibility. It is even inconceivcable,
that is, we cannot in imagination make this application
of one figure to another ; and we presume to say, that,
if the elements of geometry cannot be demonstrated in
some other way, the science has not that title to pure,
abstract, and infallible knowledge, which is usually al¬
lowed it. We cannot suppose one of the triangles lifted
and laid on the other, without supposing it something
different from a triangle in abstracto. The individuality
of such a triangle consists solely in its being in the pre¬
cise place where it is, and in occupying that portion of
space. If we could distinctly conceive otherwise, we
should perceive that, when we have lifted the triangle
from its place, and applied it to the other, it is gone
from its former place, and that there is no longer a tri¬
angle there. This is inconceivable, and space has al¬
ways been acknowledged to be immoveable. There is
therefore some logical defect in Euclid’s demonstration.
We apprehend that he is labouring to demonstrate, or
rather illustrate, a simple apprehension. This indeed is
the utmost that can be. done in any demonstration (see
Metaphysics, N° 82.) : but the mode by which he
guides the mind to the apprehension of the truth of
his fourth proposition is not consistent either with pure
mathematics or with the laws of corporeal nature. The
real process, as laid down by him, seems to be this.
We suppose something different from the abstract tri¬
angle ; some thing that, in conjunction with other pro¬
perties, has the property of being triangular, with cer¬
tain dimensions of two of its sides and the included an¬
gle. It has avowedly another property, not essential to,
and not contained in, the abstract notion of a triangle,
viz., mobility. We also suppose it permanent in shape
and dimensions, or that although, during its motion, it
does not occupy the same space, it continues, and all its
parts, to occupy an equal space. In short, our concep¬
tion is very mixed, and does not perceptibly differ from
our conception of a triangular piece of matter, where
(a) To talk intelligibly of the quantity of a pain, wre should have some standard by which to measure 1 >
some known degree of it so well ascertained, that all men, when talking of it, should mean the same 1
And we should be able to compare other degrees of pain with this, so as to perceive distinctly, not onb e ier
they exceed or fall short of it, but also how much, or in what proportion 3 whether by an half, or a fain, or a
.tenth. Reid. 1
Quantity.
QUA r 1 G TT A
the triariitle is not the subiect but or. oJ- . ^ W U A
ty. And when we suppose (lie applicat'ion'made'111 *' h"1* t0 aCC“",pl,'!lment are invariably the same, or Quantity,
are not in fact supposing two abstrlct trianeles't, Ll„. ttT/JTVTl?,?'1 S''"'1' ***** “»'"sensible. He con- v—
i cha-
Leristic
ion of
isma-
. « .rr rt',l'-dl-ion made, w
are not m fact supposing two abstract triangles to coin¬
cide. This we cannot do with any thing like distinct-
jiess, for our distinct conception now is, not that of two
triangles coinciding, hut of one triangle being now ex¬
actly occupied hy that moveable thing which formerly
occupied the other. In short, it is a vulgar measurement^
restricted by suppositions which are inadmissible in all
actua/ measurements in the present universe, in which
no moveable material thing is known to be permanent,
either m shape or magnitude. ’
11ns is an undeniable consequence of the principle of
universal gravitation, and the compressibility of every
kind of tangible matter with which we are acquainted.
Kemove the brass rule but one inch from its place* its
gravitation to the earth and to the rest of the universe is
immediately changed, and its dimensions change of con-
sequence. A change of temperature will produce a si¬
milar effect j and this is attended to and considered in
all nice mensurations. We do the best we can to as¬
sure ourselves that our rule always .occupies a sensibly
equal space; and we must be contented with chances of
error which we can neither perceive nor remove.
VVe might (were this a proper place) take notice of
some other logical defects in the reasoning of this cele¬
brated proposition: but they are beside our present pur¬
pose of explaining the different modes of mathematical
measurement, with the view of discovering that circum¬
stance hi which they all agree, and which (if the only
one) must therefore be the characteristic of mensuration.
XXr *» * *
think that the only circumstance in which all
modes o. mensuration agree, or the only notion that is
found in them all, is, that the quantity is conceived as
consisting of parts, distinguishable from each other, and
separated by assignable boundaries; so that they are at
once conceived separately and jointly. We venture to
assert that no quantity is directly measured which we
cannot conceive in this way, and that such quantities
only are the immediate objects of mathematical contem-
p.ation, and should he distinguished by a generic name.
Act them be called Mathematical quantities
jLxiension, Duration, Number, and Proportion,
have this characteristic, and they are the only quantities
which have it. Any person will be convinced of the first
assertion by attending to his own thoughts when con¬
templating these notions. He will find that he conceives
every one of them as made up of its own parts, which
are distinguishable from each other, and have assign-
a e boundaries, and that it is only in consequence of
involving this conception that they' can be added to
or subtracted from each other; that they can be multi-
p ied, divided, and conceived in any proportion to each
ether.
. •^Jle ma7 perhaps find considerable difficulty in acqui¬
ring perfectly distinct notions of the mensurability, and
thp ... i c • r7’ .
that the way in which he measures duration is very si¬
milar to that in which he measures space or extension,
-ne does not know, or does not attend to, any thing
wnch hinders the brass foot-rule'in bis hand from con-
inuing to occupy equal spaces during his use of it, in
measuring the distance of two bodies. In like manner
e selects an event which nature or art can repeat con¬
tinually, and in which the circumstances which contri-
\ol. XVII. Part II. f
eludes that it will always occupy an equal portion of
time for its accomplishment, or always last an equal
time. I hen, observing that, during the event whose
duration he wishes to measure, this standard event is ac¬
complished 29 J times, and that it is repeated 36 cl-
times during the accomplishment of another event, he
affirms^that the durations of these are in the ratio of 294
to 3°Si‘ ft is thus (and with the same logical defect
as in the measuring a line by a brass rod) that the astro¬
nomer measures the celestial revolutions bv means of the
rotation of the earth round its axis, or by the vibrations
or a pendulum.
We are indebted for most of the preceding observa¬
tions to Dr Reid, the celebrated author of the Inquiry
into the Human Mind on the Principles of Common
bense, and of the Essays on the Intellectual and Active
Powers of Man. He has published a dissertation on
this subject in the 45th volume of the Philosophical
.transactions, N° 489, which we recommend to our
philosophical readers as a performance eminent for pre¬
cision and acuteness. If we presume to differ from
him m any trivial circumstance, it is with that de¬
ference and respect which is due to his talents and his
worth.
Dr Reid justly observes, that as nothing has proper-characters
tion which has not either extension, duration, or num-of matke. '
ber, the characters of mathematical quantity may be re- niatical
stricted to these three. He calls them proper quan-^UHDtitJr*
tities, and all others he calls improper. We believe
that, in the utmost precision of the English language,
this denomination is very apposite, and that the word
quantity derived from quantum, always supposes mea¬
surement: But the word is frequently used in cases otlier
wheie its original is not kept in view, and we use other quantities
words as synonymous with it, when all mensuration, tllat «au-
whether possible or not, is out of our thoughts. Accor- n"1 be,con'
ding to practice, therefore, the jus et norma loquendi, themticaU
there seems to be no impropriety in giving this name,ly.
in our language at least, to whatever can be conceived
as great or little. There is no impropriety in saying that
the pain occasioned by the stone is greater than that of
the toothache ; and when we search for the category to
which the assertion may be referred, we cannot find any
other than quantity. We may be allowed therefore to
say,-with almost all our scientific countrymen, that every
thing is conceivable in respect of quantity which we can
think or speak of as greater and less; and that this no¬
tion is the characteristic of quantity as a genus, while
measureableness is the characteristic of mathematical
quantity as a species.
But do we not measure many quantities, and consider
them mathematically, which have not this characteristic
of being made up of their own distinguishable parts ?
What else is the employment of the mechanician, when
ti 0 1 , e roensuraoiiity, anti YY hat else is the employment of the mechanician, when
we accuracy of the modes of mensuration. He will find speaking of velocities,'forces, attractions, repulsions,
le way in which he measures duration is very si- magnetic influence, chemical affiniiv ? A-0
magnetic influence, chemical affinity, &c. &c. P Are
not these mathematical sciences ? And if the precision
and certainty of mathematics arise from the nature of
their specific object, are not all the claims of the mecha¬
nician and physical astronomer ill-founded pretensions ?
These questions require and deserve a serious answer.
It is most certain that we consider the notions which
are expressed by these terms velocity, force, density, and
4 F the
11
Velocity,
force den¬
sity, liow
measured.
qua [
Quantity, the like, as susceptible of measure, and we consider
them mathematically.
Some of these terms are nothing hut names for rela¬
tions of measurable quantity, and only require a little re¬
flection to show themselves such. ^ ei.ocity is one of
these. It is only a name expressing a relation between
the space described by a moving body and the time
which elapses during its description. Certain moderate
rates of motion are familiar to us. VS hat greatly
ceeds this, such as the flight of a bird when compared
with our walking, excites our attention, and this excess
gets a name. A motion not so rapid as we are familiar
with, or as we wish, also gets a name j because in this
the excess or defect may interest us. e wish for the
flight of the hawk 5 we chide the tardy pace of our mes¬
senger: but it is scientific curiosity which first considers
this relation as a separate object of contemplation, and
the philosopher must have a name for it. He has not
formed a new one, but makes use of a word of common
language, whose natural meaning is the combination of
a great’space with a short time. Having once appro¬
priated it, in his scientific vocabulary, to this very ge¬
neral use, it loses with him its true signification. 1 ardi-
ty would have done just as well, though its true mean¬
ing is diametrically opposite ; and there is no greater
impropriety in saying the tardity of a cannon bullet than
in saying the velocity of the hour-hand of a watch. > e-
locity is a quality or aflection of motion, the notion of
which includes the notions of space and duration (two
mathematical quantities), and no other. . It does not
therefore express a mathematical quantity itself, but a
relation, a combination of two mathematical quantities
of different kinds •, and as it is measurable in the quan¬
tities so combined, its measure must be a unit of its own
kind, that is, an unit of space as combined with an unit
of time.
Density is another word of the same kind, expres¬
sing a combination of space with number. Denso; arbo-
res means trees standing at a small distance from each
other j and the word is used in the same sense when we
say that quicksilver is denser than water. The expres¬
sion always suggests to the reflecting mind the notions
of particles and their distances. ^Ve are indeed so habi¬
tuated to complicated viewrs of things, that we can see
remote connections with astonishing rapidity j and a
very few circumstances are sufficient for leading forward
the mind in a train of investigation. Common discourse
is a most wonderful instance of this. It is in this way
that we say, that we found by weighing them that in¬
flammable air had not the sixth part of the density of
common air. Supposing all matter to consist of equal
atoms equally heavy, and knowing that the weight of a
bladder of air is the sum of the weights of all the atoms,
and also knowing that the vicinity of the atoms is in a
certain proportion of the number contained in a given
bulk, we affirm that common air is more than six times
denser than inflammable air ; but this rapid decision is
entirely the effect of habit, which makes us familiar
with certain groupes of conceptions, and we instantane¬
ously distinguish them from others, and thus think and
discourse rationally. The Latin language employs the
word frequens to express both the combination of space
and number, and that of time and number.
There are perhaps a few more words which express
combinations of mathematical quantities of different
kinds j and the corresponding ideas or notions are there-
594 ] .Q U A
fore proper and immediate subjects of mathematical dis- Qnainib,
cussion : But there are many words which are expres- ' v—
sive of things, or at least of notions, to which this way
of considering them will not apply. All those affections
or qualities of external bodies, by which they are con¬
ceived to act on each other, are ol this kind : Impul¬
sive FORCE, WEIGHT, CENTRIPETAL AND CENTRIFU¬
GAL FORCE, MAGNETICAL, ELECTRICAL, CHEMICAL
attractions and repulsions } in short, all that we
consider as the immediate causes ot natural phenome¬
na. These we familiarly measure, and consider mathe¬
matically. ... 12
What was said on this subject in the article PHYSICS Forces
will give us clear conceptions of this process of the measured
mind. These forces or causes are not immediate objectsthe Phen
of contemplation, and are known only by and in the
phenomena which we consider as their eflects. ^he
phenomenon is not only the indication of the agency ot
any cause, and the characteristic ot its kind, but the
measure of its degree. The necessary circumstances in
this train of human thought are, 1st,'Ihe notion of the
force as something susceptible ot augmentation and di¬
minution. 2d, The notion of an inseparable connection
of the force with the efiect produced, and of every de¬
gree of the one with a corresponding degree of the other.
Prom these is formed the notion that the phenomenon
or effect is the proper measure of the force or cause.
All this is strictly logical.
But when we are considering these subjects mathe¬
matically, the immediate objects of our contemplation
are not the forces which we are thus treating. It is
not their relations which we perceive, and which we
combine with such complication of circumstances and
certainty of inference as are known in all other sci¬
ences : by no means j they are the phenomena only,
which are subjects of purely mathematical discussion.
They are motions, which involve only the notions of
space and time j and when we have finished an accurate
mathematical investigation, and make our affirmation
concerning the forces, we are certain of its truth, be¬
cause we suppose the forces to have the proportions and
relations, and no other, which we observe in the pheno¬
mena, Thus, after having demonstrated, by the geo¬
metrical comparison of the lines and angles and surfaces
of an ellipse, that the momentary deflection of the moon
from the tangent of her orbit is the 3600th part of the
simultaneous deflection of a stone from the tangent of its
parabolic path •, NewTon affirms, that the force by which
a particle of the moon is retained in her orbit is the
3600th part of the weight of a particle of the stone j
and having farther shown, from fact and observation,
that these momentary deflections are inversely as the
squares of the distances from the centre of the earth, he
affirms, that all this is produced by a force which varies
its intensity in this manner.
Now all this investigation proceeds on the two suppo¬
sitions mentioned above, and the measures of the forc< s
are in fact the measures of the phenomena. ’I he whole
of physical astronomy, and indeed the whole of mecha¬
nical philosophy, might be taught and understood, with¬
out ever introducing the word force, or the notion which
it is supposed to express : for our mathematical reason¬
ings are really about the phenomena, which are subjects
purely mathematical.
The precision, therefore, that we presume to affirm
to attend these investigations, arises entirely from the
c? n r a hi ft*.
QUA
Quantity
13
(easures
cen!*i-
:tal force
1.4.
quisites
:uch
isures.
trover-
8|‘etween
*1 Cartesi¬
an d
jnitzi-
I1 on this
it.
measurable nature of the quantities which are the real
> objects of our contemplation, and the suitableness and
propriety of the measures which we adopt in our com¬
parisons.
Since, then, the phenomena are the immediate sub¬
jects of our discussion, and the operating powers are on¬
ly inferences from the phenomena considered as effects,
tiie quantity ascribed to them must also be an inference
ft om the quantity of the effect, or of some circumstance
in the eitect. ihe measure, therefore, of the cause, or
natural power or force, cannot be one of its own parts j
foi the whole and the part are equally unperceived by
us. Out measure, therefore, must be a measure of some
interesting part, or of the only interesting part of the
phenomenon. It is therefore in a manner arbitrary, and
depends chiefly on the interest we take in the phenome¬
non. It must, however, be settled with precision, so that
all men in using it may mean the same thing. It must
be settled, therefore, by the description of that part or
circumstance of the phenomenon which is characteristic
of the natural power. This description is the definition
of the measure.
Thus Newton assumes as his measure of the centri¬
petal force, the momentary deviation from uniform
rectilineal motion. Others, and sometimes Newton him¬
self, assumes the momentary change of velocity, which
again is measured by twice this deviation. These mea¬
sures, being thus selected, are always proper in a mathe¬
matical sense y and if strictly adhered to, can never lead
us into any paralogism. They may, however, be physi¬
cally wrong: there may not he that indissoluble con¬
nection between the phenomenon and the supposed cause.
But this is no mathematical error, nor does it invalidate
any of our mathematical inferences: it only makes them
useless for explaining the phenomenon by the principle
which we adopted-, but it prepares a modification of the
phenomenon for some more fortunate application of phy¬
sical principles.
All that can be desired in the definitions or descrip¬
tions of these measures is, that they may not deviate
from the ordinary use of the terms, because this would
always create confusion, and occasion mistakes. Dr
ileid has given an example of an impropriety of this
kind, which has been the subject of much debate among
the writers on natural philosophy. We mean the mea¬
sure of the force inherent in a body in motion. Des¬
cartes, and all the writers of his time, assumed the ve¬
locity produced in a body as the measure of the force
which produces it; and observing that a body, in con¬
sequence of its being in motion, produces changes in
the state or motion of other bodies, and that these
changes are in the proportion of the velocity of the
changing body, they asserted that there is in a moving
body a vts INSITA, an INHERENT FORCE, and that this
is proportional to its velocity; saying that its force is
.twice or thrice as great, when it moves twice or thrice
as fast at one time as at another. But Leibnitz obser¬
ved, that a body which moves twice as fast, rises four
times as high, against the uniform action of gravity ;
that it penetrates four times as deep into a piece of uni¬
form clay ; that it bends four times as many springs, or
a spring four times as strong, to the same degree ; and
produces a great many effects which are four times
greater than those produced by a body which has half
the initial velocity. If the velocity he triple, quadra-
[ 595 ]
QUA
pie, &c. the effects are nine times, 16 times, &c. greater; Quantity,
and, m short, are proportional, not to the velocity, but ^""***'v***—-1
to its square. This observation had been made before
by Dr Hooke, who has enumerated a prodigious variety
of important cases in which this proportion of effect is
observed. Leibnitz, therefore, affirmed, that the force
inherent in a moving body is proportional to the square
of the velocity.
It is evident that a body, moving with the same ve¬
locity, has the same inherent force, whether this be em¬
ployed to move another body, to bend springs,* to rise in
opposition to gravity, or to penetrate a mass of soft mat-
tci. Therefore these measures, which are so widely dif-
feient, while each is agreeable to a numerous class of
facts, aie not measures of this something inherent in the
moving body which we call its force, but are the mea¬
sures of its exertions when modified according to the
circumstances of the case; or, to speak still more cau¬
tiously and securely, they are the measures of certain
classes of phenomena consequent on the action of a mr-
ving body. It is in vain, therefore, to attempt to sup-
poit either of them by a demonstration. The measure
itself is nothing hut a definition. 'Ihe Cartesian calls
that a double force which produces a double velocity
in the body on which it acts. The Leibnitzian calls
(bat a quadruple force winch makes a quadruple pene¬
tration. The reasonings of both in the demonstration of
a proposition in dynamics may be the same, as also the
result, though expressed in different numbers.
But the two measures are far from being equal! v pro¬
per : for the Leibnitzian measure obliges us to do conti¬
nual violence to the common use of words. When two
bodies moving in opposite directions meet, strike each
other, and stop, all men will say that their forces are
equal, because they have the best test of equality which
w'e can devise. Or when two bodies in motion strike
the parts of a machine, such as the opposite arms of a le¬
ver, and are thus brought completely to rest, we and all
men will pronounce their mutual energies by the inter¬
vention of the machine to be equal. Now, in all these
cases, it is well known that a perfect equality is found
in the products of the quantities of matter and velocitv,
J bus a ball of two pounds, moving with the velocity
of four feet in a second, will stop a ball of eight pounds
moving with the velocity of one foot per second. But
the followers of Leibnitz say, that the force of the first
ball is four times that of the second.
All parties are agreed in calling gravity a uniform
or invariable accelerating force ; and the definition
which they give of such a force is, that it always pro¬
duces the same acceleration, that is, equal accelerations
in equal times, and produces augmentations of
velocity proportionable to the times in which they are
produced. The only effect ascribed to this force, and
consequently the only thing which indicates, characte¬
rises, and measures it, is the augmentation of velocity.
What is this velocity, considered not merely as a ma¬
thematical term, but as a phenomenon, as an event, a
production by the operation of a natural cause ? It
cannot be conceived any other way than as a determi¬
nation to move on for ever at a certain rate, if nothing
.shall change it. We cannot conceive this very clearly.
We feel ourselves forced to animate, as it were, the
body, and give it not only a will and intention to move
in this manner, but a real exertion of some faculty in
4 I1 2 consequence
Qnanlity.
QUA
consequence of this determination of mind,
conscious of such a train of operations in ourselves-, and
the last step of this train is the exertion or energy ot
some natural faculty, which we, in the utmost propriety
of language, call force. By such analogical conception,
we suppose a something, an energy, inherent in the mo¬
ving body ; and its only office is the production and
continuation of this motion, as in our own case.
[ 596 ] QUA
We are ported the claim of Sir Isaac Newton to the invention Quantity
Sci-
i5
Vis insita,
entific curiosity was among our latest wants, and lan¬
guage was formed long before its appearance: as we
formed analogical conceptions, we contented ourselves
with the words already familiar to us, and to this some¬
thing we gave the name Force, which expressed that
energy in ourselves which bears some resemblance (in
office at least) to the determination of a body to move
on at a certain rate. This sort of allegory pervades the
whole of our conceptions of natural operations, and we
can hardly think or speak of any operation without a
language, which supposes the animation of matter. And,
in the present case, there are so many points of resem¬
blance between the effects of our exertions and the ope¬
rations of nature, that the language is most expressive,
and has the strongest appearance of propriety. By ex¬
erting our force, we not only move and keep in motion,
but we move other bodies. Just so a ball not only moves,
but puts other bodies in motion, or penetrates them,
&C. This is the origin of that conception which so
forcibly obtrudes itself into our thoughts, that there is
inherent in a moving body a force by which it produces
changes in other bodies. No such thing appears in the
same body if it be not in motion. We therefore con¬
clude, that it is the production of the moving force,
whatever that has been. If so, it must be conceived
as proportional to its producing cause. Now this force,
thus produced or exerted in the moving body, is only
another way of conceiving that determination which we
call velocity, when it is conceived as a natural event.
We can form no other notion of it. The vis insita, the
determination to move at a certain rate, and the velo¬
city, are one and the same thing, considered in different
relations.
Therefore the vis insita corpori moventi, the determi¬
nation to move at a certain rate, and the velocity, should
have one and the same measure, or any one of them may
be taken for the measure of the other. The velocity
being an object of perception, is therefore a proper
measure of the inherent force; and the propriety is
more evident by the perfect agreement of this use ol the
words with common language. For we conceive and
express the action of gravity as uniform, when we think
and say that its effects are proportional to the times of
its action. Now all agree, that the velocity produced
by gravity is proportional to the time of its action. And
thus the measure of force, in reference to its producing
cause, perfectly agrees with its measure, independent of
this consideration.
But this agreement is totally lost in the Leibnitzian
doctrine -, for the body which has fallen four times as
far, and has sustained the action of gravity twice as long,
is said to have four times the force.
The quaintness and continued paradox of expression
which this measure of inherent force leads us into,
would have quickly exploded it, had it not been that
its chief abettors were leagued in a keen and acrimo¬
nious warfare with the British mathematicians who sup-
3
of fluxions. They rejoiced to find in the elegant wri¬
tings of Huyghens a physical principle of great extent,
such as this is, which could be set in comparison with
some of the wonderful discoveries in Newton’s Princi-
pia. The fact, that in the mutual action of bodies on
each other the product of the masses and the squares
of the velocities remain always the same (which they ^
call the conservatio virium vivaruni) is of almost uni- Coosmai
versal extent j and the knowledge of it enabled them toTmumif‘ -
give ready and elegant solutions of the most abstruse andvarum’
intricate problems, by which they acquired a great and
deserved celebrity. I)r Robert Hooke, whose observa¬
tion hardly any thing escaped, was the first (long before
Huyghens) who remarked *, that in all the cases of the*Mcogt
gradual production and extinction of motion, the sensible^2®’
phenomenon is proportional to the square of the produ-
ced or extinguished velocity. Posthu-
John Bernoulli brought all these facts together, and mom
systematized them according to the principle advanced Woiis.
by Huyghens in his treatise on the centre of oscillation.
He and Daniel Bernoulli gave most beautiful specimens
of the prodigious use of this principle for the solution
of difficult physical problems in their dissertations on
the motion and impulse of fluids, and on the commu¬
nication of motion. It was however very early objected
to them (we think by Marquis Poleni), that in the col¬
lision of bodies perfectly hard there was no such conser¬
vatio virium vivarum; and that, in this case, the forces
must be acknowledged to be proportional to the velo¬
cities. The objections were unanswerable.—But John
Bernoulli evaded their force, by affirming that there
were and could be no bodies perfectly hard. This was
the origin of another celebrated doctrine, on which 18
Leibnitz greatly plumed himself, THE Law OF CoN-Lawofcc
tinuity, viz. that nothing is observed to change ab-,;m,nty•
ruptly, ov per saltum. But no one will pretend to say
that a perfectly hard body is an inconceivable thing} on
the contrary, all will allow that softness and compres¬
sibility are adjunct ideas, and not in the least necessary
to the conception of a particle of matter, nay totally
incompatible with our notion of an ultimate atom.
Sir Isaac Newton never could be provoked to en¬
gage in this dispute. He always considered it as a wil¬
ful abuse of words, and unworthy of his attention. He
guarded against all possibility of cavil, by giving the
most precise and perspicuous definitionsof those measures
of forces, and all other quantities which he had occasion Xp
to consider, and by carefully adhering to them. And Great su)
in one proposition of about 20 lines, viz. the ^thdodtyo£
of the 1st book of the Principia, he explained every ^ewtofl‘
phenomenon adduced in support of the Leibnitzian
doctrine, showing them to be immediate consequences
of the action of a force measured by the velocity which
it produces or extinguishes. There it appears that the
heights to which bodies will rise in opposition to the
uniform action of gravity are as the squares of the initial
velocities : So are the depths to which they will pene¬
trate uniformly resisting matter : So is the number of
equal springs which they will bend to the same degree,
&c. &c. &c. We have had frequent occasion to men¬
tion this proposition as the most extensively useful of all
Newton’s discoveries. It is this which gives the imme¬
diate application of mechanical principles to the expla¬
nation of natural phenomena. It is incessantly employed
in
QUA [ 5
lantity, in every problem by the very persons who hold by the'
naraa- other measure ol forces, although such conduct is virtu-
timj. ^ al|y giving up that measure, they ail adopt, in every
investigation the two theorems/fey,andfs=zvv; both
of which suppose an accelerating force/proportional to
the velocity v which it produces by its uniform action
T
during the time t, and the theoremy3 is the
39th y • Pnncip. and is the conservcitio vivtutn vivnrum*
This famous dispute (the only one in the circle of
mathematical science) has led us somewhat aside. But
we have little moie to remark, with respect to measurable
quantity. We cannot say what varieties of quantity are
susceptible of strict measure, or that it is impossible to
give accurate measures of every thing susceptible of
augmentation and diminution. We affirm, however, with
confidence, that pain, pleasure, joy, &c. are not made
up of their own parts, which can be contemplated se¬
parately : but they may chance to be associated by na¬
ture with something that is measurable j and we'may
one day be able to assign their degrees with as much
precision as we now ascertain the degrees of warmth by
the expansion of the fluid in the thermometer. There
is one sense in which they may all be measured, viz.
numerically, as Newton measures density, vis matrix,
&c. We can conceive the pain of each of a dozen of
men to be the same. Then it is evident that the pain
of eight of these men is to that of the remaining four as
two to one 5 but from such mensuration we do not fore¬
see any benefit likely to arise.
Quantity, in Grammar, an affection of a syllable,
whereby its measure, or the time wherein it is pronoun¬
ced, is ascertained : or that which determines the sylla¬
ble to be long or short.
Quantity is also the object of prosody, and distin¬
guishes verse from prose ; and the economy and arrange¬
ment of quantities, that is, the distribution of long and
short syllables, makes what we call the number. & See
Poetry, Part III.
The quantities are used to be distinguished, among
grammarians, by the characters short, as per; and ,
long, as r5s. There is also a common, variable, or du¬
bious quantity; that is, syllables that are at one time
taken for short ones, and at another time for long ones •,
as the first syllable in Atlas, patres, &c.
QUARANTINE, is a trial which ships must un¬
dergo when suspected of a pestilential infection. It
may be ordered by the king, with advice of the privy-
council, at such times, and under such regulations, as
he judges proper. Ships ordered on quarantine must
repair to the place appointed, and must continue there
during the time prescribed (generally six weeks) ; and
must have no intercourse with the shore, except for
necessary provisions, which are conveyed with every
possible precaution. When the time is expired, and
the goods opened and exposed to the air as directed, if
there be no appearance of infection, they are admitted
to port.
Ships infected with the pestilence must proceed to St
Helen’s Pool, in the Scilly islands, and give notice of
their situation to the customhouse officers, and wait till
the king’s pleasure lie known.
Persons giving false inlormation to avoid performing
quarantine, or refusing to go to the place appointed, or
/ ] QUA
escaping, also officers appointed to see quarantine per- Quaran-
formed, deserting their office, neglecting their duty, or tine
giving a false certificate, suffer death as felons. 11
. Goods from Turkey, or the Levant, mav not be land-. Quarric*\
ed without license from the king, or certificate that they V
have been landed and aired at some foreign port. See
Plague.
QUARLES, Francis, the son of James Quarles
clerk to the board of green cloth, and purveyor to
Queen Elizabeth, was born in 1592. He was educated
at Cambridge; became a member of Lincoln’s Inn j and
was for some time cup-bearer to the queen of Bohe¬
mia and chronologer to the city of London. It was
probably on the ruin of her affairs that he went to Ire¬
land as secretary to Archbishop Usher ; but the troubles
in that kingdom forcing him to return, and not find¬
ing affairs more at peace in England, some disquiets
he met wffh were thought to have hastened his death,
which happened in 1644. works both in prose
and verse are numerous, and were formerly in fjreat
esteem, particularly his Divine Emblems : but the ob¬
solete quaintness of his style has caused them to fall into
neglect, excepting among particular classes of readers.
I be memory of Quarles, says a late author, has been Htadlev’,
branded w.th more than common abuse, and he seems touuSlL-
liaye been censured merely from the want of being read.ties of An¬
il his poetry failed to gain him friends and readers Eng-
piety should at least have secured him peace and good-
will. lie too often, no doubt, mistook the enthu¬
siasm of devotion for the inspiration of fancy: to mix
the waters of Jordan and Helicon in the same cup
was reserved for the hand of Milton ; and for him, and
him only, to find the bays of Mount Olivet equally
verdant with those of Parnassus. Yet, as the effusions
of a real poetical mind, however thwarted by unto¬
wardness of subject, will be seldom rendered totally
abortive, we find in Quarles original imagery, striking
sentiment, fertility of expression, and happy combina¬
tions ; together with a compression of style that me¬
rits the observation of the writers of verse. Gross defi¬
ciencies of judgment, and the infelicity of his subjects,
concurred in ruining him. Perhaps no circumstance
whatever can give a more complete idea of Quarles’s
degradation than a late edition of his Emblems 5 the
following passage is extracted from the preface : 4 Mr
I rancis Quarles, the author of the Emblems that ga
under his name, was a man of the most exemplary piety,
and had a deep insight into the mysteries of our holy
religion. But, for all that, the book itself is written
jn so old a language, that many parts of it are scarcely
intelligible in the present age j many of his phrases are
so affected, that no person who has any taste for read¬
ing can peruse them with the least degree of pleasure ;
many of his expressions are harsh, and sometimes whole
lines are included in a parenthesis, by which the mind
of the reader is diverted from the principal object. His
Latin mottos under each cut can be of no service to an
ordinary reader, because he cannot understand them.
ordei, therefore, to accommodate the public with an
edition of Quarles’s Emblems properly modernised, this '
work was undertaken.’ Such an exhibition of Quarles
is chaining Columbus to an oar, or making John Duke-
of Marlborough a train-band corporal.”
QUARRIES, a name commonly given to an ex¬
traordinary cavern under the city of Paris, the exist-
ene*
Quarries.
QUA [ 598
ence of which is known to few even of the inhabitants,
and many of those who have heard of it consider die
whole as an idle story. Mr White visited this cavern
in 1784, having, with many others, obtained leaee
(which is very cautiously granted) to inspect it, ac¬
companied by guides with torches. He gives the follow¬
ing account of it in the second volume of the Manches¬
ter' Transactions. “ At the entrance by the Observa-
toire Royal, the path is narrow for a considerable way,
but soon we entered large and spacious streets all mar -
ed with names, the same as in the city 5 different ad¬
vertisements and bills were found, as we proceeded
pasted on the walls, so that it had every appearance oi
a large town swrallowed up in the eaith.
“ The general height of the roof is about nine or ten
feet; but in some parts not less than 30 and even 40,
In many places there is a liquor continually dropping
from it, which congeals immediately, and forms a species
of transparent stone, but not so fine and clear as rock
crystal. As we continued our peregrination, we though-
ourselves in no small danger from the root, which we
found but indifferently propped in some p.aces with
wood much decayed. Under the houses, and many of
the streets, however, it seemed to be tolerably secured
by immense stones set in mortar; i« other parts, where
there are only fields or gardens above it, it was totally
unsupported for a considerable space, the root being
perfectly level, or a plain piece of rock. After tra¬
versing about two miles, we again descended about 20
steps, and here found some workmen in a very cold and
damp place, propping up a most dangerous part, which
they were fearful would give way every moment. 1 be
path is here not more than three feet in width, and the
roof so low, that we were obliged to stoop considerably.
“ On walking some little distance farther, we enter¬
ed into a kind of saloon cut out of the rock, and said to
be exactly under the Eglise de St Jacques. This was
illuminated with great taste, occasioned an agreeable
surprise, and made us all ample amends for the danger
and difficulty we had just before gone through. At one
end was a representation in miniature of some of the
principal forts in the Indies, with the fortifications,
draw-bridges, &c. Cannons were planted with a couple
of soldiers to each ready to fire. Centinels were placed
in different parts of the garrison, particularly before the
governor’s house j and a regiment of armed men was
drawn up in another place with their general in the front.
The whole was made up of a kind of clay which the
place affords, was ingeniously contrived, and the light
that was thrown upon it gave it a very pretty effect.
“ On the other side of this hall was a long table set
out with cold tongues, bread, and butter, and some of
the best Burgundy I ever drank. Now every thing
was hilarity and mirth j our fears were entirely dispel-
. led, and the danger we dreaded the moment before was
now no longer thought of. In short, we were all in
. good spirits again, and proceeded on our journey about
two miles farther, when our guides judged it prudent
Tor us to ascend, as we were then got to the steps which
lead up to the town. We here found ourselves safe at
the Val de Grace, near to the English Benedictine con¬
vent, without the least accident having happened to any
one of the party. We imagined we had walked about
two French leagues, and were absent from the surface
of the earth betwixt four and five hours.
2
] QUA
“ There were formerly several openings into the
quarries, but the two I have mentioned, viz. the Obser¬
vatory and the Val de Grace, are, I believe, the only
ones left \ and these the inspectors keep constantly lock¬
ed, and rarely open them, except to strangers particu¬
larly introduced, and to workmen who are always em¬
ployed in some part by the king. The police thought
it a necessary precaution to secure all the entrances in¬
to this cavern, from its having been formerly inhabited
by a famous gang of robbers, who infested the country
for many miles round the city of Paris.
“ As to the origin of this quarry, I could not, on the
strictest inquiry, learn any thing satisfactory j and the
only account 1 know published is the following contain¬
ed in the Tableaux de Paris, nouvclle edition, tome’pre¬
mier, chapitre gme, page 12mc.
“ For the first building of Paris it was necessary to
get the stone in the environs j and the consumption of
it was very considerable. As Paris was enlarged, the
suburbs were insensibly built on the ancient quarries, so
that all that you see without is essentially wanting in
the earth for the foundation of the city : hence proceed
the frightful cavities which are at this time found under
the houses in several quarters. 1 hey stand upon abys¬
ses. It would not require a very violent shock to throw
back the stones to the place from whence they have
been raised with so much difficulty. Eight men being
swallowed up in a gulf of 15^ deep, and some
other less known accidents, excited at length the vigi¬
lance of the police and the government, and, in fact,
the buildings of several quarters have been privately-
propped up ) and by this means a support given to these
obscure subterraneous places which they before wanted.
“ All the suburbs of St James’s, Harp-street, and
even the street of Tour non, stand upon the ancient
quarries ; and pillars have been erected to support tne
weight of the houses. What a subject for reflections,
in considering this great city formed and supported by
means absolutely contrary! These towers, these steeples,
the arched roofs of these temples, are so many signs to
tell the eye that what we now see in the air is wanting
under our feet.” _
QUARRY, a place under ground, out of whica are
got marble, freestone, slate, limestone, or other matters
proper for building. See Srata.
Some limestone quarries in Fife are highly worthy
the attention of the curious, on account of an amazing
mixture of organized marine productions found in them.
One of this kind was opened about the year 1759; at a
farm called Enderteel, in the neighbourhood of Ivirkal-
dy, belonging to General St Clair. _
The flakes of the stone, which are of unequal thick¬
ness, most of them from eight to ten inches, lie hori¬
zontally, dipping towards the sea. Each of these
flakes, when broken, presents to our view an amazing
collection of petrified sea bodies, as the bones oi fislies,
stalks of sea-weed, vast quantities of shells, such as
are commonly found on those coasts, besides several
others of very uncommon figures. In some places
the shells are so numerous, that little else is to be seen
but prodigious clusters or concretions of them. n
the uppermost stratum the shells are so entire, that th^
outer crust or plate may be scraped off with the finger ;
and the stalks of the sea-weed have a darkish colour,
Quarrie
Quarr
not that glossy whiteness which they have in the heart
QUA
of the quarry. The smallest rays or veins of the shells
are deeply indented on the stone, like the impression
of a seal upon wax. In short, no spot at the bottom
of the ocean could exhibit a greater quantity of sea-
bodies than are to be found in this solid rock ; for we
have the skeletons of several fishes, the untcn?i(c or
feelers ox lobsters, the roots and stalks of sea-weeds, with
the very capsules which contain the seed. The place
where all these curiosities are found is on an eminence
about an English mile from the sea ; and as the ground
is pretty steep the whole way, it may be 200 feet higher
at least.
There are two or three things to be remarked here.
1. lhat among all the bodies we have mentioned,
there are none but what are specifically heavier than
water. This holds so constantly true, that the sea-weed
which floats in water when the plant is entire, has been
stripped of the broad leaves, which make it buoyant,
before it has been lodged here. 2. The shells have been
all empty ; for the double ones, as those of the flat kind,
a»e always found single, or with one side only. 3. The
rock seems to have been gradually deserted by the sea
and for a long time, washed with the tides 5 for the up¬
per surface is all eaten, and hollowed in many places like
an honey-comb, just as we observe in flat rocks exposed
every tide to the access and recess of the waters. See
the article Sea.
Quarry, or Quarrel, among glaziers, a pane of glass
cut in a diamond form.
Quarries are of two kinds, square and long; each of
which are of different sizes, expressed by the number
of the pieces that make a foot of glass, viz. eighths,
tenths, eighteenths, and twentieths : but all the sizes
are cut to the same angles, the acute angle in the
square quarrels being 770 19', and 67° 21'in the long
ones.
Quarry, among hunters, is sometimes used for a
part of the entrails of the beast taken, given hy way of
reward to the hounds.
Quarry, in falconry, is the game which the hawk
is in pursuit of, or has killed.
QUART, a measure of capacity, being the fourth
part of some other measure. The English quart is the
fourth part of the gallon, and contains two pints.
Ihe quart of the Romans was the fourth part of their
congius. The French have various quarts, besides their
quart or pot consisting of two pints, and are distinguish¬
ed by the whole of which they are quarters; as quart
de mu id, and quart de boisseau.
QUARTAN, a measure containing the fourth part
of some other measure.
Quartan, a species of intermitting fever. See
Medicine Index.
QUAE FA'I ION, is an operation by which the
quantity of one thing is made equal to a fourth part of
the quantity of another thing. Thus when gold alloyed
with silver is to be parted, we are obliged to facilitate
the action of the aquafortis, by reducing the quantity of
the former of these metals to one fourth part of the
whole mass ; which is done by sufficiently increasing the
quantity of the silver, if it be necessary. This opera¬
tion is called quartation, and is preparatory to the part-
,ng; and even many authors extend this name to the
operation of parting. See Ores, Analysis of.
[ 599 ]
QUA
QUARTER, the fourth part of any thing, the fiac- Quarttr.
tional expression for which is
Quarter, in weights, is generally used for the
fourth part of an hundred weight avoirdupois, or
28 lb.
Used as the name of a dry measure, quarter is the
fourth part of a ton in weight, or eight bushels.
Quarter, a term in the manege. To work from
quarter to quarter, is to ride a horse three times in upon
the first of the four lines of a square ; then changing
your hand, to ride him three times upon the second :
and so to the third and fourth ; always changing hands,
and observing the same order.
Quarters, with respect to the parts of a horse, is
used in various senses : thus the shoulders and fore-legs
are called ihefore-quartei's,zr\&the hips and hinder-legs
toe hind-quarters. J he quarters of a horse’s foot are
the sides of the coffin, comprehending between the toe
and the heel : the inner quarters are those opposite to
one another, facing from one foot to the other ; and these
are always weaker than the outside quarters, which lie
on the external sides of the coffin. False-quarters, are
a cleft in the horn of a horse’s hoof, extending from the
coronet to the shoe. A horse is said to be a quarter-cast
xvhen for any disorder in the coffin we are obliged to
cut one of the quarters of the hoof.
Quarter, in Astronomy, the fourth partof the moon’s
period : thus, from the new moon to the quadrature is
the first quarter; from this to full moon, the second
quarter, &c.
Quarter, in Heraldry, is applied to the parts or
members of the first division of a coat that is quartered,
or divided into four quarters.
Franc Quarter, in Heraldry, is a quarter single
or alone; which is to possess one fourth part of the
field. It makes one of the honourable ordinaries of a
coat.
Quarter of a Ship, that part of a ship’s side which
lies towards the stern ; or which is comprehended be¬
tween the aftmost end of the main chains and the sides
of the stern, where it is terminated hy the quarter-
pieces.
Although the lines by which the quarter and bovv
of a ship, with respect to her length, are only imagi-
nary, yet experience appears sufficiently to have ascer¬
tained their limits : so that if we were to divide the
ships’s sides into five equal portions, the names of each
space would be readily enough expressed. Thus the
first, from the stern, would be the quarter ; the second,
abaft the midships ; the third, the midships ; the fourth,
before the midships ; and the fifth, the bow. Whether
these divisions, which in reality are somewhat arbitrary,
are altogether improper, may be readily discovered by
referring to the mutual situation or approach of two
adjacent vessels. The enemy boarded us on the lar¬
board side ! Whereabouts? Abaft the midships, before
the midships, &.c.
lig. 1. represents a geometrical elevation of a quar- Plate
ter of a 74 gun ship. A the keel, with « the false keel ccccLvm.
beneath it. B the stern-post. DD the quarter-gallery flS- r-
with its ballustrades and windows. EE the quarter-
pieces, which limit and form the outlines of the stern.
F the taffarel, or upper pieces of the stern. FG the
profile of the stern, with its galleries. II the gun-ports
of
Quarter.
QUA [
of tlie lower deck; h (be gun-ports of the upper and
v—v—< quarter-deck. I the after-part of the mizzen channel.
K the wing transom. KG the lower counter. LK the
station of the deck transom. LQ the after-part ot the
main-wale. DR the after part of the channel-wale, pa¬
rallel to the main-wale. SU the sheer-rail, parallel to
both wales. T t the rudder. A t F the rake ol the
stern. P t i the drift-rails. TU the alter-part ot the
load water-line ; kk l the curve of the several decks
corresponding to those represented in the head, bee the
article Head.
As the marks, by which vessels of different construc¬
tions are distinguished from each other, are general y
more conspicuous on the stern or quarter than any other
part, we have represented some of the quarters, which
assume the most dift'erent shapes, and form the greatest
Fig. a. 3.4. contrast with each other. Fig. 2. shows the stern and
5. 6. 7. quarter of a Dutch flight. Fig. 3. the stern and quar¬
ter of a cat. Fig. 4. is the stern and quarter ot a com¬
mon galley. Fig. 5. exhibits the quarter ot a first-rate
galley, otherwise called a galleasse. Fig. 6. the quarter
of a Dutch dogger, or galliot. Fig. 7. represents the
stern and quarter of a sloop ot war. _
The quarters of all other ships have a near affinity to
those above exhibited. Thus all ships of the line, and
East-Indiamen, are formed with a quarter little ditlenng
from the principal figure in this plate. Xebecs have
quarters nearly resembling those of galleasses, only some¬
what higher. Hagboats and pinks approach the figure
of cats, the former being a little broader in the stern,
and the latter a little narrower j and the sterns and quar¬
ters of cats seem to be derived from those of fly-boats.
The sterns of Dutch doggers and galliots are indeed sin¬
gular, and like those of no other modern vessel : they
iiave nevertheless a great resemblance to the ships of the
ancient Grecians, as represented in medals and other
monuments of antiquity.
On the Quarter, may be defined an arch of the ho¬
rizon, contained between the line prolonged from the
ship’s stern and any distant object, as land, ships, &c.
Thus if the ship’s keel lies on an east and west line, the
stern being westward, any distant object perceived on
tire north-west or south-west, is said to be on the lar¬
board or starboard quarter.
Quarter-BUI, a roll, or list, containing the diffe¬
rent stations, to which all the officers and crew of the
ship are quartered in the time of battle, and the names
of all the persons appointed to those stations. See
Quarters.
QuARTER-Masier, an officer, generally a lieute¬
nant, whose principal business is to look after the
quarters of the soldiers, their clothing, bread, am¬
munition, firing, &c. Every regiment of foot and ar¬
tillery has a quarter-master, and every troop of horse
one, who are only warrant-officers, except in the
Blues.
QuARTER-Master-General, is a considerable officer
in the army 5 and should be a man of great judgment
and experience, and well skilled in geography. His
duty is to mark the marches and encampments of an
army: he should know the country perfectly well,
with its rivers, plains, marshes, woods, mountains, de¬
files, passages, &c. even to the smallest brook. Prior
to a inarch, he receives the order and route from the
commanding general, and appoints a place for the
600 ] Q U A
quarter-masters of the army to meet him next morning, quarf.
with whom he marches to the next camp 5 where being
come, and having viewed the ground, he marks out to
the regimental quarter-masters the ground allowed each
regiment for their camp : he chooses the head-quarters,
and appoints the villages for the generals of the army’s
quarters : he appoints a proper place for the encamp¬
ment of the train of artillery : he conducts foraging
parties, as likewise the troops to cover them against as¬
saults, and has a share in regulating the winter-quarters
and cantonments.
QuARTER-Netting, a sort of net-work, extended along
the rails on the upper part of a ship’s quarter. In a
ship of war these are always double, being supported
by iron cranes, placed at proper distances. The inter¬
val is sometimes filled with cork, or old sails but chief¬
ly with the hammocks of the sailors, so as to form a pa¬
rapet to prevent the execution of the enemy’s small arms
in battle.
QuARTER-Sessions, a general court held quarterly by
the justices of peace ol each county. T-his court isvo| jv
appointed by stat. 2 Hen. . c. 4- in the first^jy;
week after iVIichaelmas-day j the first week after the
Epiphany 5 the first week after the close of Easter*, and
in the week after the translation of Saint Thomas a
Becket, or the 7th of July. The court is held before
two or more justices of the peace, one of whom must
be of the quorum. The jurisdiction of this court by
34 Ed. III. c. 1. extends to the trying and determining
of all felonies and trespasses whatsoever, though they
seldom, if ever, try any greater offence than small fe¬
lonies within the benefit of clergy, their commission
providing, that if any case of difficulty arises, they
shall not proceed to judgment, but in the presence of
one of the justices of the court of king’s bench or
common pleas, or one of the judges of assize. And
therefore murderers and other capital felons are usu¬
ally remitted for a more solemn trial to the assizes.
They cannot also try any new created offence, without
express power given them by the statute which cieates
it. But there are many offences, and particularly mat¬
ters, which by particular statutes belong properly to
this jurisdiction, and ought to be prosecuted in this
court •, as, the smaller misdemeanors against the public
or commonwealth, not amounting to felony, and espe¬
cially offences relating to the game, highways, alehouses,
bastard children, the settlement and provision for the
poor, vagrants, servants wages, apprentices, and popish
recusants. Some of these are proceeded upon by in¬
dictment, and others in a summary way by motion and
order thereupon } which order may, for the most part,
unless guarded against by particular statutes, be remo¬
ved into the court of king’s bench, by writ of certioian
facias, and be there either quashed or confirmed. 1
records or rolls of the sessions are committed to the cus¬
tody of a special officer, denominated the custos rotu-
lorum. In most corporation towns there are quarter-ses¬
sions kept before justices of their own, within their re¬
spective limits, which have exactly the same authoiit)
as the general quarter-sessions of the county, except m
very few instances : one of the most considerable 0
which is the matter of appeals from orders ol removal
of the poor, which, though they be from die orders
of corporation justices, must be to the sessions o tie
county, by 8 and 9 Will. III. c. 30. In both corpo-
Q U
rations and countries at large,   „
a special or petty session, by a few justices, for dis-
A [ 601 ] QUA
there is sometimes kept troops that have been much harassed are put to recover
patching smaller business in the neighbourhood between
the times ot the general sessions, as for licensing ale¬
houses, passing the accounts of parish-officers, and the
like.
Q uah ter - Staffs a long staff borne by foresters, park-
keepeis, &c. as a badge of their office, and occasional¬
ly used as a weapon.
QUARTERS, a name given at sea to the several
stations where the officers and crew of a ship of war
are posted in action. See War, Part II.
ffhe number of men appointed to manage the ar¬
tillery is always in proportion to the nature of the
guns, and the number and condition of the ship’s
crew'. Ihey are, in general, as follow, when the
ship is well manned, so as to fight both sides at once
occasionally:
Pounder.
To a 42
32
24
18
12
Pounder.
To a 9
6
No. of men.
6
5
4
3
No. of men.
l5
J3
11
9
7
This number, to which is often added a boy to bring
powder to every gun, may be occasionally reduced,
and the guns nevertheless v'ell managed. The num¬
ber of men appointed to the small arms, on board his
Majesty’s ships and sloops of war, bv order of the ad¬
miralty, are,
Rate of the ship,
1st
2d
3d of 80 guns
—- of jo guns
4 th of 60 guns
4th of 50 guns
cth
6th
Sloops of war
No. of men to the small arms.
150
120
IOO
80
70
60
50
40
3°
The lieutenants are usually stationed to command
the diflerent batteries, and direct their efiorts against
the enemy. I he master superintends the movements
of the ship, and whatever relates to the sails. The
boatswain, and a sufficient number of men, are station¬
ed to repair the damaged rigging; and the gunner
and carpenter, wherever necessary, according to their
respective offices.
The marines are generally quartered on the poop
and forecastle, or gang-way, under the directions of
their officers j although, on some occasions, they as¬
sist at the great guns, particularly in distant cannon¬
ading.
Quarters, at a siege, the encampment upon one of
the principal passages round a place besieged, to pre¬
vent relief and convoys.
Head Quarters of an Army, the place where the
commander in chief has his quarters. The quarters of
generals of horse are, if possible, in villages behind the
t’lght and left wings, and the generals of foot are often
m the same place : but the commander in chief should
be near the centre of the army.
Quarters of Refreshment, the place or places where
Vox.. XVII. Part II.
themselves during some part of the campaign.
Intrenched Quarters, a place fortified with a ditch
and parapet to secure a body of troops.
. Quarters, sometimes means the space of
time included between leaving the camp and taking the
field 5 but more properly the places where the troops
are quartered during the winter.
1 he first business, after the army is in winter-quar-
teis, is to form the chain of troops to cover the quarters
well: which is done either behind a river, under cover
of a range of strong posts, or under the protection of
fortified towns. Hussars are very useful on this ser¬
vice.
It should be observed, as an invariable maxim, in
winter quarters, that your regiments be disposed in
brigades, to be always under the eye of a general of¬
ficer j and, if possible, let the regiments be so distri¬
buted, as to be each under the command of its own
chief.
QUARTILE, an aspect of the planets when they
are at the distance of 90° from each other, and ii. is de¬
noted by the character O .
. QUARIERING, in Heraldry, is dividing a coat
into four or more quarters, or quarterings, by parting,
couping, &c. that is, by perpendicular and horizontal
lines, &c.
QUART O-DECIMANS, an ancient sect in the Chris¬
tian church, who taught that Easter should always be
celebrated according to the custom of the Jews, on the
fourteenth day of the moon in the month of March,
whensoever that day fell out. And hence they derived
their name quarto-decimani, q. d. Fourteenthers. The
Asiatics were mightily attached to this opinion, pre¬
tending that it was built on the authority of St John,
who was their apostle; and Pope Victor could never
bring them to obedience in this article, though he was
upon the point of excommunicating them : but it is
more probable he contented himself with menaces. See
Easter.
QUARTZ, a mineral composed chiefly of siliceous
earths. See Minerai.ogy Index.
QUASHING, in Law, the overthrowing and an¬
nulling a thing.
QUASI-contract, in the civil law, an act with¬
out the strict form of a contract, but yet having the
force thereof. In a contract there must be the mutual
consent of both parties, but in a quasi-contract o\w party
may be bound or obligated to the other, without having
given his consent to the act whereby he is obliged. For
example : I have done your business, in your absence,
without your procuration, and it has succeeded to your
advantage. I have then an action against you for the
recovery of what I have disbursed, and you an action
against me to make me give an account of my admini¬
stration, which amounts to a quasi-contract.
QuAsi-Crime, or Quasi-delict, in the civil law, the
action of a person who does damage, or evil, involun¬
tarily. The reparation oi quasi-crimes consists in ma¬
king good the damages, with interest.
QUASS, a fermented liquor drunk in Russia. See
Peasant.
QUASSIA, a genus of plants, belonging to the de-
candria class; and in the natural method ranking un¬
der the 14th order, Grutnales. See Eotany Index,
t 4 G QUATUOR-
Quarters
It
Quassia.
n IT F [ 602 ] Q U E
^ ntiauky, formerly written lilt, crown of Great Britain. W. Long. 69. 48. N. Lat.
 * ' • ' r a --- pemnsula be-
colleagues
ioined with him in the same ndmimstrafon, and had
’ ll cal.c of conducting and settling the colonies sen
into th" provinces. “There were also ,ua,uor„n ap-
jinted t.» inspect anti take care ot repairs, ^c
tjucljt'c.
P°
c v.* a-I- 7 - 1 , If
QUAVER^ in Music, a measure of time equal to ba
a crotchet, or an eighth part of a semibreve.
OUEBEC&a todsome and large town of North
America, and capital of Canada. The first place taken
notice of when landing here is a square ot an .rrcguU*
figure, with wefi built houses on each side , on the ba^
Of which is a rock ; on the left it ,s bounded by a small
church and on the right are two rows of house-, pa¬
rallel to each other. There is another between the
church and the harbour; as also another long io\v
the side' of the bay. This may he looked upon as a
kind of suburb ; and between this and the gieat stiet
is a very steep ascent, in which they have made steps
for the foot passengers to go up. 1 his may be called
the Upper Town, wherein fir the bishops palace*, and
between two large squares is a fort where the gover¬
nor lodges. The Recolets have handsome houses over-
against it, and on the right is the cathedra church:
over-amiinst this is the Jesuits college, and between
them are well built houses j from the tort run two
streets, which are crossed by a third, and between these
are a church and a convent. Jn the second square are
two descents to the river of St Charles. I he * oU-
Dieu is in the midway and from thence are sma
houses, which reach to the house of the intendant. Un
the other side of the Jesuits college, where the church
stands, is a pretty long stieet in which is a nunnery.
Almost all the houses are built of stone, and there are
about 15,000 inhabitants', the fort is a handsome build-
in<r, but not quite finished. Quebec is not regular.y
fortified : but it cannot be easily taken *, for the harbour
is flanked with two bastions, which at high tides are
almost level with the water. A little above one ot the
bastions is a demi-bastion, partly taken out of the rock j
and above it, on the side of the gallery of the fort, is
a battery of 25 pieces of cannon : still above this is a
square fort called the citadel; and the ways from one
fortification to another are difficult to pass. io the
left of the harbour, on ihe side of the road, there are
large batteries of cannon, and some mortars 5 besides
ihese, there are several other fortifications not very
easy to be described. In 1711 the British fitted out a
fleet with a design to conquer Canada, which failed
on account of the rashness of the admiral j who, con¬
trary to the advice of his pilot, went too near the
Seven isles, and so lost his largest ships, and 3000 of
his best soldiers. It is about 300 miles north-west
of Boston in New-England. On October, 18. \759>
it rvas taken by the British under the command of Ge¬
neral Wolfe, who lost his life in the battle, after he
had the satisfaction to know that our troops were vic¬
torious. Admiral Saunders commanded a squadron of
men of war, and d:d immense service in reducing this
place} there being not a man in the navy but what was
active on this occasion, not excepting the sailors belong¬
ing to the transport vessels. Alter tills valuable acqui¬
sition, all Canada came under the jurisdiction of the
QCEDA, a kingdom of Asia, in the
yond the Ganges, and near the straits of Malacca.
The king is tributary to Siam. The principal town is
of the same name, and said to contain about 8oco in¬
habitants. It has a harbour, and is 300 miles north ol
Malacca. E. Long. 100. 5. N. Lat. ^ 5. >
QUEDL1NGBURC, a town of Germany, m the
circle of Upper Saxony, now belonging to Prussia.
Hers is a famous abbey, whose abbess was a princess
of the empire, and sent deputies to the diets. Her
contingent was one horseman and ten lootmen. 1 he
inhabitants cf the town live by brewing,, husbandry,
and feeding of cattle. It is 10 miles south-east oi
Halberstadt, and 32 west of Beruberg. L. Long.
11. 34. N. Lat. 52. I.
QUEEN, a woman who holds a crown singly.
The title of queen is also given by way of courtesy
to her that is married to a king, who is called by way
of distinction qUeen-consort ; the former being termed
queen-regent. The widow of a king is also called
queen, but with the addition of dowager. See Hoyal
Family.
QU£EN Charlotte's Sound is situated at the northern
extremity of the southern island of New Zealano, near
Cook’s Strait, lying in 41. 6. ot south latitude, and
174. 19. of east longitude. The climate of this sound
is much more mild than at Husky Bay ; and tnough
there is not such plenty ot wild fowl and fish, the de¬
fect is sufficiently compensated by the abundance ot ex¬
cellent vegetables. I he hills about the sound consist
mostly of an argillaceous stone of a greenish gray, oi
bluish or yellowish brown colour. A green talkous
or nephritic (by the jewellers called jade) is likewise
very common, together with horn-stone, shingle, several
sorts of flinty stones and pebbles, some loose pieces of
basaltes, strata of a compact mica or glimmer, with par¬
ticles of quartz. Hence, Mr Forrester thinks, there
is reason to believe that this part ot New Zealand con¬
tains iron ore, and perhaps several other metallic sub¬
stances. The country is not so steep as at Husky Bay,
and the hills near the sea are generally inferior in
fieio-ht, but covered with forests equally intricate and
impenetrable. Captain Cook sowed the seeds ot many
vegetables in this place, that have useful and nutntive
roots. He sowed also corn of several sorts, beans, kid¬
ney-beans, and pease. The dogs here are ot the long¬
haired sort, with pricked ears, and resemble the common
shepherd’s cur, but they are very stupid animals. 1 hey
are fed with fish, and even dogs flesh, and perhaps hu¬
man flesh, which the natives also eat. Captains Cook
and Furneaux left on these islands a boar and two sows,
with a pair ef goats, male and female, with some geese,
in order to benefit the natives and future generations
of navigators. They left likewise among them a num¬
ber of brass medals gilt, on one side of which was
the head of his present Majesty, with the inscription
“ Geonre III. King of Great Britain, France, and
Ireland,” &c. On the reverse, a representation of
two men of war, with the names Resolution and Adven¬
ture over them5 and on the exergue, “Sailed from
England March mdcclxxji.”
Queen-Gold, is a royal duty or revenue belonging
Quepfi-
Go!d
Q U E [
to every qileen of England during her marriage to the
king, payable by persons in this kingdom and Ireland
on divers grants of the king by way of fine and oblation’
&c. being one full tenth part above the entire fines, on
' pardons, contracts, or agreements, which becomes a real
debt to the queen, by the name of aurum regime, upon
the party’s bare agreement with the king for his fine,
and recording the same.
Queen's-County, a division of the province of Lein¬
ster in Ireland ; so called from the popish Queen Mary,
in whose reign it was first made a county by the earl of
Sussex, then lord-deputy. It is bounded on the south
by Kilkenny and Catherlogh : by King’s county on the
north and west; part of Kildare and Catherlogh on the
east ; and part of Tipperary on the west. Its greatest
length from north to south is 35 miles, and its breadth
neai as much ^ but it is unequal both ways. Tins coun¬
try was anciently full of bogs and woods, though now
pretty well enclosed and cultivated. The number of
inhabitants amounts to 82,000; and it sends two mem¬
bers to the imperial parliament.
Queen-Bee. See Bee, N° 3, &c.
QUEENBOROUGH, a town of the isle of Shep-
pey in Kent, which sends two members to parliament,
though consisting only of about 100 low brick houses,
and scarce 350 inhabitants. The chief employment of
the people here is oyster-dredging ; oysters being very
plentiful, and of a fine flavour. E. Long. o. 45 N.
Lat. 51. 25.
QUEr.NSFERR'i , which is sometimes denominated
South Queensferry, is a royal borough in the shire of
Linlithgow, on the coast of the frith of Forth, about
9 miles to the westward of Edinburgh. It obtained
the name from Margaret, queen of Malcom Canmore,
who was in the habit of frequenting the passage of the
frith at this place, and was the principal patroness of
the town. It is a small place, consisting of no more
than one irregular street, the houses of which are small,
and chiefly inhabited by people who lead a seafaring
life. The principal manufacture is that of soap, begun
in the year 1770, which from 1783 to 1789 was a
trade of considerable extent, the works being then four
in number, and paying about io,oool. annually of ex¬
cise duty.
The shipping of the port has considerably declined ;
and at present the chief consequence of the place may
be regarded as arising from the ferry over the frith of
Forth, which is very much frequented. The river
here is about two miles broad, and on each side has
convenient landing places. The passage is both safe
and expeditious, and rvith the exception of a very
few cases, may be had at all times. It is one of five
boroughs that send a member to the British or Im¬
perial parliament, the other four being Stirling, Dun¬
fermline, Inverkeithing, and Culross. The parish is
of very small extent, being confined to the borough.
It is an erection in the parish of Dalmeny, which took
place in the year 1636. The inhabitants were 558 in
the year 1811.
Queensferry, North, a village in Fifeshire, situ¬
ated on the Forth, directly opposite to the borough
of Queensferry, between which there are regular pas¬
sage boats. It lies in the parish of Dunfermline, hut is
annexed, quoad sacra, to the parish of Inverkeithing,
The inhabitants in 1793 were 312.
60^
j 3 Q U E
QUEI-LlNG-fou, tlie capital nf the province of ouc; j;,,-
Quangsi in China, lias its name from a flower called ion
quci, which grows on a tree resembling a laurel; it ex- II
hales so sweet and agreeable an odour, that the whole Quert1,s'
country around is perfumed with it. It is situated on rZ^~'
the banks ot a river, which throws itself into the Ta- General
ho ; but it flaws with such rapidity, and amidst so nzr- Desvrip-
row valleys, that it is neither navigable nor of any uti-^>n °f
lity to commerce. This city is large, and the whole
ol it is built almost after the model of our ancient for¬
tresses ; but it is much inferior to the greater part of
the capitals of the other provinces. A great number of
birds are found in the territories belonging to it, the
colours of which are so bright and variegated, that the
artists of this, country, in order to add to the lustre
ol their silks, interweave with them some of their fea¬
thers, which have a splendour and beauty that cannot
be imitated. Quei-Iing has under its jurisdiction two
cities of the second class and seven of the third.
QuEt, in Natural History, is a name given by the Chi¬
nese to a peculiar earth found in many parts of the east.
It is of the nature of an indurated clay, and in some de¬
gree approaches to the talks, as our steatites and the
galactites do. It is very white and abstersive, used by
the women of China to take off spots from the skin,
and render it soft and smooth, as the Italian ladies use
talk of Venice. They sometimes use the line powder
of this stone dry, rubbing it on the hands and face after
washing; sometimes they mix it in pomatum.
QUELPAERT, an island in the mouth of the chan¬
nel of Japan, subject to the king of Corea. Before the
last voyage of the unfortunate La Perouse, this island
was only known to the Europeans by the wreck of the
Dutch ship Sparrow-hawk, in the year 1635. Some of
the crew ot this ship were kept prisoners for about 18
years, during which period they were often severely
treated ; but having found means to escape to Japan,
and from thence to Batavia, they at last arrived in safety
at Amsterdam. La Perouse discovered the island on
the 21st of May the south point of which is in
N. Lat. 330 14', and E. Long. 1240 15' from Paris.
'1 he land has a gradual slope towards the sea, which
makes the habitations assume the appearance of an am¬
phitheatre. The soil appeared to be highly cultivated,
and the divisions of fields were perceived bv the assist¬
ance of glasses, which afforded a convincing proof of an
extensive population. It is unfortunately inhabited by
a people who are prohibited from all intercourse with
strangers, and who make slaves of all those wiio have
the misfortune to suffer shipwreck on their coasts.
QUERCI, a province of Guienne in France ; bemn-
ded on the north by Limosin, on the east by Rouergue
and Auvergne, on the south by Upper Languedoc, and
on the west by Agenois and Perigord. It was divided
into Upper and Lower; and corresponds nearly with
the department of Lot. Cahors is the capital town.
QUERCUS, a genus of plants, belonging to the mo-
noecia class; and in the natural method ranking under
the 50th order, Amentacece. See Botany Index.
The robur, or common English oak, grows from a-
bout 60 or 70 to IOO feet high, with a prodigious large
trunk, and monstrous spreading head ; oblong leaves,
broadest towards the top, the edges acutely sinuated,
having the angles obtuse. There is a variety, having
the leaves finely striped with white. This species grows
4 G 2 in
Quercus.
Q U E t
in nreat abundance all over 1.airland, in woods,
J liedge-rows; is naturally of an
orowtli, there being accounts of some above IOO cet
stature, with wonderful large trunks and spHtad g
heads-, and is supposed to continue its giouth mai y
CC The sober, or cork-tree, grows 30 or 40 f^t lugh,
having a thick, rough, fungous cleft hark, and oo’on^
oval undivided serrated leaves, downy underneath. I ns
species furnishes that useful material cork -, it being the
bark of the tree, which becoming of a thick fungous na¬
ture, under which, at the same time, is formed a new
hark, and the old being detached for use, the tree still
lives, and the succeeding young bark becomes also 0 the
same thick spongy nature in six or seven years ht for
barking, having likewise another fresh bark oiminb
under it, becoming cork like the others in t le * vc pe
riod of time; and in this manner these trees wondt-r-
fully furnish the cork for our use, and of which is made
the corks for bottles, bungs for barrels, and numerous
other useful articles. The tree grows in great plenty
in Spain and Portugal, and from these countries we re¬
ceive the cork. The Spaniards burn it, to make that
kind of light black we call Spanish black, used by paint¬
ers Cups made of cork are said to be good for hecti¬
cal persons to drink out of. The Egyptians made cot-
fins of cork j which being lined with a resinous compo¬
sition, preserved dead bodies uncorrupted. Ihe Spa¬
niards line stone-walls with it, which not only renders
them very warm, but corrects the moisture of the air..
Oak-trees, of all the above sorts, may he employed in
gardening to diversify large ornamental plantations m
out-grounds, and in forming clumps in spacious lawns,
parks, and other extensive opens 5 the evergreen kinds
in particular have great merit for all ornamental pur¬
poses in gardens. But all the larger growing kinds, both
deciduous and evergreens, demand esteem principally as
first-rate forest-trees for their timber. The English oak,
however, claims precedence as a timber-tree, for its pro¬
digious height and bulk, and superior worth of its wood.
Every possessor of considerable estates ought therefore
to be particularly assiduous in raising woods ot them,
wliich is effected by sowing the acorns either in a nur¬
sery and the plants transplanted where they are to re¬
main, or sowed at once in the places where they are al¬
ways to stand. All the sorts will prosper in any mid¬
dling soil and open situation, though in a loamy soil
they are generally more prosperous : however, there are
but few soils in which oaks will not grow ; they will
even thrive tolerably in gravelly, sandy, and clayey
land, as may be observed in many parts of this country
of the common oak.
The oak is of the utmost importance to Britain, and
its cultivation deserves the utmost attention. Much,
therefore, to the honour of the members of the London
Society for encouraging Arts, Manufactures, and Com¬
merce, they have excited particular attention to it 5 and
many excellent observations, drawn from practice, will
be found in their Transactions.
The propagation of the striped-leaved varieties of
the common oak, and any particular variety of the
other species, must be effected by grafting, as they
will not continue the same from seed : the grafting may
be performed upon any kind of oakling-stocks raised
604 ] Q U E
from the acorns, and train them for standards like the Querctu.
others. _
The oak is remarkable for its slowness or growth,
hulk, and longevity. It has been remarked that the
trunk lias attained to the size only of 14 niches in dia¬
meter, and of some to 20, in the space of fourscore years.
As to hulk, we have an account ol an oak belonging
to Lord Powis, growing in Broomfield wood, near
Ludlow in Shropshire, in the year 1764, the trunk of
which measured 68 feet in girth, 23 in length, and
which, reckoning 90 feet for the larger branches, con¬
tained in the whole 1455 feet of timber, round measure,
or 29 loads and five feet, at 50 feet to a load.
The Greendale oak, &c. we have already mentioned
(see Oak). In the opinion of many, the Cowthorp oak
near Wetherby in Yorkshire is the father of the lorest.
Dr Hunter, in his edition of Evelyn, has given an en¬
graving of it. Within three feet of the surface he says
it measures 16 yards, and close to the ground 26. In
1776, though in a ruinous condition, it ^vas 83 feet
high,'and its principal limb extended 16 yards from the
bole.' The foliage was very thin. If this measurement
were taken as the dimension of the real stem, the size of
this tree would be enormous; but, like most very large
trees, its stem is short, spreading wide at the base, the
roots rising above the ground like buttresses to the
trunk, which is similar not to a cylinder but to the fru¬
stum of a cone. Mr Marsham says, “ I found it in
j 768, at four feet, 40 feet six inches 5 at five feet, 36
feet six inches j and at six feet, 32 feet one inch. . In
the principal dimensions then, the sixe of the stem, it is
exceeded by the Bentley oak j of which the same 'wri¬
ter gives the following account : 11 In 1759 ^‘e ^
Holt-Forest, near Bentley, was at seven feet 34 feet.
There is a large excrescence at five and six feet that
would render the measure unfair. In 1778, this tree
was increased half an inch in 19 years. It does not ap¬
pear to he hollow, but by the trifling increase I conclude
it not sound.” These dimensions, however, are ex¬
ceeded by those of the Boddington oak. It grows 111 a
piece of rich grass land, called the Old Orchard
Ground, belonging to Boddington-Manor Farm, lying
near the turnpike-road hetwreen Cheltenham and Tewks¬
bury, in the A ale ot Gloucester, llie stem is icmaik-
ably collected at the root, the sides ol its trunk being
much more upright than those of large trees in general j
and yet its circumference at the ground is about 20
paces: measuring with a two-loot rule, it is more than
18 yards. At three feet high it is 43 feet, and where
smallest, i. e. from five to six feet high, it is 36 feet.
At six feet it svyells out larger, and forms an enormous
head, which has been furnished with huge, and probably
extensive, arms. But time and the fury of the wind
have robbed it of much of its grandeur 5 and the great¬
est extent of arm in 1793 was eight yards from the
stem-
In the Gentleman’s Magazine for May 1794 we
have an account of an oak tree growing in Penshurst
park in Kent, together with an engraving. It is cal ed
the Bear or Bare oak, from being supposed to resemble
that which Camden thought gave name to the county
of Berkshire. The tradition at Penshurst is that it is
the very tree planted on the day that the celebrated bir
Philip Sydnev was born. “ Some late writers (says
Mr
icrcus.
Q u E [605
Mr Raw let) have questioned this, and think that to have
been a different tree, which was cut down some years
ago, and was indeed much larger than this. I remem¬
ber being once in the hollow of the present oak with
the late Sir John Cullum ; and his opinion then was
that its antiquity was greater than the period assigned!
Jiut, 1 assure you, the tradition of this place is constant
for this tree ; and, in confirmation of it, an old lady of
94 years of age, now living, has told me, that all the
tenants used to furnish themselves with boughs from
this tiee, to stick in their hats, whenever they went to
meet the earls of Leicester, as was always the custom
to do at the end of the park when they came to reside
at their seat here. Jins line old oak stands upon a plain
about 500 yards from their venerable mansion, near a
large piece of water called Lancut-well. Ben Jonson
and Waller have particularly noticed it; and from the
distinguished owners of this place, it may be truly said
to stand on classic ground. Within the hollow of it
theie is a seat, and it is capable of containing five or six
persons with ease. The bark round the entrance was
so much grown up, that it has lately been cut away to
facilitate the access. The dimensions of the tree are
these:
]
Q U E
Feet.
35
27
24
73
6
Inches.
6
6
Girth close to the ground
Ditto one foot from ditto
Ditto five feet from ditto
Height taken by shadow
Girth of lowest, but not largest, limb
With respect to longevity, Linngeus gives account of
an oak 260 years old : but we have had traditions of
some in England (how far to be depended upon we
know not) that have attained to more than double that
age. Mr Marsham, in a letter to Thomas Beevor, Esq.
Bath Papers, vol. i. p. 'yg, makes some very ingenious
calculations on the age of trees, and concludes from the
increase of the Bentley oak, &c. that the Fortworth
chesnut is 1100 years old.
Besides the grand purposes to which the timber is
applied in navigation and architecture, and the bark in
tanning of leather, there are other uses of less conse¬
quence, to which the different parts of this tree have
been referred. The Plighlanders use the bark to dye
their yarn of a brown colour, or, mixed with copperas,
of a black colour. They call the oak the king of all the
trees in the forest; and the herdsman would think him¬
self and his flock unfortunate if he had not a staff of it.
The acorns are a good food to fatten swine and tur¬
keys ; and, after the severe winter of the year 1709,
the poor people in France w'ere miserably constrained
to eat them themselves. They are, however, acorns
produced from another species of oak, which are eaten
to this day in Spain and Greece, with as much plea¬
sure as chesnuts, without the dreadful compulsion of
hunger.
Quercus Marina, the Sea Oak, in Botany, the name
of a broad-leaved dichotomous sea-fucus. It is not
agreed, among the late botanists, what was the sea-
oak of Theophrastus; and the most ancient botanists,
Clusius and Csesalpinus, suppose it to have been a spe¬
cies of the shrubby coralline ; but that seems by no
means to have been the case, since Theophrastus says his
sea-oak had a long, thick, and fleshy leaf; whence we
ZfZs dT natUrally C“ndU<le k t0 have of
QUhRIA, a genus of plants, belonlng to the tri-
?he ulu? '7 ll;er.tural onder ’
OIIFSNF’ ^phylk,. See Botany ljex.
nm!l of t , ABR:1"am ““■ mjiquls of Quesne, ad-
nnral of the naval forces of France, and one of the
dvInTcm0 0Hhe I7th, was bor» ^ Norman-
y l6lC* He contributed to the defeating of the
naval power of Spain before Gattari ; was dangerously
wounded before Barcelona in 1642, and on otlmr occa-
sions he went into the service of the Swedes, and be-
kXVth?- I11" ? ST an entire defeat,
led into F'' ’,US Shil)- He recal-
sent to xT ia,nCe inT* 47> an<i commanded the squadron
se t to Naples I he sea-aflairs of France being much
fallen, he fitted out divers ships for the relief of the
ropl army that blocked up Bourdeaux ; which was the
principal cause of the surrender of the town. He was
S Dnfr?/6 ^ the,I^t T'3 0f'SIcily’ Where be beat
the Dutch thrice, and De Ruyter was killed. He also
obliged the Algerines to sue in a very humble manner
for peace from France. In short, Asia, Africa, and
Lurope, felt the effects of his valour. He was a Pro¬
testant ; yet the king bestowed on him the land of
Bouchet, and to immortalize his memory gave it the
name of that great man. He died in 1688.
QUESTION, in Logic, a proposition stated by way
ot interrogation. J J
Question, or Torture. See Rack.
QUESTOR or Qutestor, in Roman antiquity,
an officer who had the management of the public trea¬
sure.
1 be questorship was the first office any person could
bear m the commonwealth, and have a right to sit in the
senate.
At first there were only two ; but afterwards two
others were created, to take care of the payment of
the armies abroad, ot selling the plunder, booty, &c.
for which purpose they generally accompanied the con¬
suls in their expeditions ; on which account they were
called peregrini, as the first and principal two were
called urbani.
The number of questors was afterwards greatly in¬
creased. They had the keeping of the decrees of the
senate . and hence came the two offices of questor prin-
cipis, or augusti, sometimes called candidutus principis,
whose office resembled in most respects that of our se¬
cretaries ot state, and the questor palatu, answering in
a great measure to our lord-chancellor.
QUEUE, in Heraldry, signifies the tail of a beast ;
thus, it a hon be borne with a forked tail, he is blazon¬
ed double-queued.
Queue cVAronde, or Swallow''s Tail, in Fortification,
a detached or outwork, the sides of which open towards-
the champaign, or draw closer towards the gorge. Single
or double tenailles are of this kind, and some liornworks
the sides of which aie not parallel, but narrow at the
gorge, and open at the head, resembling a swallow’s
tail. When the sides are less than the gorge, the work
is called centre queue d'aronde.
Queue d'Aronde, in carpentry, a method of jointing,
also called dovetailing.
QUEVEDO de Villegas, Francisco, a celebra¬
ted Spanish poet, born at Madrid in 1570. He was
descended
Qaercus
II
Quevedo.
tjMICVlllo,
Quick.
Q U I [.
descended from a noble family, and was made a kn.gbt
of St James j but was thrown into prison by older o
Count Olivarez, whose administration he satirized in
his verses, and was not set at liberty till alter that mi¬
nister’s disgrace. Quevedo wrote some heroic, lyric,
&nd facetious poems. He also composed several trea¬
tises on religious subjects, and has translated some au¬
thors into Spanish. He died in 1644. The most known
of his works are, 1. The Spanish Parnassus. 2. ihe
Adventurer Buscon. 3. Visions of Hell Reformed, &c.
Quevedo was one of the greatest scholars and most emi¬
nent poets of his time. His youth was spent in the
service of his country in Italy, where he distinguished
himself with the utmost sagacity and prudence.
moral discourses prove his sound doctrine and religious
sentiments, while his literary pieces display his inhmte
judgment and refined taste. His great knowledge ol
Hebrew is apparent from the report ot the historian
Mariana to the king, requesting that Quevedo might
revise the new edition ol the Bible ot Arias Montanus.
His translations of Epictetus and Phocylides, with his
imitations of Anacreon, and other Greek authors, show
how well he was versed in that language : that he was
a Latin scholar, his constant correspondence, from the
age of twenty, with Lipsius, Chifflet, and Scioppius
will sufficiently illustrate. As a poet, he excelled both
in the serious and burlesque style, and was singularly
happy in that particular turn we have since admired in
Butler and Swift. His library, which consisted ol about
five thousand volumes, was reduced at his death to
about two thousand, and is preserved in the convent of
St Martin at Madrid*
QUICK, or Quickset Hedge, among gardeners, de¬
notes all live hedges, of whatever sort of plants they are
composed, to distinguish them from dead hedges ; but in
a more strict sense ot the word, it is restrained to those
planted with the hawthorn, under which name those
young plants or sets are sold by the nursery-gardeners
who raise them for sale.
The following method of propagating the common
white thorn for hedges is recommended by Mr Taylor
of Moston near Manchester, in a letter addressed to the
Society for the Encouragement of Arts, &c. Alter
premising that we have successfully repeated the expe¬
riment, we shall give the account of the process in his
own words.
“ Every one of you, I think, will allow that fences
are material objects to be attended to in agriculture *,
you must also be convinced that there is no plant in this
kingdom of which they can so properly be made as the
eratcegus oxya antha Linncei, or common white thorn.
In consequence of my being convinced of this, I have
been induced to make a few experiments to effect the
better propagation of that valuable plant $ the result of
which, along with specimens of my success, I beg leave
to submit to your inspection.
“ In the year 1801, I had occasion to purchase a
quantity of thorns, and finding them very dear, I was
determined to try some experiments, in order if possible
to raise them at a less expence. I tried to propagate
them from cuttings of th^ branches, but with little or
no success. I likewise tried if pieces of the root would
grow ; and I cut fr >m the thorns which I ha'1 purchas¬
ed about a dozen of such roots as p! a- ed me, and plant-
aed them in a border along with those I had bought.
5
606 3 Q U I
To my great astonishment, not one of them died; and 1
in two years they became as good thorns as the average
of those I had purchased. The thorns I purchased were
three years old when I got them. In April 1802, I
had occasion to move a fence, from which I procured
as many roots of thorns as made me upwards of two
thousand cuttings, of which I did not lose five in the
hundred.
“ In the spring of 1803, I likewise planted as many
cuttings of thorn roots as I could get. In 1804, I
did the same j and this year I shall plant many thou¬
sands.
“ 1 have sent for your inspection specimens of the
produce of 1802, 1803, and 1804, raised after my me¬
thod, with the best I could get of those raised from
haws in the common way, which generally lie one year
in the ground before they vegetate. They are exactly
one, two, and three years old, from the day they were
planted.—I was so pleased with my success in raising so
valuable an article to the farming interest of this king¬
dom, at so trifling an expence (for it is merely that of
Cutting the roots into lengths and planting them), that
I was determined to make it known to the world, and
could think of no better method than communicating it
to your society j and should you so far approve of this
method of raising thorns, as to think me entitled to any
honorary reward, I shall receive it with gratitude, but
shall feel myself amply repaid for any trouble I have
been at, should you think it worthy a place in the next
volume of your Transactions.
“ The method of raising the thorns from roots of the
plant, is as follows.
“ I would advise every farmer to purchase a hundred
or a thousand thorns, according to the size of his farm,
and plant them in his orchard or garden, and when they
have attained the thickness of my three-year-old speci¬
mens, which is the size I always prefer for planting in
fences, let him take them and prune the roots in the
manner I have pruned the specimen sent you, from
which he will upon an average get ten or twelve cut¬
tings from each plant, which is as good as thorns of the
same thickness ; so that you will easily perceive that in
three years he will have a succession of plants fit for use,
which he may if he pleases increase tenfold eveiy time
he takes them up.
“ The spring (say in all April) is the best time to
plant the cuttings, which must be done in rows half a
yard asunder, and about four inches from each other in
the row 5 they ought to be about four inches long, and
planted with the top one-fourth of an inch out of the
ground, and well fastened $ otherwise they will not suc¬
ceed so well.
“ The reason why I prefer spring to autumn for
planting the roots, is, that were they to be planted in
autumn, they would not have got sufficient hold of the
ground helere the frost set in, which would raise them
all from the ground : and, if not entirely destroy the
plants, would oblige the farmer to plant them afresh.
“ 1 have attached the produce of my three-year-old
specimen to the plants it came from, cut in the way I
always practise 5 on the thick end of the root I make
two, and on the other end one cut, by which means the
proper end to be planted uppermost, which is the thick
one, may easily be known.
“ Although I recommend the roots to be planted m
April*
Q U I f
ftaick April, yet the farmer may, where he pleases, take up
|| the thorns he may want, and put the roots he has prun-
£r ed ^ I".10 Sand °r mould’ w,lere t!l£y will keep until
^ / he has leisure to cut them into proper lengths for plant¬
ing > he will likewise keep them in the same way until
planted.
“ The Sreat advantage of my plan is : first, that in
case any one has raised from haws a thorn with remark¬
ably large prickles, of vigorous growth, or possessing
any other qualification requisite to make a good fence,
he may propagate it far better and sooner, from roots’,
than any other way. Secondly, in three years he may
raise from roots a better plant than can in six years be
raised from haws, and with double the quantitv of
roots ; my three-year-old specimen would have been
hall as big again, had I not been obliged to move all
my cuttings the second year after they were planted.
It would not be a bad way, in order to get roots, to
plant a hedge in any convenient place, and on each side
trench the ground two yards wide, and two grafts deep ;
from which, every two or three years, a large quantity
of roots might be obtained, by trenching the ground
over again, and cutting away what roots were found,
which would all be young and of a proper thickness.”
QUICKLIME, a general name for all calcareous sub¬
stances when deprived of their lived air ; such as chalk,
limestone, oyster-shells, &c. calcined. See Lime, Che¬
mistry, for an account of the properties and combina¬
tions of lime.
QUICKSILVER, or Mercury, one of the metals,
and so fusible that it cannot be reduced to a solid state
but at a degree of cold, equal to 40 below o of Fahren¬
heit’s thermometer. For the method of extracting
quicksilver from its ore, &c. see Ores, Reduction of.
For the various preparations, &c. see Chemistry and
Materia Medic a Index; and for the natural history
of the ores of quicksilver or mercury, see Minep.alogy
Index.
Mines of quicksilver are very rare, insomuch that, ac¬
cording to the calculations of Hoflinan, there is qo times
more gold got every year out of the mines than mercury
and its ores. But Dr Lewis, in his notes upon New-
mann, says, that Cramer suspects that Hoffman only
meant five times instead of 50 ; but neither the Latin
nor the English edition of this author expresses any such
thought; on the contrary, he adopts the same opinion 5
and only adds, that mercury is much more frequently
met with than is commonly believed ; but being so vo¬
latile in the fire, it often flies off in the roasting of ores,
and escapes the attention of metallurgists.
According to Newmann, the mines of Idria have pro¬
duced at the rate of 231,778 pounds weight of mercury
per annum $ but those of Almaden in Spain produce
much more. The chemists of Dijon inform us, that
their annual produce is five or six thousand quintals, or
between five and six hundred thousand pounds weight.
In the year 1717 there were upwards of 2,500,000
pounds of quicksilver sent from them to Mexico, for the
amalgamation of the gold and silver ores of that coun¬
try.
At Guan^avelica in Brasil the annual produce of the
mines, according to Bomare, amounts to one million of
pounds, which are carried overland to Lima, thence to
Arica, and lastly to Potosi for the same purpose.
Besides these mines there are others in Brasil nejir
6° 7 ] Q U I
Villa Rica, where such a quantity of cinnabar, and na-
tIVe running mercury, are found near the surface of the
eai th, that the black slaves often collect it in good quan¬
tities, and sell it for a trifling price to the apothecaries ;
but none of these mines have ever been worked or taken
notice of by the owners. Gold naturally amalgamated
with mercury is likewise met with in the neighbourhood
ot that place ; and it is said that almost all the gold
mines of that country are worked out by simply wash¬
ing them out with running water, after reducing into
powder the hard ores, which are sometimes imbedded
in quartzose and rocky matrices.
In the duchy of Deux Fonts and in the Lower Au¬
stria the quicksilver flows from a schistose or stony ma-
tiice, and is probably, says Mr Kirwan, mixed with
some other metal, as its globules are not perfectly sphe¬
rical. The mines of Friuli are all in similar beds or
strata. 'Ihe metal is likewise found visible diffused
through masses of clay or very heavy stone, of a white,
red, or blue colour ; of which last kind are the mines
of Spain, some of Idria, and of Sicily. Mascagni found
fluid quicksilver, as well as native cinnabar and mineral
ethiops, near the lake of Travale in the duchy of Sien¬
na j but the quantity was so small as not to be worth
the expence of working. On the other hand, the fol¬
lowing mines afford profits to the owners after clearing
all expences, viz. those at Kremnitz in Hungary ; a^
Horowitz in Bohemia; Zorge in Saxony; Wolfstein,
Stahlberg, and Moeschfeld in the Palatinate. Mercury
is also brought from Japan in the East Indies; but the
greatest part of what is sold in Europe as Japan cinna¬
bar is said to be manufactured in Holland.
Lemery, Pomet, and others, lay down some external
marks by which those places are distinguished where
there are mines of quicksilver, viz. thick vapours like
clouds arising in the months of April and May ; the
plants being much larger and greener than in other
places : the trees seldom bearing flowers or fruit, and
putting forth their leaves more slowly than in other
places ; but, according to Newmann, these marks are
far from being certain. They are not met with in all
places where there is quicksilver, and are observed in
places where there is none. Abundance of ther.o cloudy
exhalations are met with in the Hartz forest in Ger¬
many, though no mercury has ever been found there ;
to which we may add, that though vast quantities of
mercurial ores are found at Almaden in Spain, none of
the above-mentioned indications are there to be met
with.
Native mercury was formerly sought from the mines
of Idria with great avidity by the alchemists for the pur¬
pose of making goid ; and others have showed as ridi¬
culous an attachment to the Hungarian cinnabar, sup¬
posing it to be impregnated with gold ; nay, wre are in¬
formed by Newmann, that not only the cinnabar, anti¬
mony, and copper of Hungary, but even the vine trees,
of that country, were thought to be impregnated with
the precious metal. Not many years ago a French che¬
mist advertised that he had obtained a considerable quan¬
tity of gold from the ashes of vine twigs and stems, as
well as of the garden soil where, they grew : but the
falsehood of these assertions was demonstrated by the
count de Lauragais to the satisfaction of the Royal Aca¬
demy of Sciences.
The reduction of mercury into a solid state, so tha
it
Quiefc-
*ilvcr.
Quick¬
silver,
I!
Quie lists,
Q U I [ 608
It mi slit he employed like silver, was another favourite
alchemical pursuit. But all processes and operations ot
this kind, says Newmann, if they have mercury in them,
are no other than hard amalgams. When melted lead
' or tin are just becoming consistent after fusion, it a stick
be thrust into the metal, and the hole tilled with quick¬
silver, as soon as the whole is cold, the mercury is found
solid. Macquer informs us, that mercury becomes equal¬
ly solid by being exposed to the fumes ot lead. Mau¬
rice Hoffman, as quoted by Newmann, even gives a pro¬
cess for reducing mercury, thus coagulated, to a state ot
malleability, viz. bv repeatedly melting and quenching
it in linseed oil. Thus,' he tells us, we obtain a metal
which can be formed into rings and other utensils. But
here the mercury is entirely dissipated by the repeated
fusions, and nothing but the original lead is left. Wal-
lerius, after mentioning strong soap-levs, or caustic lixi¬
vium, and some other liquors proper for fixing quick¬
silver, tells us, that by means of a certain gradatory wa¬
ter, the composition of which he learned from Creuling
de Aureo Vellerc,he could make a coagulum ot mercury
whenever he pleased, of such consistency that great part
of it would resist cupellation } but what this gradatory
water was, he has not thought proper to lay before the
public. . _
QUICK-MATCH, among artillery men, a kind ot
combustible preparation formed of three cotton strands
drawn into length, and dipped in a boiling composi¬
tion of white-wine vinegar, saltpetre, and mealed pow¬
der. After this immersion it is taken out hot, and laid
in a trough where some mealed powder, moistened with
spirits of wine, is thoroughly incorporated into the twists
of the cotton, by rolling it about therein. Thus pre¬
pared, they are taken out separately, and drawn through
mealed powder 5 then hung upon a line and dried, by
which they are fit for immediate service.
QUID pro quo, in Law, q. d. “ what for what,”
denotes the giving one thing of value for another : or
the mutual consideration and performance of both par¬
ties to a contract.
Quid pro quo, or Qui pro quo, is also used in physic
to express a mistake in the physician’s bill, where quid
is wrote for qzto, i. e. one thing for another *, or of the
apothecary in reading quid for quo, and giving the pa¬
tient the wrong medicine. Hence the term is in the ge¬
neral extended to all blunders or mistakes committed in
medicine, either in the prescription, the preparation, or
application of remedies.
QUIDDITY, Quidditas, a barbarous term used
in the schools for essence. The name is derived hence
that it is by the essence of a thing that it is a tale quid,
such a quid, or thing, and not another. Hence what is
essentia! to a thing is said to be quiddative.
QUIET I STS, a religious sect, famous towards the
close of the last century. They were so called from a
kind of absolute rest and inaction, which they supposed
the soul to be in when arrived at that state of perfection
which they called the unitive life; in which state they
imagined the soul wholly employed in contemplating its
God, to whose influence it w’as entirely submissive-, so
that he could turn and drive it where and how he would.
In this state, the soul no longer needs prayers, hymns,
&c. being laid, as it were, in the bosom and between
the arms of its God, in whom it is in a manner swallow¬
ed up.
] Q u 1
Molinos, a Spanish priest, is the reputed author of Qu'-eb
Quietism *, though the Illuminati in Spain had certain- ' ^
ly taught something like it before. The sentiments of
Molinos were contained in a book which he published
at Rome in the year 1681, under the title of the Spi¬
ritual Guide; for which he was cast into prison in
1685, and where he publicly renounced the errors of
which he was accused. This solemn recantation, how¬
ever, was followed by a sentence of perpetual imprison¬
ment, and he died in prison in the year 1696. Moli¬
nos had numerous disciples in Italy, Spain, I ranee, and
the Netherlands. One of the principal patrons and
propagators of Quietism in France was Marie Bouvi-
eres de la IVIothe Guyon, a woman 01 fashion, remark¬
able for goodness of heart and regularity of manners ;
but of an unsettled temper, and subject to be drawn
away by the seduction of a warm and unbridled fancy.
She derived all ideas of religion from the feelings of
her own heart, and described its nature to others as she
felt it herself. Accordingly her religious sentiments
made a great noise in the year 1687 5 and they were de¬
clared unsound, after accurate investigation,’by several
men of eminent piety and learning, and professedly con¬
futed, in the year 1697, by the celebrated Bossuet.
Hence arose a controversy of greater moment between
the prelate last mentioned and Fenelon archbishop of
Cambray, who seemed disposed to favour the system of
Guyon/and who in 1697 published a book containing
several of her tenets. Fenelon’s hook, by means of
Bossuet, was condemned in the year 1699, by Innocent
XII. and the sentence of condemnation was read by Fe¬
nelon himself at Cambray, who exhorted the people to
respect and obey the papal decree. Notwithstanding
this seeming acquiescence, the archbishop persisted to
the end of his days in the sentiments, which, in obedi¬
ence to the order of the pope, he retracted and condemn¬
ed in a public manner.
A sect similar to this had appeared at Mount Athos
in Thessaly, near the end of the 14th century, called
Hesychasts, meaning the same with Quietists. They
were a branch of the mystics, or those more perfect
monks, who, by long and intense contemplation, endea¬
voured to arrive at a tranquillity of mind free from every
degree of tumult and perturbation. In conformity to
an ancient opinion of their principal doctors (who
thought there ivas a celestial light concealed in the
deepest retirements of the mind), they used to sit every
day, during a certain space of time, in a solitary corner,
with their eyes eagerly and immoveably fixed upon the
middle regions of the belly, or navel \ and boasted, that
while they remained in this posture, they found, in ef¬
fect, a divine light beaming forth from their soul, which
diffused through their hearts inexpressible sensations oi
pleasure and delight. To such as inquired what kind
of light this was, they replied, by way oi illustration,
that it was the glory of God, the same celestial radiance
that surrounded Christ during Ins transfiguration on the
Mount. Barlaam, a monk of Calabria, from whom the
Barlaamites derived their denomination, styled the
monks who adhered to this institution Massalians and
Kuchites; and he gave them also the new name of Sm-
bilicani. Gregory Palamas, archbishop of Thessaloni-
ca, defended their cause against Barlaam, who was con¬
demned in a council held at Constantinople in the year
1241.—See Fenelon's Max. des Saints.
4 The
Quietism
Q U I
Quin.
T Q U I [ 609 ]
The^ex^jra1^::;™ !'in; •° 'f ^ ■■but th^- ™—f- »i.o™ 1- e„.
ran, viz. “ O thou soul which art’at reft retu f H “ fgl,1,er f"'"1 *han f»r lhe P"rt Thomson,
the Lord, &c.” of a soul which, htit ’ hv ots“i„f kit t f *,■ aS°nS’ '0 'vll0m 1,6 malIe himself
the concatenation of natural causes raised itself to the 1 y an ac of generosity that does the greatest
Icnowledge of that being which produced them and ^
that being which produced them nuu
exists of necessity, rests fully contented, and acquiesces
in the knowledge, &c. of him, and in the contempla¬
tion of his perfection.
QUILLET, Claude, an eminent Latin poet of
the 17th century, was born at Chinon, in Touraine,
and practised physic there with reputation: but ha¬
ving declared against the pretended possession of the
nuns of Loudun, in a manuscript treatise, the original
of which was deposited in the library of the Sorbonne,
he was obliged to retire into Italy, where he became se¬
cretary to the marshal d’Estrees, the French ambassador
at Rome. In 1655, Quillet having published in Holland
a Latin poem, entitled Callipcedia, under the name of
Galvidius Ltetus, he there inserted some verses against
the cardinal Mazarine and his family ; but that cardi¬
nal making him some gentle reproaches, he retrenched
what related to the cardinal in another edition, and
dedicated it to him, Mazarine having, before it was
printed, given him an abbey. He died in 1661, aged
59, after having given Menage all his writings, and
500 crowns to pay the expence of printing them j
but the abbe took the money and papers, and publish¬
ed none of them. His Callipaidia, or the art of get-
ting beautiful children, has been translated into English
verse.
QUILLS, the large feathers taken out of the end
of the wing of a goose, crow, &c. They are denomi¬
nated from the order in which they are fixed in the
wing ; the second and third quills being the best for
writing, as they have the largest and roundest barrels.
Crow-quills are chiefly used for drawing. In order to
harden a quill that is soft, thrust the barrel into hot
ashes, stirring it till it is soft, and then taking it out,
press it almost flat upon your knee with the back of a
penknife, and afterwards reduce it to a roundness with
your fingers. If you have a number to harden, set wa¬
ter and alum over the fire, and while it is boiling, put
in a handful of quills, the barrels only, for a minute,
and then lay them by.
QUIN, James, a celebrated performer on the Eng¬
lish stage, was born at London in 1693. He was in¬
tended for the bar •, but preferring Shakespeare to the
statutes at large, he on the death of his father, when
it was necessary for him to do something for himself,
appeared on the stage at Hrury-lane. In 1720, he first
displayed his comic powers in the character of Falstaff,
and soon after appeared to as great advantage in Sir
John Brute ; but it was upon Booth’s quitting the stage
that Quin appeared to full advantage, in the part of
Cato. He continued a favourite performer until the
year 1748, when, on some disgust between him and Mr
Rich the manager, he retired to Bath, and only came
up annually to act for the benefit of his friend Ryan ;
until the loss of two front teeth spoiled his utterance
fer the stage. While Mr Quin continued upon the
stage, he constantly kept company with the greatest
geniuses of the age. He was well known to Pope and
Swift; and the earl of Chesterfield frequently invited
Vol. XVII. Part II.
f
Lnglish language recommended him to his royal high¬
ness Irederick prince of Wales, who appointed him to
instruct his children in speaking and reading with a
graceful propriety; and Quin being informed of the
elegant manner in which his present Majesty delivered
his first gracious speech from the throne, he cried out in
a kind of ecstasy, “ Ay—I taught the boy to speak !”
Nor did his majesty forget his old tutor ; for, soon after
bis accession to the throne, he gave orders, without any
applicatmn being made to him, that a genteel pension
should be paid to Mr Quin during his life. Mr Quin
indeed, was not in absolute need of this royal benefac¬
tion ; for, as he was never married, and had none but
distant relations, he sunk 2000I. which was half his
fortune, in an annuity, for which he obtained 200I. a-
year ; and with about 2000I. more in the funds, lived
in a decent manner during the latter part of his life
at Bath, from whence he carried on a regular correspon¬
dence with Mr Garrick, and generally paid a visit to
his friends in the metropolis once a-year, when he con¬
stantly passed a week or two at Mr Garrick’s villa at
Hampton. He died of a fever in 1766.
QUINARIUS, was a small Roman coin equal to
half the denarius, and consequently worth about three¬
pence three farthings of our money. See Money. It
was called quinarius, because it contained the value of
five asses, in the same manner as the denarius was
named from its containing ten.
QUINAUT, Philip, a celebrated French poet,
born of a good family at Paris in 1635. He cultivated
poetry from his infancy, and 16 dramatic pieces of hia
were acted between the years 1653 and 1666. In the
mean time, Quinaut was not so much devoted to poetry
but that he applied himself to the study of the law ; and
made his fortune by marrying the widow of a rich mer¬
chant to whom he had been useful in his profession.
Quinaut afterwards turned bis attention to the compo¬
sing of operas, which were set to music by the famous
Lully ; and Lully was charmed with a poet whose verses
were not too nervous to yield to the capricious airs of
music. He died in 1688, after having for many years
enjoyed a handsome pension from Louis XIV. : and we
are told he was extremely penitent in his last illness for
all those of his compositions which tended to inspire
love and pleasure.
QUINCE, in Botany. See Cydonia.
QUINCUNX, in Roman antiquity, denotes any
thing that consists of five-twelfths of another ; but par¬
ticularly of the as.
Quincunx Order, in Gardening, is a plantation of
trees, disposed originally in a square consisting of five
trees, one at each corner, and a fifth in the middle ;
which disposition, repeated again and again, forms a re¬
gular grove, wood, or wilderness.
QU INDECAGON, in Geometry, a plain figure with
15 sides and 15 angles.
QUINDECEMVIRI, in Roman antiquity, a col¬
lege of ^magistrates, whose business it was to preside
4 H over
Quia
Hulnde-
cutviri
it
Quinten.
Q U I [ 61
tlte sacrifices. They svere also the interpreters ol
the Sybil’s hooks; which, however, they never consult
ed hut by an express order of the senate.
QUINQUAGENARIUS, in Roman antiquity, an
v ' officer who had the command of 50 men. o ,
OUINQUAGESIMA SUNDAY, bhrove Sunday, SO
called as being about the 50th day before Easter.
OUINQUATRIA, or Quinquatrus, was a festival
kept at Rome in honour of Minerva, which began on
theP 18th of March, or, as others will have it, on the
joth, and lasted five days. On the first ‘lay they offei-
ed saerffices and oblations without the effusion of blood ,
the s eond, third, and fourth, were spent m shows ot
gladiators-, and on the fifth day they went in procession
through the ei.y. Scholars had a vacation during the
solemnity, and presented theii masters at this time with
a uift or fee, called Mi nerval Roys and girls used now
t0 pray to the godde-s Minerva for wisdom and learning,
of whit h she had the patronage. Plays were acted, and
disputations held, at this feast, on subjects of polite li¬
terature. The quinquatria were so called, because they
lasted for five days. There seems to be a strong re¬
semblance betwixt this festival and the panatbemea ot
the Greeks.
QUINQUENNALTS, in Roman antiquity, a magi¬
strate in the colonies and municipal cities of that empiie,
who had much the same office as the eedile at Rome.
QUINQUEREMIS, in the naval architecture of
the ancients, is a name given to a galley which had five
rows of oars. They divided their vessels in general m-
* See Po/v- to monocrota and po/yrrota *. The former had only one
• I’    . lotffl
er»ta4
tire of rowers : the latter had several tires ol them,
from two or three up to 20, 30, or even 40 j for such a
vessel we have an account of in the time ot Fhilopater,
which required no less than 4000 men to row it.
Meibom has taken off from the imaginary improba¬
bility of there ever having been such a vessel, by redo¬
ing the enormous height supposed necessary for such a
number of rows of oars and men to work them, by find¬
ing a better way of placing the men than others had
thought of. The quinqueremes of the ancients had
420 men in each; 300 of which were rowers, and the
xest soldiers. The Roman fleet at Messina consisted of
330 ol these ships; and the Carthaginian, at Lilyboeum,
of 350 of the same size. Each vessel was 150 feet
long. Thus 130 000 men were contained in the one,
and 1 150,000 in the other, with the apparatus and pro¬
visions necessary for such expeditions as they were in¬
tended for. This gives so grand an idea of the ancient
naval armaments, that some have questioned the truth
of the history : but we find it related by Polybius, an
historian too authentic to he questioned, and who ex-
pres-es his wonder at it while he relates it.
QULNQUE\ 1RI, in Roman antiquity, an order of
five priests, peculiarly appointed for the sacrifices to the
dead, or celebrating the rites of Erebus.
QUINQUINA. See Cinchona, Botany and Ma¬
teria Medica Index.
QUINSY, or Quinzy. See Medicine, N° 177—
183.
QUINTEN, a town of France, in the department of
Cotes de Nord, with a handsome castle. It is seated
in a valley near the river Guy, and near a large forest
of the same name, eight miles south of St Brieux, and
o ] Q U I
200 west of Pans. It had formerly the titie of a Quinte:
duchy. W. Long. 2. 40. N. Eat. 48. 26. _ ||
QUINTESSENCE, in Chemistry, a preparation con- Qwntilk
sisting of the essential oil ot some vegetable substance,
mixed and incorporated with spirit ot wine.
Quintessence, in Alchemy, is a mysterious term, ♦
signifying the fifth or last and highest essence of power
in a natural body.—Or when divested of its alchemistical
signification, and employed to express something that is
intelligible, the word denotes merely the highest state of
purification in which any body can be exhibited.
QUINTAL, the weight of ico lbs. in most coun¬
tries, but in England it is the cwt. or .112 lbs. Quin¬
tal was formerly used for a weight ot lead, iion, or other
common metal, usually equal to 100 lbs. at six scores to
the hundred.
QUINTILE, in Astronomy, an aspect ot the planets
when they are 72 degrees distant from one another, or
a fifth part of a zodiac.
QUINTILIANUS, Marcus Fabius, a celebrated
Latin orator, and the most judicious critic of his time,
was a native of Calagums, or Caiahorra, in Spain ; and
was the disciple of Eomitius Afer, who died in the year
59. He taught rhetoric at Rome tor 20 years with
great applause: and not only laid down rules for speak¬
ing, but exhibited his eloquence at the bar. Some au¬
thors imagine, but with little foundation, that he airi¬
ved at the consulship; but it is more certain that he was
preceptor to the grandsons of the emperor Homitian’s
sister. There is still extant his excellent work, intitled,
Institutiones Oratorio-, which is a treatise of rhetoric in
1 2 books; where his precepts, judgment, and taste, are
justly admired. These institutions were found emire by
Poggius, in an old tower of the abbey of St Gal, and
not in a grocer’s shop in Germany as some authors have
assertedT There is also attributed to Quintilian a dia¬
logue De causis eorrupto eloquentio i but it is more
commonly ascribed to 1 acitus. 1 he best editions of
Quintilian’s works are those of Mr Obreigbt, published
at Strasburg in 2 vols 4U), in 1698, and ot M. Cap-
peronier, in folio. Ihere is an English tianslation by
Mr Guthi •ie.
Quintilian had a son of the same name, on whom he
bestows great praises. rl bis son ought not to be con¬
founded with Quintilian the father, or rather the grand¬
father, of him who is the subject of this article, and. who
wrote 145 declamations. Ugolin ot Parma published
the first 136 in the 15th century ; the nine others were
published in 1563 by Peter Ayrault, and afterwards by
Peter Pillion in 1380. There have also been 19 other
declamations printed under the name of Quintilian the
Orator; but, in the opinion of \ ossius, they were writ¬
ten neither bv that orator nor his graudtatber.
QUINTILIANS, a sect of ancient heretics, thus
called from their prophetess Qiiintilia. In this sect the
women were admitted to perform the sacerdotal and epis¬
copal functions. They attributed extraordinary gifts to
Eve for having first eaten ot the tree of knowledge ;
told great things ot Mary the sister ot Moses, as having
been a prophetess, &c. rl hey added, that Philip t e
deacon had four daughters, who were all pi ophetesses,
and were of theii sect. In these assemblies it was usual
to see the virgins entering in white robes, ptrsonatmg
prophetess**. QUIJS’TIN
Q U I [ 6
QUINTIN Matsys, also called the Furrier of Ant¬
werp, famous for being transformed, by the force of
love, from a blacksmith to a painter. He had followed
the trade of a blacksmith and farrier for near twenty
years ; when falling in love with a painter’s daughter
who was very handsome, and disliked nothing but bis
trade, he quitted it, and betook himself to painting in
which he made very great progress. He was a diligent
and careful imitator of ordinary life, and succeeded bet-
ter m representing the defects than the beauties of na¬
ture. Some historical performances of this master deserve
commendat ion, particularly a Descent from the Cross in
the cathedral at Antwerp: but his best known picture
is that of the two Misers in the gallery at Windsor. He
died in i ^29.
QUIN FINIE, John de la, a celebrated French
gardener, born at Poictiers in 1626. He was brought
up to the law*, and acquitted himself so well at the bar
as to acqune the esteem of the chief magistrate. ]VI.
Tamboneau, president of the chamber of accounts, en¬
gaged him to undertake the preceptorship of his only
son, which Quintinie executed entirely to his satisfac¬
tion *, applying his leisure hours to the study of writers
on agriculture, ancient and modern, to which he had a
strong inclination. He gained new lights by attending
his pupil at Italy 5 for all the gardens about Rome be-
ing open to him, he failed not to add practice to his the¬
ory. On his return to Paris, M. Tamboneau gave up
the. management of his garden entirely to him ; and
Quintinie applied so closely to it, that he became fa¬
mous all over France. Eouis XIV. erected a new of¬
fice purposely for him, that of director of the royal fruit
and kitchen gardens; and these gardens, while he lived,
were the admiration of the curious. He lived to a good
old age ; we have not learned the time of his death ; his
Directions for the management of Fruit and Kitchen
Gardens have been much esteemed.
QUINTUS Calaber, a Greek poet, who wrote a
large Supplement to Homer’s Iliad, in 14 books, in
which a relation is given of the Trojan war from the
death of Hector to the destruction of Troy. It is con¬
jectured, from his style and manner, that he lived in the
fifth century. Nothing certain can be collected either
concerning his person or country. His poem was first
made known by Cardinal Bessarion, who discovered it
in St Nicolas’s church, near Otranto in Calabria; from
whence the author was named Quintus Calaber. It was
first published at Venice by Aldus, but it is not said in
what year.
QUINTUS Curtius. See Curtius.
QUINZY, Quinsey , or Angina Pectoris. See Me-
Dicine, N® 403.
QUIRE of Paper, the quantity of 24 sheets.
QUIRINALIA, in antiquity, a feast celebrated a-
mong the Romans in honour of Romulus.
QUI RITES, in Roman antiquity. In consequence
of the agreement entered into by Romulus and Tatius
king of the Sabines, Rome was to retain its name, taken
from Romulus, and the people were to be called Quiri-
ies, from Cures, the principal town of the Sabines, a
name used in all public addresses to the Roman people.
  -Dion. Hal. says, that each particular citizen was
to be called Romanus, and the collective body of them
Quirites; yet it appears by this ancient form of words
I I
Quito.
] Q U I
used at funerals, Otlus Quiris letho dalvs est. that each o,
private citizen was also called Quiris. H "
I he origin of the word Quirites, which was at first
peculiar to the Sabines, and became, in Romulus’s time,
the general name of the inhabitants of Rome, has been
much sought for; and the most probable account antiqui¬
ty gives us of it, is this ; The word Quiris, according
to Plutarch and some others, signified in the Sabine
language, both “ a dart,” and “ a warlike deity armed
with a dart.” It is uncertain whether the god gave
name to the dart, or the dart to the god. But be that
as it will, this Quiris, or Quirinus, was either Mars or
some other god of war ; and the worship of Quiris con¬
tinued in Rome all Romulus’s reign: but after his death
he was honoured with the name Quirinus, and took the
place of the god Quiris.
QUIRK, in a general sense, denotes a subtilty or art¬
ful distinction.
Quirk, m building, a piece of ground taken out of
any regular ground-plot, or floor : thus, if the ground-
plot were oblong or square, a piece taken out of a cor¬
ner to make a court or yard, &c. is called a quirk.
QUISQUALIS, a genus of plants belonging to the
decandria class, and in the natural method ranking un¬
der the 31st order, Vepreculee. See Botany Index.
QUITO, a town of South America, in Peru (see
Peru), seated between two chains of high mountains
called Corciillera de los Andes, on much higher ground
than the rest of habitable Peru. It is 300 yards higher
than the level of the sea according to the exactest ob¬
servations. The town is 1600 yards long and 1200
broad, and is the seat of a bishop. It contains about
50,000 inhabitants, one-third of whom are originally
Spaniards. Among the inhabitants are some persons of
high rank and distinction, descended either from the
original conquerors, or persons who at dift'erent times
came from Spain invested with some lucrative post.
I he number of these, however, is but small. The com¬
monalty, besides Spaniards, consist of Mestizos, Indians,
and Negroes; but the last are not proportionally numer¬
ous. Merchandises and commodities of all sorts are ex¬
tremely dear, partly on account of the difficulty of
bringing them.
There are several religious communities at Quito,
and two colleges or universities governed by Jesuits and
Dominicans.
The principal courts held at Quito are that of the
royal audience, which consists of the president, who is
governor of the province with regard to law affairs ;
four auditors, who are at the same time civil and cri¬
minal judges ; a royal fiscal, who, besides the causes
brought before the audience, takes cognizance of every
thing relating to the revenue ; and an officer styled the
protector of the Indians, who solicits for them, and when
they are injured pleads in their defence. The next is
the treasury, the chief officers of which are an account¬
ant, a treasurer, and a royal fiscal. The tribunal of
the Croisade, which has a commissary, who is generally
some dignitary of the church, and a tfeasurer. There
is also a treasury for the effects of persons deceased : an
institution established all over the Indies, for receiving
the goods of those whose lawful heirs are in Spain, in
order to secure them from those accidents to which
they might be liable in private hands. There is like-
4 H a wise
QUO C 61
„ , w;se a commissary of the inquisition, with an alguaril-
q1( major and familiars, appointed by the .nqnis.tron ot Ll-
Quoticlian. ma. The corporation consists of a corregtdoi, two or
2-v—a dinary alcaldes, chosen annually, and repdores. The
latter superintend the election ot the alcaldes, which
is attended with no small disturbance, the people being
divided into two parties, the Creoles and Eur«Peans'
OUITTER-bone. See Farriery, N 347.
OULT-RENT (quietus redditus, i. e. “ quiet ren , ;
is a certain small rent payable by the tenants of manors
in token of subjection, and by which the tenant goe.
quiet and free. In aneient records .t rs calied e
rent, because paid in silver money, to distinguish
from rent-corn, &c. , , , v j
QUOAD HOC, is a term used in the pleadings and
arguments of lawyers j being as much as to say, As to
this thing the law is so and so; f
QUOIN, or Coin, on board a ship, a wedge fasten¬
ed on the deck close to the breech of the carriage of
a gun, to keep it firm up to the ship’s side. Cantic
quoins are short three-legged quoins put between casks
to keep them steady. ,
Quoins, in Architecture, denote the corners of brick
or stone walls. The word is particularly used lor the
stones in the corners of brick buildings. ^ hen these
stand out beyond the brick-work, their edges 'eing
chamfred off, they are called rustic quoins.
QUOTIDIAN, any thing which happens every
2 ] QUO
day. Hence, when the paroxysms of an ague recur
every day, it is called a quotidian ague. See Medi¬
cine, N° 161—164.
QUOTIDIANA deceptiva. See Medicine,
N° 150. . 1 ■
QUORUM, a word frequently mentioned in our sta¬
tutes, and in commissions both of justices of the peace
and others. It is thus called from the words of the
commission, quorum A. B. unum esse volumus. For an
example, where a commission is directed to seven per¬
sons, or to any three of them, whereof A. B. and C. D.
are to be two in this case, they are said to be of
the quorum, because the rest cannot proceed without
them : so a justice of the peace and quorum is one with¬
out whom the rest of the justices in some cases cannot
proceed. . , , . .
QUOTIENT, in Arithmetic, the number resulting
from the division of a greater number by a smaller, and
which shows how often the smaller is contained in the
greater, or how often the divisor is contained in the di¬
vidend.* The word is formed from the Latin quotics;
q. d. How often is such a number contained in such
another. # .
In division, as the divisor is to be dividend, so is
unity to the quotient.—Thus the quotient ef 12 divid¬
ed by 3 is 4 j which is thus disposed, 3) 12 (4 quotient.
See Arithmetic.
QuotidiE
II
Q.uotiew
R.
R, O or r, a liquid consonant, being the 17th letter ot
Raab. aV-3 our alphabet. Its sound is formed by a guttural
v extrusion of the breath vibrated through the mouth,
with a sort of quivering motion ol the tongue drawn
from the teeth, and canulated with the tip a little ele¬
vated towards the palate. In Greek words it is fre¬
quently aspirated with an h after it, as in rhapsody, 1 he-
toric, &c. otherwise it is always followed by a vowel at
the beginning of words and syllables.
In the notes of the ancients, R. or RO. signifies
Roma, R. C. Romana civitas ; R. G. C. rei gerendcB
causa; R. F. E. D, rectefactum et dictum; R. G. F.
regisfilius ; R. P. res puhlica, or Romaniprincipes, and
R.R.R.F.F. F. res Romana met ferro,fame, fiamma.
Used as a numeral, R anciently stood for 80 m, and
with a dash over it thus R, for 80,000 j but the Greek
r, with a small mark over it, signified 100 *, with the
same mark under it, it denoted 1000 X 10 j thus g
/
signifies 100,000. In the Hebrew numeration 1 de¬
noted 200 : and with two horizontal points over it
IOOO X 200 j thus'"irz:200,000.
In the prescriptions of physicians, R or stands for
recipe, i. e. “ take.”
RAAB, a town of Lower Hungary, capital of Ja-
vern, with a castle and a bishop’s see. It is a strong
frontier bulwark against the Turks, and has two bridges, Raafc
one over a double ditch, and another that leads towaids ||
Alba Regalis. The surrounding country is plain, and , _Rab^
there is nothing that seems to command it but a small
hill at some distance, which is undermined and may be
blown up. It was taken by Amurath III. with the
loss of 20,000 men ; hut was surprised soon alter by
Count Palfi, who killed all the Turks that were found
therein. It is seated at the confluence of the rivers Rab
and Rabnitz, not far Irom the Danube, 32 miles west
of Gran, and 55 south-east of Vienna. F. Long. 17*
25. N. Lat. 47. 48.
RABAC, a small port on the Arabian coast ot the
Red sea, in N. Lat. 22° 35' 40", by Mr Bruce’s ac¬
count. The entry to the harbour is from the E. N. E.
and is about a quarter of a mile broad. Die port ex¬
tends about two miles in length to the eastward. Ihe
mountains are about three leagues to the north, and the
town about four miles north by east from the entrance
to the harbour. The water is good, and all ships may
be supplied here from the wells which are in the neig -
bourhood of the town. The country is bare and umml*
tivated •, but from the appearance of it, and the fresh¬
ness of the water, Mr Bruce supposes that it sometimes
rains among the mountains here, which is the more pro
bable as it is considerably within the tropic.
RABAT, a large and handsome sea-port town ot
ibat
jinists.
R A B [6
Africa, in the kingdom of Fez and province of Treme-
sen. It has fine mosques and handsome palaces and is
seated at the mouth ot the river Burngrig, almost in the
mid-way between Fez and Tangier. W Lonsr r 98
N. Lat. 34. 40. •>'
Rabat, together with Sallee, which is opposite to it,
was formerly famous for fitting out piratical vessels •
but the late emperor Sidi Mahomet subdued them botl/
and annexed them to the empire; since which time the’
harbour of Rabat has been so filled with the sand washed
in by the sea as to render it unfit to carry on such pira¬
cies in future.
The town of Rabat, whose walls inclose a large space
of ground, is defended on the sea-side by three forts to¬
lerably well finished, which were erected some little time
ago by an English renegade, and furnished with guns
from Gibraltar. The houses in general are good, and
many of the inhabitants are wealthy. The Jews who
are very numerous in this place, are generally in better
circumstances than those of Earache or Tangier, and
their women are extremely beautiful.
The castle, which is very extensive, contains a strong
building, formerly used by the late emperor as his prin¬
cipal treasury, and a noble terrace, which commands an
extensive prospect of the town of Sallee, the ocean, and
all the neighbouring country. There are also the ruins
of another castle, which is said to have been built by
Jacob Almanzor, one of their former emperors, and of
which at present very little remains but its walls, con¬
taining within them some very strong magazines for
powder and naval stores. On the outside of these walls
is a very high and square tower, handsomely built of cut
stone, and called the tower of Hassen. From the work¬
manship of this tower, contrasted with the other build¬
ings, a very accurate idea may be formed how greatly
the Moors have degenerated from their former splendour
and taste for architecture.
RABBETTING, in Carpentry, the planing or cut¬
ting of channels or grooves in boards, &c.
In ship-carpentry, it signifies the letting in of the
planks of the ship into the keel ; which, in the rake and
run of a ship, is hollowed away, that the planks may
join the closer.
RABB [, or Rabbins, a title which the Pharisees and
doctors of the law among the Jews assumed, and literally
signifies masters or excellents.
There were several gradations before they arrived at
the dignity of a rabbi; which was not conferred till
they had acquired the profoundest knowledge of the
law and the traditions. It does not, however, appear
that there was any fixed age or previous examination
necessary; but when a man had distinguished himself by
his skill in the written and oral law, and passed through
the subordinate degrees, he was saluted a rabbin by the
public voice.
Among the modern Jews, for near 700 years past,
the learned men retain no other title than thatofroWf,
or rabbins ; they have great respect paid them, have the
first places or seats in their synagogues, determine all
matters of controversy, and frequently pronounce upon
civil affairs; they have even power to excommunicate
the disobedient.
RABBINISTS, among the modern Jews, an appel¬
lation given to the doctrine of the rabbins concerning
'3 ]
R A B
Sir:: £tbe Caraites * Kb° ai1 «•“
rn’sts
RABELAIS, IRANCIS, a French writer famous for
his facetiousness, was born at Chinon in Touraine about
the year 1483. He was first a Franciscan friar; but
quitting h.s religious habit, studied physic atMontpelier
where he took his doctor’s degree. It is said, that the
chancellor du Pratt having abolished the privileges of
the faculty of physic at Montpelier by a decree of the
parliament Rabelais had the address to make him re¬
voke what he had done ; and that those who were made
doctors of that university wore Rabelais’s robe, which
is there held in great veneration. Some time after, he
came to ™me, in quality of physician in ordinary to
Cardinal John du Bellay archbishop of Paris. Rabelais is
said to have used the freedom to jeer Pope Paul III. to
fiis face. He had quitted his religious connections for
the sake of leading a life more agreeable to his taste ;
but renewed them on a second journey to Rome, when
he obtained, ,n 1536, a brief to qualify him for hold-
ing ecclesiastical benefices ; and, by the interest of his
1 lend Cardinal John du Bellay, he was received as a se¬
cular canon m the abbey of St Maur near Paris. His
profound knowledge in physic rendered him doubly use¬
ful ; he being as ready, and at least as well qualified, to
prescribe for the body as for the soul : but as he was a
man of wit and humour, many ridiculous things are laid
t0i ri9jargC’ °f W,uch he was quJte innocent. He
published several things; but his chief performance is
a strange incoherent romance, called the History of Gar-
gantua andPantagruel, beingasatire upon priests,* popes,
fools, and knaves of all kinds. This work contains a
vi 1, irregular profusion of wit, learning, obscenity
low concits, and arrant nonsense; hence the shrewd¬
ness ot his satire, in some places where he is to be un¬
derstood, gains him credit for those where no mean¬
ing is discoverable. Some allusions may undoubtedly
have been so temporary and local as to be now quite
Jost: but it is too much to conclude thus in favour of
every unintelligible rhapsody; for we are not without
English writers ot great talents, whose sportive geniuses
have betrayed them into puerilities, no less incoherent
at the times of writing than those of Rabelais appear
above two centuries after. He died about 1
RABBIT,in Zoology. SeeLepus,MammaliaTWc*.
Ihe buck rabbits, like our boar cats, w'ill kill the
young ones if they can get at them ; and the does in the
warrens prevent this, by covering their stocks, or nests
with gravel or earth, which they close so artificially up
with the hinder part of their bodies, that it is hard to
find them out. They never suckle their young ones at
any other time than early in the morning and late at
night; and always, for eight or ten days, close up the
hole at the mouth of the nest, in this "careful manner
When they go out. After this they begin to leave a
small opening, which they increase by degrees ; till at
length, when they are about three weeks old, the mouth
of the hole is left wholly open that they may go out •
for they are at that time grown big enough to take care
of themselves, and to feed on grass.
People who keep rabbits tame for profit, breed them
in hutches ; but these must be kept very neat and clean
else they will be always subject to diseases. Care must
be taken also to keep the bucks and does apart till the
latter
Rabbit.
Rabbit.
K A B f
latter have just kindled; then they are to he turned to
the bucks again, ami to remain with them till they shun
and run from them. . p , ,
The general direction for the choosing of tame rab¬
bits is, to nick the largest and fairest j but the breeder
should remember that the skins of the silver-haired ones
sell better than any other. The food of the tame rab¬
bits may be colewort and cabbage-leaves, carrots, pars-
neps, apple-rinds, green corn, and vetches, in the time
of the year *, also vine-leaves, grass, fruits, oats, and
oatmeal, milk-thistles, sow-thistles, and the like: but
with these moist foods they must always have a propor¬
tionable quantity of the dry foods, as hay, bread, oats,
bran, and the like, otherwise they will grow pot-bellied,
and die. Bran and grains mixed together have been
also found to be very good food. In winter they wi
eat hay, oats, and chaff, and these may be given them
three times a-day ; but when they eat green things, it
must be observed that they are not to drink at all, lor it
would throw them into a dropsy. At all other times a
very little drink serves their turn, but that must always
be fresh. When any green herbs or grass are cut tor
their food, care must be taken that there be no hem¬
lock among it ; for though they will eat this greedily
among other things when offered to them, yet it is sud¬
den poison to them. . . _
Babbits are subject to two principal infirmities.
First, the rot, which is caused by giving them too large
a quantity of greens, or from giving them fresh gather¬
ed with the dew or rain hanging in drops upon them.
Excess of moisture always causes this disease. T he
greens therefore are always to be given dry j and a suf¬
ficient quantity of hay, or other dry food, intermixed
with them, to' take up the abundant moisture of their
juices. On this account the very best food that can be
given them, is the shortest and sweetest hay that can be
got, of which one load will serve 200 couples a year;
and’ out of this stock of 200, 200 may be eaten in the
family, 200 sold in the markets, and a sufficient num¬
ber kept in case of accidents.
The other general disease of these creatures is a sort
of madness : this may be known by their wallowing and
tumbling about with their heels upwards, and hopping
in an odd manner into their boxes. 'Ibis distemper is
supposed to be owing to the rankness of their feeding *,
and the general cure is the keeping them low, and giv¬
ing them the prickly herb called tuve thistle to eat.
The general computation of males and females is,
that one buck-rabbit will serve for nine does : some al¬
low 10 to one buck •, but those who go beyond this al¬
ways suffer for it in their breed.
Wild rabbits are either to be taken by small cur dogs,,
or by spaniels bred up to the sport; and the places of
hunting those who straggle from their burrows, is under
close hedges or bushes, or among corn fields and fresh
pastures. The owners use to course them with small
greyhounds •, and though they are seldom killed this
way, yet they are driven back to their burrows, and
prevented from being a prey to others. The common
method is by nets called pm-se-nets, and ferrets. The
ferret is sent into the hole to fetch them out ; and the
purse-net being spread over the hole, takes them as they
come out. The ferrets mouths must he muffled, and
then the rabbit gets no harm. For the more certain ta-
king of them, it may not be improper to pitch up a hay-
1
614 ] It A B
net or two, at a small distance from the burrows that
are intended to he hunted : thus very few of the num--y-j
ber that are attempted will escape.
Some who have no ferrets smoke the rabbits out of
their holes with burning brimstone and orpiment. This
certainly brings them out into the nets j but then it is
a very troublesome and offensive method, and is very
detrimental to the place, as no rabbit will for a long
time afterwards come near the burrows which have been
fumed with such ingredients.
The following observations on the breeding and ma¬
nagement of rabbits and some other animals appear to
us to be of such importance, that we shall give them a
place in the words of the author.
“ In my travels through America,” says the author,
“ I have often been surprised that no attempt has been
made to introduce, for the purpose of propagation, that
useful little animal, the warren rabbit, of such vast
importance to the hat manufactory of England. It is
chiefly owing to the fur of this animal that the English
hats are so much esteemed abroad. It is a fact well
known amongst the hatters, that a hat composed of one
half of coney wool, one-sixth old coat heaver, one-sixth
pelt beaver, and one-sixth Vigonia wool, will wear far
preferable to one made all of heaver, as it will keep its
shape better, feel more firm, and wear bright and black
much longer.
“ The value of the coney wool, the produce of the
united kingdom only, is not less, I will venture to say,
than 250,000!. per annum *, but the quantity is much
diminished, owing to the banishment and persecution
they meet with on every side, and so many small war¬
rens taken in for grain land j in consequence of which
it is time that some protection should be afforded, if
possible, to that important branch of British manufac¬
tory (in which coney wool is used) from sufl’ering any
inconvenience in the want of so essential an article,
and the accomplishment of this grand object I conceive
perfectly easy.
“ General Observations.—When I speak of the
warren rabbit, I have to observe, that there are in
England, as well as in most parts of Europe, three
other kinds, viz. the tame rabbit, of various colours,
the fur of which is of little value, except the white;
the shock rabbit, which has a long shaggy fur of little
value ; the bush rabbit, like those of America, which
commonly sits as a hare, and the fur of which is of a
rotten inferior quality.
“ To return to the warren rabbit.—There are two
sorts in respect to colour, that is, the common gray,
and the silver gray, but little or no difference in respect
to the strength and felting qualities of the fur. The
nature of this animal is to burrow deep in sandy ground,
and there live in families, nor will they suffer one from
a neighbouring family to come amongst them without
a severe contest, in which the intruders are generally
glad to retire with the loss of part of their coat, un¬
less when pursued by an enemy, when they find protec¬
tion.
“ It is scarcely worth while for me to mention a
thing so generally known, viz. that rabbits, particular¬
ly those of the warren, are the most prolific of all other
four-footed animals in the world; nor do I apprehend
any difficulty would attend the exporting this little
quadruped with safety to any distance, provided it
was
BAB [6
Lbh. was-kept dry, and regularly supplied with clean sweet
’"v tood) aiu| a due regard to the cleanliness of the boxes or
places ot confinement.
“ Twelve or fifteen pair of these valuable animals
taken to Upper Canada, and there enclosed within a
small space of ground suitable to their nature, but fur-
mshed with a few artificial burrows at the first by way
Of a nursery,spread over those now useless plains, islandJ
and peninsulas, so well calculated to their nature, would’
I will make bold to say, the eighth year after their in¬
troduction, furnish the British market with a valuable
raw material, amounting to a large sum, increasing
every year with astonishing rapidity, so as to become,
in a few years, one amongst the first of national ob¬
jects.
“ It may be supposed by some, that the above project
is magnified beyond possibility, or even probability:
but the serious attention I have paid to the subject
these many years past, as to all points for and against’
leaves no room to accuse myself of being too sanguine ;
for, if properly managed a few years at the first, I
cannot find a single thing likely to interrupt their pro¬
gress. 1
“ S°me idea of the astonishing increase of the rabbit
may be bad from the following facts:
An old doe rabbit will bring forth young nine times
in one year, and from four to ten each time*, but to al¬
low for casualties, state the number at five each litter.
In nine months . - 45
The females of the first litter will bring forth five^
times, the proportion of which is 2^ females
produce - _ _ _
Those of the second litter four times produce 50
Ditto of ditto third ditto three ditto ditto 37
Ditto of ditto second ditto two ditto ditto 25
Total in one year from one pair 219
“ The third female race of the old dam, and the se¬
cond of the first litter, seldom breed the first year, but
are earlv breeders in the spring following, when we
might expect an increase of the whole in proportion to
the first pair, if properly attended to and protected.
“ It is generally allowed that hares are not more
than one-fourth as prolific as rabbits, notwithstanding,
agreeable to an experiment tried by Lord Ribblesdale,
who enclosed a pair of bares for one year, the offspring
was (as I have been credibly informed) 68 : these ani¬
mals, could they be exported to Upper Canada with safe¬
ty, and there protected within enclosures for a few years,
would soon after spread over a large extent of country :
the fur is nearly as valuable as that of the rabbit.
“ In that part of Upper Canada w'ithin the 45 degrees
of north latitude, and the southern and western boun¬
daries, the climate is nearly the same as that of Enir-
land, a little hotter a few days in summer, and a little
colder a few days in winter, agreeable to Fahrenheit’s
thermometer, which I have paid great attention to for
some years, comparing the same with the observations
of the English.
, 1 increase of most animals appears much greater
in proportion in America than in England, mankind
Slot excepted : that of sheep is very apparent to those
that pay attention to their breeding stock, which gives
15 - ] BAG
me hopes, that in a few years we shall he able to pay Ralb:t
for our woollen cloths ,n wool. Finding the effect of \\
soil and climate so salutary to sheep, &c. it may be rea-
sonahly supposed, that rabbits will answer the most san- ' * 
gume expectations, as I understand the wool of the sheep
retains ail its nature the same as in England, particu-
iarly its strength, and felling qualities among the hat¬
ters, which assures me that rabbit wool from those bred
111 Upper Canada will do the same; and there are some
nnlhons of acres within the latitude and boundaries
which I have before described, suited to the natuie of
the warren rabbit; nor do I apprehend that the wolves,
loxes, &.c. of Upper Canada will he half so destructive
as the poachers in England.
“ The guanaco, or camel sheep of South America, no
doubt will be a national object at some future period.
. , 18 a ta!”e, domestic animal, very hardy, and used
with much cruelty by the natives in travelling over the
mountains with their burdens; it shears a fleece of wool
of from 2lb. to 3lb. which is of dusky red on the hack;
on the sides inclined to white, and under the belly quite
white; its texture is very fine, yet strong; its feltino-
qualities very powerful, and is worth, when ready for
use, from five to fifteen shillings per pound. This ani-
mal would no doubt thrive, and do well in England,
Upper Canada, and in particular I should suppose in
New Holland.
“ The beaver might be propagated to great advantage
m Scotland, Ireland, and northern parts of England,
it is an animal, when tamed, very familiar, and will
eat biead and milk, willow-sticks, elm hark, &c. and
no doubt might be imported with safety ; but as these
two last-mentioned animals are not likely to be attended *
to immediately, I shall say no more respectinir them for
the present*.”
RABTRIUS, C- a Roman knight, who lent an im-
ruense sum of money to Ptolemy Auletes king of Egypt, cou/age- '
^ lie monarch afterwards not only refused to repay him,ment °f
— —j nun, -j
but even confined him, and endangered his life. Rabi- ArU' &c*
rius escaped from Egypt with difficulty; but at his re-f“r l8c?*
turn to Rome he was accused by the senate of havinir
lent money to an African prince for unlawful purposes.
He was ably defended by Cicero, and acquitted with
difficulty—There was a Latin poet of the same name
in the age of Augustus. He wrote a poem on the
victory which the emperor had gained over Antony at
Actium. Seneca has compared him to Virgil for ele¬
gance and majesty; but Quintilian is not so favourable
to liis poetry.—And there was an architect in the reign
of Domitian called Rabirius. He built a celebrated
palace for the emperor, of which the ruins are still seen
at Rome.
RACCOON. See Ursus, Mammalia Index.
RACE, in general, signifies running with others in
order to obtain a prize, either on foot, or by riding on
horseback, in chariots, &c.
I he race was one of the exercises among the ancient
Grecian games, which was performed in a course con¬
taining 1 25 paces ; and those who contended in these
foot-races were frequently clothed in armour. Cha¬
riot and horse races also made a part of the ancient
games.
Races were known in England in very early times.
Fitz Stephen, who wrote in the days of Henry II
mentions the great delight that the citizens of London
took
1
Race,
Racine.
RAC t 61
took in the diversion. But by his words, it appe.us not
to have been designed for the purposes of gaming, but
merely to have sprung from a generous emulation ol
showing a superior skill in horsemanship. ,
Races appears to have been in vogue in the reign ot
Queen Elizabeth, and to have been carried to such ex¬
cess as to injure the fortunes of the nobility. Ihe fa¬
mous George earl of Cumberland is recorded to have
wasted more of his estate than any ot his ancestors,
and chiefly by his extreme love to horse-races, lutings,
and other expensive diversions. It is probable that t.ie
parsimonious queen did not approve of it; for races are
not among the diversions exhibited at Kennelworth by
her favourite Leicester. In the following reign, places
were allotted for the sport. Croyden in the southland
Garterly in Yorkshire, were celebrated courses. Cam¬
den also says, that in 1607 there were races near Y ork,
and the prize was a little golden bell. See RACING.
Race, in genealogy, a lineage or extraction continued
from father to son. See Descent.
R ALINE, John, a celebrated French poet, member
of the French academy, treasurer of France in the gene¬
rality of Moulins, and a secretary to his majesty, was
born at Ferre Milon in 1639. He hild a fine SeniUS
for the belles lettres, and became one of the first poets
of the age. He produced his Thebaide when but very
young, and afterward other pieces, which met with
great" success, though they appeared when Corneille was
in his highest reputation. In his career, however, he did
not fail to meet with all that opposition which envy and
cabal are ever ready to set up against a superior genius.
It was partly owing to chagrin from this circumstance
that he took a resolution to quit the theatre for ever;
although his genius was still in full vigour, being not
more than 38 years of age. But he had also imbibed in
his infancy a deep sense of religion ; and this, though it
had been smothered tor a while by his connections with
the theatre, and particularly with the famous actress
Champmelle, whom he greatly loved, and by whom he
had a son, now at length broke out, and bore down all
before it. In the first place, he resolved not only to
write no more plays, but to do a rigorous penance for
those he had written ; and he actually formed a design
of becoming a Carthusian friar. His religious direc¬
tor, however, a good deal wiser than he, advised him to
think more moderately, and to take measures more suit¬
ably to his character. He put him upon marrying, and
settling in the world : with which proposal this humble
and tractible penitent complied ; and immediately took
to wife the daughter of a treasurer of France for Ami¬
ens, by whom he had seven children.
He had been admitted a member of the French aca¬
demy in 1673, in the room of La Mothe le Vayer de¬
ceased ; but spoiled the speech he made upon that oc¬
casion by pronouncing it with too much timidity. In
1677, he was nominated with Boileau, with whom he
was ever in strict friendship, to write the history of
Louis XIV.; and the public expected great things from
two writers of their distinction, but were disappointed.
Boileau and Racine, after having for some time laboured
at this work, perceived that it was entirely opposite to
their genius.
He spent the latter years of his life in composing a
history of the house of Port-Royal, the place ol his
education, which, however, though finely drawn up,
2
6 ] n A c
as many have asserted, has not been published. Too Rac
great sensibility, say his friends, but more properly an back
impotence of spirit, shortened the days of this poet—
Though he had conversed much with the court, he had
not learned the wisdom, which is usually learned there,
of disguising his real sentiments. Having drawn up a
well-reasoned and well-written memorial upon the mise¬
ries of the people, and the means of relieving them, he
one day lent it to Madame de Maintenon to read ; when
the king coming in, and demanding what and whose it
was, commended the zeal of Racine, but disapproved
of his meddling with things that did not concern him,
and said with an angry tone, “ Because he knows how
to make good verses, does he think he knows every
thing P And would he be a minister of state, because
he is a great poet?” These words hurt Racine greatly:
he conceived dreadful ideas of the king’s displeasure;
and his chagrin and fears brought on a fever, of which
he died the 22d of April 1699.
The king, who was sensible of his great merit, and
always loved him, sent often to him in his illness ; and
finding after his death that he had more glory than rich¬
es, settled a handsome pension upon his family.—There
is nothing in the French language written with more wit
and elegance than his pieces in prose. Besides his plays,
several of his letters have been published ; he also wrote
spiritual songs, epigrams, &c. Racine’s works were
printed at Amsterdam in 1722, in 2 vols 1 2mo, and the
next year a pompous edition was printed in 2 vols
quarto.
RACING, the riding heats for a plate, or other pre¬
mium. See Plate. The amusement of horse-iacing,
which is now so common, was not unknown among the
great nations of antiquity, nor wholly unpractised by our
ancestors in Britain, as we have already mentioned ia
the article Race. In 1599, privat# matches between
gentlemen, who were their own jockies and riders, were
very common; and in the reign of James I. public races
were established at various places, when the discipline,
and mode of preparing the horses for running, &c.were
much the same as they are now. The most celebrated
races of that time were called bell-courses, the prize of
the conqueror being a bell : hence, perhaps, the phrase
hearing the bell, when applied to excellence, is derived.
In the latter end of Charles I.’s reign, races were per¬
formed in Hyde-Park. Newmarket was also a place for
the same purpose, though it was first used lor hunting.
Racing was revived soon after the Restoration, and
much encouraged by Charles II. who appointed races
for his own amusement at Dachet Mead, w'hen he resided
at Windsor. Newmarket, however, now became the
principal place. The king attended in person, establish¬
ed a house for his own accommodation, and) kept and
entered horses in his own name. Instead of bells, he
gave a silver bowl or cup value 100 guineas ; on which
prize the exploits and pedigree of the successful horse
were generally engraved. Instead of the cup or bowl,
the royal gift is now a hundred guineas. William HI.
not only added to the plates, but even founded an aca¬
demy for riding; and Queen Anne continued the bound-
tyof her ancestors, adding several plates hersell. George
I. towards the end of his reign, discontinued the plates,
and gave in their room a hundred guineas. An act
was passed in the 13th year of the reign of George II.
for suppressing races by poneys and other small and wea
horses,.
RAC
horses, &c by ^vhich all matches for any prize under
the value of [0\. are prohibited, under a uenaltv of
200I. to be paid by the owner of each horse runniiv
and lool. by such as advertise the plate j and by wl ch
each horse entered to run, if five years old, is obliged
to carry ten stones; if six, eleven; and if seven, twefve!
It is also ordained that no person shall run any horse at
a course unless it be lus own, nor enter more than one
horse for the same plate, upon pain of forfeiting the hor¬
ses ; and also every horse-race must be begun and ended
in the same day. Horses may run for the value of col.
with any weight, and at anyplace, 13 Geo. II. cap. 19.
18 Geo. II. cap. 34. Pennant’s British Zoolocv, vol. i.
p. 6. &c._ Berrenger’s History and art of Horseman-
S up, vo .1. p. 185, &c. At Newmarket there are two
courses, he long and the round: the first is exactly four
miles and about 380 yards, 1. e. 7420 yards. The se¬
cond is 6640 yards. Childers, the swiftest horse ever
known, has run the first course in seven minutes and a
hali, and the second in six minutes forty seconds; which
B^t a I6 il f m°re 5ha11 forty-nine feet in a second.
But all other horses take up at least seven minutes and
fifty seconds m completing the first and longest course
and seven minutes only in the shortest, which is at the
rate of more than forty-seven feet in a second. And it
is commonly supposed that these coursers cover, at every
bound a space of ground in length about twenty-four
English feet. Race-horses have for some time been a«
object of taxation.
^RACHITIS, the Rickets. See Medicine In.
RACK Edmund, a person well known in the lite¬
rary world by ins attachment to, and promotion of, a-
gncultural knowledge: he was a native of Norfolk, a
Quaker. His education was common, and he was ap¬
prenticed originally to a shopkeeper : his society was
select m this situation, and by improving himself in
learning, his conversation was enjoyed by a respectable
acquaintance. He wrote many essays, poems, and let¬
ters, and some few controversial tracts. At length he
settled, about his 40th year, at Bath in 1775, and was
soon introduced to the most eminent literati of that
place, among whom Dr Wilson and Mrs Macaulay
highly esteemed him for his integrity and abilities. In
1777 he published Mentor’s Letters, a moral work
which has run through many editions. But this year
he gained great celebrity by his plan of an agricultural
society, winch was soon adopted by four counties. He
stu^further advanced his fame by his papers in the Far¬
mer s Magazine, and his communications in the Bath
bociety’s papers ; a work remarkable for its ingenuity
and spirit. His last engagement was in the History of
Somersetshire, where the topographical parochial sur¬
veys were his. This work, in 3 vols 4to, was publish¬
ed in 1791, by Ins colleague the Reverend Mr Collin-
son. Mi .Rack died of an asthma in February 1787
aged 52. 1 n
Rack, an engine of torture, furnished with pulleys,
cords, &c. for extorting confession from criminals.—
1 he trial by rack is utterly unknown to the law of
England : though once, when the dukes of Exeter and
Suffolk, and other ministers of Henry VI. had laid a
design to introduce the civil law into this kingdom as
e iule of government ; for a beginning thereof they
erected a rack for torture, which was called in derision
Vod. XVII. Part II.
[ 617 j
rad
the duke of Exeter’s daughter, and still remains in the n t
lower ol London, where it was occasionallj „ "d 7
r^LuTo 77 »<* more than once in the
re.gn ot Queen Lhxabeth. But when, „„„„ the a8S!7 ' r—
sination ot V,liters duke of Buckingham, l,v Felton a
as proposed in the privy council to put tl/assassin to
the rack in order to discover his accomplices ,|»
judges, being consulted, declared unanime,
n llonour al,<l the honoui of the English law that
fand”ChItPr0Ceedi"g ?l]owable If the’ laws of’l: ,o-
Jaml. It seems astonishing that this usage ofadmini-
stermg the torture should be said to arise from a t"
derness to the lives of men; and ye, this isX reason
given for its introduction in the civil law, and itsTb-
seqnent adoption by the French and other foreign X
beoause the laws cannot endure that any man
should die upon theev.dence of a false or even a single
witness, and therefore contrived this method that inno¬
cence should manifest itself by a stout denial, or guilt
y a plain confession ; thus rating a man’s virtue bv the
hardiness of Ins constitution, and his guilt by the sensi-
b l.ty of his nerves. The marquis Beccaria, in an e7
a gi'av'f1606 7 I‘ll e'-y’ llas l'r,ll,0Md Ibis problem, with
a giavily ami precision that are truly mathematical:
lie force of the muscles and the sensibility of the
recUo findVrT'” ■ei"g g:Ve'1 5 il is
red to find the degree of pain necessary to make him
T/vT tlmSe f gUllty °f a ^lven crll«e.” See Act of
liuth, Inquisition, and Torture.
rtArir n i:  i , .  
Back, a spirituous liquor made by the Tartars of
^^7“ ma,le of mare’s mnk°
, . v- “ .c-v-n. jo indue oi mare s milk
ivhich is left to be sour, and afterwards distilled twice
or thrice between two earthen pots closely stopped ;
whence the liquor runs through a small wooden pipe!
ihis liquor is more intoxicating than brandy distilled
irom wine. J
Rack, or Arack. See Arack.
To Rack nines, &c. To draw them off from their
Jees, after haying stood long enough to ebb and settle.
Hence rack-ymtage is frequently used for the second
voyage our wine-merchants used to make into France
tor racked wines,
RACIvOON, a species of ursus. See Ursus, Mam¬
malia Index.
RACONI a populous town of Italy, in Piedmont,
seated in a pleasant plain, on the road from Savillan to
1 unn, on the rivers Grana and Macra. It belongs to
the prince of Cangnan, who has a handsome castle here
It is six miles from Savillan, and six from CanVnan
L. Long. 7. 46. N. Lat. 44. 39.
RADCLIFFE, Dr John, an English physician of
great eminence ,n his time, born at Wakefield in
x orkshire in 1650. He was educated at Oxford, and
enrolled himself upon the physical line ; but it was re¬
markable that he recommended himself more by his
ready wit and vivacity, than by any extraordinary ac¬
quisitions in learning. He began to practise at Oxford
m 1675 ; but never paid any regard to established rules,
which he censured whenever he thought fit,'with great
freedom and acrimony ; and as this drew all the old
practitioners upon him, he lived in a continual state of
hostility with them. Nevertheless, his reputation in¬
creased with his experience; so that, before he had been
two years in business, his practice was very extensive
among persons of high rank. In 1684 he removed to
4 ^ London,
RAD [
„ , rrr London, and settled in Bow-street, Covent Garden,
II there in less than a year he got into great employment.
Radnor, j„ ,63, the princess Anne of Denmark ma e
  » 'her physician i yet when her husband and she 30,ned
the prince of Orange, Radcliffe, either not choosmg to
declare himself, or unwilling to favour the measures ‘he
• r orritation excused himself from attending them, on
the plea of the multitude of his patients. Nevertheless,
he wTs often sent for to King William and other great
nersonaces, though he did not incline to be a courtier.
He incurred some censure for his treatment of Queen
Mary who died of the smallpox ; and soon after lost his
place’about the princess Anne, by his attachmen o i^
Lttle He also totally lost the favour of King W ilham
by bis uncourtly freedom-, for, in 1699, the
klmr showed him his swollen ankles, while the rest of his
body was emaciated, and asked him what he thought of
them ? “ Why truly I would not have ypur majesty
two legs for your three kingdoms, replied Kadc1^*
He continued increasing in business and insolence as
long as he lived, continually at war with his brethren
the°physicians j who considered him m no « her 8
than that of an active ingenious empiric whom constant
practice had at length brought to some degree ot skill
fn his profession. He died in 1714 J«nd if he never
attempted to write any thing himself, has peipe aated
his memory by founding a fine library at Oxlord, to
preserve the writings of other men.
RADIALIS, the name of two muscles in the arm.
See Anatomy, Table of the Muscles. . .. . ,
RADIANT, in Optics, is any point ot a visible ob-
rect from whence rays proceed.
RADIATED flowers, in Botany, are such as
have several semifloscules set round a disk, in form ot a
radiant star those which have no such rays are called
discous flowers. rr
RADIATION, the act of a body emitting or dii-
fusing rays of light all round as from a centre.
RADICAL, in general, something that serves as a
basis or foundation. Hence physicians talk much of
a radical moisture. In grammar, we give the appella¬
tion radical to primitives, in contradistinction to com¬
pounds and derivatives. Algebraists also speak ot the
radical sign of quantities, which is the character expres¬
sing their roots. .
RADICLE, that part of the seeds ot all plants
which upon vegetating becomes their root, and is uis-
coverable by the microscope. See Plant.
RADISH. See Raphanus, Botany Index; and
for the mode of culture, see Gardening Index.
RADIUS, in Geometry, the semidiameter of a cir¬
cle, or a right line drawn from the centre to the cir¬
cumference.
In Trigonometry, the radius is termed the whole sine,
or sine of 90°. See Sine.
Radius, in Anatomy, the exterior bone of the arm,
descending along with the ulna from the elbow to the
wrist.
RADNOR, the county town of Radnorshire, in
South Wales, distant from London about 150 miles.
It is situated near the springhead of the river Somergil,
in a fruitful valley at the bottom of a hill, where there
are sheep grazing in abundance. It is a very ancient
borough-town, whose jurisdiction extends near 12 miles
round: the government of it is vested in a bailiff and
18 ] RAG
2 r burgesses j and the population in 1801 was nearly
2000. Though it is the county town, the assizes are
held at Presteign : it has one privilege, however, that
is very extraordinary, besides that of sending one mem¬
ber to parliament; and that is, it keeps a court of pleas
for all actions, without being limited to any particular
sum. It was formerly fenced with a wall and strong
castle but both were in a great measure demolished
by Owen Glendower, when he assumed the title of
Prince of Wales, upon the deposition of King Richard
IT. W. Long. 2. 45. N. Lat. 52. 10.
RADNORSHIRE, a county of South VVales, is
bounded on the north by Montgomeryshire j on the
east by Shropshire and Herefordshire on the south and
south-west by Brecknockshire j and on the west by Car¬
diganshire -, extending 30 miles in length and 25 in
breadth. This county is divided into six hundreds, in
which are contained three market-towns, 52 parishes,
and in 1811 there were 4*^5 houses, and 20,900 inha¬
bitants. It is seated in the diocese of Hereford, and
sends two members to parliament, one for the county
and one for the town of Radnor. The soil in general
is but indift'erent -, yet some places produce corn, par¬
ticularly the eastern and southern parts ; but in the
northern and western, which are mountainous, the land
is chiefly stocked with horned cattle, sheep, and goats.
See Radnorshire, Supllement.
RADIX. See Root. L1 ,
RAFT, a sort of float, formed by an assemblage ot
various planks or pieces of timber, fastened together
side by side, so as to he conveyed more commodiously
to any short distance in a harbour or road than if they
were separate. The timber and plank with which
merchant-ships are laden, in the different parts ot the
Baltic sea, are attached together in this manner, in or¬
der to float them off to the shipping.
RAFTERS, in building, are pieces of timber which,
standing by pairs on the reason or railing piece,_ meet
in an angle at the top, and form the roof ot a building.
See Architecture.
Rowley RAGG, a variety of whinstone or green¬
stone of a dusky or dark gray colour, with many small
shining crystals, having a granular texture, and ac¬
quiring an ochry crust by exposure to the air.
RAGMAN’S roll, Rectius Ragimund’s roll, so
called from one Ragimund a legate in Scotland, who
calling before him all the beneficed clergymen in that
kingdom, caused them on oath to give in the true va¬
lue of their beneflees according to which they were
afterwards taxed by the court of Rome 5 and this roll,
among other records, being taken from the boots by
Edward I. was redelivered to them in the beginning ot
the reign of Edward 111. .
RAGOUT, or Ragoo, a sauce, or seasoning, intend¬
ed to rouse the appetite when lost or languishing.
This term is also used for any high-seasoned dish pre¬
pared of flesh, fish, greens, or the like : by stewing them
with bacon, salt, pepper, cloves, and the like ingredients.
We have ragouts of celery, of endive, asparagus, cock s-
combs, giblets, craw fish, &c.
The ancients had a ragout called gatym, made 0
the putrified guts of a certain fish kept till it dissolve
into a mere sanies, which was thought such a dainty,
that, according to Pliny, its price equalled that ot ttie
richest perfumes. RAGSTONE,
^ r ^r9 ] R A I
uSedt?aS™«t™^^ Circumstance it is distinguished from dew and fog: in
in the hills about Newcastle, and man, other na t« of fT" , I ‘'re 80 Smal1 th“t lh*?
England, where there are lame rocks of it ? ? ? 'n,l'S 5 a"d the ,3t,er> tho“«1' tlleic si“
RAGULED, or Ragged, in Heraldry ia^ nr ^ theJ seem to have very little more specific
inttnrl Tin"a hnm, Ja .. _ /’ J .or gravity than the atmosphere itself, and may therefore
be reckoned hollow spherules rather than drops. Some
of the more general facts relative to the phenomena of
rain have been already given under Meteorology.
We shall here add some account of the speculations of
philosophers on the same subject, in attempting to ac¬
count for those phenomena.
It is universally agreed, that rain is produced by the
Avater previously absorbed by the heat of the sun, or
otherwise, from the terraqueous globe, into the atmo¬
sphere ; but very great difficulties occur when we begin
to explain why the water, once so closely united with
the atmosphere, begins to separate from it. We cannot
ascribe this separation to cold, since rain often takes
place iu very warm weather j and though we should
suppose the condensation owing to the superior cold of
the higher regions, yet there is a remarkable fact which
will not allow us to have recourse to this supposition.
It is certain that the drops of rain increase in size con¬
siderably as they descend. On the top of a hill, for in¬
stance, they will be small and inconsiderable, forming
only a drizzling shower $ but at the bottom of the same
hill the drops will be excessively large, descending in
an impetuous rain ; which shows that the atmosphere
is disposed to condense the vapours, and actually does
so, as well where it is warm as where it is cold.
For some time the suppositions concerning the cause
of rain were exceedingly insufficient and unsatisfac¬
tory. It was imagined, that when various congeries
of clouds were driven together by the agitation of
the winds, they mixed, and run into one body, by
which means they were condensed into water. The
coldness of the upper parts of the air also was thought
to be a great means of collecting and condensing the
clouds into water *, which, being heavier than the air,
must necessarily fall down through it in the form of
rain. The reason why it falls in drops, and not in
large quantities, was said to be the resistance of the air j
whereby being broken, and divided into smaller and
smaller parts, it at last arrives to us in small drops. Rut
this hypothesis is entirely contrary to almost all the
phenomena: for the weather, when coldest, that is, in
the time of severe frost, is generally the most serene j
the most violent rains also happen where there is little
or no cold to condense the clouds j and the drops of
rain, instead of being divided into smaller and smaller
ones, as they approach the earth, are plainly increased
in size as they descend.
Dr Derham accounted for the precipitation of the
drops of rain from the vesiculte being full of air, and
meeting with an air colder than they contained, the
air they contained was of consequence contracted into
a smaller space 5 and consequently the watery shell ren¬
dered thicker, and thus specifically heavier, than the
common atmosphere. But it has been shown, that
the vesiculse, if such they are, of vapour, are not filled
with air, but with fire, or heat; and consequently,
till they part with this latent heat, the vapour cannot
be condensed. Now, cold is not always sufficient to
effect this, since in the most severe frosts the air is very
often serene, and parts with little or none of its vapour
4 I 2 for
Rain
knotted. I his term is applied to a cross formed of the
trunks of two trees without their branches, of which
they show only the stumps. Raguled differs from in-
dented, in that the latter is regular, the former not.
RAGUSA, an ancient town of Sicily, in the Val di
Noto, near the river Maulo, 12 miles north of Modica
E. Long. 14. 59. N. Lat. 37. o.
Ragusa, a city of Dalmatia, and capital of Ragu-
sen. It is about two miles in circumference, is pretty
vyell built, and strong by situation, having an inacces¬
sible mountain on the land-side, and on the side of the
sea a strong fort. It is an archbishop’s see, and was
formerly a republic, with a doge like that of Venice,
who continued a month only in his office. It carries’
on a considerable trade with the Turks. E. Lono-. 18.
10. N. Lat. 42. 50.
RAGUSEN, a territory of Europe in Dalmatia,
lying along tne coast of the gulf of Venice, about 33
miles in length, and 20 in breadth. It was formerly
a republic under the protection of the Turks and Vene¬
tians, but fell under the dominion of the French, and
was since transferred to the Austrians, in whose pos¬
session it remains.
RAJA, or Rajah, the title of the Indian black
princes, the remains of those who ruled there before the
Moguls. Some of the rajas are said to preserve their
independency, especially in the mountainous parts; but
most of them pay an annual tribute to the Mogul. The
Indians call them rai; the Persians, raian, in the plural j
and our travellers rajas, or ragias.
Raja, the Ray-Fish, in Ichthyology, a genus of
fishes belonging to the cartilaginous order.
RAIANIA, a genus of plants belonging to the di-
oecia class 5 and in the natural method ranking under
the nth order, Sarmenlaceee. See Botany Index.
RAIETEA, one of the South sea islands, named
also Ulietea.
RAIL. See Rallus, Ornithology Index.
RAILLEitV, according to Dr Johnson, means
slight satire, or satirical merriment j and a beautiful
writer of the last century compares it to a light which
dazzles, and which does not burn. It is sometimes in¬
nocent and pleasant, and it should always be so, but it
is most frequently offensive. Raillery is of various
kinds; there is a serious, severe, and good-humoured
raillery; and there is a kind which perplexes, a kind
which offends, and a kind which pleases.
To rally well, it is absolutely necessary that kindness
run through all you say; and you must ever preserve
the character of a friend to support your pretensions to
be free with a man. Allusions to past follies, hints to
revive what a man has a mind to forget for ever, should
never be introduced as the subjects of raillery. This is
not to thrust with the skill of fencers, but to cut with
the barbarity of butchers. But it is below the chayacter
of men of humanity and good-breeding to be capable
of mirth, while there is any in the company in pain and
disorder.
RAIN, the descent of water from the atmosphere
in the form of drops of a considerable size. By this
R A I
for a very considerable time.   .
the winds to have any considerable agency m this mat¬
ter, since we find that blowing upon vapour is so tar
from condensing it, that it unites it more closely wit i
the air, and wind is found to be a great promoter ol
evaporation. c . .
According] to Rohault, the great cause of rain is the
heat of the air ; which, after continuing lor some time
near the earth, is raised on high by a wind, and there
thawing the snowy villi or flocks o half-frozen vesi-
culse, reduces them to drops; which, coalescing, c e-
scend. Here, however, we ought to be informed by
what means these vesiculse are suspended in their Hair-
frozen state ; since the thawing of them can make but
little difference in their specific gravity, and it is cer¬
tain that they ascended through the air not in a irozen
but in an aqueous state.
Dr Clarke and others ascribe this descent of the ram
rather to an alteration of the atmosphere than of the
vesiculse } and suppose it to arise from a diminution ot
tlie elastic force of the air. This elasticity, which,
they say, depends chiefly or wholly upon terrene ex¬
halations, being weakened, the atmosphere sinks un¬
der its burden, and the clouds fall. Now, the little
vesicles being once upon the descent, will continue there¬
in, notwithstanding the increase of resistance they
every moment meet with. lor, as they all tend to the
centre of the earth, the farther they fall, the more
coalitions they will make-, and the more coalitions,
the more matter will there be under the same surface ;
die surface increasing only as the squares, but the soli¬
dity as the cubes 5 and the more matter under the same
surface, the less resistance will there be to the same mat¬
ter. Thus, if the cold, wind, &c. act early enough to
precipitate the ascending vesicles before they are ar¬
rived at any considerable height, the coalitions being
but few, the drops will be proportionably small ; and
thus is formed a dew. If the vapours be more copious,
and rise a little higher, we have a mist or fog. A
little higher still, and they produce a small rain ; if
they neither meet with cold nor wind, they form a
heavy thick dark sky. This hypothesis is equally un¬
satisfactory with the others j tor, granting that the de¬
scent and condensation of the vapours are owing to a di¬
minution of the atmosphere’s elasticity, by what is this di¬
minution occasioned ? To say that it is owing to ter¬
rene exhalations, is only solving one difficulty by ano¬
ther $ since we are totally unacquainted both with the
nature and operation of these exhalations. Besides,
let us suppose the cause to be what it will, if it acts
equally and at once upon all the vapour in the air, then
all that vapour must be precipitated at once 5 and thus,
instead of gentle showers continuing for a considerable
length of time, w:e should have the most violent water¬
spouts, continuing only for a few minutes, or perhaps
seconds, which, instead of refreshing the earth, would
drown and lay waste every thing before them.
Since philosophers have admitted the electric fluid
to such a large share in the operations ot nature, al¬
most all the natural phenomena have been accounted
for by the action of that fluid; and rain, among others,
has been reckoned an effect of electricity. But this
word, unless it be explained, makes us no wiser than
we were before ; the phenomena of artificial electricity
having been explained on principles which could scarce
[ 620 ] R A I
Neither can tre admit apply in any degree to the electricity of nature : and i
therefore all the solution we can obtain ot the natural
appearances of which we speak, comes to this, that rain
is occasioned by a moderate electrification, hail and snow
by one more violent, and thunder by the most violent
of all; but in what manner this electrification is occa^
sioned, lias not yet been explained. The principles of
electricity necessary to be attended to in the solution ot
the phenomena under consideration are the lollowing :
1. The electric fluid and solar light are the same sub¬
stances in two different modifications.
2. Electricity is the motion of the fluid when running,
or attempting to run, in a continued stream from one
place to another : heat is when the fluid has no tei>
dency but to vibrate outwards and inwards to and from
a centre •, or at least when its streams converge to a
point or locus.
3. The fluid acting as electricity, like water, or any
other fluid, always tends to the place where there is
least resistance.
On these three principles may the phenomena of at¬
mospherical electricity, and the descent of rain by irs
means, he explained as follows :
1. The light or heat of the sun, acting in that pe¬
culiar manner which we call //eat, unites itself with
the moisture of the earth, and forms it into vapour,
which thus becomes specifically lighter than air, and
of consequence ascends in the atmosphere to a certain
height.
2. Besides the quantity of light which is thus united
to the water, and forms it into vapour, a very consider¬
able quantity enters the earth, where it assumes the na¬
ture of electric fluid.
3. As the earth is always full of that fluid, every
quantity which enters must displace an equal quantity
which is already there.
4. This quantity which is displaced must escape ei¬
ther at a distance from the place where the other en¬
ters, or very near it.
5. At whatever place a quantity of electric matte*
escapes, it must electrify the air above that place
where it has escaped} and as a considerable quantity
of light must always be reflected from the earth into
the atmosphere, where it does not combine with the
aqueous vapour, we have thence another source of
electricity to the air: as this quantity must undoubt¬
edly assume the action of electric fluid, especially af¬
ter the action of the sun has ceased. Hence the rea¬
son why in serene weather the atmospherical electrici¬
ty is always strongest, and rather more so in the night
than in the day.
6. From these considerations, we see an evident rea¬
son why there must commonly he a diflerence between
the electricity of the earth and that of the atmosphere,
excepting when an earthquake is about to ensue. I he
consequence of this must he, that as the action of the
solar light continues to bring down the electric matter,
and the earth continues to discharge an equal quantity
of it into the atmosphere, some part of the atmosphere
must at last become overloaded with it, and attempt to
throw it back into the earth. This attempt will he
vain, until a vent is found for the electricity at some
other place } and as soon as this happens, the electrifie
atmosphere begins to throw oft' its superfluous electricity,
1 the earth to receive it. As the atmosphere itself
and
R A I [ 621 ] R
is a bad conductor, and the more so the drier it is, the greater than it is with us.
A I
—J electric matter attacks the small aqueous particles which
are detained in it by means of the latent heat. These
being unable to bear the impetus of the fluid, throw out
their latent heat, which easily escapes, and thus makes
a kind of vacuum in the electrified part of the atmo¬
sphere. The consequences of this are, that the aqueous
particles being driven together in large quantity, at
last become visible, and the sky is covered with clouds-
at the same time a wind blows against these clouds,
and, if there is no resistance in the atmosphere, will
drive them awTay.
7. But if the atmosphere all round the cloud is ex¬
ceedingly electrified, and the earth is in no condition
to receive the superfluous fluid excepting in that place
which is directly under the cloud, then the whole elec¬
tricity of the atmosphere for a vast way round will tend
to that part only, and the cloud will be electrified to
an extreme degree. A wind will now blow against the
cloud from all quarters, more and more of the vapour
will be extricated from the air by the electric matter,
and the cloud will become darker and thicker, at the
same time that it is in a manner stationary, as being
acted upon by opposite winds ; though its size is en¬
larged with great rapidity by the continual supplies of
vapour brought by the winds.
8. The vapours which were formerly suspended in¬
visibly by means of the latent heat are now suspended
visibly by the electric fluid, which will not let them
fall to the earth, until it is in a condition to re¬
ceive the electric matter descending with the rain.—
It is easy to see, however, that thus every thing is
prepared for a violent storm of thunder and lightning
as well as rain. The surface of the earth becomes
electrified from the atmosphere : but when this has con¬
tinued for some time, a zone of earth considerably be¬
low the surface acquires an electricity opposite to that
ol the clouds and atmosphere j of consequence the elec¬
tricity in the cloud being violently pressed on all sides,
will at last burst out towards that zone where the re¬
sistance is least, as explained under the article Light¬
ning.—The vapours now having lost that which sup¬
ported them, will fall down in rain, if there is not a
sufficient quantity of electric matter to keep them in
the same state in which they were before : but if this
happens to be the case, the cloud will instantly be
charged again, while little or no rain will fall ; and
hence very violent thunder sometimes takes place with¬
out any rain at all, or such as is quite inconsiderable in
quantity.
9. When the electricity is less violent, the rain will
descend in vast quantity, especially after every flash of
lightnings and great quantities of electric matter will
thus be conveyed to the earth, insomuch that sometimes
the drops have been observed to shine as if they were
on fire, which has given occasion to the reports of fiery
rain having fallen on certain occasions. If the quantity
of electric matter is smaller, so that the rain can convey
it all gradually to the ground, there will be rain with¬
out any thunder j and the greater the quantity of elec¬
tricity the more violent will be the rain.
From this account of the causes of rain, we may see
the reason why in warm climates the rains are exces¬
sive, and for the most part accompanied with thunder;
for there the electricity of the atmosphere is immensely
4
- . We may also see why in
certain places, according to the situation of mountains
seas, &c. the rains will be greater than in otbers*
and likewise why some parts of the world are exempt
ed from rain altogether 5 but as a particular discussion
of these would necessarily include an explanation of
the causes and phenomena of Thunder, we shall for
this reason refer the whole to be treated of under that
article.
^ hether this theory be just, however, it would be too
assuming in us to say. It may admit of dispute ; for we
must grant that in the very best systems, though an oc¬
currence so irequent, the theory of rain is but very im¬
perfectly understood. I)r Hutton, whose speculations
are always ingenious, though generally extraordinary,
and much out of the common way, has given a new
theory of rain in the first volume of the Transactions
of the Royal Society of Edinburgh. It is well known
that atmospheric air is capable of dissolving, with a
certain degree of heat, a given quantity of water. The
Doctor ascertains the ratio of the dissolving power of
an, in relation to w-ater, in different degrees of heat j
and shows, that by mixing a portion of transparent humid
warm air with a portion of cold air, the mixture becomes
opaque, and part of the water will be precipitated j or,
in other words, the vapour will be condensed into rain.
1 he ratio which he states, however, does not appear to
us to be supported by experience. Whether the elec¬
tricity of the air changes in consequence of its depositing
the water dissolved in it, or the change is a cause of this
deposition, must remain uncertain ; but, in either view
there must be an agent different from heat and cold, since
the changes in these respects do not in other operations
change the state of electricity. Dr Hutton supposes
that heat and solution do not increase by equal incre¬
ments; but that, in reality, if heat be supposed to in¬
crease by equal increments along a straight line, solution
will be expressed by ordinates to a curve whose convex
side is turned towards that line. That the power of
solution is not increased in the same ratio with heat, is,
however, hypothetical, except when we rise pretty high
in the scale, when its proportional increase is a little
doubtful; and it is not, in this paper, supported by ex¬
periment. The condensation of the breath in air is not
an observation in point, except in air already saturated
with vapour. It can amount, in any view, to no more
than this, that to render it visible, the heat must be di¬
minished in a greater proportion than can be compen¬
sated by the power of solution in the body of air, in
which the portion expired is at first immersed. To ex¬
plain rain from this cause, we must always suppose a
constant diminution of heat to take place at the mo¬
ment of the condensation of the vapour; but we actu¬
ally find that the change from a state of vapour to the
fluid state is attended with heat; so that rain must at
once oppose its own epuse, and continued rains would
be impossible, without calling in the aid of other causes.
From his own system, Dr Hutton endeavours to ex¬
plain the regular and irregular seasons of rain, either
respecting the generality of its appearance, or the re¬
gularity of its return. And to obviate the apparent ex¬
ceptions of the theory, from the generality of rain,
he explains the proportional quantities of rain, and adds
a comparative estimate of climates, in relation to rain,
with the meteorological observations made in our own
climate*
Rain.
VIZ.
R A I [ 622 ]
climate. A, He principle is at least Insnfficient and we
' think erroneous, it would be useless, even we ^
proper place for it, to pursue these various branches
£hich must partake of the errors of the system. In hese
branches we ought to observe, that there are several just
observations, mixed with errors, because evaporation and
condensation must at last be the great basis of every
theory: the mistakes arise from not being aware ot all
the causes, and misrepresenting the operation ot those
which do exist. ...
In a work entitled Thoughts on Meteorology, vol. in
M. de Luc considers very particularly the grand pheno¬
menon of rain, and the numerous circumstances connect¬
ed with it. He examines the several hypotheses with
considerable care j but thinks them, even it admissible,
utterly insufficient to account for the formation ot ram.
The grand question in this inquiry is, what becomes oi
the water that rises in vapour into the atmosphere j or
what state it subsists in there, between the time ot its
evaporation and its falling down again in rain. It i
continues in the state of watery vapour, or such as is
the immediate product of evaporation, it must possess the
distinctive characters essential to that iluul: it must make
the hygrometer move towards humidity, in proportion
as the Vapour is more or less abundant in the air : on a
diminution of heat, the humidity, as shown by the hy¬
grometer, must increase ; and on an increase ol the heat
the humidity must diminish and the introduction ot
other hygroscopic substances, drier than the air, must
have the same effect as an augmentation of heat. 1 hese
are the properties of watery vapour, on every hypothesis
of evaporation j and therefore all the water that exists m
the atmosphere without possessing these properties, is no
longer vapour, but must have changed its nature.
M. de. Luc shows, that the water which forms rain,
though it has ever been considered and reasoned upon as
producing humidity, does not possess these properties,
and must therefore have passed into another state. As
he thinks that the vapour passes into an invisible state in
the interval between evaporation and its falling again in
rain, and that in that state it is not sensible to the hy¬
grometer, he considers the laws of hygrology as insuffi¬
cient for explaining the formation of rain j but he does
not pretend to have discovered the immediate cause of
the formation ol clouds and rain. II it is not in the im¬
mediate product of evaporation that rain has its source j
if the vapours change their nature in the atmosphere, so
as no longer to be sensible to the hygrometer, or to the
eye •, if they do not become vapour again till clouds ap¬
pear ; and if, when the clouds are formed, no alteration
is perceived in the quality of the air—we must acknow¬
ledge it to be very probable, that the intermediate state
of vapour is no other than air—and that the clouds do
not proceed from any distinct fluid contained in the at¬
mosphere, but from a decomposition of a part of the air
itself, perfectly similar to the rest.
It appears, to us at least, that M. de Luc’s mode of
reasoning on this subject agrees better with the pheno¬
mena than Dr Hutton’s. The Doctor, however, thinks
differently, and published answers to the objections of
M. de Luc with regard to his theory of rain ; to which
M. de Luc replied in a letter which was printed in the
Appendix to the 8ist volume of the Monthly Review :
but it would extend ©ur article beyond its due bounds,
to give a view of this controversy.
R A I
As to the general quantity of rain that falls, and its xta;n
proportion in several places at the same time, and in the y>^
same place at several times, we have many observations,
journals, &c. in the Memoirs of the French Academy,
the Philosophical Transactions, &c. Upon measuring,
then, the rain falling yearly, its depth, at a medium, and
its proportion in several places, is found as in the follow¬
ing table :
At Townley, in Lancashire, observed by Mr Inches.
Townley - - - 42J
Upminster, in Essex, by Mr Derham - 19^
Zurich, in Swisserland, by Dr Scheuchzer 32^
Pisa, in Italy, by Dr Mich. Ang. Tilli - 43-J
Paris, in France, by M. de la Hire - 19
Lisle, in Flanders, by M. de Vauban - 24
At Upminster.
1700 19 Inch. .03
1701 18 .69
1702 20 .38
i7°3 23 *99
1704 15 *8o
1705 16 .93
At Paris.
21 Inch. .37
27
n
18
21
•77
•45
•51
.20
.82
From the Meteorological Journal of the Royal Socie¬
ty, kept by order of the president and council, it ap¬
pears that the whole quantity of rain at London, in
each of the years specified below, was as follows,
Inches.
1774 - - 26 .328
1775 - - 24 .083
1776 - - 20 .354
1777 ‘ - 25 -371
1778 - - 20 .772
1779 - - 26 .785
1780 - - 17 .313
The quantity of rain in the 1 ; years at Lon¬
don was s*
In 1789 - - *976
1790 * - •°52
1791 - - -310
Proportion oj the Pain of the s asons to one an¬
other.
See Philosophical Transactions abridged, vol. iv. part 11.
p. 81, &c. and also Meteorological Journal of the Royal
Society, published annually in the Philosophical Irans-
actions.
As to the use of rain, we may observe, that it moi¬
stens
II A I ^
stens and softens the earth, and thus fits U for affordinfr
—' nourishment to plants ; by falling on high mountains, it
carries down with it many particles of loose earth, which
serve to fertilize the surrounding valleys, and purifies
the air from noxious exhalations, which tend in their
return to the earth to meliorate the soil j it moderates
the heat of the air 5 and is one means of supplying foun¬
tains and rivers. However, vehement rains in many
countries are found to be attended with barrenness and
poorness of the lands, and miscarriage of the crops in
the succeeding year : and the reason'is plain ; for these
excessive storms wash away the fine mould into the ri¬
vers, which carry it into the sea, and it is a long time
before the land recovers itself again. The remedy to
the famine, rvhich some countries are subject to from
this sort ot mischief, is the planting large orchards and
groves of such trees as bear esculent fruit 5 for it is an
old obseivation, that in years, when grain succeeds
worst, these trees produce most fruit of all. It may
partly be owing to the thorough moistening of the earth,
as deep as their roots go by these rains, and partly to
their trunks stopping part of the light mould carried
down by the rains, and by this means furnishing them¬
selves with a coat of new earth.
Preternatural Rains. We have numerous accounts,
m the historians of our own as well as other countries,
of preternatural rains j such as the raining of stones, of
(lust, of blood, nay, and of living animals, as younp,'
frogs, and the like. We are not to doubt the truth of
what those who are authors of veracity and credit relate
to us of this kind, so far as to suppose that the falling
of stones and dust never happened 5 the whole mistake
is, the supposing them to have fallen from the clouds :
but as to the blood and frogs, it is very certain that they
never fell at all, but the opinion has been a mere decep¬
tion of the eyes. Men are extremely fond of the mar¬
vellous in their relations 5 but the judicious reader is to
examine strictly whatever is reported of this kind, and
is not to suffer himself to be deceived.
There are two natural methods by which quantities
of stones and dust may fall in certain places, without
their having been generated in the clouds or fallen as
rain. The one is by means of hurricanes: the wind
which we frequently see tearing off the tiles of houses,
and carrying them to considerable distances, being equal¬
ly able to take up a quantity of stones, and drop them
again at some other place. But the other, which is much
the most powerful, and probably the most usual way,
is for the eruptions of volcanoes and burning mountains
to toss up, as they frequently do, a vast quantity of
stones, ashes, and cinders, to an immense height in the
air : and these, being hurried away by the hurricanes
and impetuous winds which usually accompany those
eruptions, and being in themselves much lighter than
common stones, as being half calcined, may easily be
thus carried to vast distances j and there falling in pla¬
ces where the inhabitants know nothing of the occasion,
they cannot but be supposed by the vulgar to fall on
them from the clouds. It is well known, that, in the
great eruptions of HLtna and Vesuvius, showers of ashes,
dust, and small cinders, have been seen to obscure the
air, and overspread the surface of the sea for a great
way, and cover the decks of ships 5 and this at such a
distance, as it should appear scarce conceivable that they
should have been carried to : and probably, if the ac-
3
623 ] ■ It A I
counts of all the showers of these substances mentioned
by authors be collected, they will all be found to have
fallen within such distances of volcanoes ; and if com¬
pared as to the time of their falling, will be found to
conespond in that also with the eruptions of those
mountains. We have known instances of the ashes from
V esuvius having been carried thirty, nay, forty leagues,
and peculiar accidents may have carried them yet far¬
ther. It is not to be supposed that these showers of
stones and dust (all for a continuance in the manner of
showeis of rain, or that the fragments or pieces are as
frequent as drops of water; it is sufficient that a num-
bei of stones, or a quantity of dust, fall at once on a
place, where the inhabitants can have no knowledge of
the part from whence they came, and the vulgar will
not doubt their dropping from the clouds. Nay, in
the canton of Berne in Swisserland, the inhabitants ac¬
counted it a miracle that it rained earth and sulphur up.
pon them at a time that a small volcano terrified them j
and even while the wind was so boisterous, and hurri¬
canes so frequent, that they saw almost every moment
the dust, sand, and little stones torn up from the surface
of the earth in whirlwinds, and carried to a considerable
height in the air, they never considered that both the
sulphur thrown up by the volcano, and the dust, &c.
carried from their feet must fall soon after somewhere.
It is very certain that in some of the terrible storms of
large hail, where the hailstones have been of many
inches round, on breaking them there have been found
what people have called stones in their middle; but
these observers needed only to have waited the dissolving
of one of these hailstones, to have seen the stone in its
centre disunite also, it being only formed of the parti¬
cles of loose earthy matter, which the water exhaled, by
the sun’s heat, had taken up in extremely small mole-
culae with it; and this only having served to give an
opaque hue to the inner part of the congelation, to which
the freezing of the water alone gave the apparent hard¬
ness of stone.
I lie raining of blood has been ever accounted a more
terrible sight and more fatal omen than the other pre¬
ternatural rains already mentioned. It is very certain
that nature forms blood nowhere but in the vessels of
animals ; and therefore showers of it from the clouds are
by no means to be credited. Those who suppose that
what has been taken for blood has been actually seen
falling through the air, have had recourse to flying in¬
sects for its origin, and suppose it the eggs or dung of
certain butterflies discharged from them as they were
high up in the air. But it seems a very wild conjec¬
ture, as we know ot no butterfly whose excrements or
eggs are of such a colour, or whose abode is so high,
or their flocks so numerous, as to be the occasion of
this.
It is most probable that these bloody waters were
never seen falling ; but that people seeing the standing
waters blood-coloured, were assured, from their not
knowing how it should else happen, that it had rained
blood into them. A very memorable instance of this
took place at the Hague in the year 1670. Swam¬
merdam, who relates it, tells us, that one morning the
whole town was in an uproar on finding their lakes and
ditches full of blood, as they thought: and having been
certainly full of water the night before, they agreed it
must have rained blood in the night: but a certain phv-
sician
R A I [ 624 ] R A I
sician went down to one of the canals, and taking home
a quantity of this blood-coloured water, he examined it
by the microscope, and found that the water was water
still, and had not at all changed its colour; hut that it
was full of prodigious swarms of small red animals, all
alive, and very nimble in their motions, whose coloiu
and prodigious number gave a red tinge to the whole
body of the water they lived in, on a less accuiate in¬
spection. The certainty that this was the case, did not
however persuade the Hollanders to part with the mi¬
racle : they prudently concluded, that the sudden ap¬
pearance of such a number of animals was as great a
prodigy as the raining of blood would have been j and
are assured to this day, that this portent foretold the
scene of war and destruction which Louis XIV. after¬
wards brought into that country, which had before en¬
joyed 40 years of uninterrupted peace.
The animals which thus colour the water of lakes and
ponds are the pulices arborescentes of Swammerdam, or
the water-fleas with branched horns. Ihese creatines
are of a reddish-yellow or flame colour: they live about
the sides of ditches, under weeds, and among the mud j
and are therefore the less visible, except at a ceitain
time, which is in the end or beginning of June : it is at
this time that these little animals leave their recesses to
float loose about the water, to meet for the propagation
of their species, and by that means become visible in
the colour they give the water. This is visible, more
or less, in one part or other of almost all standing wa¬
ters at this season 5 and it is always at this season that
the bloody waters have alarmed the ignorant.
The raining of frogs is a thing not less wonderful in
the accounts of authors who love the marvellous, than
those of blood or stones ; and this is supposed to happen
so often, that there are multitudes who pretend to have
been eye-witnesses of it. These rains of frogs always
happen after very dry seasons, and are much more fre¬
quent in the hotter countries than in the cold ones.
In Italy they are very frequent; and it is not uncom¬
mon to see the streets of Rome swarming both with
young frogs and toads in an instant in a shower of rain *,
they hopping everywhere between the people’s legs as
they walk, though there was not the least appearance of
them before. Nay, they have been seen to fall through
the air down upon the pavements. This seems a strong
circumstance in favour of their being rained down from
the clouds 3 but, when strictly examined, it comes to
nothing: for these frogs that are seen to fall, are always
found dead, lamed, or bruised by the fall, and never
hop about as the rest 3 and they are never seen to fall,
except close under the walls of houses, from the roofs
and gutters of which they have accidentally slipped
down. Some people, who love to add to strange things
yet stranger, affirm that they have had the young frogs
fall into their hats in the midst of an open field 3 but
this is idle, and wholly false.
Others, who cannot agree to their falling from the
clouds, have tried to solve the difficulty of their sudden
appearance, by supposing them hatched out of the egg,
nr spawn, by these rains. Nay, some have supposed
them made immediately out of the dust: but there are
unanswerable arguments against all these suppositions.
Equivocal generation, or the spontaneous production of
animals out of dust, is now wholly exploded. The fall
from the clouds must destroy and kill these tender and
soft-bodied animals : and they cannot be at this time
hatched immediately out of eggs 3 because the young
frog does not make its appearance from the egg in form,
but has its hinder legs enveloped in a skin, and is what
we call a tadpole; and the young frogs are at least 100
times larger at the time of their appearance, than the
egg from which they should be hatched.
It is beyond a doubt, that the frogs which make their
appearance at this time, were hatched and in being long
before : but that the dry seasons had injured them, and
kept them sluggishly in holes or coverts 3 and that all
the rain does, is the enlivening them, giving them new
spirits, and calling them forth to seek new habitations,
and enjoy the element they were destined in great part
to live in. Theophrastus, the greatest of all the natu¬
ralists of antiquity, has affirmed the same thing. We
find that the error of supposing these creatures to fall
from the clouds was as early as that author’s time 3 and
also that the truth, in regard to their appearance, was
as early known; though, in the ages since, authors have
taken care to conceal the truth, and to hand down to us
the error. We find this venerable sage, in a fragment
of his on the generation of animals which appear on a
sudden, bantering the opinion, and asserting that they
were hatched and living long before. The world owes,
however, to the accurate Signior Redi the great proof
of this truth, which Theophrastus only has affirmed :
for this gentleman, dissecting some of these new-appear¬
ing frogs, found in their stomachs herbs and other half-
digested food 3 and, openly showing this to his credu¬
lous countrymen, asked them whether they thought that
nature, which engendered, according to their opinion,
these animals in the clouds, had also been so provident
as to engender grass there for their food and nourisli-
ment ?
To the raining of frogs we ought to add the raining
of grasshoppers and locusts, which have sometimes ap¬
peared in prodigious numbers, and devoured the fruits
of the earth. There has not been the least pretence for
the supposing that these animals descended from the
clouds, but that they appeared on a sudden in prodigi¬
ous numbers. The naturalist, who knows the many
accidents attending the eggs of these and other the like
animals, cannot but know that some seasons will prove
particularly favourable to the hatching them, and the
prodigious number of eggs that many insects lay could
not but every year bring us such abundance of the young,
were they not liable to many accidents, and had not pro¬
vident nature taken care, as in many plants, to continue
the species by a very numerous stock of seeds, of which
perhaps not one in 500 need take root in order to con¬
tinue an equal number of plants. As it is thus also in
regard to insects, it cannot but happen, that if a favour¬
able season encourage the hatching of all those eggs, a
very small number of which alone was necessary tn
continue the species, we must, in such seasons, have a
proportionate abundance of them. There appeared
about 50 years ago, in London, such a prodigious swarm
of the little beetle called the lady-cow, that the very
posts in the streets were everyw here covered with them.
But thanks to the progress of philosophy among us, we
had nobody to assert that it rained cow-ladies, but con¬
tented ourselves with saying that it had been a favour¬
able season for their eggs. The prodigious number of
a sort of grub which did vast mischief about the same
R A I
!5.ain
period among the corn and grass by eating off their
—'roots, might also have been supposed to proceed from
its having rained grubs by people fond of making every
thing a prodigy j but our knowledge in natural history
assured us, that these were only the hexapode worms of
the common hedge-beetle called the cockchafer.
I lie raining ol fishes has been a prodigy also much
talked of in France, where the streets of a town at some
distance from 1 aris, after a terrible hurricane in the
night, which tore up trees, blew down houses, &c. were
found in a manner covered with fishes of various sizes.
Nobody here made any doubt of these having fallen from
the cloud,; nor did the absurdity of fish, of five or six
inches long, being generated in the air, at all startle the
people, or sh ike their belief in the miracle, till they
found, upon inquiry, that a very well stocked fish-pond,
winch stood on an eminence in the neighbourhood, had*
been blown dry by the hurricane, and only the great
fish left at the bottom of it, all the smaller fry having
been tossed into their streets.
Upon the whole, all the supposed marvellous rains
have been owing to substances natural I v produced on
the earth, and either never having been in the air at all,
or only carried thither by accident.
In Silesia, after a great dearth of wheat in that coun¬
try. there happened a violent storm of wind and rain,
and the earth was afterwards covered, in many places’
with small round -eeds. The vulgar cried out that Pro¬
vidence had sent them food, and that it had rained mil¬
let: hut. these were, in reality, only the seeds of a spe¬
cies of veronica, or speedwell, very common in that
country ; and whose seeds being just ripe at that time,
the wind had dislodged them from their capsules, and
scattered them about. In our own country, we have
histories of rains of this marvellous kind, hut all fabu¬
lous. It was once said to rain wheat in Wiltshire; and
the people were all alarmed at it as a miracle, till Mr
Cole showed them, that what they took for wheat was
only the seeds or kernels of the berries of ivy, which
being then fully ripe, the wind had dislodged from the
sides of houses, and trunks of trees, on which the ivy
that produced them crept.
And we even once had a raining of fishes near the
coast of Kent in a terrible hurricane, with thunder and
lightning. The people who saw small sprats strewed
all about afterwards, would have it that they had fallen
from the clouds; but those who considered how far the
high winds have been known to carry the sea-water,
did not wonder that they should he able to carry small
fish with it so small a part of the way.
In the 1 hilosophical T ransactions tor 1782, we have
the following account of a preternatural kind of rain
by Count de Gioeni : “ The morning of the 24th in¬
stant there appeared here a most singular phenomenon.
Every place exposed to the air was found wet with a
coloured cretaceous gray water, which, after evapora¬
ting and filtrating away, left every place covered with
it to the height of two or three lines ; and all the iron¬
work that was touched by it became rusty*
Hie public, inclined to the marvellous, fancied va¬
rious causes of this rain, and began to fear for the ani-
nfals and vegetables.
“ In places where rain-water was used, they abstain¬
ed from it: some suspecting vitriolic principles to be
VOL. XVII. Part II. a-
r 625 ] n a 1
mixed with it, and others predicting some epidemical
disorder.
I hose who had observed the explosions of Etna 20
days and more before, were inclined to believe it origi¬
nated from one of them. b
Raia.
The shower extended from N. £ N. E. to S. |. S. W.
over the fields, about 70 miles in a right line from the
vertex of Etna.
1 here is nothing new in volcanoes having thrown
up sand, and also stones, by the violent expansive force
gi nerated within them, which sand has been carried by
the wind to distant regions.
llur tlie colour and subtility of the matter occasion¬
ed doubts concerning its origin ; which increased from
the remarkable circumstance of the water in which it
came incorporated ; for which reasons some other prin¬
ciple or origin was suspected.
It became, therefore, necessary by all means to as¬
certain the nature of this matter, in order to be con¬
vinced of its origin, and of the effects it might produce.
I his could not he done without the help of a chemical
analysis. 1 0 do this then with certainty, I endeavour¬
ed to collect this rain from places where it was most
probable no heterogeneous matter would he mixed with
it. I therefore chose the plant called brassica capitata%
which having large and turned up leaves, they contain¬
ed enough of this coloured water : many of these I emp¬
tied into a vessel, and left the contents to settle till the
water became clear.
1 his being separated into another vessel, I tried it
with vegetable alkaline liquors and mineral acids ; but
could observe no decomposition by either. 1 then eva¬
porated the water in order to reunite the substances that
might he in solution ; and touching it again with the
aforesaid liquors, it showed a slight effervesence with
the acids. When tried with the syrup of violets, this
became a pale green ; so that I was persuaded it con¬
tained a calcareous salt \\ ith the decoction of galls
no precipitation was produced.
“ 1 lie matter being afterwards dried in the shade, it
appealed a very subtile fine earth, of a cretaceous co¬
lour, hut inert, from having been diluted by the rain.
I next thought of calcining it with a slow fire,
and it assumed the colour of a brick. A portion of this
being put into a crucible, I applied to it a stronger
heat ; by which it lost almo>t all its acquired colour.
Again, I exposed a portion of this for a longer time to
a very violent heat (from which a vitrification mieht be
expected) ; it remained, however, quite soft, and was
easily bruised, but returned to its original dusky co¬
lour.
“ from the most accurate observations of the smoke
from the three calcinations, I could not discover either
colour or smell that indicated any arsenical or sulphure¬
ous mixture.
“ Having therefore calcined this matter in three por¬
tions, with three different degrees of fire, I presented a
good magnet to each : it did not act either on the first
or second ; a slight attraction was visible in' many
places on the third 1 this persuaded me, that this earth
contains a martial principle in a metallic form, and not
in a vitriolic substance.
“ The nature of these substances then being discover¬
ed, their volcanic origin appears ;• for iron, the more it
4-K is
r
Rain,
Rainbow.
Plate
CCCCL'VXII
Sg. 2.
R A I
Is exposed to violent calcination, the more it is divided
by the loss of its phlogistic principle •, which cannot
naturally happen but in the great chimney of a volcano.
Calcareous salt, being a marine salt combined with a
calcareous substance by means of violent heat, cannot be
otherwise composed than in a volcano.
“ As to their dreaded effects on animals and vegeta¬
bles, every one knows the advantageous use, in medi-
cine5, both of the one and the other, and this in the same
form as they are thus prepared in the great laboratoiy
of nature. _
“ Vegetables, even in flower, do not appear in tne
least macerated, which has formerly happened from on¬
ly showers of sand.
“ How this volcanic production came to he mixed
-with water may be conceived in various ways.
“ iEtna, about its middle regions, is generally sur¬
rounded with clouds that do not always rise above its
summit, which is 2900 paces above the level of the sea.
This matter being thrown out, and descending upon
the clouds below it, may happen to mix and fall in rain
with them in the usual way. It may also he conjectu¬
red, that the thick smoke which the volcanic matter
contained might, by its rarefaction, be carried by the
wind over that tract of country j and then cooling so as
to condense and become specifically heavier than the air,
might descend in that coloured rain.
“ I must, however, leave to philosophers (to whom
the knowledge of natural agents belongs) the examina¬
tion and explanation of such phenomena, confining my¬
self to observation and chemical experiments.” See
Meteorology, Supplement.
Rain, a well built and fortified town of Bavaria, one
of the keys of this electorate, on the Lech, 20 miles
west of Ingolstadt. N. Lat. 48. 51. E. Long. 11. 12.
RAW-Bird. See Cuculus, Ornithology Index.
RAINBOW. See Optics.
In the Philosophical Transactions for 1793, we have
the following account of two rainbows seen by the Rev.
Mr Si urges.
“ On the evening of the 9th of July 1792, between
seven and eight o’clock, at Alverstroke, near Gosport,
on the sea-coast of Hampshire, there came up, in the
south-east, a cloud with a thunder-shower ; while the
sun shone bright, low in the horizon, to the north¬
west.
“In this shower two primary rainbows appeared,
AB and AC, not concentric, but touching each other
at A, in the south part of the horizon j with a secon¬
dary bow to each, DE and DF (the last very faint, but
discernible), which touched likewise at D. Both the
primary were very vivid for a considerable time, and at
different times nearly equally so*, but the how AB was
most permanent, was a larger segment of a circle, and
at last, after the other had vanished, became almost a
semicircle *, the sUn being near setting. It was a perfect
calm, and the sea was as smooth as glass.
“ If I might venture to oiler a solution of this ap¬
pearance, it would be as follows. I consider the bow
AB as the true one, produced by the sun itself j and
the other, AC, as produced by the reflection of the sun
from the sea, which, in its perfectly smooth state, acted
as a speculum. The direction of the sea, between the
Isle of Wight and the land, was to the north-west in a
lice with the sun, as it was, then situated. The image
626 ] it a 1
reflected from the water, having its rays issuing from a Rainbow,
point lower than the real sun, and in a line coming from ' v—
beneath the horizon, would consequently form a bow
higher than the true one AB. And the shores, by
which that narrow part of the sea is bounded, would be¬
fore the sun’s actual setting intercept its rays from the
surface of the water, and cause the bow AC, which I
suppose to be produced by the reflection, to disappear
before the other.”
The marine or sea how is a phenomenon which may
he frequently observed in a much agitated sea, and is
occasioned by the wind sweeping part of the waves, and
carrying them aloft ; which when they fall down are
refracted by the sun’s rays, which paint the colours of
the bow just as in a common shower. These bows are
often seen when avesseljs sailingwithconsiderahie force,
and dashing the waves around her, which are raised
partly bv the action of the ship and partly by the force
of the wind, and, falling down, they form a rainbow j
and they are also often occasioned by the dashing of the
waves against the rocks on shore.
In the Philosophical Transactions, it is observed by
F. Bourzes, that the colours of the marine rainbow are
less lively, less distinct, and of shorter continuance, than
those of the common how ; and there are scarcely above
two colours distinguishable, a dark yellow on the side
next the sun, and a pale green on the opposite side.
But they are more numerous, there being sometimes 20
or 30 seen together.
To this class of bows may be referred a kind of white
or colourless rainbows, which Mentzelius and others af¬
firm to have seen at noon-day. M. Marlotte, in his
fourth Essai de Physique, says, these bows are formed
in mists, as the others are in showers j and adds, that he
has seen several both after sunrising and in the night.
The want of colours he attributes to the smallness of the
vapours which compose the mist j but perhaps it is ra¬
ther from the exceeding tenuity of the little vesiculae of
the vapour, which being only little watery pellicle*
bloated with air, the rays of light undergo but little re¬
fraction in passing out of air into them ; too little to se¬
parate the differently coloured rays, &c. Hence the ray*
are reflected from them, compounded as they came, that
is, white. Rohault mentions* coloured rainbow’s on# i
the grass 5 formed by the refractions of the sun’s rays in Phytiqut.
the morning dew. Rainbows have been also produced
bv the reflection of the sun from a river *, and in the
Philosophical Transactions, vol. I. p. 294. we have an
account of a rainbow', which must have been formed by
the exhalations from the city of London, when the sun
had been set 20 minutes, and consequently the centre of
the bow wTas above the horizon. The colours were the
same as in the common rainbow, but fainter.
It has often been made a subject of inquiry among the
curious how there came to be no rainbow before the
flood, which is thought by some to have been the case,
from its being made a sign of the covenant which the
Deity was pleased to make with man after that event.
Mr Whitehurst, in his Inquiry into the Original State
and Formation oj the Earth, p. >73» &c. endeavours to
establish it as a matter of great probability at least, that
the antediluvian atmosphere was so uniformly temperate
as never to be subject to storms, tempests, or rain, and
of course it could never exhibit a rainbow. For our own
part, we cannot see how the earth at that period could
d©
Libo'*
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bit
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Tr
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Br
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Ar
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scr
sto
onl
at
am
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the
WO1
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and
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IJnbow* do without rain any more than at present ; and it appears
< to us from Scripture equally probable that the rainbow
was seen beiore the flood as after it. It. was then, how¬
ever, made a token of a certain covenant; and it would
unquestionably do equally well for that purpose if it had
existed before as if it had not.
Lunar Rainbow. The moon sometimes also exhi¬
bits the phenomenon of an iris or rainbow by the re¬
fraction of her rays in drops of rain in the night time.
This phenomenon is very rare. In the Philosophical
Transactions for 1783, however, we have an account of
three seen in one year, and all in the same place, com¬
municated in two letters by Marmaduke Tunstall, Esq.
The first was seen 27th February 1782, at Greta
Bridge, Yorkshire, between seven and eight at night,
and appeared “ in tolerably distinct colours, similar to a
solar one, but more faint: the orange colour seemed to
predominate. It happened at full moon ; at which time
alone they are said to have been always seen. Though
Aristotle is said to have observed two, and some others
have been seen bySnellius, &c. I can only find two de¬
scribed with any accuracy ; viz. one by Plot, in his Hi¬
story of Oxfordshire, seen by him in 1675, though with¬
out colours ; the other seen by a Derbyshire gentleman
at Glapwell, near Chesterfield, described by Thoresbv,
and inserted in N° 331. 0f the Philosophical Transac¬
tions: this was about Christmas, 1710, and said to have
had all the colours of the iris Solaris. The night was
windy ; and though there was then a drizzling rain and
dark cloud, in which the rainbow was reflected, it pro¬
ved afterwards a light frost.”
Two others were afterwards seen by Mr Tunstall ;
one on July the 30th, about n o’clock, which lasted
about a quarter of an hour, without colours. The other,
which appeared on Friday October 18, was “ perhaps
the most extraordinary one of the kind ever seen. It
was first visibleaboutnine o’clock, and continue.d, though
with very different degrees of brilliancy, till past two.
At first, though a strongly marked bow, it was without
colours ; but afterwards they were very conspicuous
and vivid in the same form as in the solar, though faint¬
er ; the red, green, and purple, were most distinguish¬
able. About twelve it was the most splendid in ap¬
pearance ; its arc was considerably a smaller segment of
a circle than a solar ; its south-east limb first began to
fail, and a considerable time before its final extinction:
the wind was very high, nearly due west, most part of
the time, accompanied with a drizzling rain. It is a
singular circumstance, that three of these phenomena
should have been seen in so short a time in one place, as
they have been esteemed ever since the time of A ristotle,
who is said to have been the first observer of them,
and saw only two in 50 years, and since by Plot and
Thnresby, almost the only two English authors who
have spoke of them, to be exceeding rare They seem
evidently to be occasioned by a refraction in a cloud or
turbid atmosphere, and in general are indications of
stormy and rainy weather : so bad a season as the late
summer having, I believe, seldom occurred in England.
1 horesby, indeed, says, the one he obseivi d was suc¬
ceeded by several days of fine serene weather. One
particular, rather singular, in the second, viz. of July
the 30th, was its being six days after the full of the
tnoon ; and the last, though of sp long a duration, was
[ 627 ]
R A I
three days before the full; that of the 27th of Febru¬
ary was exactly at the full, which used to be judged the
only time they could be seen, though in the Encyclo¬
pedia there is an account that Weidler observed one in
1719, in the first quarter of the moon, with faint co¬
lours, and in very calm weather. No lunar iris, I ever
heard or read of, lasted near so long as that on the 18th
instant, either with or without colours.”
In the Gentleman’s Magazine for August 1788 we
have an account of a lunar rainbow by a correspondent
who saw it. 41 On Sunday evening the 17th of Au¬
gust (says he), after two days, on both of which, par¬
ticularly the former, there had been a great deal of
rain, together with lightning and thunder, just as the
clocks were striking nine, 23 hours after full
looking through my window, I was struck with the an-
pearance of something in the sky, which seemed like a
rainbow. Having never seen a rainbow by night, I
thought it a very extraordinary phenomenon’, and ha¬
stened to a place where there were no buildings to ob¬
struct my view of the hemisphere : here I found that
the phenomenon was no other than a lunar rainbow;
the moon was truly ‘ walking in brightness,’ brilliant
as she could be ; not a cloud was to be seen near her;
and over against her, toward the north-west, or perhaps
rather more to the north, was a rainbow, a vast arch,
perfect in all its parts, not interrupted or broken as
rainbows frequently are, but unremittedly visible from
one horizon to the other. In order to give some idea
of its extent, it is necessary to say, that as I stood to-
wa.d the western extremity of the parish of Stoke
Newington, it seemed to take its rise from the west of
Hampstead, and to end, perhaps, in the river Lea,
the eastern boundary of Tottenham ; its colour was
white, cloudy, or grayish, but a part of its western leg
seemed to exhibit tints of a faint sickly green. 1 con¬
tinued viewing it for some time, till it began to rain;
and at length the rain increasing and the sky growing
more hazy, 1 returned home about a quarter or 20 mi¬
nutes past nine, and in ten minutes came out again ; but
by that time all was over, the moon was darkened by
clouds, and the rainbow of course vanished.”
Marine Rainbow, or Sea-bow. See the article
Rainbow.
Rainbow Stone. See Moon Slone,
RAISINS, grapes prepared by suffering them to
remain on the vine till they are perfectly ripe, and then
drying them in the sun, or by the heat of an oven.
The difference between raisins dried in the sun and
those dried in ovens, is very obvious : the former are
sweet and pleasant, but the latter have a latent acidity
with the sweetness that renders them much less agree¬
able.
rI he common way of drying grapes for raisins, is to
tie two or three bunches of them together while yet on
the vine, and dip them into a hot lixivium of wood-
ashes, with a little of the oil of olives in it. This dis¬
poses them to shrink and wrinkle ; and after this they
are left on the vine three or four days separated on
sticks in an horizontal situation, and then dried in th«
sun at leisure, after being cut from the tree. The finest
and best raisins are those called in some places Damas¬
cus and Lube raisins; which are distinguished from the
ethers by their size and figure: they are flat and wrinkled
4 R- 2 0#
Raintiov,
Ibusili':.
UAL t 628
on the surface, soft and juicy within, and near an inch
ongj aril, when fresh and growing on the bunch, axe
of the size and shape of a large olive. _
The raisins of the sun, and jar-raisins, are all dried
by the heat of the sun ; and these are the sorts used
medicine. However, all the kmds have much the same
virtues : they are all nutritive and balsamic , they are
allowed to be attenuant, are said to be good in neph
tic complaints, and are an ingredient in pectoral decoc¬
tions: ill which cases, as also in all others where astnn-
gency is not required of them, they should have the
stones carefully taken out.
Raisin-mne. See Wine.
RAKKATH, in Ancient Geography,* town ot Up¬
per Galilee, thought to be Tiberias, (1: but
this is denied by Reland, who says that Kakkath was a
town of the tribe ot Naphthali.
RAKE is a well known instrument with teeth, by
which the ground is divided. See Agriculture, n-
Rake also means a loose, disorderly, vicious, and
thoughtless fellow'. r , , ,, , • 1
Hake of a Ship, is all that part of her hull which
hangs over both ends of her keel. That wh.ch ,s be-
fore is called the fore rake or rake forward, and that
part which is at the setting on of the stern-post is called
the rake-aft or afterward.
RALEIGH, Sir Walter, fourth son ot Walter
Raleigh, Esq. of Fardel, in the parish of Cornwood in
Devonshire, was born in 1552 at Hayes, in the parish
of Budley, a farm belonging to his father. About the
year 1 568, he was sent to Oriel college in Oxford,
where he continued but a short time ; for in the to low-
inp- year he embarked for France, being one of the
hundred volunteers, commanded by Henry Champer-
non, who, with other English troops, were sent by
Queen Elizabeth to assist the queen of Navarre in de¬
fending the Protestants. In this service he continued
for five or six years*, after which he returned to Lon¬
don, and probably resided in the Middle Temple. But
liis enterprising genius would not suffer him to lemam
long in a state of inactivity. In i577 or I57^> be
embarked for the Low Countries with the troops sent
by the queen to assist the Dutch against the Spaniards,
and probably shared the glory of the decisive victory
over Don John of Austria in 1578. On his return to
England, a new enterprise engaged his attention. His
half brother, Sir Humphrey Gilbert, havinsr obtained a
patent to plant and inhabit some parts of North Ame¬
rica, Mr Raleigh embarked in this adventure *, but
meeting with a Spanish fleet, after a smart engagement
they returned, without success in 1579'
The following year, the king of Spain, in conjunc¬
tion with the pope, having projected a total conquest
of the English dominions, sent troops to Ireland to as¬
sist the Desmonds in the Munster rebellion. Raleigh
obtained a captain’s commission under Lord Grev of
Wilton, then deputy of Ireland, and embarked for that
kingdom 5 where, by bis conduct and resolution, he was
principally instrumental in putting an end to the rebel¬
lious attempt. He returned to England *, and attract¬
ed the notice of Queen Elizabeth, owing, as we are
told in Naunton’s Fragmenta Rcga/iii, to the following
accidental piece of gallantry. The queen, as she was
©ne day taking a walk, being stopped by a splashy place
] R A L
in the road, our gallant young soldier took off his new Raleigbj
plush mantle, and spread it on the ground. Her ma- *-
jesty trod gently over the fair foot-cloth, surprised and
pleased with the adventure. He ivas a handsome man,
and remarkable for his gentility of address.
The queen admitted him to her court, and employed
him first as an attendant on the French ambassador Si¬
nner on his return home, and afterwards to escort the
duke of Anjou to Antwerp. During this excursion he
became personally known to the piiuce of 0iangej>
from whom, at his return, be brought special acknow¬
ledgments to the queen, who now frequently conversed
with him. But the inactive life of a courtier did not
suit the enterprising spirit of Mr Raleigh. Jn the year
be embarked with Ins brother, bn Uumphiey
Gilbert, on a second expedition to Newfoundland, in a
ship called the Raleigh, which he built at his own ex¬
pence; but was obliged to return on account of an in¬
fectious distemper on board. He was, however, so
little affected by this disappointment, that he now laid
before the queen and council a proposal for exploring
the continent ot North America; and in 15^4 obtained
a patent empowering him to possess such countries as lie
should discover in that part of the globe. Accordingly
Mr Raleigh fitted out two ships at his own expence,
which sailed in the month of April, and returned to
England about the middle of September, reporting that
they had discovered and taken possession oi a fine coun¬
try’called Windangocoa, to which the queen ga\e the
name of Virginia. About this time he was elected
knight of the shire for the county of Devon, and soon
after received the honour of knighthood ; and to en¬
able him to carry on his designs abroad, the queen
granted him a patent for licensing the venders of wine
throughout the kingdom. In 1585 lie sent a fleet of
seven ships to Virginia, commanded by his relation Sir
Richard Greenville, who left a colony atRoanah of 107
persons, under the government of Mr Lane ; and by the
establishment of this colony he first imported tobacco
into England. See Nicotiana In the same year
Sir Walter Raleigh obtained a grant of 12,000 acres of
the forfeited lands in the county of Cork in Ireland —
About the same time he was made seneschal of the
duchy of Cornwall, and warden of the stanneiies ; and
grew into such favour with the queen, that even Leices¬
ter was jealous of his influence.
In 1587, he sent another colony of 150 men to V ir¬
ginia, with a governor, Mr John White, and 12 assist¬
ants. About this time we find our knight distinguish¬
ed by the titles of Captain of the qiteen's guards, and
Lieutenant-general of Cornwall. I rom this period to the
year 1594, he was continually engaged in projecting
new expeditions, sending succours to the colonies abroad,
defending the kingdom from the insults ot the Spani¬
ards, and transacting parliamentary business, with equal
ability and resolution. Whilst thus employed, he was
publicly charged, in a libel written by the infamous
Jesuit Parsons, with being an Atheist; a groundless
and ridiculous imputation. In 1594, he obtained bom
the queen a grant ot the manor of Sherborne in Dor¬
setshire, where he built a magnificent house: hot Sir
Walter fell under the queen’s displeasure on account of
an intrigue with the daughter ot Sir Nic olas L icg-
morton, one of the maids of honour ; however, be mar¬
ried the lady, and lived with her in great conjugal har¬
mony.
R A. Hi [ 62c)
mony. Daring his disgrace at court, he projected the
conquest of Guiana in South America, and in 159 ~
sailed for that country ; of which having taken posses¬
sion, after defeating the Spaniards who were settled
there, he returned to England the same year, and soon
after published an account of his expedition. Jn the
following year he was one of the admirals in the success¬
ful expedition against Cadiz, under the command of
Howard and the earl ol Essex j and in 1597 he sailed
with the same commanders against the Azores. Soon
after these expeditions, we find him assiduously engaged
in parliamentary business, and a distinguished personage
in jousts and tournaments, in 1600 be was sent on a
joint embassy with Lord Cobham to Flanders, and at
his return made governor ol Jersey.
Queen Elizabeth died in the beginning of the year
1603 j and with her llaleigh’s glory and felicity sunk,
never to rise again. Upon the accession of James, Sir
Walter lost his interest at court, was stripped ol his pre¬
ferments, and accused of a plot against the king. He
was arraigned at Winchester, and, on his trial, insulted
with the most shocking brutality by the famous Coke,
-attorney general, whose sophistical vociferation influen¬
ced the jury to convict him Without the least proof of
guilt. After a month’s imprisonment, however, in daily
] Ram
He wrote A History of England, commencing with the n duh
Stuarts, which is much esteemed 5 as were his poll- if
ica essays and pamphlets, some of which were looked Ramese*.
upon as master-pieces. His last publication, The Case ' * 
ol Authors by Profession, is an excellent and eutertain-
ing performance. He died in i“62.
KAivi. See Ovts, Mammalia Index.
Battering Ram, in antiquity, a military engine used
to batter down the walls of besieged places. See Bat-
te/uxg Bam.
Ham's Head, in a ship, is a great block belonging
to ti.e fore and mam haulyards. It has three shivers in
>t, in which the haulyards are put j and in a hole at the
end are reeved the ties.
HAWAIIAN, a solemn season of fasting among the
Mahometans. See MahomltAnism.
Kama H, in Ancient Geography, a town of Benja¬
min, near t_>ibea, (Judges) , called Rama of Saul (1 Sam.
xxw.), six miles from Jerusalem to the north 5 memora¬
ble lor the story of the Levite and his concubine : Taken
and iortihed by Baasa king of Israel, in order to annoy
the kingdom ol Judah. i'his Rama is mentioned Isa. x.
Jer. xxxi. and Math. ii. and is to he distinguished from
Hama 0J 6Wt/, 1 .Sam.xix. called nUoliamatha, 1 Sam.
1. 19. and Ramatfuiim Zophim, ibid. i. 1. which lay a
0 . • * , 7 . *• xLumainarm z,opium, ibid. 1. 1. which lav a
expectation ol Im execution, he ,,a, reprieved, auo »e,rt great waj to the west, towards Joppa, near Lvdila
to the lower: and Ih* estates were given to Car, earl of . Maccali. ii. the birth place of Samuel ; adjoinn,,, to
Somerset, the king’s favourite. During this confine- the nmnntulnc rd    .1 , ° .
Somerset, the king’s favourite. During this confine¬
ment, he wrote many of his most valuable pieces, parti¬
cularly his History of the World. In March, 1015, af¬
ter i6 years imprisonment, he obtained bis liberty, and
immediately began to prepare for another voyage to
Gu ana. In August 1616, the king granted Imn a very
ample commission for that purpose; and in July the
year following, he sailed from Plymouth, but, strange
as it may appear, it is most certain that the whole scheme
was revealed to the Spaniards by the king himself, and
thus nece-sarily rendered abortive.
He returned to England in 1618, where he yvas soon
after seized, imprisoned, and beheaded; not for any pre¬
tended misdemeanor on the late expedition, but in con¬
sequence of bis former atta nder. The truth of the
matter is, he was sacrificed by the pusillanimous monarch
to appease the Spaniards ; yvho, whilst Raieigh lived,
thought every part of their dominions in danger. He
was executed in Old Palace Yaul, ami buried in St
Margaret’s adjoining, in the 66tb year of his age. His
behaviour on the scaffold was manly, unaffected, cheer¬
ful, and easy. Being asked by the executioner which
way he would lay his head, he answered, “ So the heart
he right, it is no matter which way the head lies.” He
was a man of admirable parts, extensive knowledge, un¬
daunted resolution, and strict honour and honesty. He
■was the author of a great many works, some of which
have not been printed.
KALLUS, the Rail, a genus of birds belonging to
the order of grailae. See ORNITHOLOGY Index.
RALPH, J AMES, an ingenious historical and political
writer, of whose birth and country nothing is exactly
known. He was first known as a schoolmaster in Phila¬
delphia in North America. He came to England about
the beginning of the reign of George l. and wrote
some things in the dramatic way, which were not re¬
ceived with gieat applause ; but though he did not suc¬
ceed as a poet, he was a very ingenious prose-writer,
the mountains of Ephraim, and the place of his resi¬
dence, 1 Sam. xv. &c. (Joseph.). Called Ramida in
tie lowei age, (Gul. 1 yrius). There is here a con¬
vent ol the fathers of the Holy Land, inhabited only
by Portuguese, Spaniards, and Italians.
RAMATH-mizpe, (Joshua xiii.); Ramoth-Masphe,
(Septuagint, Vulgate); Ramothin Gilead, or Remmoth
GnUiiid, (Seventy) ; a town in that tract of Gilead cal-
leu Maspha, or ALixpe, one of the cities of refuge.
RA M A ZZ I N I, Bernardin, an Italian physician,
born at Carpi near Modena in 1633. He was professor
ol physic in the university of Modena for 18 years; and
in 1700 accepted an invitation from Padua, where he
was made rector of the college; and died in 1714.
His works were collected and published in London,
l 716; of which, his treatise De Morhis Artijicum, “ Of
thepecu iar maladies of artificers,” will always be esteem¬
ed useful and curious.
RAMEKINS, a fortress of the United Netherlands,
on tlie south coast of the island of Walcherin in the
province ol Zealand. One of the cautionary towns
given to Queen Elizabeth tor the repayment of the
charges she had been at for the defence of this republic
in it v infancy. Four miles east of Flushing; in N. Lat.
51. 34. E. Long. 4. 24.
RAME8ES, in Ancient Geography, a town built by
the Israelites during their bondage in Egypt, and from
which the Exodus took place, and which must have
been towards and not far from the Arabian gulf,
seeirtg in the third station the Israelites arrived on its
shore.
Rameses, king of the Lower Egypt when Jacob
went thither with his family, in the 1706th year be¬
fore the Christian era. Ancient authors mention se¬
veral other kings of Egypt of the same name ; and it is
thought that one of those princes erected in the temple
of the sun at Thebes, the magnificent obelisk which the
emperor Constantine caused to be removed to Alexan¬
dria
R A M
t 630 ]
RAM
Hameses drk in the year 334 > and that prince dying, Ins son
|| Constantins had the obelisk transported trom Alexan-
Jlamillies. dj-Ja to Rome in 352, where it was erected in the grand
 v  Circus. Its height was 132 feet. When the Goths
sacked the city of Rome in 409, they overthrew this
obelisk, which continued buried in the sand till the time
of Sixtus V. in 1587, when it was found broken in three
pieces 5 which being joined together, it was set up in
the square of St John de Jjateran. On the foui sides of
this wonderful obelisk are a number of figures and hie-
roglyphical characters, which, according to the expli¬
cation of Ammianus Marcellinus, contain the praises of
Kameses.
RAMIFICATION, the production of boughs or
branches, or of figures resembling branches.
RAMILLIES, a small village of Brabant, in the
Netherlands, 12 miles north ol Namur, and 22
south-east of Brussels. Lat. 50. 51. Long. 4. 48.
Famous for the battle fought by the allies commanded
by the duke of Marlborough and M. d’Auverquirque,
against that of the two crowns, commanded by the duke
of Bavaria and Marshal Villeroy, the 22d of May 1 706.
-See Britain, N° 357.
The troops destined to compose the army of the al¬
lies being joined at the camp of Borchloon the 20th of
May, halted the 21st. On the 22d the army marched
from Borchloon in four columns, and posted itself the
same day, with the right towards the mill of Quorem,
•xtending with the left towards Blehen : from this camp
was discovered the army of the two crowns, which was
encamped with the left at Over Fspen, and the right
towards the wood ofCliapiaraux,Heylissemin their front,
and Tirlemont in the rear. It was resolved the same
day to march the next morning towards the plain of
Meerdorp or Mierdau, to view the posture of the ene¬
mies, and determine what would be the most proper
means of attacking them according to the movement
they should make. To this end, an advanced guard of
600 horse and all the quarter-masters of the army were
sent forward on the 23d at break of day.
The same morning about four, the army marched in
eight columns toward the aforesaid plain. The advan¬
ced guard and the quarter masters arrived about eight
at the height of Meerdorp or Mierdau ; from whence
the army of the enemy was seen in motion : a little after
it was perceived that the enemy was marching through
'the plain of Mount St Andrew in four columns, of which
information was given to the duke of Mai borough and
M. d’Auverquirque, who immediately repaired to the
said height j and by the time these generals were ar¬
rived there, the head of the enemy’s army already ap¬
peared at the tomb of Ottomont upon the causeway, near
the Mebaigne *, whereupon the duke of Marlborough
and M. d’Auverquirque made the army advance with
all expedition.
The enemy, as fast as they advanced, ranged in order
of battle, with their right towards the tomb of Otto¬
mont upon the Mehaigne, extending with their left to
Autr’Eglise : having Tranquiers in front of the right,
into which they had thrown several battalions of infan¬
try and 14 squadrons of dragoons, who had dismounted
their horses to support them. They had placed many
of their infantry and a considerable part of their artil¬
lery in the village of Ramillies, which fronted the right
of their main body, as well as into the village of Offuz,
5
which fronted the left of their infantry, and into the qairiL
village of Autr’Eglise, quite on their left. The front Ramis'
between the village ot Ramillies and Autr’Eglise was ram
covered by a small stream of water, which rendered the
meadows in some places marshes, and also by several
roads covered with hedges •, which difficulties prevent¬
ed our cavalry of the right wing from coming to ac¬
tion. As fast as the army of the allies arrived it was
ranged in order of battle j with the left towards Bonnef,
and the right towards Eolz, and every thing was dispo¬
sed in order to attack. To this end, four battalions were
detached to attack the village of Franquenies, and 12
battalions to attack the village of Ramillies, which were
to be supported by the whole infantry.
Our artillery began to cannonade the enemy at one j
at about two, the attack began with the post of Fran¬
quenies, where our infantry had the good fortune to drive
the enemy trom the hedges, where they were advantage¬
ously posted, and at the same time all the cavalry of our
left wing advanced to attack that of our enemy’s right;
soon after all was in action. Whilst the cavalry were
engaged, the village of Ramillies was likewise attacked,
and forced after a vigorous resistance.
The battle lasted about two hours, and was pretty
obstinate; but so soon as our cavalry had gained ground
enough to attack the enemy in flank, they began to
give way ; at the same time all their inlantry were put
in disorder, so that the whole retreated, in great confu¬
sion. The cavalry of their left wing formed a little
upon the high ground, between Offuz and Mount St
Andrew, to favour their retreat; but alter the infantry
and cavalry ot our right wing had filed off between the
bottom of the village of Ramillies and Qlluz, the whole
army marched in several columns to attack the enemy
anew ; hut they gave wray before we could come up with
them, and retired in great confusion, some towards the
defile of the abbey De la Ramee and towards Dongel-
berge, others towards Judogne, and others again toward*
Hougarde. They were pursued all night so closely that
they were obliged to abandon all their artillery and bag-
gage, part of wThich was found at Judogne and at Hou-
garde, with their chests of ammunition.
The enemy lost above 30,000 men, 60 cannon, eight
mortars, standards, colours, baggage, &c. ; we about
3000. The rest of the campaign was spent in the sieges
of Gstend, Menin, and Aeth. In fourteen days the
duke defeated and dicpersed the best appointed army the
French ever had, and recovered all Spanish Brabant, the
marquisite of the holy Roman empire. 1 he army of the
enemy consisted of 76 battalions and 142 squadrons, in¬
cluding the king’s houshold troops (LaMatson du Boi) ;
and the army of the allies was 74 battalions and 123
squadrons. Considering the importance ol the victory,
the loss of the allies was very small, not above lioobe-
. ing killed, and 2600 wounded.
RAM1SSERAM, a small island about 20 miles from
that of Mannar, and the nearest channel of communica¬
tion between Ceylon and the continent ot India. M hen
Mr Cordiner and his companions landed here in 1804,
they entered the nearest or place erected lor
the accommodation of strangers, half a mile beyond
which is the grand pagoda, or temple of Shivven, hav¬
ing nothing remaikable in its external appearance, when
seen from a distance; but on a nearer inspection it is al¬
most impossible to describe the ornaments and laboured
workmanship
inssc
un
! oplia-
RAM [ 6
workmanship that strike the eye. Yet these are far
outdone bv the magnificence of the interior parts of the
pagoda. Upon this island there are great numbers of
small horses, constantly employed in conveying travel¬
lers and in transporting goods.
After dinner a number of brahmins with five well
dressed dancing girls waited upon Mr Cordiner and his
companions at the choultry, who very agreeably amused
and entertained them for upwards of an hour, and would
have continued much longer, had they not been inform¬
ed that they were at liberty to depart.
The men of this island are stout, and the females have
something in their appearance very engaging •, they are
remarkably clean, and dress with great neatness. They
are seen only by accident, for they keep out of the wav
of travellers with as much caution as possible. The or¬
dinary dress of the brahmins consists only of a piece of
muslin folded about the middle, and a string composed
of nine threads is used as an ornament for the neck.
They shave «heir heads quite bare, and in general wear
them uncovered 5 but turbans and jackets are occasion¬
al iy worn by some of them.
So abundant are black cattle on this small island,
that it is no uncommon thing to see numbers of them
lying in the streets, none of which are ever killed, the
food of the inhabitants being entirely composed of milk
and vegetable productions. The island being almost
wholly covered with shrubs, is verdant and beautiful,
yet no vestige of a corn field is to be met with, nor any
other appearance of cultivation, if we except the larte
trees by which the roads are shaded, and a few groves
^f cocoa-nut trees. 1 he nature of the soil in general is
sandy, like that of iVIanaar, and the- circumference of
the whole island does not appear to exceed 20 miles.
The houses on it are far superior to the ordinary dwell¬
ings of India j but the buildings sacred to divine wor¬
ship, and the choultries for the accommodation of stran¬
gers, are truly magnificent, and must have been very
expensive.
In a word, when Ramisseram is contrasted with the
indigent and barren island of Manaar, only 20 miles
distant, it must be pronounced rich, fruitful, and luxu¬
riant, exhibiting so much liberty and plenty as warm
the heart and kindle in the bosom of every beholder a
lively flame of pleasure.
RAMLA, the modern name of Arimathea. See
Ar IMATHKA.
RAMMER, an instrument used for driving down
stones or piles into tbe ground ; or for beating the earth,
w order to render it more solid for a foundation.
Rammer of a Gun, the Gun-stick; a rod used in
charging of a gun, to drive home the powder, as also
the shot, and the wad which keeps the shot from falling
out.
RAMPANT, in Hera/dry, a term applied to a lion,
leopard, or other beast that stands on its hind legs, and
rears up his fore feet in the posture of climbing, show¬
ing only half hts fiiee, as one eye, &c. It is different
from saliant, in which the beast seems springing for¬
ward as if making a sally.
RAMPART, in Fortification, is an elevation of the
earth round a place capable of resisting the cannon of
an enemy *, and formed into bastions, curtains, &c.
RAMPHASTOS, the Toucan. See Rhamphas-
tos, Ornithology Index,.
] Ram
T R^fAT’ Sc',ttisl1 poet, was born at
Ueadlnlls in Lanarkshire, in October 1686. His father ' , '
was employed in the management of Lord Hopeton’s
mines at that place ; but died while the poet was yet in
his infancy, in consequence of which and the marriage
ot his mother soon after his father’s death, it seems pro¬
bable that during the earlier part of his life he continued
in rather a destitute situation. He remained at Leadhills
till he reached his fifteenth year, and as we have been
assured by the relations of some very old persons who
were the contemporaries of Ramsay, and who died not
many years ago, he was employed in washing, preparing
the lead or* for smelting, and other operations about the
works in which the children of miners and young per¬
sons are usually occupied. The period of his residence
on his native spot is fixed by himself in the following
descriptive verses, which are part of a petition address-
ed to a Club in Edinburgh to be admitted a member.
Of Crawford Moor, born in Leadhill,
Where mineral springs Glengoner fill,
Which joins sweet-flowing Clyde. 
Native of Clydesdale’s upper ward,
Bred filteen summers there.
The extent of Ramsay’s education, it may well be-
presumed, did not exceed what he could derive from the
parish schoolmaster ; and even the acquisition of what
little could thus be obtained, from the circumstances
that attended his early life, must have been often and
greatly interrupted.
In 1701, when he was in his 15th year he was bound
apprentice to a wigmaker in Edinburgh, and it appears
from the record of his children’s birth in the parish regis¬
ter that he continued in the same humble profession till
the year 1716 : lor in that register his designation is
wigmaker. One of the earliest of Ramsay’s productions
now known, an address to the moat happy members of
the Easy Club, appeared in 1712, when he was 26 years
of age, and three years after he was humorously appoint¬
ed their poet laureat. Many of his poems about this
time were published in the form of separate pamphlets.
When he had followed the occupation of a wigmaker for
a considerable time, he at last abandoned it for that of a
bookseller, as being more congenial to the literary turn
of his mind. His detached pamphlets were afterwards
published by him in the year 1721, in one volume 4to,
which was encouraged by a very liberal subscription.
It was advertised as follows in the Edinburgh Evening
Courant. “ The Poems of Allan Ramsay, in a large
quarto volume j fairly printed, with notes, and a com¬
plete glossary (as promised to the subscribers), being
now finished $ ail who have generously contributed to
carrying on of tbe design, may call for their copies as
soon as they please, from the author, at the Mercury,
opposite to Niddry’s wynd, Edinburgh.” The first
volume of bis well known collection, “ The Tea-table
Miscellany,” was published in 1724, after which a se¬
cond volume soon made its appearance ; a third in 1727,
and a fourth after another interval of time. He soon af¬
ter published what is called the Evergreen, being a col¬
lection of Scots poems written by the ingenious prior to
the year 1630. In 1725 appeared his Gentle Shepherd,
part of which, called Patie and Roger, was printed in
1721, and Jenny and Meggy in 1723, the great success.
RAM [ 6
of wlucti induced him to form them afterwards into a
h<* publislietl a second volume of
hi^ poems which was afterwards reprinted in 8vo. I liese
performances so rapidly enlarged the circle ot his tame
and reputation, that in 1731, an edition of h.s poetical
works was published by the booksellers of London, and
two years after they appeared at Dublin. He held an
exten ive correspondence with cotemporary poets, a-
xnong whom we find the facetious Hamilton of Gilbert-
field and the celebrated author of the Cli ice sent him
two epistles From his shop opposite to Nuhlry street,
he removed to one at the east end of the Luckenbooths.
In this shop he continued to sell and lend out hooks till
he was far advanced in yrars-, and we are informed that
he was the first person who established a circulating lib¬
rary i„ Scotland. His collection of Fables appeared in
3730, after which period he may be said to have almost
discontinued the occupation of an author. .
Such, however, wa-, his enterprising spirit, that he
built, at his own exp-nce, the first theatre for dramati¬
cal performances ever known in Edinburgh, which took
place in what is called Carubber’s close, in the year
1736 ; but he did not long enj v his character of ma¬
nager, for the magistrates of Edinburgh required him
to -but it up, as an act of parliament prohibited all
such amusements without a special licence and his ma¬
jesty’s letters patent. It is generally understood that
he relinquished the trade of a bookseller about the year
17^3, being then 69 years of age, and lived the re¬
mainder of his days in a small house erected by himself
on the north side of the Castle-hill. A scorbutic com¬
plaint, attended with excruciating pain, deprived him
of his te^th, and after corroding one of his jaw hones,
put 1 period to his existence on the 7th of June 1758,
in the 71st year of his age.
Ramsay possessed a considerable share of poetical ge¬
nius : Of this his Gentle Shepherd, which will conti¬
nue to he admired as long as the language in which it
is written shall he understood, and especially by the
•natives of North Britain, to whom only the peculiari¬
ties of dialect by which it is distinguished can be fami¬
liar, affords the best proof. Some of his songs may
contain farfetched allusions and childish conceits j but
many of them are equal, if not superior for their pa¬
storal simplicity, to productions of" a similar nature in
any other language. Some of the imitations of the an¬
cients by tins poet are extremely happy, in particular
Horace’s Ode, Vides ut alta stet mve, &c.; and some
of his tales have all the excellencies of that species of
composition. But of a great proportion of his otfum
productions, it may be pronounced with truth that they
are mere prosaic compositions, filled with the most com¬
mon-place observations, and destitute even of the orna¬
ment of smooth versification and correct rhymes.
Ramsay, Andrew Michael, generally known by
the name of the Chevalier Ramsay, was a polite Scots
writer, horn of a good family at Ayr in 1686. His
good parts and learning recommended him to be tutor
,2 ] RAM
to the son of the earl of Wemyss alter which, concei- Ram
ring a disgust at the religion in which he had been edu¬
cated, he in the same ill humour reviewed other Chri¬
stian churches •, and, finding none to his liking, rested
for a while in Deism. While he was m this uncertain
state of mind, he went to Leydenwhere, falling into
the company of one Poiret a mystic divine, he icceived
the infection of mysticism : which prompted him to con¬
sult M. Fenelon, the celebrated archbishop of Cambray,
who had imbibed principles ol the same nature } and
who gained him over to the Catholic religion in 1709.
The subsequent course of his life received its direction
from his friendship and connections with this prelate j
and b' ing appointed governor to the duke de Chateau
Thierry, and the prince de I urenive, he was made a
knight of the ®rder of St Lazarus. He was sent for to
Rome by the chevalier de St George, to undertake the
education of" his children ; hut he found so many in¬
trigues and dissensions on his arrival there in I7^4»
that he obtained the chevalier’s leave to return to Paris.
He died in 1743, in the office of intendant to the duke
of Bouillon, prince de Turenne. The most capital work
of his writing is the Travels 0/Cyrus, which has been
several times printed in English.
Ramsay, The Rev. James, so justly celebrated for
bis philanthropy, was born on the 25th oi July 1733,
at Frasersburgh, a small town in the county of Aberdeen,
North Britain. His descent was honourable, being,
through his father, from the Ramsays of Melrose in
Banffshire, and through his mother, from the Ogilvies
of Purie in Angus. His parents were of characters the
most respectable, but in circumstances by no means af¬
fluent. From his earliest years he discovered a serious
disposition, and a strong thirst for knowledge ; and af¬
ter passing through the course of a Scotch grammar
school education, be was inclined to pursue the studies
requisite to fit him for the profession of a clergyman *,
an inclination with which the wishes of his mother, a
woman of eminent piety, powerfully concurred. Seve¬
ral circumstances, however, conspired to divert him for
a time from his favourite pursuit.
He was educated in the episcopal persuasion; and ha¬
ving been unhappy enough to lose his father while yet
very voung, he found, upon his advancing towards the
state of manhood, that the joint fortunes of himself and
his mother could not hear the expence of a regular edu¬
cation in either of the universities of Oxford or Cam¬
bridge, which he doubtless thought absolutely necessary
to one who aspired to respectability in the church of
England. Yielding therefore to necessity, he resolved
to study surgery and pharmacy; and was with this
bound apprentice to Dr Findlay, a physician (aJ in t ra-
sersburgh. But though obliged to relinquish fora time
his favourite studies, he did not think ignorance excu¬
sable in a surgeon more than in a clergyman, or conceive
that he could ever become eminent in the profession in
which circumstances had placed him, merely by ski m
setting a bone or compounding a medicine. He eter
mined therefore, with the full approbation ol his nias^»
(a") In the remote towns of Scotland the same man generally acts in the triple capacity of physician, surge >
and apothecary.
nsay,
R A M [ 633 ] r a
ta!enta .** ,iteratare. «» «»«», whick must not be omitted.
make himself acquainted with at least the outlines of’the
liberal arts and sciences-, and with this view he repaired
in 175° to the King’s College and university of Aber¬
deen, where he obtained one of the bursaries or exhibi¬
tions which aie there annually bestowed upon such can¬
didates for them as display the most accurate knowledge
of the Latin language. I he small sum of five pounds,
however (which none of these bursaries exceed), was
still inadequate to the expence of residence in college;
but our young student was soon to obtain a more valu¬
able exhibition, and to obtain it likewise by his own
merit.
During the long vacation he returned to his master
Dr Findlay, and was by him intrusted with a very des¬
perate case in surgery, of which his management may be
said to have laid the foundation of his future fortunes.
A female servant of one of the judges of the Court of
Session, who, when the court was not sitting, resided in
the neighbourhood of Frasersburgh, had been so dread¬
fully gored by a bull, that hardly any hopes were en¬
tertained of her recovery ; but Mr Ramsay, to whose
care she was entirely left, treated the wound with such
skilful attention, that, contrary to general expectation,
Ins patient recovered. J his attracted the judge’s no¬
tice, who having informed himself of the young man’s
circumstances and character, recommended him so effec¬
tually to Sir Alexander Ramsay of Balmain, that he
presented him with a bursary of 15 pounds a-year, which
commenced at the next session or term, in the same col¬
lege.
He now prosecuted his studies with comfort: and
though he was detained in college a year longer than
is usual, being obliged, upon his acceptance of a second
bursary, to begin his course anew, he always considered
this as a fortunate circumstance, because it gave him
the celebrated Dr Reid three years for his preceptor,
l^o that great and amiable philosopher he jso recom¬
mended himself by his talents, his industry, and his vir¬
tues, that he was honoured with his friendship to the
tlay ol his death. Nor was it only to his masters that
his conduct recommended him ; Sir Alexander Ramsay*
whom he visited during some of the vacations, was so
well pleased with his conversation, that he promised him
another bursary, in his gift, of 25I. a-year, to commence
immediately on the expiration of that which he enjoy¬
ed. i his promise he performed in the beginning of the
year 1755 > an(l at the solicitation of Dr Findlay, even
paid the money per advance to enable the exhibitioner
to travel for the purpose of improving himself in his pro¬
fession.
Thus provided, Mr Ramsay went to London, and
studied surgery and pharmacy under the auspices of Dr
Macaulay; in whose family he lived for two years, cares¬
sed and esteemed both by him and by his lady. After¬
wards, having passed the usual examination at Surgeons-
hall, he served in his medical capacity for several years in
the royal navy ; but how long he was continued in the
station of a mate, or when and by whom he was first ap¬
pointed surgeon, we have not been able to learn. We
can say, however, upon the best authority, that by his
humane and diligent discharge of his duty in either sta¬
tion, he endeared himself to the seamen, and acquired
the esteem of his officers.
Of his humanity there is indeed one memorable in-
Vol. XVII.' Part II. f
M
- „ . .  — Whilst he acted as
surgeon of the Arundel, then commanded by Captain
(now Vice-admiral Sir Charles) Middleton, a slave-ship
on her passage from Africa to the West Indies fell in
with the fleet to winch the Arundel belonged. An
epidemical distemper, too common in such vessels, had
swept away not only a great number of the unfortunate
negroes, but also many of the ship’s crew, and among
others the surgeon. In this distressed situation the
commander of the Guinea ship applied to the English
commodore for medical assistance; but not a surgeon or
surgeon’s mat. in the whole fleet, except Mr Ramsay,
would expose himself to the contagion of so dangerous
a distemper. Prompted, however, by his. own innate
benevolence, and fully authorised by his no less bene¬
volent commander, the surgeon of the Arundel, regard¬
less of personal danger, and trusting in that God to
whom mercy is more acceptable than sacrifice, went on
boaid the infected ship, visited all the patients, and re¬
mained long enough to leave behind him written direc¬
tions for their future treatment. If a cup of cold water
given in charity be entitled to a reward, how much
more such an action as this ? But the rewards of Chri¬
stianity are not immediate. Mr Ramsay indeed escaped
the contagion ; but on his return to his own ship, just
as he had got on the deck, he fell and broke his thigh¬
bone ; by which he was confined to his apartment for
ten months, and rendered in a small degree lame through
the remainder of his life.
The fearless humanity which he displayed on this
occasion gained him the friendship and esteem of Sir
Charles Middleton, which no future action of his life
had the smallest tendency to impair; but the fracture
el his thigh-bone and his subsequent lameness determin¬
ed him to quit the navy, and once more turn his
thoughts towards the church. Accordingly, while the
Arundel lay at St Christopher’s, he opened his views to
some ot the principal inhabitants of that island, by whom
he was so strongly recommended to the bishop of Lon¬
don, that on his coming home with Sir Charles Mid¬
dleton, vyho warmly jojned in the recommendation, he
was admitted into orders ; after which he immediate¬
ly returned to St Christopher’s, where he was present¬
ed by the governer to two rectories, valued at 700I. a-
year.
As soon as he took possession of his livings, in 1763,
he married Miss Rebecca Akers, the daughter of a
planter of the best family-connections in the island, and
began to regulate his household on the pious plan incul¬
cated in his Essay on the Treatment andConversionof the
African Slaves in the British Sugar Colonies. He sum¬
moned all his own slaves daily to the prayers of the fa¬
mily, when he took an opportunity of pointing out to
them their duty in the plainest terms, reproving those
that had done amiss, and commending such as had shown
any thing like virtue ; but he confessed that his occa¬
sions for reproof were more frequent than for commen¬
dation. As became his office and character, he incul¬
cated upon others what he practised himself, and knew
to be equally the duty of all. “ On his first settlement
as a minister in the West Indies, he made some public
attempts to instruct slaves. He began to draw up some
easy plain discourses for their instruction. He invited
them to attend, on Sunday, at particular hours. He
appointed hours at home to instruct such sensible slaves
4 L as
Uamiajc
R A M
Aam.ay. as would of themselves attend. He repeatedly exhorted
   i their masters to encourage such in their attendance, lie
recommended the French custom, of beginning and end¬
ing work, by prayer. But inconceivable is the listless¬
ness with which be was heard, and bitter was the cen¬
sure heaped on him in return. It was quickly suggest¬
ed, and generally believed, that he wanted to interrupt
the work of slaves, to give them time, forsooth, to say
their prayers j that he aimed at the making of them
Christians, to render them incapable of being good
slaves. In one word, he stood, in opinion, a rebel con¬
vict against the interest and majesty of plantership. And
as the Jews say, that in every punishment, with which
they have been proved, since the bondage of Fgypt,
there has been an ounce of the golden calf of Horeb ;
so might he say, that in every instance of prejudice (and
they were not a few) with which, till within a year or
two of bis departure from the country, he was exercised,
there was an ounce of his fruitless attempts to improve
the minds of slaves. In the bidding prayer, he had in¬
serted a petition for the conversion of those persons.
But it was deemed so disagreeable a momento, that se¬
veral white people, on account of it, left off attending
divine service. He wTas obliged to omit the prayer en¬
tirely, to try and bring them back. In short, neither
were the slaves at that time desirous of being taught,
nor were their masters inclined to encourage them.”
That he wras hurt by this neglect cannot be question¬
ed, for he had a mind benevolent, warm, and irritable j
but he still retained many friends amongst the most wor¬
thy members of the community j and as he was consci¬
ous of having done nothing more than his duty, he con¬
soled himself with reflecting, that those are “ blessed
whom men revile, and persecute, and speak all manner
of evil against falsely, for the sake of the gospel.”
Although his serious studies were now theological,
he considered himself as answerable to God, his country,
and his own family, for a proper use of every branch of
knowledge which he possessed. He therefore took the
charge of several plantations around him in the capaci¬
ty of a medical practitioner •, and attended them with
unremitting diligence, and with great success. Thus
he lived till the year 1777, when relinquishing the prac¬
tice of physic entirely, he paid a visit to the place of
his nativity, which he had not seen since 1755. His
mother, whose latter days he had made comfortable by
a handsome annuity, had been dead for some years •,
but he rewarded all who had been attentive to her, or
in early life serviceable to himself; and he continued
the pension to a sister who had a numerous family, for
which her husband was unable to provide.
After remaining three weeks in Scotland, and near a
year in F.ngland, during which time he was admitted
into the confidence of Lord George Germaine, secre¬
tary of state for the American department, Mr Ramsay
was appointed chaplain to Admiral Barrington, then
going out to take a command in the West Indies. Un¬
der this gallant officer, and afterwards under Lord Rod¬
ney, he was present at several engagements, where he
displayed a fortitude and zeal for the honour of his
country which would not have disgraced the oldest ad¬
miral. To the navy, indeed, he seems to have been
strongly attached j and be wrote, at an early period of
his life, an Essay on the Duty and Qualifications of a
Sea-officer, with such a knowledge of the service as
RAM
would have done honour to the pen of the most ex¬
perienced commander. Of the first edition of this es¬
say the profits were by its benevolent author appro¬
priated to the Magdalen and British lying-in hospitals,
as those of the second and third (which last was pub¬
lished about the period of which we now write) were
to the maritime school, or, in the event of its failure,
to the maritime society.
Although caressed by both the admirals under whom
he served, and having such influence with the latter as
to be able to render essential services to the Jews and
other persons whom he thought harshly treated at the
capture of St Eustatius, Mr Ramsay once more quitted
the sea-service, and retired to his pastoral charge in th#
island of St Christopher’s. There, however, though
the former animosities against him had entirely sub¬
sided, and though his friendship was now solicited by
every person of consequence in the island, he remained
but a little while. Sick of the life of a planter and of
the prospect of slavery around him, he resigned his
livings, bade adieu to the island, and returned to Eng¬
land with his wife and family in the end of the year
1781. Immediately on his arrival, he was, through
the interest of his steady friend Sir Charles Middleton,
presented to the livings of Teston and Nettlestead in
the county of Kent.
Here he was soon determined, by the advice of those
whom he most respected, to publish an Ewoy, which had
been written many years before, on the Treatjnent and
Conversion of AJmcan Slaves in the Eritish Sugar Colo¬
nies. The controversy in which this publication invol¬
ved him, and the acrimony with which it was carried
on, are so fresh in the memory of all our readers, that
no man who thinks of the narrow' limits within which
our biographical articles must be confined, will blame
us for not entering into a detail of the particulars.—
Torrents of obloquy were poured upon the benevolent
author by writers who were unfair enough to conceal
their names ; and it must be confessed, that his replies
abounded with sarcasms, which the most rational friends
to the cause which he supported woulel not have been
sorry to see blotted from his pages. 1 he provocation,
however, which he received was great 5 and Mr Ram¬
say, though an amiable, virtuous, and pious man, had
a warmth of temper, which, though not deserving of
praise, wrill be censured by none who reflect on the trail-
ties of our common nature. That the particular calum¬
nies propagated against him on this occasion were wholly
groundless, it is impossible to doubt, if we admit him to
have been possessed of common understanding. M hen
some years ago a story was circulated, of Swift’s ha¬
ving, when prebendary of Kilroot, been convicted be¬
fore a magistrate of an attempt to commit a rape on
the body of one of his parishioners, it was thought a
sufficient confutation of the calumny to put the retailer
of it in mind, that the dean of St Patrick’s, though
detested by the most powerful faction in the kingdom,
lampooned without dread, and with great severity, the
dean of Ferns for the very crime, of which, had this
anecdote been true, he must have been conscious that
all Ireland knew himself to be guilty ! Such conduct
cannot be reconciled to common sense. Had Swift
been a ravisher, though he might have been penitent,
and reasoned in general terms against giving way to
such licentious passions, he would never have satirised
[ 634 1
II A M
.^smsav,
imsden’s
tichiue.
a particular person for the crime of which he himself
stood convicted. In like manner, had Mr Ramsay been
a tyrant to his own slaves, though he might have argued
against slavery in the abstract, on the broad basis of vir¬
tue and religion, he never could have arraigned for si¬
milar cruelty a number of individuals in the very island
which witnessed his own enormities.
But the melancholy part of the narrative is behind.
The agitation given to his mind by these calumnies,
and the fatigues he underwent in his endeavours to re¬
scue from misery the most helpless portion of the human
iace, contributed to shorten a life in no common degree
useful. He had been for some time afflicted with a pain
in his stomach, for which he was prevailed upon, though
with great reluctance, to try the effects of air and ex¬
ercise, by attempting a journey of 100 miles. But in
London, being seized with a violent vomiting of blood,
he was unable either to proceed or to be removed home;
and in the house of Sir Charles Middleton he ended his
days, on the 20th of July 1789, amidst the groans of
his family, and the tears of many friends.—Thus died a
man, of whom it is not too much to say, that “ the bles¬
sing of many that were ready to perish came upon him;”
for whatever be the fate of the slave-trade (see Sla¬
very), it is certain that his writings have contributed
much to meliorate the treatment of slaves. He left be¬
hind him a widow and three daughters: and his w'orks,
besides those to which we have alluded, consist of a vo¬
lume of Sea-sermons, preached on board his majesty’s
ship the Prince ol Wales, which show him to have been
a master of true pulpit eloquence; and a Treatise on Sig¬
nals, which was certainly written, and we think printed,
though we know not whether it was ever published.
RAMSDEN’s Machine for Dividing Mathema¬
tical Instruments, is an invention by which these
divisions can be performed with exceeding great accu¬
racy, such as would formerly have been deemed incre¬
dible. On discovering the method of constructing this
machine, its inventor, Mr Ramsden of Piccadilly, re¬
ceived 615I. from the commissioners of longitude ; en¬
gaging himself to instruct a certain number of persons,
not exceeding ten, in the method of making and using
this machine from the 28th October 1775 to 28th Oc¬
tober 1777 • a^so binding himself to divide all octants
and sextants by the same engine, at the rate of three shil¬
lings for each octant, and six shillings for each brass sex¬
tant, with Nonius’s divisions to half minutes, for as long
time as the commissioners should think proper to let the
engine remain in his possession. Of this sum of 615I.
paid to Mr Ramsden, 300I. was given him as a reward
for the improvement made by him in discovering the
engine, and the remaining 315I. for his giving up the
property of it to the commissioner's. The following
description of the engine, is that given upon oath by Mr
Ramsden himself.
“ This engine consists of a large wheel of bell-metal,
supported on a mahogany stand, having three legs which
are strongly connected together by braces, so as to make
it perfectly steady. On each leg of the stand is placed
a conical friction pulley, whereon the dividing wheel
rests : to prevent the wheel from sliding off the friction-
pulleys, the bell-metal centre under it turns in a socket
on the top of the stand.
“ The circumference of the wheel is ratched or cut
j(by a method which will be described hereafter) into
[ 635 ]
RAM
2160 teeth, in which an endless screw acts. Six revo- Ramsdcn’*
lutrons of the screw will move the wheel a space equal Machine,
to one degree. 1
Now a circle of brass being fixed on the screw arbor,
having its circumference divided into 60 parts, each
division will consequently answer to a motion of the
wheel of 10 seconds, six of them will be equal to a mi¬
nute, &c.
“ Several different arbors of tempered steel are truly
ground into the socket in the centre of the wheel. The
upper parts of the arbors that stand above the plane are
turned of various sizes, to suit the centres of different
pieces of work to be divided.
“ When any instrument is to be divided, the centre
of it is very exactly fitted on one of these arbors ; and
the instrument is fixed down to the plane of the divid¬
ing wheel, by means of screws, which fit into holes
made in the radii ol the wheel for that purpose.
“ Tbe instrument being thus fitted on the plane of
the wheel, the frame which carries the dividing-point
is connected at one end by finger-screws ivith the frame
which carries the endless screw ; while the other end
embraces that part ol the steel arbor, which stands above
the instrument to be divided, by an angular notch in a
piece of hardened steel ; by this means both ends of
the frame are kept perfectly steady and free from any
shake.
“ The frame carrying the dividing-point, or tracer,
is made to slide on the frame which carries the endless
screw to any distance from the centre of the wheel, as
the radius of the instrument to be divided may require,
and may be there fastened by tightening two clamps ;
and the dividing-point or tracer being connected with
the clamps by the double-jointed frame, admits a free
and easy motion towards or from the centre for cutting
the divisions, without any lateral shake.
“ From what has been said, it appears, that an in¬
strument thus fitted on the dividing-wheel may be mov¬
ed to any angle by the screw and divided circle on its
arbor, and that this angle may be marked on the limb
of the instrument with the greatest exactness by the di¬
viding point or tracer, which can only move in a direct
line tending to the centre, and is altogether freed from
those inconveniencies that attend cutting by means of a
straight edge. This method of drawing lines will also
prevent any error that might arise from an expansion
or contraction of the metal during the time of divid-
ing.
“ The screw-frame is fixed on the top of a conical
pill ar, which turns freely round its axis, and also moves
freely towards or from the centre of the wheel, so that
the screw-frame may be entirely guided by the frame
which connects it with the centre: by this means any
excentricity of the wheel and arbor would not produce
any error in the dividing ; and, by a particular contri¬
vance (which will be described hereafter), the screw
when pressed against the teeth of the wheel always moves
parallel to itself; so that a line joining the centre of the pjate
arbor and the tracer continued, will always make equal CCCCUX.
angles with the screw. riato
“ Figure I. represents a perspective view of the en- CCCCJLX.
gine.
“ Fig. 2. is a plan, of which fig. 3. represents a sec- Fig. ?.
tion on the line ITA.
“ The large wheel A is 45 inches in diameter, and
4 L 2 has
HAM
[
HAM
Ramsden’s
in
the whole is
lias ten radii, each belni; supported by edge-bars, as
MaS;: represented in fig. 3. The* bars and r«d» are con
1 V ' nected by the circular ring B, 24 inches m diametei
and three deep ; and for greater strength,
cast in one piece in bell-metal.
“ As the whole weight of the wheel A ...
rino- B, the edge-bars are deepest where they join it 5
and from thence their depth diminishes, both towards
the centre and the circumference, as represented m
rests on its
fig- 3-
Fifi. 3-
Fife. 1,
aud 5.
Fi;:. 1.
Fig 4.
Fig. 1. Sc 4
Fig. 4.
Fig. 4.
Fig. 3.
Kg- 1,
4, 5-
“ The surface of the wheel A was worked very even
and flat, and its circumference turned true. I he ring
C, of fine brass, was fitted very exactly on the circum¬
ference of the wheel ; and was fastened thereon with
screws, which, after being screwed as tight as possible,
were well rivetted. The face of a large chuck being
turned very true and flat in the lathe, the flattened sur¬
face A of the wheel was fastened against it with hold¬
fasts and the two surfaces and circumferences of the
ring C, a hole through the centre and the plane part
round (b) it, and the lower edge of the ring B, were
turned at the same time.
“ D is a piece of hard bell-metal, having the hole,
which receives the steel arbor rf, made very straight
and true. This bell-metal was turned very true on
an arbor j and the face, which rests on the wheel at b,
was turned very flat, so that the steel arbor d might
stand perpendicular to the plane of the wheel: this
bell metal was fastened to the wheel by six steel
screws l.
“ A brass socket Z is fastened on the centre of the
mahogany stand, and receives the lower part of the
bell metal piece U, being made to touch the bell-
metal in a narrow part near the mouth, to prevent any
obliquity of the wheel from bending theai-bor: good
fitting is by no means necessary here; since any shake
in this socket will produce no bad effect, as will appear
hereafter when we describe the cutting frame.
“ The wheel was then put on its stand, the lower
edge of the ring B resting on the circumference of
three conical friction-pulleys W, to facilitate its mo¬
tion round its centre. The axis of one of these pulleys
is in a line joining the centre of the wheel and the
middle of the endless screw, and the other two placed
so as to be at equal distances from each other.
“ F is a block of wood strongly fastened to one of the
legs of the stand j the piece g is screwed to the upper-
side of the block, and has half holes, in which the
transverse axis h turns : the half holes are kept toge¬
ther by the screws i,
“ The lower extremity of the conical pillar P termi¬
nates in a cylindrical steel-pin k, which passes through
and turns in the transverse axis /if and is confined by
a check and screw.
“ To the upper end of the conical pillar is fastened
the frame G, in which the endless screw turns : the
pivots of the screw are formed in the manner of two
frustums of cones joined by a cylinder, as represented
at X. These pivots are confined between half poles,
which press only on the conical parts, and do not touch
the cylindric parts: the half holes are kept together by
screws a, which may be tightened at any time, to pre¬
vent the screw from shaking in the frame.
“ On the screw-arbor is a small wheel of brass K,
having its outside edge divided into 60 parts, and num-
3
636 1
bered at every 6th division with I, 2, &c. to 10. The Uamsden
motion of this wheel is shown by the index y on the Machini)
screw-frame G. ' . ' v"'"'
“ H represents a part of the stand, having a parallel
slit in the direction towards the centre ot the wheel,
large enough to receive the upper part "d the conical
brass pillar P, which carries the screw and its frame :
and as the resistance, when the wheel is moved by the
endless screw, is against that side ot the slit H whieh
is towards the left hand, that side of the slit is faced
with brass, and the pillar is pressed against it by a
steel spring on the opposite side : by this means the
pillar is Strongly supported laterally, and yet the screw
may be easily pressed from or against the circumference
of the wheel, and the pillar will turn freely on its axis
to take any direction given it by the frame L.
“ At each corner of the pi«ce I are screws n of Fig, 4,
tempered steel, having polished conical points : two of
them turn in conical holes in the screw frame near 0,
and the points of the other two screws turn in holes
in the piece Q ; the screws jo are of steel, which being
tightened, prevent the conical pointed screws from un¬
turning when the frame is moved,
L is a brass frame, which serves to connect the end-Fig. 1,3
less screw, its frame, &c. with the centre of the wheel:
each arm of this frame is terminated by a steel screw,
that may be passed through any of the holes q in the Fig. 4.
piece Q, as the thickness of work to be divided on
the wheel may require, and are fastened by the finger-
nuts r. Fig. i,&
“ At the other end of this frame is a flat piece of
tempered steel b, wherein is an angular notch: when Fig. fl.
the endless screw- is pressed against the teeth on the cir¬
cumference of the wheel, which may be done by turn¬
ing the finger-screw S, to press against the spring f, Fig. 1, &
this notch embraces and presses against the steel arbor t/.Fig. 2.
This end of the frame may be raised or depressed by mov¬
ing the prismatic slide u, which may be fixed at any
height by the four steel screws v. Fig. 1,2
“The bottom of this slide has a notch k, whose ^^
plane is parallel to the endless screw j and by the point
of the arbor d resting in this notch, this end of the Fig. 3.
frame is prevented from tilting. The screw S is pre¬
vented from unturning, by tightening the finger-
nut Fig. 1,2,
“ The teeth on the circumference of the wheel were
cut by the following method :
“ Having considered what number of teeth on the
circumference would be most convenient, which in this
engine is 2160, or 360 multiplied by 6, I made two
screws of the same dimensions, of tempered steel, in
the manner hereafter described, the interval between
the threads being such as I knew by calculation
would come within the limits of what might be turned
off the circumference of the wheel: one of the screws,
which was intended for ratching or cutting the teeth,
was notched across the threads, so that the screw, when
pressed against the edge of the wheel and turned round,
cut in the manner of a saw. Then having a segment
of a circle a little greater than 60 degrees, of about
tbe same radius with the wheel, and the circumference
made true, from a very fine centre, I described an arch
near the edge, and set off- the chord of 60 degrees on
this arch. This segment was put in the place of the
wheel, the edge of it was ratched, and the number of
■ revolutions
pie
RAM
'iijden's
achine.
ki,
r V
F: t, 2,3
Ti,
revolutions and parts of the screw contained between
the interval of the 60 degrees were counted. Xhe
' radius was corrected in the proportion of 360 revolu¬
tions, which ought to have been in 60 degrees, to the
number actually found j and the radius, so corrected.,
was taken in a pair ot beam-compasses : while the
wheel was on the lathe, one loot of the compasses was
put in the centre, and with the other a circle was de¬
scribed on the ring; then half the depth of the threads
of the screw being taken in dividers, was set fiom this
circle outwards, and another circle was described cut¬
ting this point j a hollow was then turned on the edge
ol the wheel ol the same curvature as that of the screw
at the bottom of the threads : the bottom of this hol¬
low was turned to the same radius or distance from the
centre of the wheel, as the outward of the two circles
before mentioned.
“ The wheel was now taken off the lathe ; and the
bell-metal piece D was screwed on as before directed,
which after this ought not to be removed.
“ From a very exact centre a circle was described
on the ring C, about four-tenths of an inch within where
the bottom of the teeth would come. This circle was
divided with the greatest exactness I was capable of, first
into five parts, and each of these into three. These
parts were then bisected four times : (that is to say)
supposing the whole circumference of the wheel to con¬
tain 2160 teeth, this being divided into five parts, each
would contain 43^ teeth ; which being divided into three
parts, each of them would contain 144 ; and this space
bisected four times would give 72, 36, 18, and 9 : there¬
fore each of the last divisions would contain nine teeth.
But, as I was apprehensive some error might arise from
quinquesection and trisection ; in order to examine the
accuracy of the divisions, I described another circle on
the ring C, one tenth of an inch within the former, and
divided it by continual bisections, as 2160, 1080, 540
27°» 674-> antl 33t > an(l as tlie fixed wire (to be
described presently) crossed both the circles, I could
examine their agreement at every 135 revolutions j (af¬
ter ratching, could examine it at every 33^) : but, not
finding any sensible difference between the two sets of
divisions, I, for ratching, made choice of the former j
and, as the coincidence of the fixed wire with an inter¬
section could be more exactly determined than with a
dot or division, I therefore made use of intersection in
both circles before described.
“ Th e ai ms of the frame L were connected by a thin
piece of brass of three-fourths of an inch broad, having a
hole in the middle of four-tenths of an inch in diameter;
across this hole a silver wire was fixed exactly in a line
to the centre of the wheel; the coincidence of this wire
with the intersections was examined by a lens seven-
tenths of an inch focus, fixed in a tube which was at¬
tached to one of the arms L (a). Now a handle or
winch being fixed on the end of the screw, the division
marked on the end of the screw, the division marked 10
on the circle K was set to its index, and, by means of
a clamp and adjusting screw for that purpose, the inter¬
section marked 1 on the circle C was set exactly to
[ 637 ]
RAM
coincide with the fixed wire; the screw was then care- Ramsden’*
fully pressed against the circumference of the wheel, by Machine,
turning the finger-screw S ; then, removing the clamp, v
I turned the screw by its handle nine revolutions, till
the intersection marked 240 came nearly to the wire ;
then, unturning the finger-screw S, I released the screw
from the wheel, and turned the wheel back till the in ¬
tersection marked 2 exactly coincided with the wire,
and, by means of the clamp before mentioned, the di¬
vision TO on the circle being set to its index, the screw
was pressed against the edge of the wheel by the finger-
screw S ; the clamps were removed, and the screw turn¬
ed nine revolutions till the intersection marked 1
nearly coincided with the fixed wire ; the screw was
released from the wheel by unturning the finger-screw
S, as before, the wheel was turned back till the inter¬
section 3 coincided with the fixed wire ; the divi¬
sion 10 on the circle being set to its index, the screw
was pressed against the wheel as before, and the screw
was turned nine revolutions, till the intersection 2
nearly coincided with the fixed wire, and the screw
was released ; and I proceeded in this manner till the
teeth were marked round the whole circumference of
the wheel. This was repeated three times round, to
make the impression of the screw deeper. I then ratch-
ed the wheel round continually in the same direction
without ever disengaging the screw; 'and, in ratching
the wheel about 300 times round, the teeth were fi¬
nished.
“ Now it is evident, if the circumference of the wheel
was even one tooth or ten minutes greater than the
screw would require, this error would in the first in¬
stance be reduced to part of a revolution, or two
seconds and a half; and these errors or inequalities of
the teeth were equally distributed round the wheel at
the distance of nine teeth from each other. Now, as
the screw in ratching had continually hold of several
teeth at the same time, and, these constantly changing,
the above-mentioned inequalities soon corrected them¬
selves, and the teeth were reduced to a perfect equality.
The piece of brass which carries the wire was now ta¬
ken away, and the cutting screw was also removed,
and a plain one (hereafter described) put in its place:
on one end of the screw is a small brass circle, having
its edge divided into 60 equal parts, and numbered at
every sixth division, as before mentioned. On the other
end of the screw is a ratchet-wheel C, having 60 teeth,
covered by the hollowed circle d, which carries two Fig. ct
clicks that catch upon the opposite sides of the ratchet
when the screw is to be moved forwards. The cylin¬
der S turns on a strong steel arbor F, which passes
through and is firmly screwed to the piece Y : this
piece, for greater firmness, is attached to the screw-
frame G by the braces v; a spiral groove or thread n-
is cut on the outside of the cylinder S, which serves ^
both for holding the string, and also giving motion to
the lever J on its centre by means of a steel tooth »,
that works between the threads of the spiral. To the
lever is attached a strong steel pin ?«, on which a
brass socket r turns : this socket passes through a slit
* in
(a) The intersections are marked for the sake of illustration, though properly invisible, because they lie under
the brass plate.
RAM
t 638 ]
RAM
Ramsden’
Machine.
rig-1.
rig. 1.
rig. 1. &.
Fiff. r, 2,5
riff. 6.
s in the piece p, and may he tightened in any part of
the slit by the finger-nut/: this piece serves to regu-
' late the number ot revolutions ot the screw for each
tread of the treadle II.
“ T is a brass box containing a spiral string j a strong
gut is fastened and turned three or four times round the
circumference of this box, the gut then passes several
times round the cylinder S, and from thence down to
the treadle R. Now, when the treadle is pressed down,
the string pulls the cylinder S round its axis, and the
clicks catching hold of the teeth on the ratchet carry
the screw round with it, till, by the tooth n working in
the spiral groove, the lever J is brought near the wheel
d, and the cylinder stopped by the screw-head x striking
on the top of the lever J j at the same time the spring is
wound up by the other end of the gut passing round the
box T. Now, when the foot is taken off the treadle,
the spring unbending itself pulls back the cylinder, the
clicks leaving the ratchet and screw at rest till the piece
t strikes on the end of the piece p: the number of revolu¬
tions of the screw at each tread is limited by the num¬
ber of revolutions the cylinder is allowed to turn bacnc
before the stop strikes on the piece p.
“ When the endless screw was moved round its axis
with a considerable velocity, it would continue that mo-
4.lion a little after the cylinder S was stopped: to pre¬
vent this, the angular lever « w'as made 5 that when the
lever J comes near to stop the screw «, it, by a small
chamfer, presses down the piece it of the angular lever j
this brings the other end « of the same lever forwards,
and stops the endless screw by the steel pin p. striking
upon the top of it; the foot of the lever is raised again
by a small spring pressing on the brace v.
" “ D, two clamps, connected by the piece *, slide one
on each arm of the frame L, and may be fixed at plea¬
sure by the four finger-screws t, which press against steel
springs to avoid spoiling the arms : the piece q is made
to turn without shake between two conical pointed screws
/', which are prevented from unturning by tightening
the finger-nuts N.
“ The piece M is made to turn on the piece q by
the conical pointed screws f resting in the hollow cen¬
ters
“ As there is frequent occasion to cut divisions on in¬
clined planes, for that purpose the piece y, in which the
tracer is fixed, has a conical axis at each end, which
turns in half holes: when the tracer is set to any inclina¬
tion, it maybe fixed there by tightening the steel screws
Description of the Engine by which the endless screw
of the Dividing Engine was cut.
“ Fig. 9. represents this engine of its full dimensions
seen from one side.
“ Fig. 8. the upper side of the same as seen from
above.
“ A represents a triangular bar of steel, to which the
triangular holes in the pieces B and C are accurately
fitted, and may be fixed on any part of the bar by the
screws D.
E is a piece of steel whereon the screw is intended
half holes F and T, which were kept together by the
screw Z. _ Machiti
“ H represents a screw of untempered steel, having i Ratn>«"
a pivot I, which turns in the hole K. At the other ^
end of the screw is a hollow centre, which receives the
hardened conical point of the steel pin M. When this
point is sufficiently pressed against the screw, to pre¬
vent its shaking, the steel pin may be fixed by tighten¬
ing the screws Y.
“ N is a cylindric nut, moveable on the screw H;
which, to prevent any shakfc, may be tightened by the
screws O. This nut is connected with the saddle-piece
P by means of the intermediate universal joint W,
through which the arbor of the screw H passes. A front
view of this piece, with the section across the screw ar¬
bor, is represented at X. This joint is connected with
the nut by means of two steel slips S, which turn on pins
between the cheeks T on the nut N. Hie other ends
of these slips S turn in like manner on pins a. One axis
of this joint turns in a hole in the cock o, which is
fixed to the saddle-piece; and the other turns in a hole d,
made for that purpose in the same piece on which ths
cock b is fixed. By this means, when the sciewT is turn¬
ed round, the saddle-piece will slide uniformly along
the triangular bar A.
“ K is a small triangular bar of well-tempered steel,
which slides in a groove on the saddle-piece P. Ihe
point of this bar or cutter is formed to the shape of the
thread intended to be cut on the endless screw. When
the cutter is set to take proper hold of the intended
screw, it may be fixed by tightening the screw e, which
presses the two pieces ot brass G upon it.
“ Having measured the circumference of the dividing-
wheel, I found it would require a screw about one thread
in a hundred coarser than the guide-screw H. The
wheels on the guide-screw arbor H, and that on the
steel E, on which the screw was to be cut, were pro¬
portioned to each other to produce that efiect, by giving
the wheel L 198 teeth, and the wheel Q 200. 1 hese
wheels communicated with each other by means of the
intermediate wheel R, which also served to give the
threads on the two screws the same direction.
“ The saddle-piece P is confined on the bar A by
means of the pieces g, and may be made to slide with a
proper degree of tightness by the screws w.’ See Di¬
viding Instruments, Supplement.
For Ramsden’s equatorial or portable observatoiy, see
Optics, N° 89. and Astronomy, N° 364. See also a
long account of an equatorial instrument made by Mr
Ramsden by the direction of Sir George Shuckburgh m
the Philosophical Transactions for I793i arJ* P‘
In this instrument the circle of declinations is lour feet
in diameter, and may be observed nearly to a second.
The glass is placed between six pillars, which form the
axis of the machine, and turn round by two pivots pla¬
ced on two blocks of stone. See also Barometer.
RAMSEY, a town of Huntingdonshire, 68 miles
north of London, and 12 north-east of Huntingdon.
It is situated as it were in an island, being everywhere
encompassed with fens, except on the west, where it is
piece 01 sceei wnereon me screw is iiuenueu eHcumpaa&cu wmi - - *
to be cut; which, after being hardened and tempered, separated from the ferro^/’wa by a cause way for two mi e
has its pivots turned in the form of two frustums of cones, The neighbouring meers of Ramsey and . e®e7’
as represented in the drawing of the dividing engine which are formed by the river Nyne, aboum wit s ,
(fig. 5.). These pivots were exactly fitted to the especially eel and large pikes. It was once amous
HAMSDEN’S MACH,™.
/*/'A Y'A ' f Y Y Y Z^/ y
yy</. /
£JifiM/s//y?////, f
I
E.MtfcMeU Sculp'
RAM [* 5^
a very rich abbey,' part of the gatehouse of which is still
Standing, and a neglected statue of Ailvvin ; the epitaph
on whose tomb, which is reckoned one of the oldest pie¬
ces of English sculpture extant, styles him “ kinsman
of the famous King Edward, alderman of all England
and miraculous founder of this abbey.” It was dedicated
to St Dunstan, and its abbots were mitred and sat in
parliament 5 and so many kings ot England were bene¬
factors to it, that its yearly rents, says Camden, were
7000k The town was then called Ramsey the Rich }
but by the dissolution of the abbey it soon became poor-
and even lost its market for many years, till about 200
years ago it recovered it. It is held on Saturday, and is
reckoned one of the most plentiful in England. In the
year 1721 a great number of Roman coins was found
here, supposed to have been hid by the monks on some
incursion ol the Danes. Ihere is a charity school in
the town for poor girls. In 1811 the number of inha¬
bitants was 2390. W. Long. o. 19. N. Lat. 52. 26.
Ramsey, an island of South Wales, on the coast of
Pembrokeshire, about two miles in length, and a mile
and a hall broad. Near it are several small ones, known
by the name of the bishop and his clerks. It is four miles
west ot St David’s, and 17 north-east of JVlilfordhaven.
It belongs to the bishopric of 8t David’s, and was in the
last age, says Camden, famous for the death of one Ju¬
stinian, a most holy man, who retiring hither from Brit-
anny, in that age rich in saints, and devoting himself
entirely to God, lived a long while in solitude, and be¬
ing at last murdered by his servant was enrolled among
the martyrs. W. Long. 5. 20. N. Lat. 51. 5^.
Ramsey, in the Isle ot Man, to the north, a most
noted and spacious haven, in which the greatest fleet
may ride at anchor with safety enough from all winds
but the north-east, and in that case they need not be em¬
bayed. This town standing upon a beach of loose sand,
or shingle, is in danger, it not timely prevented, of be¬
ing washed away by the sea.
RAMSGATE, a sea port town of Kent, in the isle
of I hanet, five miles from Margate, where a very fine
pier has been lately built for the security of ships that
come into the harbour, being seated near the Downs be¬
tween the north and south Foreland, 10 miles north-east
of Canterbury. The town is situated in the cove of a
chalky cliff. It was formerly but an obscure fishing vil-
lage, but since the year 1688 has been improved and en¬
larged by a successful trade to Russia and the east coun¬
try. But what renders it most worthy of notice, is the
new harbour, which is one of the most capacious in
England, if not in Europe. It was begun in the year
I75°> bllt delayed by various interruptions. It consists
of two piers j that to the east is built wholly of Pur-
beck stone, and extends itself into the ocean near 800
feet before it forms an angle ; its breadth on the top is
26 feet, including a strong parapet wall, which runs a-
long the outside of it. The other to the west is con¬
structed of wood as far as the low water mark, but the
rest is of stone. The angles, of which there are five in
each pier, consist of 160 feet each, with octagons at
the end of 60 feet diameter, leaving an entrance of 200
feet into the harbour, the depth of which admits of a
gradual increase of 18 to 36 feet. In 1811 the popu¬
lation was 4221. E. Long. 1. 30. N. Lat. 51. 22.
RAMTRUT, a deity worshipped by the Ranazins of
Hindustan, where he has a celebrated temple at Onor.
2
] ram
He is represented as more resembling a monkey than a Rairtmt,
rna^’. ATTT£, . Raimi*.
AMub, in general, denotes a branch of any thing, '  J
as of a tree, an artery, &c. In the anatomy of plants
it means the first or lateral branches, which go off from
the petiolum, or middle rib of a leaf. The subdivisions
o t lese are called surcuh ; and the final divisions into
tie most minute of all, are by some called capillumen-
ta; but both kinds are generally denominated surculus.
amus, Peter, was one of the most famous professors
of the 16th century. He was born in Picardy in 151 5.
A thirst for learning prompted him to go to Paris when
very young, and he was admitted a servant in the coL
lege of Navarre. Spending the day in waiting on his
masters, and the greatest part of the night in study, he
made such surprising progress, that, when he took his
master of arts degree, he offered to maintain a quite
opposite doctrine to that of Aristotle. This raised him
many enemies 5 and the two first books he published, In-
stitutiones Dialecticce, and AristotelicceAnimadversiones,
occasioned great disturbances in the university of Paris :
and the opposition against him was not a little height¬
ened by his deserting the Romish religion, and profes¬
sing that of the Reformed. Being thus forced to retire
from Paris, he visited the universities of Germany, and
received great honours wherever he came. He returned
to France in 1571, and lost his life miserably in the hor¬
rid massacre of St Bartholemew’s day. He was a great
orator, a man ot universal learning, and endowed with
very fine moral qualities. Fie published many books,
which Teissier enumerates. Ramus’s merit in his oppo¬
sition to Aristotle, and his firmness in undermining his
authority, is unquestionably great. But it has been
doubted, and with much reason, whether he was equal¬
ly successful in his attempts after a new logical institute.
VVe have the following general outline of his plan in Dr
Enfield’s History of Philosophy. “ Considering dialec¬
tics as the art ot deducing conclusions from premises,
he endeavours to improve this art, by uniting it with
that of rhetoric. Of the several branches of rhetoric,
he considers invention and disposition as belonging’
equally to logic. Making Cicero his chief guide^ he
divides his treatise on dialectics into two parts, the first
of which treats of the invention of arguments, the se¬
cond of judgments. Arguments he derives not only
from what the Aristotelians call middle terms, but from,
any kind of proposition, which, connected with ano¬
ther, may serve to prove any assertion. Of these he
enumerates various kinds. Judgments he divides into
axioms, or self evident propositions, dianoea, or de¬
ductions by means of a series of arguments. Beth
these he divides into various classes; and illustrates the
whole by examples from the ancient orators and poets.
“ In the logic of Ramus, many things are borrowed
from Aristotle, and only appear under new names j and
many others are derived from other Grecian sources
particularly from the dialogues of Plato, and the logic
of the Stoics. The author has the merit of turning the
art of reasoning from the futile speculationsof the schools
to forensic and common use; but his plan is defective in
confining the whole dialectic art to the single object of
disputation, and in omitting many things, which respect
the general culture of the understanding and the investi¬
gation of truth. Notwithstanding the defects of his sy¬
stem, we cannot, however, subscribe to the severe cen¬
sure
I
llanuii
'RAN [646
sure winch has been passed upon Ramus by Lord Ba-
11 con and others ; for much is, we think, due to him tor
Randolph, having; with so much firmness and perseverance asser -
 ed the natural freedom of the human understanding.
The logic of Ramus obtained great authority in the
schools of Germany, Great Britain, Holland, and
France; and long and violent contests arose between
his followers and those of the Stagynte, till his lame
vanished before that of Descartes.”
RAN, in the old English writers, means open or pub¬
lic robbery, so manifest as not to be denied. Ran dici-
tur aperta rapina qua negari non potest. Lamb. 125.
Leg. Canut. cap. 58. Hence it is now commonly said
of one who takes the goods of another injuriously and
violently, that he has taken or snatched all he could rap
and ran.
RANA, or Ranula. See Ranula.
Rana, the frog', a genus of reptiles belonging to the
order of amphibia. See ErpetoloGY Index.
RANAI, one of the Sandwich islands discovered by
Captain Cook, is about nine miles distant from Mowee
and MoROTOI, and is situated to the south-west of the
passage between these two isles. The country towards
the south is elevated and craggy j but the other parts
of the island had a better appearance, and seemed to be
well inhabited. It abounds in roots, such as sweet po¬
tatoes, taro, and yams j but produces very few plantains
and bread-fruit trees. The south point of Ranai is in
the latitude of 20° 46' north, and in the longitude of
203° 8' east. .
RANCID, denotes a fatty substance, that is become
rank or musty, or that has contracted an ill smell by
being kept close.
RANDIA, a genus of plants belonging to the pen-
tandria class; and in the natural method ranking with
those of which the order is doubtful. See Botany
Index.
RANDOLPH, Thomas, an eminent English poet
in the 17th century, was born in Northamptonshire 1605.
He was educated at Westminster and Cambridge, and
very early distinguished for his excellent genius 5 for at
about nine or ten years of age he wrote the History of
the Incarnation of our Saviour in veise. His subse¬
quent writings established his character, and gained him
the esteem and friendship of some of the greatest men
of that age, particularly of Ben Johnson, who adopted
him one of his sons in the muses. He died in 1634,
and was honourably interred. He wrote, i.Tlie Muses
Looking-glass, a comedy. 2. Amyntas, or the Impos¬
sible Dowry, a pastoral, acted before the king and
han
queen. 3. Aristippus, or the Jovial Philosopher. 4. Rands!]
The Conceited Pedlar. 5. The Jealous Lovers, a
comedy. 6. Hey for Honesty, down with Knavery, a
comedy ; and several poems.
RANDOM shot, in Gunnery, is a shot made when
the muzzle of a gun is raised above the horizontal line,
and is not designed to shoot directly or point blank.
The utmost random of any piece is about ten times
as far as the bullet will go point-blank The bullet
will go farthest when the piece is mounted to about 43°
above the level range. See Gunnery and Projec¬
tiles.
RANGE, in Gunnery, the path of a bullet, or the
line it describes from the mouth of the piece to the point
where it lodges. If the piece lie in a line parallel to
the horizon, it is called the right or level range : if it
he mounted to 45\ it is said to have the utmost range:
all others between 00 and 450 are called the interme¬
diate ranges.
RANGER, a sworn officer of a forest, appointed
by the king’s letters patent -, whose business is to walk
through his charge, to drive back the deer out of the
purlieus, &c. and to present all trespasses within bis
jurisdiction at the next forest court.
RANK, the order or place assigned a person suit¬
able to his quality or merit.
Rank, is a straight line made by the soldiers of a
battalion or squadron, drawn up side by side : this or¬
der was established for the marches, and for regulating
the different bodies of troops and officers which compose
an army.
Hank and Precedence, in the army and navy, are as
follow:
Engineers Rank. Chief, as colonel} director, as
lieutenant colonel j sub-director, as major engineer in
ordinary, as captain j engineer extraordinary, as cap¬
tain-lieutenant -, sub-engineer, as lieutenant; practition¬
er engineer, as ensign. #
Navy Rank. Admiral, or commander in chief of
his majesty’s fleet, has the rank of a field-marshal j ad¬
mirals, with their flags on the main-top-mast-head, rank
with generals of horse and foot", vice-admirals, with
lieutenant-generals j rear-admirals, as major-geneials j
commodores, with broad pendants, as brigadier-gene¬
rals ; captains of post-ships, after three years from the
date of their first commission, as colonels ; other cap¬
tains, as commanding post-ships, as lieutenant-colonels j
captains, not taking post, as majors j lieutenants, a*
captains.
Rank.
RAP
t 641 ] RAP
Rank between the Army, Navy, and Governors.
Army.
General in Chief
Generals of horse
Lieutenant-generals
Major-generals
Navy.
Admiral in chief
Admiral with a flag at
the main-top-mast
^7ice-admirals
Rear-admirals
Colonels
Post-captains of^ years
Governors.
Commander in chief of the forces in America
Captain-generals of provinces
Lieutenant-generals of provinces
Lieutenant-governors and presidents
Lieutenant-governors not commanding
Lieutenant-colonels Post-caT>fain« r T
    OSC captains Governors of charter colonies
Maj
ors
Captains
D ep u ty- gove rn ors
Baubling of the Ranks, is the placing two ranks in
one, frequently used m the manoeuvres of a regiment.
ANKS and Hies, are the horizontal and vertical
hues or soldiers when drawn up for service.
RANSOM, a sum of pioney paid for the redemption
ot a slave, or the liberty of a prisoner of war. In our
Jaw books, ransom is also used for a sum paid for the
pardon ot some great offence, and to obtain the offender’s
liberty.
... KANC LA, a tumor under a child’s tongue, which
KANtJNCuius6 tnm Sp“ki”8 ’
f tp , LUS, 1Crowfoot; a genus of plants
ot the poly gam ia order, belonging to the polyandria
class; and in the natural method ranking under the 26th
order, Mv/tistltquce. See Botany Index.
RAPACIOUS animals, are such as live upon
prey.
RAPE, in Law, the carnal knowledge of a woman
forcibly and against her will. This, by the Jewish law
was punished with death, in case the damsel was be¬
trothed to another man : and, in case she was not be¬
trothed, then a heavy fine of fifty shekels was to be paid
to the damsel’s father, and she was to be the wife of
the ravisher all the days of his life ; without that power
ot divorce, which was in general permitted by the Mo¬
saic law. J
The civil law punishes the crime of ravishment with
death and confiscation of goods: under which it includes
both the offence of forcible abduction, or taking away
a woman from her friends; and also the present offence
frt forcibly dishonouring her; either of which, without
the other, is in that law sufficient to constitute a capital
crime. Also the stealing away a woman from her pa¬
rents or guardians, and debauching her, is equally penal
by the emperor’s edict, whether she consent or is forced.
And this, in order to take away from women every
opportunity of offending in this way; whom the Ro¬
man Jaw suppose never to go astray without the se¬
duction and arts of the other sex; and therefore, by
restraining and making so highly penal the solicitations
6 men’ tbey meant to secure effectually the honour
of the women. But our English law does not enter-
Vcl. XVII, Part II.
tain quite such sublime ideas of the honour of either
sex as to lay the blame of a mutual fault upon one of
the transgressors only ; and therefore makes it a neces¬
sary ingredient in the crime of rape, that it must be
against the woman’s will.
Rape was pmiLhed by the Saxon laws, particularly
those of King Athe stan, with death ; which was also
agreeable to the old Gothic or Scandinavian constitu¬
tion. But this was afterwards thought too hard : and
in its stead another severe but not capital, punishment
■ inflicted by M illiam the Conqueror, viz. castration
and loss of eyes; which continued till after Bracton
wrote, in the reign of Henry III. But in order
to prevent malicious accusations, it was then the law
(and it seems, still continues to be so in appeals of
rape), that the woman should, immediately after, Co
to the next town, and there make discovery to some
credible persons of the injury she has suffered ; and
afterwards should acquaint the high constable of the
hundred, the coroners, and the sheriff with the outraov
Ibis seems to correspond in some degree with the laws
ot Scotland and A'rragon, which require that complaint
must be made within 24 hours: though afterwards by
statute Westm. 1. c. 13. the time of limitation in Enn;-
Jand was extended to 40 days. At present there is no
time of limitation fixed: for, as it is usually now punish¬
ed by indictment at the suit of the king, the maxim of
aw takes place, that “ nullum tempus occurrit regi •”
but the jury will rarely give credit to a stale complaint,
JJuring the former period also it was held for law that
the woman (by consent of the judge and her parents)
might redeem the offender from the execution of his
sentence, by accepting him for her husband; if he also
was willing to agree to the exchange, but not other¬
wise.
In the 3 Edw. I. by the statute Westm. 1. c. 13.
the punishment of rape was much mitigated: the of¬
fence itself, of ravishing a damsel within age (that is
twelve years old), either with her consent or without or'
of any other woman against her will, being reduced to
a trespass, if not prosecuted by appeal within 40 days,
and subjecting the offender only to two years imprison-
+ 4« men,,
Rape.
RAP
t 642 ]
RAP
Rape.
ment, and a fine at the king’s will. But this len.ty
being productive of the most terrible consequences, it
vvas, in ten years afterwards, 13 Edw I. found necessa¬
ry to make the offence of forcible rape felony by statute
Westm. 2. c. 34- And by statute 18 Ehz. c. 7. it is
made felony without benefit of clergy : as is also the
abominable wickedness of carnally knowing or abusing
any woman-child under the age of ten years; m which
case the consent or non-consent is immaterial as by rea¬
son of her tender years she is incapable of judgment and
discretion. Sir Matthew Hale is indeed of opinion, that
such profligate actions committed on an infant under the
aae of twelve years, the age of female discretion by the
common law, either with or without consent, amount to
rape and felony j as well since as before the statute ot
Queen Elizabeth : but that law has in genera been he d
only to extend to infants under ten ; though it should
seem that damsels between ten and twelve are still un¬
der the protection of the statute W estm. 1. the law with
respect to their seduction not having been altered by ei¬
ther of the subsequent statutes.
A male infant, under the age of fourteen years, is
presumed by law incapable to commit a rape, and there¬
fore it seems cannot be found guilty of it. 1’or though
in other felonies “ malitia supplet setatem ; ’ yet, as to
this particular species of felony, the law supposes an im¬
becility of body as well as mind.
The civil law set ms to suppose a prostitute or common
barlot incapable of any injuries of this kind : not allow¬
ing any punishment for violating the chastity ot hei,
who hath indeed no chastity at all, or at least hath no
regard to it. But the law of England does not judge
so hardly of offenders, as to cut off all opportunity of
retreat even from common strumpets, and to treat
them as never capable of amendment. It therelore
holds it to be felony to force even a concubine or
harlot *, because the woman may have forsaken that
unlawful course of life: for, as Bracton well ob¬
serves, “ licet meretrix fuerit antea, certe tunc tempo-
ris non fuit, cum reclamando nequitiae ejus consentire
noluit.” _ ...
As to the material facts requisite to be given in evi¬
dence and proved upon an indictment of rape, they are
of such a nature, that though necessary to be known
and settled, for the conviction of the guilty and preser¬
vation of the innocent, and therefore are to be found in
such criminal treatises as discourse ot these matteis in
detail, yet they are highly improper to be publicly dis¬
cussed, except onlv in a court ot justice. M e shall
therefore merely add upon this head a few remarks from
Sir Matthew Hale, with regard to the competency and
credibility of witnesses; which may, salvopudote, be
considered.
And, first, the party ravished may give evidence up¬
on oath, and is in law a competent witness : but the cre¬
dibility of her testimony, and how far forth she is to be
believed, must be left to the jury upon the circumstances
of fact that concur in that testimony. lor instance : if
the witness be of good fame; if she presently discover¬
ed the offence, and made search tor the offender; it the
party accused fled for it; these and the like are con¬
curring circumstancis, which give greater probability
to her evidence. But, on the other side, it she be of
evil fame, and stand unsupported by others ; if she con¬
cealed the injury for any considerable time after she had
opportunity to complain; if the place, where the fact ^aPe>i
was alleged to be committed, was where it was possible, aP aeL
she might have been heard, and she made no outcry:
these and the like circumstances carry a strong, but not
conclusive, presumption that her testimony is false or
feigned.
Moreover, if the rape be charged to be committed
on an infant under 12 years of age, she may still be
a competent witness, if she hath sense and understand- ^
ing to know the nature and obligations ot an oath,
and, even if she hath not, it is thought by Sir Mat¬
thew Hale, that she ought to be heard without oath,
to give the court information ; though that alone will
not be sufficient to convict the ofl'ender. And he is of
this opinion, first, Because the nature of the oflence
being secret, there may be no other possible proof of
the actual fact; though afterwards there may be con¬
current circumstances to corroborate it, proved by
other witnesses : and, secondly, Because the law al¬
lows what the child told her mother, or other rela¬
tions, to be given in evidence, since the nature of the
case admits frequently of no better proof; and there
is much more reason for the court to hear the narra¬
tion of the child herself, than to receive it at second¬
hand from those who swear they heard her say so.
And indeed it seems now to be settled, that in these
cases infants of any age are to be heard ; and, .if they
have any idea of an oath, to be also sworn : it being
found by experience, that infants of very tender years
often give the clearest and truest testimony. But in
any of these cases, whether the child be sworn or not,
it is to be wished, in order to render her evidence cre¬
dible, that there should be some concurrent testimony
of time, place, and circumstances, in order to make
out the fact ; and that the conviction should not be
grounded singly on the unsupported accusation of an
infant under years of discretion. There may be there¬
fore, in many cases of this nature, witnesses who are
competent, that is, who may be admitted to be heard;
and yet, after being heard, may prove not to he cre¬
dible, or such as the jury is bound to believe. For one
excellence of the trial by jury is, that the jury are triers
of the credit of the witnesses, as well as of the truth of
the fact.
“ ft is true (says this learned judge), that rape is a
most detestable crime, and therefore ouyht severely and
impartially to he punished with death ; but it n ust be
remembered, that it is an accusation easy to he made,
hard to he proved, but harder to be defended by the
party accused, though innocent.” He then relates two
very extraordinary cases of malicious prosecution foi this
crime, that bad happened within his own observation;
and concludes thus : “ I mention these instances, that
we may be the more cautious upon trials ot offences of
this nature, wherein the court and jury may with so
much ease be imposed upon, without great care and vi¬
gilance; the heinousness of the offence many times trans¬
porting the judge and jury with so much indignation,
that they are over-hastily carried to the conviction ot
the persons accused thereof, by the confident testimony
of sometimes false and malicious witnesses.”
RAPHAEL D’UrBINO, the greatest, most sublime,
and most excellent painter that lias appeared, since the
revival of the fine arts, was the son of an indifferent
painter named Sarvzio, and was born at Urbino .°od
Fnday 1482. The popes Julius II. ana Leo X. who
employed him loaded him with wealth and honour:
and it is said that Cardinal de St Bibiana had such a
value for him, that he offered him his niece in marriage.
HIS genius is admired in all his pictures j his contours
are tree, his ordonnances magnificent, his designs cor-
rect, his figures elegant, his expressions lively, his atti¬
tudes natural, his heads graceful j in fine, every thin*
13 I,eautlK grand, sublime, just, and adorned with
graces, ihese various perfections he derived not only
from Ins excellent abilities, but from his study of anti¬
quity and anatomy j and from the friendship he con¬
tracted with Ariosto, who contributed not a little to the
improvement of his taste. His pictures are principally
to be found in Italy and Paris. That of the Transfi¬
guration, preserved at Rome in the church of St Peter
Mon term, passes for his masterpiece. He had a hand¬
some person, was rvell proportioned,, and had great
sweetness of temper •, was polite, affable, and modest.
He, however, lived in the utmost splendour ; most of the
eminent niasters of his time were ambitious of working
under him ; and he never went out without a crowd of
artists and others, who followed him purely through re¬
spect. He was not only the best painter in the world,
but perhaps the best architect too ; on which account
Leo X. charged him with building St Peter’s church at
Rome : but he was too much addicted to pleasure, which
occasiont d his death at 3 7 years of age. He left a great
number of disciples ; among whom ivere Julio Romano
and John Francis Penni, who were his heirs. Many
able engravers, as Raimondi', George Mantuan, and
Bloemart, engraved after Raphael. See Painting.
RAPHAIM, or Rephaim, (Moses), a name signi¬
fying Gzarcte, as they really were, and an actual people
too, situated in Basau or Batanea, beyond Jordan, se¬
parated from the Zanzummim by the river Jabbok.
Also a valley near Jerusalem ; Joshua x.
RAPHANUS, Radish ; a genus of plants belong¬
ing to the tetradynamia class j and in the natural me¬
thod ranking under the 39th order, Siliquosce. See Bo¬
tany Index; and for the method of culture, see Gar¬
dening.
RAPHANIDOSIS, a punishment inflicted at A-
thens upon adulterers. The manner of it was this :
The hair was plucked off from the privities of the of¬
fenders, hot ashes laid upon the place, and a radish or
mullet thrust up his fundament, as has been mentioned
under Adultery. To this Juvenal alludes, Sat. x.
▼er. 317. Quondam mocchos et tnugilis intrat. Persons
who had been thus punished were called «vwgw*7«i. The
Word ruphanidosis is derived from ^<pxvi(, “ a radish.”
RAPHID f A, a genus of insects, of the neuroptera
order. See Entomology Index.
RAPIER, formerly signified a long old-fashioned
sword, such as those worn by the common soldiers: but
it now denotes a small sword, as contradistinguished
from a back-sword.
RAPIN, Rene, a Jesuit and eminent French writer,
was born at Tours in 1621. He taught polite litera¬
ture in the society of the Jesuits with great applause,
and was justly esteemed one of the best Latin poets and
greatest wits of his time. He died at Paris in 1687.
He wrote, 1. A great number of Latin poems, which
iave rendered him famous throughout all Europe j
wil.
-y-
among which are his Hortorum libri quatuor, which is t* •
reckoned his masterpiece. 2. Reflections on Eloquence,
oetry. History, and Philosophy. 3. Comparisons be- Rappers-
tween V irgil and Homer, Demosthenes and Cicero
Plato and Aristotle, Thucydides and Titus Livius!
4. The History of Jansenism. 5. Several works on re¬
ligious subjects. The best edition of his Latin poems
is that of Pans in 1723, in 3 vols. 121110.
Rapin de Thoyras, Paul de, a celebrated historian,
was the son of James de Rapin lord of Thoyras, and
was born at Castres in 1661. He was educated at first
under a tutor in his father’s house j and afterwards sent
to I uylaurens, and thence to Simur. In 1679 he re¬
turned to his father, with a design to apply himself to
the study of the law, and was admitted an advocate :
but some time after, reflecting that his being a Prote¬
stant would prevent his advancement at the bar, he re¬
solved to quit the profession of the law, and apply him¬
self to that of the sword ; but his father would not con-
sent to it. The revocation of the edict of Nantes in
1685, and the death of his father, which happened two
months after, made him resolve to come to England ;
but as he had no hopes of any settlement here, his stay
was but short. He therefore soon after went to Hol¬
land, and listed himself in the company of French vo¬
lunteers at Utrecht, commanded by M. Rapin his cou¬
sin-german. He attended the prince of Oran-e into
England in 1688 : and the following year the lord
Kingston made him an ensign in his regiment, with
which lie went into Ireland, where he gained the esteem
oMns officers at the siege of Carrickfergus, and had soon
a lieutenant’s commission. He was present at the battle
of the Boyne, and was shot through the shoulder at the
siege of Limerick. He was soon after captain of the
company in which he had been ensign ; but, in 1693
resigned his company to one of his brothers, in order to
be tutor to the earl of Portland’s son. In 1699, he
married Marianne Testard ; but this marriage neither
abated his care of his pupil, nor prevented his accompa¬
nying him in his travels. Having finished this employ¬
ment, he returned to his family, "which he had settled
at the Hague ; and here he continued some years. But
as he found his family increase, he resolved to retire to
some cheap country ; and accordingly removed, in 1707
to Wesel, where he wrote his History of England, and
some other pieces. Though he was of a strong const!-
tution, yet 17 years application (for so long was he in
composing the history just mentioned) entirely ruined
h.s health. He died in 1725. He wrote in French
1. A Dissertation on the Whigs and lories. 2. His’
History of England, printed at the Hague in 1726 and
*u 9 vo^s 4toi an<i reprinted at Trevoux in 1728,
in 10 yols 4to. Phis last edition is more complete than
that of the Hague. It has been translated into English
and improved with Notes, by the reverend Mr Tindal’
in 2 vols folio. This performance, though the work of
a foreigner, is deservedly esteemed as the fullest and
most impartial collection of English political transac¬
tions extant. The readers of wit and vivacity, however
may be apt to complain of him for being sometimes ra¬
ther tedious and dull.
RAPINE, in Law, the taking away another’s goods,
&c. by violence.
RAIIERSWIL, a town of Swisserland, on the
4M2 eonfincs
R A S
[ 644 ]
R A S
Rapperswil
II
Ras-Sem.
confines of the canton of Zurich, and of the territory of
Gaster, with an old castle. It is strong by situation,
being seated on a neck of land, which advances into the
lake°of Zurich, and over which there is a bridge 850
paces long. It is subject to the cantons of Zurich and
Berne. E. Long. 8. 57. N. Lat. 47. 20.
FtAPPOLSTEIN, a town of Prance in the depart¬
ment of Upper Rhine, which, before the revolution, had
the title of a barony. All the musicians of Alsace like¬
wise depended upon this baron, and were obliged to him a
certain tribute, without which they could not play upon
their instruments. E. Long. 7. 28. N. Lat. 48. 15.
RAPTURE, an ecstasy or transport of mind, bee
Extasy.
" RARE, in Physics, stands opposed to dense 5 and de¬
notes a body that is very porous, whose parts are at a
great distance from one another, and which is supposed
to contain but little matter under a large bulk. See the
following article.
RAREFACTION, in Physics, the act whereby a
body is rendered rare-, that is, brought to possess more
room, or appear under a larger bulk, without acces¬
sion of any new matter.—This is very frequently the
effect of fire, as has long been universally allowed. In
many cases, horvever, philosophers have attributed it
to the action of a repulsive principle. However, Irom
the many discoveries concerning the nature and proper¬
ties of the electric fluid and fire, there is the greatest
reason to believe, that this repulsive principle is no other
than elementary fire. See Repulsion.
RAS-EL-Feel, one of the frontier provinces of A-
byssinia, of which the late celebrated traveller Mr Bruce
was made governor while in that country. It is but of
small extent, and in its most prosperous state contained
only 39 villages. The climate is extremely hot, in Mr
Bruce’s opinion one of the hottest in the world. He in¬
forms us, that on the first day of March, at three
o’clock in the afternoon, the thermometer stood at 1140
in the shade, and in the evening at 82°-, though at sun¬
rise it had been no higher than 61. Notwithstanding
this appearance of extreme heat, however, the sensation
was by no means intolerable-, they could hunt at mid¬
day, and felt the evenings rather cold. The soil is a
fat, loose, black earth, which our author says is the
same from 130 to 160 of north latitude j at least till we
come to the deserts of Atbara, where the tropical rains
cease. This country divides that of the Shangalla into
two parts, nearly equal. These people inhabit a belt
of land about 60 miles broad, all along the northern
frontier of Abyssinia, excepting two large gaps or spaces
which have been left open for the sake of commerce,
and which are inhabited by strangers, to keep the Shanr
galla in awe. The latter trade in gold, which they
pick up in the streams as it is washed down from the
mountains -, for there are no mines in their country,
neither is there any gold in Abyssinia, excepting what
is imported from this or some other country. The
Shangalla are the natural enemies of the inhabitants of
Ras-el-Feel, and much blood has been shed in the va¬
rious incursions they have made upon one another;
though of late those of Ras-el-Feel, by the assistance of
the emperors, have been enabled to keep the Shangalla
at bay.
RAS-Sem, a city of Tripoli in Barbary, concerning
which a number of fables were told by the Tripoline
4
Rastall.
ambassador, all of which were believed in England and Ras-Semi
other parts of Europe in the beginning of this century. ||
(See Petrified Citiy). Mr Bruce informs us, that it
is situated about five days journey south from Bengazij
but has no water excepting one fountain, which has a
disagreeable taste and seems to be impregnated with
alum. Hence it has obtained the name of lias-Se?n, or
the fpuntain of poison. The only remains of antiquity
in this place consist of the ruins of a tower or fortifica¬
tion, which, in the opinion of Mr Bruce, is as late as
the time of the Vandals 5 but he says he cannot imagine
what use they made of the water j and they had no
other within two days journey of the place.—Here our
traveller saw many of the animals ca\\e&. jerboa, a kind
of mice which, he says, seem to partake as much of
the nature of a bird as of a quadruped.
RASAY, one of the Hebrides islands, is about 13
miles long and two broad. It contains 700 inhabitants,
has plenty of limestone and freestone ; feeds great num¬
bers of black cattle ; but has neither deers, hares, nor
rabbits. The only appearance of a harbour in Rasay is
at Elachan bay, where Mr Macleod the proprietor of
the island resides. Rasay presents a bold shore, which
rises to the height of mountains 5 and here the natives
have, with incredible labour, formed many little com
fields and potato grounds. These heights decrease at
the south end, where there are some farms and a good-
looking country. Mr Macleod is sole proprietor of this
island and of Rona and Fladda at the north end of it,
which are only proper for grazing.
The house of Rasay is pleasantly situated near the
south-west end of the island, which is the most level
part of it. It has an extensive and excellent garden,
and is surrounded with forest trees of considerable mag¬
nitude -, another proof that trees will grow- upon the
edge of the sea, though it must be allowed that the
channel here is narrow. Immediately behind the house
of Rasay are the ruins of an ancient chapel, now used
as the family burying-place.
RASCIANS, a poor oppressed people who dwelt on
both sides of the Danube, and who, about the year I594>
being weary of the Turkish thraldom, first took 13
their vessels upon that river 5 and then drawing together
a body of 15,000 men between Bude and Belgrade,
twice defeated the pasha of Temeswar with a body of
14,000 Turks. They afterwards took Baczkerek, four
miles from Belgrade, and the castle of Ottadt ; then
laying siege to that of Beche, on the rIheyssa, the old
pasha of Temeswar marched to relieve it with 11,000
men ; but the Rascians encountering them, slew near
10,000, and took 18 pieces of cannon. I he conse¬
quence of this victory was the reduction of Wersetza
and Lutz. Then, sending to the archduke for aid and
gunners, they offered to put themselves and their coun¬
try under the emperor’s protection.
RASOR-bill, a species of alca. See Alca, Orni¬
thology Index.
IlASOR-F/sh, a genus of shell-fish. See Solen, Con-
CHOLOGY Ifldcx.
RASTALL, John, a printer and miscellaneous wri¬
ter, was born in London, probably about the end of the
15th century, and educated at Oxford. Returning from
the university, he settled in the metropolis, and com¬
menced printer, “ then esteemed (says Wood) a profes¬
sion fit for any scholar or ingenious man.” He married
tbfr
Astall
. .R A T C 645
the sister of Sir Thomas More, with whom, we are told
he was very intimate, and whose writings he strenuous¬
ly defended. From the title-page of one^of his books, he
1 appears to have lived in Cheapside, at the sign of the
Mermaid. He died in the year 1536 ; and lefUwo sons,
William and John : the first of whom became a judge’
in Queen Mary’s reign, and the latter a justice of peac^e.
This John Rastall, the subject of the present article was
a zealous J apist j but iJale says that he changed his re¬
ligion before his death. He wrote, 1. Natura naturata.
Pits calls it a copious (prolixa) and ingenious comedy,
]
rat
describing Europe, Asia, and Africa; with cuts What cherries A'itI, o’ 'en i1* ‘ in£ t0 “'em the kernels of
sort of a comedy this was is not casv’to conceit, f tl'" /J Pep-
sort of a comedy this was, is not easy to conceive. Pro¬
bably it is a cosmographical description, written in dia¬
logue, and therefore styled a comedy. 2. The pastyme
of the people *, the cronycles of diverse realmys, and
most especially of the realm of England, brevely com¬
piled and emprinted in Cheapesyde, at the sign of the
mearmaid, next Pollysgate, cum privilegio, fob 3. Ec-
cUsia Johannis Rastall, 1542, was one of the prohibit¬
ed books in the reign of Henry VIH. 4. Legum An-
glicanarum vocabula explicata. Fi-ench and Latin. Lond.
1567, 8vo. And some other works.
RASTADT, a town of Germany, in the circle of
Suabia and duchy of Baden, with a handsome castle.
It is remarkable for a treaty concluded here between the
French and imperialists in 1714 ; and near this place
the French defeated the imperial troops in July 1796 ;
in 1798 a congress was held here for the conclusion of a
peace between France and Germany j but it broke up in
1799, when, not far from Rastadt, the French plenipo¬
tentiaries, on their return, were murdered by a party of
Austrian hussars. See France, N° 501. Rastadt is
seated on the river Merg, near the Rhine. E. Long.
8. 14. N. Lat. 48. 54.
RASTENBURG, a fine city in Prussia, on the Gu-
ber, surrounded with a wall, and since 1629 also with
a rampart. It is 46 miles south-east of Koningsberg.
E. Long. 21. 30. N. Lat. 54. 20.
RAT. See Mus, Mammalia Index; and for an
account of the methods of destroying rats, see Vermin,
Destruction of.
RaT-Island, a small detached part of the island of
Lundy, oft’ the north coast of Devon. Though noted
in Bonn’s map of the country, it is not worth mention
here, but as giving opportunity to subjoin a farther no¬
tice of Lundy, which island was purchased a few years
since by Mr Cleveland, M. P. for about 1200 guineas,
who has a small villa on it: not more than 400 acres
are cultivated : it is let altogether for 70I. a.year. The
soil is good, though no trees will grow on the island.
It has fine springs of water : the houses are seven : the
inhabitants, men, women, and children, do not exceed
24. The bird called murr, whose eggs are very large
and fine, the Lundy parrot, and rabbits, are the chief
produce 5 these abound, and are taken for the feathers,
eggs, and skins, principally. They have now (1794)
70 bullocks and 400 sheep, but the latter do not thrive.
They pay no taxes : fishing skiffs often call with neces¬
saries : the situation is very pleasant, and the rocks
around, which are large, and partly granite, are wild
and romantic. It had probably more inhabitants once,
as human bones have been ploughed up. It has no
place of worship, and no public-house j but strangers
are always welcome. Eight cannon lie on the battle¬
ments on the top of a very steep precipice, under which
T "“"t ous Gower, Mr Benson, and Sir
J. B. \\ arren, K. B. have been former proprietors. See
Lundy.
Rat-Tails, or Arrests. See Farriery Index
cu RATA.F1^> a fine spirituous liquor, prepared from
the kernels, &c. of several kinds of fruits, particularly
of cherries and apricots. J
. Fatafia of cherries is prepared by bruising the cher¬
ries, and putting them into a vessel wherein brandy has
been long kept; then adding to them the kernels of
cherries, with strawbpriMoc   1
per, nutmeg, cloves j and to 20 pounds of cherries 10
quarts of brandy. The vessel is left open 10 or 12
days, and then stopped close for two months before it
be tapped. Ratafia of apricots is prepared two ways
viz. either by boiling the apricots in white wine, adding
to the liquor an equal quantity of brandy, with sugar
cinnamon, mace, and the kernels of apricots ; infusing
the whole tor eight or ten days ; then straining the li¬
quor, and putting it up for use : or else, by infusing the
apricots cut in pieces, in brandy, for a day or two, pas¬
sing it through a straining bag, and then putting in the
usual ingredients.
. or Rash, in clock-work, a sort of wheel
having twelve fangs, which serve to lift up the detents
eVT?r a T’°Ur’ and m.ake the clock strike- see Clock.
RA 1 Cl! E I S, m a watch, are the small teeth at the
bottom of the fusy or barrel, which stops it in winding
RATE, a standard or proportion, by which either
the quantity or value of a thing is adjusted.
KA1ES, in the navy, the orders or classes into
which the ships of Avar are divided, according to their
force and magnitude.
The regulation which limits the rates of men of war
to the smallest number possible, seems to have been dic¬
tated by considerations of political economy,*or of that
of the simplicity of the service in the royal dock-yards.
he British fleet is accordingly distributed into six rates,
exclusive of the inferior vessels that usually attend on
naval aimaments j as sloops of Avar, armed ships,
bomb-ketches, fire-ships and cutters, or schooners, com¬
manded by lieutenants.
Ships of the first rate mount 100 cannon, having 42-
pounders on the loiver deck, 24-pounders on the middle
deck, 12-pounders on the upper deck, and 6-pounders
on the quarter-deck and fore-castle. They are manned
with 850 men, including their officers, seamen, marines,
and servants.
In general, the ships of every rate, besides the cap¬
tain, have the master, the boatswain, the gunner, the
chaplain, the purser, the surgeon, and the carpenter j
all of whom, except the chaplain, have their mates or
assistants, in which are comprehended the sail-maker, the
master at arms, the armourer, the captain’s clerk,’ the
gunsmith, &c.
The number of otjier officers is always in proportion
to the rate of the ship. Thus a first-rate has six lieu¬
tenants, six master’s mates, twenty-four midshipmen,
and five surgeon’s mates, who are considered as gentle¬
men : besides the folloAving petty officers ; quarter-mas¬
ters and their mates, fourteen 5 boatsAvain’s mates and
yeomen, eight j gunner’s mates and assistants, six; quar¬
ter-gunners, twenty-five; carpenter’s mates, two, besides
fourteen;
Rat-
Island
II
Rates.
Ti AT [ 646 ] RAT
>llate9< fourteen assistants j with one steward and steward’s
—v—' mate to the purser.
If the dimensions of all ships of the same rate weie
equal, it would be the simplest and most perspicuous
method to collect them into one point of view in a table :
hut as there is no invariable rule for the general dimen¬
sions, we must content ourselves with but a few remarks
on ships of each rate, so as to give a general idea of the
difference between them.
The Victory, one of the last built of our first ratej,
is 222 feet 6 inches in length, from the head to the
stern ; the length of her keel, 151 teet 3 inches •, that
of her gun deck, or lower deck, 186 feet j her extieme
breadth is 51 feet 10 inches; her depth in the hold, 21
feet 6 inches ; her burden, 2162 tons; and her poop
reaches 6 feet before the mizen-mast.
Ships of the second rate carry 90 guns upon three
decks, of which those on the lower battery are 32-
pounders; those on the middle, 18-pounders j on the
upper-deck, 12-pounders; and those on the quarter¬
deck, 6-pounders, which usually amount to four nr six.
Their complement of men is 750, in which there are six
lieutenants, four master’s mates, 24 midshipmen, and
four surgeon’s mates, ^quarter masters and their mates,
eight boatswain’s mates and yeomen, six gunner’s mates
and yeomen, with 22 quarter-gunners, two carpenter’s
mates, with 10 assistants, and one steward and steward’s
mate.
Ships of the third rate carry from 64 to 80 cannon,
which are 32, 18, and 9 pounders. The 80-gun ships,
however, begin to grow out of repute, and to give way
to those of 74, 70, &c. which have only two whole
batteries; whereas the former have three, with 28 guns
planted on each, the cannon of their upper deck being
the same as those on the quarter-deck and fore-castle of
the latter, which are 9-pounders. rlhe complement in
a 74 is 650, and in a 64, 500 men ; having, in peace,
four lieutenants, but in war, five; and when an admiral
is aboard six. They have three master’s mates, 16
midshipmen, three surgeon’s mates, 10 quarter-masters,
and their mates, six boatswain’s mates and yeomen, four
gunner’s mates and yeomen, with 18 quarter-gunners,
one carpenter’s mate, with eight assistants, andone stew¬
ard and steward’s mate under the purser.
Ships of the fourth rate mount from 60 to 50 guns,
upon two decks, and tin quarter-deck. The lower
tier is composed of 24-pounders, the upper tier of 12-
pounders, and the cannon on the quarter-deck and
fore-castle are 6-pounders. The complement of a 50
gun ship is 350 men, in which there are three lieute¬
nants, two master’s mates, 10 midshipmen, two sur¬
geon’s mates, eight quarter-masters and their mates,
four boatswain’s mates and yeomen, one gunner’s mate
and one yeoman, with 12 quarter-gunners, one carpen¬
ter’s mate and six assistants, and a steward and steward’s
jrnate.
All vessels of war, under the fourth rate, are usually
eomprehended under the general name of frigates,
and never appear in the line of battle. They are di¬
vided into the 5th and 6th rates; the former mounting
from 40 to 32 guns, and the latter from 28 to 20.
The largest of the fifth rate have two decks of cannon,
the lower battery being of 18-pounders, and that of
the upper deck of 9-pounders : but those of 36 and 32
guns have one complete deck of guns, mounting 12-
1
pounders, besides the quarter-deck and fore-castle, which Rate,
carry 6-pounders. The complement of a ship ot 44 Rat«
guns is 280 men; and that of a frigate of 36 guns,' ' in
240 men. The first has three, and the second two
lieutenants ; and both have two master’s mates, six mid¬
shipmen, two surgeon’s mates, six quarter-masters and
their mates, two boatswain’s mates, and one yeoman,
one gunner’s mute and one yeoman, with 10 or 11 quar¬
ter-gunners, and one purser’s steward.
Frigates of the 6th rate carry 9-pounders, those of
28 guns having 3-pounders on their quarter-deck, with
200 men for their complement; and those ot 24, 160
men : the former has two lieutenants, the latter, one ;
and both have two master’s mates, four midshipmen,
onesurgeon’s mate, four quarter-masters and theirmates,
one boatswain’s mate and one yeoman, one gunner’s
mate andone yeoman, with six or seven quarter-gunners,
and one purser’s steward.
The sloops of war carry from 18 to 8 cannon, the
largest of which have six-pounders ; and the smallest,
viz. those of 8 or 10 guns, four-pounders. Their offi¬
cers are generally the same as in the 6th rates, with
little variation ; and their complements of men are from
120 to 60, in proportion to their force or magnitude.
N. B. Bomb-vessels are on the same establishment as
sloops; but fire-ships and hospital ships are on that of
fifth-rates.
Nothing more evidently manifests the great improve¬
ment of the marine art, and the degree of perfection to
which it has arrived in Britain, than the facility of ma¬
naging our first rates; which were formerly esteemed
incapable of government, unless in the most favourable
weather of the summer.
Ships of the second rate, and those of the third,
which have three decks, carry their sails remarkably
well, and labour very little at sea. They are excellent
in a general action, or in cannonading a fortress. Those
of the third rate, which have two tiers, are fit for the
line of battle, to lead the convoys and squadrons of ships
of war in action, and in general to suit the different exi¬
gencies of the naval service.
The fourth-rates may be employed ou the same occa¬
sions as the third-rates, and maybe also destined amongst
the foreign colonies, or on expeditions ol great distance ;
since these vessels are usually excellent for keeping and
sustaining the sea.
Vessels of the fifth rate are too weak to suffer the
shock of a line of battle; but they may be destined to
lead the convoy s of merchant ships, to protect the com¬
merce in the colonies, to cruize in difterent stations, to
accompany squadions, or be sent express with necessary
intelligence and orders. The same may be observed of
the sixth rates.
The frigates, which mount from 28 to 38 guns
upon one deck, with the quarter-deck, are extremely
proper for cruizing against privateers, or for short
expeditions, being light, long, and usually excellent
sailers.
RATEEN, or Ratten, in commerce, a thick
woollen stufl, quilled, woven on a loom with lour
treddles, like serges and other studs that have the whale
or quilling. There are some ratet ns dressed and prepa¬
red like cloths ; others left simply in the hair, and
others where the hair or knap is frized. Rateens are
chiefly manufactured in France, Holland, and Italy, and
ara
RAT
ueen
II
ition.
[ 647
are mostly used in linings. The frize Is a sort of coarse
rateen, and the drugget is a rateen half linen half wool¬
len.
RATI!ICA1ION, an act of approving and con¬
firming something done by another in our name.
RATIO, in Arithmetic and Geometry, is that rela¬
tion of homogeneous things which determines the quan¬
tity of one from the quantity of another, without the in¬
tervention of a third.
*1 he numoers, lines, or quantities, A and R, being
proposed, their relation one to another may be consider¬
ed under one of these two heads : 1. How much A ex¬
ceeds B, or B exceeds A? And this is found by taking
A from B, or B from A, and is called arithmetic rea¬
son or I'atio. 2. Or how many times, or parts of a
time, A contains B, or B contains A? and this is cal¬
led geometric reason or ratio ; (or, as Euclid dehnes it,
it is the mutual habitude, or respect, of two magnitudes
of the same kind, according to quantity j that is, as to
how often the one contains, or is contained in, the
other) ■, and is found by dividing A by B, or B by
A. And here note, that that quantity which is referred
to another quantity is called the antecedent of the ratio :
and that to which the other is referred is called the con¬
sequent of the ratio; as in the ratio of A to B, A is
the antecedent, and B the consequmt. Therefore any
quantity, as antecedent, divided by any quantity as a
cousequent, gives the ratio of that antecedent to the
consequent.
A
Thus the ratio of A to B is but the ratio of B
]
RAT
Ration
B
B
to A is j and, in numbers, the ratio of 12 to 4
12
4 _ l,
£ #
—=3, or triple j but the ratio of 4 to 12 is
4 . ' 3
or subtriple.
And here note, that the quantities thus compared
must be of the same kind j that is, such as by multipli¬
cation may be made to exceed one the other, or as these
quantities are said to have a ratio between them, which,
being multiplied, may be made to exceed one another.
Thus a line, how short soever, may be multiplied, that is,
produced so long as to exceed any given right line j and
consequently these may be compared together, and the
ratio expressed : but as a line can never, by any multi¬
plication whatever, be made to have breadth, that is,
to be made equal to a superficies, how small soever;
these can therefore never lie compared together, and
consequently have no ratio or respect to one another,
according to quantity ; that is, as to how often the
one contains, or is contained in, the other. Set Quan¬
tity.
RATIOCINATION, the act of reasoning. See
Reasoning.
RATION, or Rati an, in the army, a portion of
ammunition, bread, drink, and forage, distributed to
each soldier in the army, for his daily subsistence, &c.
The horse have rations of bay and oats when they can¬
not go out to forage. The rations of bread are regu¬
lated by weight. 'The ordinary ration of a foot soldier
is a pound and a half of bread per day. The officers
have several rations according to their quality and the
number of attendants they are obliged to keep.—Wfien
the ration is augmented on occasions of rejoicing, it is
called a double ration. The ships crews have also their j|
rations or allowances of biscuit, pulse, and water, pro- Ratlines.
portioned according to their stock. ' 
RATIONALE, a solution or account of the princi-
ples of someopimon, action, hypothesis, phenomenon or
the like.
RATI BOR, a town of Prussian Silesia, and ca¬
pital of a duchy of the same name, with a castle. It
has been twice taken by the Swedes, and is seated on
the river Oder, in a country fertile in corn and fruits
15 miles north-east of Troppaw and 142 east of Prague!
E. Long. 18. 10. N. Lat. 50. 14.
KA'I ISBON, an ancient, large, handsome, and
strong city of Germany, in Bavaria, with a bishop’s
see, whose bishop was a prince of the empire. It is
called by the Germans Regensburg, from the river Re-
gen-i, which runs under a fine stone bridge, and throws
itself into the Danube below the city ; and the rivers
Luber and Nab mix with it above tbe'city. The French
call it Ratisbon. in imitation of the Latins ; it was for¬
merly subject to the kings of Bavaria, who made it the
place of their residence ; but it was declared free by
the emperor t rederick I. and continued a free and im¬
perial city till 1806, when it was united to the kingdom
of Bavaria. It was the first city of the bench of Snabia,
and contained within its walls five different free states
of the empire ; namely, the bishop, the abbot of St
Emmeran, the abbesses of the Low and High Munster,
and the city. The inhabitants of Ratisbon had the pri!
vilege not to be cited before other tribunals, unless for
actions above 400 florins. The senate was composed
of 17 members, and there was a council of 10, charged
with the government of the state The Catholics have
the exercise of their religion in the cathedral church
and others, and the Lutherans in three churches which
they have built. The magistrates and officers of the
city are all Protestants ; and it is to be remarked, that
although there are about 22 Catholic churches, yet there
are very few Catholic citizens, the magistracy not al-
lowung the freedom of the town to be given to Catholics
living there. As this city is large, elegant, and full of
magnificent houses, it was chosen many years for the
place of holding the diet, upon account of the conve-
niency, to many neighbouring princes and states, of
sending their provisions by land and water, without
creat expence. The town-house, in the midst of which
the diet met, is extremely magnificent. In the year
1740, however, when there was a war in Germany, the
diet met at Frankfort on the Main, till after the death
of the emperor Charles VII ; and since the new con¬
stitution of Germany was established, the meetings of the
diet have again been transferred to Frankfort. Provi¬
sions are very plentiful at Ratisbon in time of peace.
1 he inhabitants have a good deal of trade, the river on
which it stands being navigable, and communicating
with a great part of Germany. It is 55 miles south¬
east of Nuremberg, 62 north of Munich, and 195 west
of Vienna, and contains about 22,000 inhabitants. E.
Long. 1 2. 5. N. Lat. 48. 59.
RATLINES, or, as the sailors call them, ratlins,
those lines which make the ladder steps to go up the
shrouds and pattocks, hence galled the ratlins of the
shrouds.
RATOLFZEL, '
Ratolfzel
Ravenna.
RAY [
RATOLFZEL, a strong town of Germany, in Sua-
bia, near the west end of the lake Constance. It is
seated on that part of it called Bodensee, and be ongs to
the house of Austria, who took it Irom the duke ot
Wirtemburg, after the battle of Nordlingen. It is 12
miles west of the city of Constance. It is defended by
the impregnable castle of Hohen Dwel, on an inacces¬
sible hill in the middle of a plain, the rock of which is
flint, so that a few men may hold it out against an
army.
RATTLESNAKE.
See Crotalus, Ophiology
Index. ^
Rattlesnake Boot. See Polygala, Rotany
Index.
RATZEBURG, or Ratzemburg, an ancient town
of Germany, in the circle of Lower Saxony, and m the
duchy of Lawenburg, with a bishop’s see and a cas¬
tle. The town depends on the duchy of Lawenburg,
and the cathedral church on that of Ratzeburg. It is
seated on an eminence, and almost surrounded with a
lake 25 miles in length and three in breadth. The
duke of Lawenburg seized and fortified it in 1689, and
the king of Denmark took it in 1693 j but it was dis¬
mantled, and restored in 1700 to the duke, who re¬
fortified it. This town has been frequently pillaged,
particularly in 1552, by Francis duke of Saxe Lawen¬
burg, because the canons refused to elect his son Mag¬
nus their bishop. It is nine miles south of Lubec. Ibis
place is noted for its excellent beer. E. Long. 10. 58.
N. Lat. 53. 47.
RAVA, a town of Poland, and capital of a pala¬
tinate of the same name, with a fortified castle, where
they keep state prisoners. The houses are built of
wood, and there is a Jesuit’s college. It is seated in
a morass covered with water, which proceeds from the
river Rava, with which it is surrounded. It is 45 miles
south of Blosko, and 50 south-west of Warsaw. The
palatinate is bounded on the north by that of Blosko, on
the east by that of Mazovia, on the south by that of
Sandomer, and on the west by that of Lencieza.
RAVELIN, in Fortification, was anciently a flat
bastion placed in the middle of a curtain j but now a
detached work composed only of two .faces, which
make a salient angle without any flanks, and raised
before the counterscarp of the place. See FoRTIr'lCA-
TION.
RAVEN. See Corvus, Ornithology Index.
Sea Raven, or corvo marino of Kongo in Africa, in
Ichthyology, is about six feet long; but the most singu¬
lar circumstance appertainingto this creature is the stone
found in its head, to which the natives ascribe some me¬
dicinal virtues, and the delicate taste of its hard roe,
which is still much admired, when dried in the sun, and
becomes as hard as a stone.
RAVENGLAS, a town of Cumberland in England,
situated between the rivers Irt and Gsk, which, with the
sea, encompass three parts of it. It is a well built place,
and has a good road for shipping, which brings it some
trade. E. Long. o. 5. N. Lat. 54. 20.
RAVENNA, in Ancient Geography, a noble city of
Gallia Cispadana; a colony of Thessalians, on the Adri¬
atic, in washes or a boggy situation, which proved a
natural security to it. The houses were all of wood, the
communication by bridges and boats, and the town kept
sweet and clean by the tides carrying away the mud and
648 ] RAY
soil, (Strabo). Anciently it had a port at the mouth of Ravenn,;
the Bedesis ; Augustus added a new port, capacious to [j
hold a fleet, for the security of the Adriatic, between
which and the city lay the Via Caesaris. In the lower' "l
age it was the seat of the Ostrogoths for 72 years ; but
being recovered by Narses, Justinian’s general, it be¬
came the residence of the exarchs, magistrates sent by
the emperor from Constantinople, for 175 years, when
it was taken by the Longobards. It is still called Ra*-
venna, and is the capital of the province of Romagna in
the states of the Church. It contains about 14,000
souls. The seat of the western or Roman empire was
by Honorius translated to Ravenna about the year 404,
and hence the country in which it stood was called
Romania. It had a very flourishing trade till the sea
withdrew two miles from it, which has been a great
detriment. The fortifications are of little importance,
and the citadel is gone to ruin. It is now most remark¬
able for the excellent wine produced in its neighbour¬
hood. The mausoleum of Theodoric is still to be seen,
remarkable for being covered by a single stone 28 feet
in diameter and 15 thick. It was at Ravenna that the
duke of Nemours fell, after having gained a most deci¬
sive victory over the confederate army, in 1511.
RAVENSBURG, a county of Germany, in West¬
phalia, bounded on the north by the bishoprics of Osna-
burg and Minden, on the east by Lemgow, on the south
by the bishopric of Paderborn, and on the west by that
of Munster. It belongs to the king of Prussia, and has
its name from the castle of Ravensburg. The population
amounts to about 81,812.
Ravensburg, a town of Germany, formerly free
and imperial, but now subject to Wirtemberg. It is
well built, and the public structures are handsome.
The inhabitants are partly Protestants and partly Pa¬
pists. It is seated on the river Chenss, in E. Long. 9.
46. N. Lat. 47. 44.
RAVET, an insect shaped like a may-bug, or cock¬
chafer, (see Scaraba:us), with which the island of
Guadaloupe is much pestered. It has a stinking smell,
preys upon paper, books, and furniture, and whatever
they do not gnaw is discoloured by their ordure. These
nasty insects, which are very numerous, and appear
chiefly by night, would be intolerable, were it not for
a large spider, some of them as long as man’s fist,
which intangle§ them in its web, and otherwise surprises
them. On which account the inhabitants of the island
are very careful of these spiders.
RAVJLLIAC, Francis, the infamous assassin oi'pfod.Um
Henry IV. of France, was a native ot Angoulesme, Hitt, vol
and at the time of his execution was about one or two
and thirty years of age. See France, N° 150, andno e
Henry IV. of France. Ravilliac rvas the son of parents
who lived upon alms. His father was that sort of infe¬
rior retainer to the law, to which the vulgar give the.
name of a pettfiogger, and his son had been bred up in
the same way. Ravilliac had set up a claim to an estate,
but the cause went against him ; this disappointment af¬
fected his mind deeply: he afterwards taught a school,
and, as himself said, received charitable gifts, though
but of a very small value, from the parents of those
whom he taught; and yet his distress was so great, that
he had much ado to live. When he was seized for the
king’s murder, he was very loosely guarded; all were
permitted to speak witii him who pleased ; and it was
thought
It A V £ 640 1 R A V
illiae. tll0USht very remarkable that a Jesuit should savtn Mm f t l
-v ' “ Friend, take care, whatever you do that vo-, ^ ^ 1 l°US Serr^8 aml bo°ks of the' JesuJ,s>
charge honest people.” He was removed nexUlav from l' l°m flcnry’ rf ier,°“t of. feai; t,1an love» had recal-
the house of Espernon to the Conciergerie' the Loner hearT' an< to whom he had bequeathed his
prison of the parliament of Pari, ixn V p t . 
prison of the parliament of Pa^^^n
inti rrogated, he answered with creat boldness “ That
he had done it, and would do it if it were to do again.”
'When he was told that the king, though dangerously
wounded, was hvmg, and might recover, he said that
he had struck him home, and that he was sure he was
dead. In his subsequent examinations be owned that he
had long had an intention to kill the king, because he
suffered two religions in his kingdom j and that he en¬
deavoured to obtain an audience of him, that he might
admonish him. He also said that he understood the king’s
gieat aimament to be against the pope, and that, in his
opinion, to make war against the pope, was to make
war against God. We have no distinct account of the
three last examinations ; but he is said to have persisted
in the most solemn asservations, that he had no accom¬
plices, and that nobody had persuaded him to the fact.
He appeared surprised at nothing so much as at the
universal abhorrence of the people, which, it seems,
he did not expect. They were forced to guard him
strictly from his fellow prisoners, who would otherwise
have murdered him. The butchers of Paris desired to
have him put into their hands, affirming that they would
flay him alive, and that he'should still live 12 days.
When lie was put to the torture, he broke out into
horrid execrations, and always insisted that he did the
fact from his own motive, and that he could accuse
nobody. On the day of his execution, after he had
made the amende honourable before the church of Notre
X)anie, he was carried to the Greve ; and, being brought
upon a scaffold, was tied to a wooden engine in the
shape of a St Andrew’s cross. The knife with which
lie did the murder being fastened in his right hand, it
was first burnt in a slow fire ; then the "fleshy parts
of his body were torn with red hot pincers, and melted
lead, oil, pitch, and rosin, poured into the wounds,
and through a clay funnel into his bowels by the navel.
The people refused to pray for him j and" when, ac¬
cording to the sentence pronounced upon him, he came
to be dragged to pieces by four horses, one of those that
Tfere brought appearing to be but weak, one of the spec¬
tators offered his own, with which the criminal was much
moved : he is said to have then made a confession, which
was so written by the greffier Voisin, that not so much as
one word of it could ever be read. He was very earnest
for absolution, which his confessor refused, unless he
would reveal his accomplices; “Give it me condi¬
tionally (said he), upon condition that I have told the
truth,” which they did. His body was so robust, that
it resisted the force of the horses; and the executioner
was at length obliged to cut him into quarters, which
the people dragged through the streets. The house in
which he was horn was demolished, and a column of
infamy erected ; his father and mother were banished
from Angoulesme, and ordered to quit the kingdom
upon pain of being hanged, if ther returned, without
any form of process ; his brothers, sisters, uncles, and
other relations, were commanded to lay aside the name
of Ravilliac, and to assume some other. Such was the
fate of this execrable monster, who, according to his
own account, suffered himself to be impelled to such
V ol. XVII. Part II. f
Revillfur
li
Ray,
Neither the dying words of Ravilliac, nor so much
of his piocess as was published, were credited by his
cotemporaries. Regalt the historian says, that there
were two different opinions concerning this assassination;
one, that it was conducted by some grandees, who sacri¬
ficed that monarch to their old resentments ; the other,
that it was done by the emissaries of the Spaniards. Let¬
ters from Brussels, Antwerp, Mechlin, and other places
were received before the 15th of May, with a report of
the king’s death. Though nothing occurs in the exami¬
nations of Ravilliac that werefirst published, in reference
to his journeys to Naples and other places ; yet as these
are set down as certain truths by good authors, so there
are probable grounds to believe that they were not ficti¬
tious. It appears from Sir Ralph Winwood’s Memorials,
that Ravilliac had been not long before at Brussels. A-
mongst other circumstances that created a very great
doubt, whether the assassin spoke truth, were the things
found in his pocket at the time he was seized ; amonirst
which was a chaplet, the figure of a heart made in cot¬
ton, in the centre ot which he said there was a bit of
the true cross, but when cut there was none, which he
affirmed was given him by a canon at Angoulesme, a
piece of paper with the arms of France painted upon it,
another full of characters, and a third containing verses
for the meditation of a criminal going to execution.
The provost of Pluviers, or Petiviers, in Beauce, about
six miles from Paris, had said openly on the day that
Henry IV. was murdered, “ This day the king is either
slain or dangerously wounded.” After the king’s death
was known, he was seized and sent prisoner to Paris ;
but, before he was examined, he was found hanged in
the strings of his drawers. His body was, notwith¬
standing, hung up by the heels on the common gibbet
on the 19th of June. AVhat increased the suspicions
grounded on this man’s end, was his having two sons
Jesuits, and bis being a dependant on the family of
Monsieur d’Entragues.
RAUN, a town ot some strength upon the river
Miza, remarkable lor a bloody skirmish between the
Prussians and Austrians, in August 1744. The king
of Prussia, intending to get possession ot Beraun, sent
thither six battalions, with eight cannon, and 8?o hus¬
sars ; but General Festititz being there with a great
party of his corps, and M. Luchesi with 1000 horse,
they not only repulsed the Prussians, hut attacked them
in their turn, and, after a warm dispute, obliged them
to retire with considerable loss.
RAURICUM, in Ancient Geography, a town of the
Raurici, situated over against Abnoba, a mountain from
which the Danube takes its rise. A Roman colony led
by L. Manutius Plancus the scholar and friend of Ci¬
cero : called Colonia Rauriaea (Pliny), Raurica (In¬
scription), Augusta Rauricorum. The town was de¬
stroyed in Julian’s time. It is now commonly called
Augst, a village greatly decayed from what it formerly
was. It is situated on the Rhine, distant about two
hours to the east of Basil. The country is now the
canton of Basil.
RAY, John, a celebrated naturalist, was the sou of
Mr Roger Ray a blacksmith, and was born at Black
4 N Notly
R A
Rav.
Y [ 650
Notly in Essex in 1628. He received the first rudi-
ments of learning at the grammar-school at .Brain,
tree; and in 1644 vvas admitted into Catharine-Hall
in Cambridge, from whence he afterwards removed
to Trinity college in that university. He took the de¬
cree of master of arts, and became at length a senior
fellow of the college j but his intense application to
his studies having injured his health, he was obliged at
his leisure hours to exercise himselt by ruling or walk¬
ing; in the fields, which led him to the study of plants.
He noted from Johnson, Parkinson, and the P/njtologia
Britannica, the places where curious plants grew j and
in 1658 rode from Cambridge to the city or Chester,
from whence he went into North Wales, visiting many
places, and among others the famous hill of Snowdon •,
returning by Shrewsbury and Gloucester. In 1660 he
published his Catalogiis Plantarum circa Cantabriguim
nascentium, and the same year was ordained deacon
and priest. In 1661 he accompanied trancis YVil-
loughby, Esq. and others in search of plants and other
natural curiosities in the north ot England and Scotandj
and the next year made a western tour from Chester,
and through Wales, to Cornwall, Devonshire, Dorset¬
shire, Hampshire, Wiltshire, and other counties. He
afterwards travelled with Mr Willoughby and other
gentlemen through Holland, Germany, Italy, I ranee,
&c. took several tours in England, and was. admitted
fellow of the Royal Society. In 1672 his intimate and
beloved friend Mr Willoughby died in the 37^' year
of his age, at Middleton Hall, his seat at Yorkshire •,
“ to the infinite and unspeakable loss and grief (says Mr
Ray) of myself, his friends, and‘all good men.” '['here
having been the closest and sincerest friendship between
Mr Willoughby and Mi Ray, who were men of simi¬
lar natures and tastes, from the time of their being
fellow collegians, Mr Willoughby not only confided
in Mr Ray, in his lifetime, but also at his death:
for he made him one of the executors of his will, and
charged him with the education of his sons 1 rancis and
Thomas, leaving him also for life 60I. per annum.
The'eldest of these young gentlemen, not being four
vears of age, Mr Ray, as a faithful trustee, betook
"himself to the instruction of them j and for their use
composed his Nomenclator Classicus, which was pub¬
lished this very year, 1672. Francis the eldest dying
before he was of age, the younger became Lord
Middleton. Not many months after the death of Mr
Willoughby, Mr Ray lost another of his best friends,
Bishop Wilkins j whom he visited in London the 18th
of November 1672, and found near expiring by a total
suppression of urine for eight days. As it is natural
for the mind, when it is hurt in one part, to seek re¬
lief from another; so Mr Ray, having lost some of his
best friends, and being in a manner left destitute, con¬
ceived thoughts of marriage*, and accordingly, in June
1673, did actually marry a gentlewoman of about 20
years of age, the daughter of Mr Oakley of Launton
in Oxfordshire. Towards the end of this year, came
forth his “ Observations Topographical, Moral, &c.”
made in foreign countries ; to which was added his
Catalogus Stirpium in extevis regionihns observatarum :
and about the same time, his Collection of unusual or
local English words, which lie had gathered up in his
travels through the counties of England. After having
published many books on subjects foreign to his profes-
2
]
RAY
siuu, he at length resolved to publish in the character
of a divine, as well as in that of a natural philosopher :
in which view he published his excellent demonstration
of the being and attributes ot God, entitled 'I he IFis-
dom of God manifested in the Works of the Creation,
8vo, 1697. The rudiments of this work were read in
some college lectures and another collection of the
same kind he enlarged and published under the title of
Three Physico-theological discourses, concerning the
Chaos, Deluge, and Dissolution of the World, 8vo,
1692. He died in 1705. He was modest, affable, and
communicative } and was distinguished by his probity,
charity, sobriety, and piety. He wrote a great number
of works ; the principal of which, besides those already-
mentioned, are, 1. Catalogus Plantarum Auglice. 2.
Dictionariolum Trilingue secundum locos communes.
3. Historia Plantarum, Species hactenus editas, alias-
que insuper multas noviter inventas et descriptas com-
plectens, three vols. 4. Methodus Plantarum nova,
cum Tabulis, 8vo, and several other works on plants.
5. Synopsis Methodica Animalium Quadrupedvm et
Serpentini generis, 8vo. 6. Synopsis Methodica Avium
et Piscium. 7. Historia Insectorum, opus posthumum.
8. Methodus Insectarum. 9. Philosophical Letters,&c.
RAYNAL, William Thomas, or the Abbe Ray-
nal, was born about the year 1712, and received his
education among the celebrated order ot the Jesuits, and
became one of their number. Their value and excel¬
lence chiefly consisted in assigning to each member his
proper employment. Among them it was that Raynal
acquired a taste for literature and science, and by them
he was afterwards expelled, but for what reason is not
certainly known, although the abbe Barruel ascribes it
to impiety. Soon after this event he associated with
Voltaire, D’Alembert, and Diderot, by whom it is said,
he was employed to furnish the articles in theology for
the Encyclopedic; but he employed the abbe A von to
furnish them for him, whom Barruel allows to have been
an inofi'ensive and upright man.
His first work, which is justly regarded as an emi¬
nent performance, is entitled “ Political and 1 hiloso-
phical History of the European Settlements in the East
and West Indies.” The style of this work is animat¬
ed -, it contains many just reflections both ot a political
and philosophical nature, and has been translated into
every European language. We believe this perform¬
ance was followed by a small tract in the year 1780,
entitled “ The Revolution of America,” in which hs
pleads the cause of the colonists with much zeal, cen¬
sures the conduct of the British government, and dis¬
covers an acquaintance with the principles of the dif¬
ferent factions, which has induced a belief that he had
been furnished with materials by those who knew th®
merits of the dispute much better than any foreigner
could reasonably be supposed to do.
The French government instituted a prosecution a-
gainst him on account of his history of the East and
AVest Indies } but with so little seventy was it conduct¬
ed, that sufficient time was allowed him to retire to the
dominions of his Prussian majesty, by whom he was
protected, notwithstanding he had treated the character
of that sovereign with very little ceremony. Even the
most despotic princes shewed him much kindness, al¬
though he always animadverted on their conduct with¬
out reserve ; and he lived in the good graces of the em-
pre»»
^ ^ ^ [65
press of Russia. At one period the British house of com- *
mons shewed him a very singular mark of respect. The
r speaker having been informed that Raynal was a specta¬
tor in the gallery, public business was instantly suspend¬
ed, and the stranger was conducted to a more honour¬
able situation. But when a friend of Dr Johnson’s asked
him respecting the same personage, “ Will you give me
leave, doctor, to introduce to you the abbe Raynal ?”
he turned on his heel, and said, “ No, sir.”
A love of liberty was the principal trait in Raynal’s
character, of whicn he gave no proper or accurate defi¬
nition in his earlier writings; but when he beheld the
abuse of liberty in the progress of the French Revolu¬
tion, he nobly attempted to retrieve his errors. In the
month of May 1791, he addressed to the Constituent
Assembly, a letter tne most eloquent, argumentative,
and impressive, that perhaps was ever composed upon
any subject whatever. He observes among other things •
“ j have long dared to speak to kings of their duty ;
suffer me now to speak to the people 01 their errors, and
to their representatives of the dangers which threaten
us. I am, I own to you, deeply affficted at the crimes
which plunge this empire into mourning. It is true that
1 am to look back with horror at myself for being one
of those who, by feeling a noble indignation against ar¬
bitrary power, may perhaps have furnished arms to li¬
centiousness. Do then religion, the laws, the royal au¬
thority, and public order, demand back from philosophy
find reason the ties which united them to the grand so¬
ciety ol the trench nation, as if, by exposing abuses,
and teaching the rights of the people and the duties of
princes, our criminal efforts had broken these ties ? But,
no '• never have the bold conceptions of philosophy
been represented by us as the strict rule for acts of le¬
gislation.”
He afterwards completely proves, that it was not the
business ot the assembly to abolish every ancient institu¬
tion ; that the genius of the French people is such, that
they never can be happy or prosperous but under a well
regulated monarchical government ; and that, if they
wished not the nation to fall under the worst kind of
despotism, they must increase the power of the king.
Besides the works already mentioned, he was the au¬
thor of “ A History of the Parliament of England,”
&c. “ History of the Stadtholderate“ The History
of the Divorce of Catharine of Arragon by Henry
VIII.” and a “ History of the Revocation of the Edict
of Nantz,” in four volumes ; but he committed many of
his papers to the flames during the sanguinary reign of
Robespierre. He was deprived of all his property du¬
ring the revolution, and died in poverty in the month
of March 1796, in the 84th year of his age.
Ray, in Optics, a beam of light emitted from a radi¬
ant or luminous body. See Light and Optics.
Inflected Rays, those rays of light which, on their
near approach to the edges of bodies, in passing by them,
are bent out of their course, being turned either from
the body or towards it. This property of the rays of
light is generally termed diffraction by foreigners, and
Dr Hooke sometimes called it deflection.
Rejlected Rays, those rays of light which, after fall¬
ing upon the body, do not go beyond the surface of it,
but are thrown back again.
Refracted Rays, those rays of light which, after fall¬
ing upon any medium, enter its surface, being bent either
Rjiys
i ] REA
towards or from a perpendicular to the point on which
they fell.
J encil of Rays, a number of rays issuing from a Reading.
point of an object, and diverging in the form of a cone.  
RAZOR, a well-known instrument, used by sur¬
geons, barbers, &c. for shaving off the hair from vari¬
ous parts of the body.—As shaving to many people is a
most painful operation, cutlers in difl'erent countries
have long applied their skill to remove that inconveni¬
ence. Some have invented soaps of a peculiar kind to
make the operation more easy, and some have invented
straps. With respect to razors, some artists have suc¬
ceeded rather by accident than from any fixed princi¬
ple ; and therefore we have found great inequality in
the goodness of razors made by the same artist.
A con espondent assures us, that he has for 40 years
past been at much pains to find out razors made by the
best makers both in England and Scotland, and was for¬
tunate enough, at last, to discover a kind made by a
Scotchman of the name of Logan, which he called mag.
netical razors, because they were directed to be touched
with an artificial magnet before using. These, our
friend assures us, are most excellent razors, and he has
used them for upwards of 20 years. He says likewiso
that they continue in good order, without requiring to
be ground ; but that the great draw-back on their be¬
ing generally used, is the price, which is higher than
most people are able or disposed to give for that instru¬
ment. Our correspondent, who resides in the vicinity
of London, also informs us, that lately the famous sur¬
geon’s instrument-maker, Mr Savigny in Pall Mall, af¬
ter numberless experiments, in the course of above 20
years, has at length brought razors to a degree of per¬
fection never yet equalled ; and with such certainty,
that the purchaser is in no danger of a disappointment*
though the price is very moderate. By these, we are
told, the operation of shaving is performed with greater
ease, more perfectly, and more expeditiously than with
any other.
BE, in Grammar, an inseparable particle added to
the beginning of words to double or otherwise modify
their meaning; as in re-action, re-move, re-export, &c.
RE ACTION, in Physiology, the resistance made by
all bodies to the action or impulse of others that en¬
deavour to change its state whether of motion or rest
&c. ’
READING, the art of delivering written language
with propriety, force, and elegance.
“ We must not judge so unfavourably of eloquence
or good reading (says the illustrious Fenelon), as to
reckon it only a frivolous art, that a declaimer uses to
impose upon the weak imagination of the multitude, and
to serve his own ends. It is a very serious art, design¬
ed to instruct people ; to suppress their passions and re¬
form their manners ; to support the laws, direct public
councils, and to make men good and happy.”
Reason and experience demonstrate, that delivery in Delivery i«
reading ought to be less animated than in interested speak- reading
ing. In every exercise of the faculty of speech, andsllould bo
those expressions of countenance and gesture with whirb !e?
it is generally attended, we may be considered to be al-interested
ways in one of the two following situations : First, de-sP«d«“£=
livering our bosom sentiments on circumstances which re¬
late to ourselves or others ; or, secondly, repeating some¬
thing that was spoken on a certain occasion for the
4 ^ 2 amusement
REA
ft cadi*!;;-
amusement or information of an auditor. Now, if we
observe the deliveries natural to these two situations, we
shall iind, that the first may be accompanied with every
degree of expression which can manifest itselt in us,
from the lowest of sympathy to the most violent and
energetic of the superior passions ^ while the latter,
from the speaker’s chief business being to repeat what
he heard with accuracy, discovers only a taint imita¬
tion of those signs of‘the emotions which we suppose
agitated him from whom the words were first borrow-
ed. The use and necessity of this dilference ol man¬
ner is evident j and if we are attentive to these natural
signs of expression, we shall find them conforming with
the greatest nicety to the slightest and most minute
movements of the breast. <
This repetition of another’s words might be supposed
to pass through the mouth of a second or third person 5
and in these cases, since they were not ear and eye wit¬
nesses of him who first spoke them, their manner of de¬
livery would want the advantage necessarily arising from
an immediate idea of the original one ; hence, on this
account, this would be a still less lively representation
than that of the first repeater. But as, from a daily ob¬
servation of every variety of speech and its associated
signs of emotion, mankind soon become pretty well ac¬
quainted with them,and this in different degrees, accord¬
ing to their discernment, sensibility, &c. experience
shows us that these latter repeaters (as we call them)
might conceive and use a manner of delivery which,
though less characteristic perhaps, would on the whole
be no way inferior to the first, as to the common natural
expression proper for their situation. It appears, there¬
fore, that repeaters of every degree may be esteemed up¬
on a level as to animation, and that our twofold distinc¬
tion above contains accurately enough the wliole variety
of ordinary delivery *,—we say ordinary, because
There is another very peculiar kind of delivery some¬
times used in the person of a repeater, of which it will
in this place be necessary to take some notice. What
we mean here is mimicry; an accomplishment which,
when perfectly and properly displayed, never fails of
yielding a high degree of pleasure. But since this
pleasure chiefly results from the principle of imitation
respecting manner, and not from the purport of the
matter communicated •, since, comparatively speaking,
it is only attainable by few persons, and practised only
on particular occasions 5—on these accounts it must be
refused a place among the modes of useful delivery
taught us bv general nature, and esteemed a qualifica¬
tion purely anomalous.
These distinctions with regard to a speaker’s situa¬
tion of mind premised, let us see to which of them an
author and his reader may most properly be referred,
and how they are circumstanced with regard to one
another.
The matter of all books is, either what the author
says in his own person, or an acknowledged recital of
the words of others: hence an author may be esteemed
both an original speaker and a repeater, according as
what he writes is of the first or second kind. Now a
reader must be supposed either actually to personate the
author, or one whose office is barely to communicate
what be has said to an auditor. But in the first of these
suppositions he would, in the delivery of what is the au¬
thor’s own, evidently commence mimic ; which being, as
[ 652 ] It E A
above observed, a character not acknowledged by gene- piea,j;ntl
ral nature in this department, ought to be rejected as
generally improper. The other supposition therefore
must be accounted right 5 and then, as to the whole
matter of the book, the reader is found to he exactly in
the situation of a repeater, save that he takes what he
delivers from the page before him instead of his memo¬
ry. It follows then, in proof of our initial proposition,
that, if we are directed by nature and propriety, the
manner of our delivery in reading ought to be inferior
in warmth and energy to what we should use, were the
language before us the spontaneous effusions of our own
hearts in the circumstances of those out of whose mouths
it is supposed to proceed.
Evident as the purport of this reasoning is, it has not
so much as been glanced at by the writers on the sub¬
ject we are now entered upon, or any of its kindred
ones; which has occasioned a manitest want of accuracy
in several of their rules and observations. Among the
rest, this precept has been long reverberated from au¬
thor to author as a perfect standard for propriety in
reading. “ Deliver yourselves in the same manner you
would do, were the matter your own original sentiments
uttered directly from the heart.” As all kinds of deli¬
very must have many things in common, the rule will
in many articles be undoubtedly right; but, from what
has been said above, it must he as certainly faulty in
respect to several others ; as it is certain nature never
confounds by like signs two things so very different, as
a copy and an original, an emanation darted immediate¬
ly from the sun, and its weaker appearance in the lunar
reflection.
The precepts we have to offer for improving the
above-mentioned rule, shall be delivered under the heads
of accent, emphasis, modulation, expression, pauses, &c. t
I. Accent.—In attending to the aftections ol the Accent
voice when we speak, it is easy to observes, that, inde¬
pendent of any other consideration, one part of it differs
IVcm another, in stress, energy, or force of utterance.
In words we find one syllable differing from another
with respect to this mode ; and in sentences one or
more words as frequently vary from the rest in a si¬
milar manner. Tins stress with regard to syllables is
called accent, and contributes greatly to the variety and
harmony of language. Respecting tuords, it is termed
emphasis; and its chief office is to assist the sense,
force, or perspicuity of the sentence—of which more
under the next head.
“ Accent (as de«cribed in the Lectures on Elocution)
is made by us two ways; either by dwelling longer up¬
on one syllable than the rest, or by giving it a smarter
percussion of the voice in utterance. Of the first of
these we have instances in the words glory,/other, holy;
of the last in bad tie, hab'it, borrow. So that accent
with us is not referred to tune, but to time ; to quan¬
tity, not quality ; to the more equable or precipitate
motion of the voice, not to the variation of the notes or
inflexions.”
In theatric declamation, in order to give it more pomp
and solemnity, it is usual to dwell longer than common
upon the unaccented syllables; and the author now
quoted has endeavoured to prove (p. 51. 54.) the prac¬
tice faulty, and to show (p. 55.) that “ though it (i. e.
true solemnity) may demand a slower utterance than .
usual, yet (it) requires that the same proportion in point
K E A [6
din*, of quantity be observed in the syllables, as there is in
. y—'musical notes when the same tune is played in quicker
or slower time.” But that this deviation from ordinary
speech is not a fault, as our author asserts', nay, that on
the contrary it is a real beauty when kept under proper
x-effulation, the following observations it is hoped will
sufficiently prove.
([.) It is a truth of the most obvious nature, that
those things which on their application to their proper
senses have a power of raising in us certain ideas and
emotions, are z\zr differently modified in their constitu¬
ent parts when different eft'ects are produced in the mind:
and also flf.) that, within proper bounds, were we to
suppose these constituent parts to be proportionally in¬
creased or diminished as to quantity, this effect would
Still he the same as to quality.— For instance: The dif¬
ferent ideas of strength, swiftness, &c. which are raised
in us by the same species of animals, is owing to the
different form of their corresponding parts; the different
effects of music on the passions, to the different airs and
movements of the melody; and the different expressions
of human speech to a difference in tone, speed, &c. of
the voice. And these peculiar effects would still re¬
main the same, were we to suppose the animals above
alluded to, to he greater or lesser, within their proper
bounds; the movement of the music quicker or slower,
provided it did not palpably interfere with that of some
other species; and the pitch of the voice higher or lower,
if not carried out of the limits in which it is observed
on similar occasions naturally to move. Farther (III.)
since, respecting the emotions more especially, there
are no rules to determine h priori what effect any parti¬
cular attribute or modification of an object will have
upon a percipient, our knowledge of this kind must evi¬
dently be gained from experience. Lastly, (IV.) In
every art imitating nature we are pleased to see the cha¬
racteristic members of the pattern heightened a little
farther than perhaps it ever was carried in any real ex¬
ample, provided it be not bordering upon some ludi¬
crous and disagreeable provinces of excess. •>
Now for the application of these premisses.—To keep
pace and be consistent with the dignity of the tragic
muse, the delivery of her language should necessarily be
dignified; and this it is plain from observation (I.) can¬
not be accomplished otherwise than by something differ¬
ent in the manner of it from that of ordinary speech ;
since dignity is essentially different from familiarity.
But how must we discover this different manner iJ By
attending to nature : and in this case she tells us, that
besides using a slower delivery, and greater distinctness
of the words (which every thing merelyg7Y/r;e requires,
and gravity is a concomitant of dignity, though not its
essence), we must dwell a little longer upon the unac¬
cented syllables than we do in common. As to what
our author observes in the above quotation, of dignity's
only requiring a slower utterance than ordinary, v’hile
the proportion of the syllables as to quantity continues
the same ; it is apprehended the remark (II.) respect¬
ing quickness and slowness of movement will show it to
be not altogether true. For since the delivery is not
altered inform, its expression must be still ot the same
kind, and perhaps what may be rightly suggested by
the term gravely familiar.
But something farther may be yet said in defence of
this artificial delivery, as our author calls it. Is not
53 ] ft E A
the movement of any thing, of whatever species, when n
drgnified or solemn, in general of an equable and delibe- .
rate nature (as in the minuet, the military step, &c.)?
And in theatrical declamation, is not the propensity to
introduce this equableness so strong, that it is almost im¬
possible to a void it wholly, were we ever so determined
to do it ? If these two queries be answered in the affir¬
mative (as we are persuaded they will), while the first
supports our argument for the propriety of the manner
ol delivery in question, the second discovers a kind of
necessity for it. And that this manner may be carried
a \itt\e jarther in quantity on the stage than is usual in
real life, the principle (IV.) of heightening nature will
justify, provided fashion (which has ever something to
do in these articles) give it a sanction ; for the precise
quantity of several heighlenings may be varied by this
great legislator almost at will. 3
II. Emphasis.—As emphasis is not a thing annexed Emphaslir.
to particular words, as accent is to syllables, but owes
its rise chiefly to the meaning of a passage, and must
there foie vary its seat according as that meaning va-
n’es, it will be necessary to explain a little farther the
general idea given of it above.
Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste
Brought death into the world, and all our woe, &c. .
Sing heav’nly muse, &c.
Supposing, in reference to the above well-known
lines, that originally other beings, besides men, had dis¬
obeyed the commands of the Almighty, and that the
circumstance were well known to us, there would fall
an emphasis upon the word man's in the first line, and .
hence it would be read thus :
Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit, &c.
But if it were a notorious truth, that mankind had
transgressed in a peculiar manner more than once, the .
emphasis would fall on first, and the line be read,
Of man’s frst disobedience, &c.
Again, admitting death (as was really the case) to
have been an unheard of and dreadful punishment
brought upon man in consequence of his transgression )
on that supposition the third line would be read,
Brought death into the world, &c.
But if we were to suppose mankind knew there was such
an evil as death in other regions, though the place they
inhabited had been free from it,till their transgression;
the line would run thus,
Brought death into the world. See. ,
Now from a proper delivery of the above lines, with
regard to any one of the suppositions we have chosen,
out of several others that might in the same manner have
been imagined, it will appear that the emphasis they il¬
lustrate is effected ky a manifest delay in the pronuncia¬
tion, and a tone sometiiixig fuller and louder than is used
in ordinary; and that its office is solely to determine
the meaning of a sentence with reference to something
said before, presupposed bv the author as general know¬
ledge, or in order to remove an ambiguity where a
passage is capable of having more senses given it than
one,
But, ? v.
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[ 654 ]
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Readin;:.
Bat, supposing in the above example, that none of
the senses there pointed out were precisely the true one,
and that the meaning of the lines Were no other than
what is obviously suggested by their simple construc¬
tion ; in that case it may he asked, it in reading them
there should be no word dignified with the emphatical
accompanyments above described ?—The answer is,Not
one with an emphasis of the same kind as that we have
just been illustrating; yet, it is nevertheless true, that
on hearing these lines well read, we shall find some words
distinguished from the rest by a manner of delivery bor-
dering a little upon it (a). And these words will in
general be such as seem the most important in the sen¬
tence, or on other accounts to merit this distinction.
But as at best it only enforces, graces, or enlivens, and
not fixes the meaning ol any passage, and even caprice
and fashion (b) have often a hand in determining its
place and magnitude, it cannot properly be reckoned an
essential of delivery. However, it is of too much mo¬
ment to be neglected by those who would wish to be
good readers; and, for the sake ol distinction, we may
not unaptly denominate both the kinds of energies in
1 • - 1*   ^i-—-~ r'‘>mte. and emphasis
of force (c).
Now from the above account of these two species of
emphasis it will appear, “ that in reading, as in speak¬
ing, the first of them must be determined entirely by the
sense of the passage, and always made alike: But as to
the other, taste alone seems to have a right of fixing its
situation and quantity.”—Farther : Since the more es¬
sential of these to energies is solely the work of nature
(as appears by its being constantly found in the common kfadiiy
conversation of people of all kinds of capacities and de-
grees of knowledge), and the most ignorant person ne¬
ver fails of using it rightly in the effusions of his own
heait, it happens very luckily, and ought always to be
remembered, that provided we understand what we read,
and give way to the dictates of our own feeling, the em¬
phasis of sense can scarce ever avoid falling spontane¬
ously upon its proper place.
Here it will be necessary to say something by way of
reply to a question which will naturally occur to the
mind of every one. As the rule for the emphasis of
sense requires we should understand what we read before
it can be properly used, it is incumbent upon us never
to attempt to read what w’e have not previously studied
for that purpose ? In answer to this, it must be obser¬
ved, that though such a step will not be without its
advantages ; yet, as from the fairness of printed types,
the well-known pauses of punctuation, and a long ac¬
quaintance with the phraseology and construction of our
language, &c. experience tells us it is possible to com¬
prehend the sense at the first reading, a previous perusal
of what is to be read does not seem necessary to all,
though, if they would wish to appear to advantage, it
may be expedient to many ; and it is this circumstance
which makes us venture upon extemporary reading, and
give it a place among our amusements.—Similar re¬
marks might be made with regard to modulation, expres¬
sion, &c. did not what is here observed naturally anti¬
cipate them. 4
III. Modulation (d). Every person must have obser-
1 lion,
ved,
(a) The following lines will illustrate both these kinds of stresses : For, to convey their right meaning, the
word ANY is evidently to he pronounced louder and fuller than those with the accent over them.
Get wealth and place, if possible with grace ;
If not, by any means get wealth and place.—Pope.
This couplet is accented in the manner we find it in the Essay on Elocution by Mason. And if, according to the
judgment of this author, the words thus distinguished are to have an emphatical stress, it must be of the inferior
kind above mentioned, and which a little farther on we call emphasis of force; while the word any in a diffe¬
rent type alone possesses the other sort of energy, and which is there contradistinguished by the term emphasis oj
sense.
(b) Among a number of people who have had proper opportunities of learning to read in the best manner it i«
now taught, it would be difficult to find two, who, in a given instance, would use the emphasis of force alike, ei¬
ther as to place or quantity. Nay some scarcely use any at all: and others will not scruple to carry it much be¬
yond any thing we have a precedent for in common discourse; and even now and then throw it upon words so
very trifling in themselves, that it is evident they do it with no other view, than for the sake of the variety it gives
to the modulation.—This practice, like the introduction of discords into music, may without doubt be indulged
now and then but were it too frequent, the capital intent of these energies would manifestly either be destroyed
or rendered dubious.
(c) Hie first of these terms answers to the simple emphasis described in the Lectures on Elocution, and the se¬
cond nearly to what is there called complex. The difference lies in this. Under complex emphasis the author
seems (for he is far from being clear in this article) to include the tones simply considered of all the emotions of
the mind ; as well the tender and languid, as the forcible and exulting. Our term is intended to be confined tc
such modes of expression alone as are marked with an apparent stress or increase of the voice.
(d) I he author of the Introduction to the Art of Reading, not allowing that there is any variation of tone, as to
high and low, in the delivery of a complete period or sentence, places modulation solely in the diversification of the
key-note and the variety of syllables, as to long or short, swift or slow, strong or iveak, and loud or soft. As we
are of a different opinion, our idea of modulation is confined purely to harmonious inflexions of voice. These quali¬
ties of words, it is true, add greatly both to the force and beauty of delivery ; yet, since some of them are fixed and
not arbitrary (as long and short), and the others (of swift and slow, strong and weak, loud and soft) may be con¬
sidered as modes of expression which do not affect the modulation as to tone, it will agree best with our plan to
esteeu*
. .. . . ? f A. r 65s ] REA
If f1>ei,"g’:tl,evmce 18 sub'iect «•»» altera- interval of a consideraMe magnitude
■Jtion of sound, which m some measure resembles the
movement of a tune. These sounds, however, are evi¬
dently nothing like so much varied as those that are
•tnctly musical ; and we have attempted to show in the
preceding chapter, that, besides this, they have an essen¬
tial difference m themselves. Nevertheless, from the
general similitude of these two articles, they possess se¬
veral terms in common ; and the particular we have
"0,W exa.mine,ls, in both of them called modulation.
I bis affection of the voice, being totally arbitrary, is
differently characterized in different parts of the world •
and, through the power of custom, every place is inclin¬
ed to think their own the only one natural and aoree-
able, and the rest affected with some barbarous twang
or ungainly variation (e). It may be observed, how¬
ever, that though there is a general uniform cast or
fashion of modulation peculiar to every country, yet it
by no means follows that there is or can be any thing
fixed in its application to particular passages j and
therefore we find difierent people will in any given in¬
stance, use modulations something- different, and never¬
theless be each of them equally agreeable.
But, quitting these general remarks, we shall (as our
purpose requires it) consider the properties of modula¬
tion a little more minutely.
I irst, then, we may observe, that, in speaking, there
is a particular sound (or key-note, as it is often^called)
in which the modulation for the most part runs, and to
which its occasional inflexions, either above or below,
may in some respects be conceived to have a reference,
like that which common music has to its key-note.
Yet there is this difference between the two kinds of
modulation, that whereas the first always concludes in
the key-note, the other frequently concludes a little
below it (K). This key-note, in speaking, is generally
the sound given at the outset of every complete sen¬
tence or period ; and it may be observed on some occa¬
sions to vary its pitch through the limits of a musical
f ii r..i 1 . , , 0  Tbe tone5> tbat
tall a little lower than the key at the close of a sentence
or period, are called cadences. These cadences, if we
are accurate in our distinctions, will, with respect to
their offices, be found of two kinds; though they meet
so frequently together, that it may be best to conceive
them only as answering a double purpose. One of these
offices is to assist the sense, and the other to decorate
the modulation. An account of the first may be seen
m the section on Pauses; and the latter will be found
to show itself pretty frequently in every thing grave and
plaintive, or in poetic description and other highly or¬
namented language, where the mind is by its influence
brought to feel a placid kind of dignity and satisfaction.
These two cadences, therefore, may be conveniently di¬
stinguished by applying to them respectively the epi¬
thets significant and ornamental.
We have already observed, that reading should in
some things differ from speaking; and the particular
under consideration seems to be one which ought to vary
a little in these arts. For, 3
Modulation in reading serves a twofold purpose. At
the same time that it gives pleasure to the ear on the
principles of harmony, it contributes through that me¬
dium to preserve the attention. And since written lan¬
guage (when not purely dramatical) is in general more
elegant in its construction, and musical in its periods,
than the oral one ; and since many interesting particu¬
lars are wanting in reading, which are present in speak¬
ing, that contribute greatly to fix the regard of the
hearer j it seems reasonable, in order to do justice to
the language, and in part to supply the incitements of
attention just alluded to, that in the former of these two
articles a modulation should be used something more
harmonious and artificial than in the latter. Agreeably
to this reasoning, it is believed, we shall find every rea¬
der, on a narrow examination, adopt more or less a mo¬
dulation thus ornamented : though, after all, it must be
acknowledged there are better grounds to believe, that
the
Reading,
esteem these properties as respectively belonging to the established laws at pronunciation and the imitative branch
ot expression mentioned in the end of the ensuing head.
(e) From what accounts we have remaining of the modulation of the ancients, it appears to have been highly
ornamented, and apparently something not unlike our modern recitative; particularly that of their theatric^de-
clamation was music in its strictest sense, and accompanied with instruments. In the course of time and the
progress of refinement, this modulation became gradually more and more simple, till it has now lost the genius
o music, and is entirely regulated by taste. At home here, every one has heard the sing-song cant, as it is
called, of o o >
Ti ti dum dum, ti ti dum ti dum dey.
Ti dum ti dum, ti dum ti dum dum de 5
which, though disgustful now to all but to mere rustics on account of its being out of fashion, was very probably
the favourite modulation in which heroic verses were recited by our ancestors. So fluctuating are the taste and
practices of mankind ! But whether the power of language over the passions has received any advantage from
the change just mentioned, will appear at least very doubtful, when we recollect the stories of its former triumphs
and the inherent charms of musical sounds. J
(f) As musical sounds have always an harmonical reference to a key or fundamental note, and to which the
mind is still secretly attending, no piece of music would appear perfect, that did not close in it, and so naturally
put an end to expectation. But as the tones used in speech are not musical, and therefore cannot refer harmoni¬
cally to any other sound, there can be no necessity that this terminating sound (and which we immediately below
term the cadence') should either be used at all, or follow any particular law as to form, &c. farther than "what i*
imposed by taste and custom.
ReaJin;
n E A [ 656 ] K E A
tl,e practice has been hitherto directed intuitively by difFerence between reading and speaking,
nature, than that it was discovered by the inductions ot
shall conclude this head with a rule tor
reason. "We oua.. —    — , .
modulation in reading. “ In every thing dramatic,
colloquial, or of simple narrative, let your modulation
be the same as in speaking 5 but when the subject is
flowery, solemn, or dignified, add something to its har¬
mony, diversify the key-note, and increase the fre¬
quency of cadences in proportion to the merit ot the
t0 if will readily be seen, that the precepts here drawn
from a comparison between speaking and reading, would
be very inadequate, were they left destitute of the assist¬
ance of taste, and the opportunity ol frequently hearing
and imitating masterly readers. And indeed, to these
two great auxiliaries we might very properly have re¬
ferred the whole matter at once, as capable ot giving
sufficient directions, had we not remembered that our
plan required us to found several of our rules as muc.i
on the principles of a philosophical analysis, as on those
more familiar ones which will be found of greater effi¬
cacy in real practice. ...
Expression IV. Expression. 1. There is no composition in music,
as to the however perfect as to key and melody, but, in order
tones of the t0 Jq justice to the subject and ideas of the author,
vwcc. w[n require, in the performing, something more than
an exact adherence to tuns and time. This something
is of a nature, too, which perhaps can never be ade¬
quately pointed out by any thing graphic, anu lesults
entirely from the taste and feeling of the perfoimer.
It is that which chiefly gives music its power over the
passions, and characterises its notes with what we mean
by the words sweet, harsh, dull, lively, plaintive, joy-
«us, &c. for it is evident every sound, considered ab¬
stractedly, without any regard to the movement, or high
and low, may be thus modified. In practical music,
this commanding particular is called Expression ; and
as we find certain tones analogous to it frequently coa¬
lescing with the modulation ot the voice, which indi¬
cate our passions and affections (thereby more particu¬
larly pointing out the meaning of what we say) the
term is usually applied in the same sense to speaking and
reading.
These tones are not altogether peculiar to man.—
Every animal, that is not dumb, has a power or making
several of them. And from their being able, unassisted
by words, to manifest and raise their kindred emotions,
they constitute a kind of language of themselves. In
this language of the heart man is eminently conversant j
for we not only understand it in one another, but also in
many of the inferior creatures subjected by providence
to our service.
The expression here illustrated is one of the most es¬
sential articles in good reading, since it not only gives a
finishing to the sense, hut, on the principles of sympathy
and antipathy, has also a peculiar efficacy in interesting
the heart. It is likewise an article of most difficult at¬
tainment •, as it appears from what fo'lows, that a mas¬
terly reader ought not only to be able to incorporate it
with the modulation properly as to quality, but in any
degree as to qu antity.
Every thing vvriUen being a proper imitation of
speech, expressive reading must occ‘ ->ionallv partake of
all its tones. But from what was said above, of the
5
     0   r OJ it follows,
that these signs of the emotions should be less strongly v
characterised in the former article than in the latter.
Again, as several of these tones of expression are in
themselves agreeable to the mind, and rai->e in us agree¬
able emotions (as those oipity, benevolence, 01 whatever
indicates happiness and goodness of heart), and others
disagreeable (as those of a boisterous, malevolent, and
depraved nature, &c.) it farther appears, since reading
is an art improving and not imitating nature, that, in
whatever degree we abate the expressions of the tones
above alluded to in the first case, it would be eligible to
make a greater abatement in the latter, But as to the
quantities and proportional magnitudes of these abate¬
ments, they, like many other particulars of the same
nature, must be left solely to the taste and judgment of
the reader.
To add one more remark, which may be of service
on more accounts than in suggesting another reason for
the doctrine above. Let it be remembered, that though
in order to acquit himself agreeably in this article of
expression, it will he necessary every reader should feel
his subject as well as understand it 5 yet, that he may
preserve a proper ease and masterliness of delivery, it is
also necessary he should guard against discovering too
much emotion and perturbation.
From this reasoning we deduce the following rule, for
the tones which indicate the passions and emotions.
“ In reading, let all your tones of expression be bor¬
rowed from those of common speech, but something
more faintly characterised. Let those tones which sig¬
nify any disagreeable passion ol the mind, be still more
faint than those which indicate their contrary ; and pre¬
serve yourself so far from being affected with the subject,
as to be able to proceed through it with that peculiar
kind of ease and masterliness, which has its charms in
this as well as every other art.”
We shall conclude this section with the following ob¬
servation, which relates to speaking as well as reading.
When words fall in our way, whose “ sounds seem an
echo to the sense,” as squirr, bu%%, hum, rattle, hiss,
jar, &c. we ought not to pronounce them in such a man¬
ner as to heighten the imitation, except in light and lu¬
dicrous subjects. For instance, they should not in any
other case be s 0u nded squir.r.r—binzx.'Z.'z—hum.m.vi—
r.r.rattle, &c. On the contrary, when the imitation
lies in the movement, ov flow and structure oj a whole
passage (which frequently happens in poetry), the deli¬
very may alwavs be allowed to give a heightening to it
with the greatest propriety j as in the following instan¬
ces, out of a number more which every experienced rea¬
der will quickly recollect.
In these deep solitudes and awful cells,
Where heavenly pensive Contemplation dwells,
And ever-musing Melancholy reigns—
Pope’s Eloisa to Abelard.
With easy course
The vessels glide unless their speed be stopp’d
By dead calms, that oft lie on these smooth seas.
Dyer’s Fleece.
Softly sweet in Lydian measure.
Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasure.
Dryden’s Ode on St Cecilia's day.
Still
Rend
H E A [65
Still gathering force it smokes, and, urg’d amain,
Whirls, leaps, nnA thunders down impetuous to theplain.
1. 
7 ‘ ]
REA
6
icession.
Pope’s Iliad, b. 13
For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing anxious being ere resign’d,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing lingering look behind1?
Gray’s Elegy.
2. Besides the particular tones and modifications of
voice above described, which always accompany and
express our inward agitations, nature has in these cases
endowed us with another language, which, instead of
the ear, addresses itself to the eye, thereby giving the
communications of the heart a double advantage over
those of the understanding, and us a double chance to
preserve so inestimable a blessing. This language is
what arises from the different, almost involuntary,
movements and configurations of the face and body
in our emotions and passions, and which, like that of
tones, every one is formed to understand by a kind of
intuition.
When men are in any violent agitation of mind, this
co-operating expression (as it is called) of face and ges¬
ture is very strongly marked, and totally free from the
mixture of any thing which has a regard to graceful¬
ness, or what appearance they may make in the eyes of
others. But in ordinary conversation, and where the
emotions are not so warm, fashionable people are perpe¬
tually insinuating, into their countenance and action,
whatever they imagine will add to the ease and elegance
of their deportment, or impress on the\spectator an idea
of their amiableness and breeding. Now, though the
above-mentioned natural organical signs of the emotions
should accompany every thing spoken, vet from what
tvas observed in the introductory part of this article
(like the tones we have just treated upon), they should
in reading be much less strongly expressed, and those
suffer the greatest diminution that are in themselves the
most ungainly. And as it was in the last section re¬
commended to the reader to preserve himself as far from
being affected in all passionate subjects as to be able to
keep a temperate command over the various affections
of the voice, &c. so under the sanction of this subor¬
dinate feeling he may accompany his delivery more fre¬
quently with any easy action or change of face, which
will contribute to set off his manner, and make it agree¬
able on the principles of art.
As these calm decorations of action (as we may call
them) are not altogether natural, but have their rise
from a kind of institution, they must be modelled by
the practices of the polite. ' And though mankind dif¬
fer from one another scarce more in any particular than
in that of talents for adopting the graceful actions of
the body, and hence nothing determinate can be said
of their nature and frequency j yet even those, most
happily calculated to acquit themselves well in their
use, might profit by considering that it is better greatly
to abridge the display, than to over do it ever so little.
For the peculiar modesty of deportment with which
the inhabitants of this kingdom are endowed, makes
us in common endeavour to suppress many signs of an
agitated mind , and in such cases the bodily ones in par¬
ticular are very sparingly used. We have also a natural
and rooted dislike to any kind of affectation; and to no
Vol. XVII. Part II. t
species, that we can recollect, a greater, than to that Reading
which is seen in a person who pretends to mimicry —v-~
and courtly gesture, without possessing the advantages
and talents they require j and of which not many
people, comparatively speaking, have any remarkable
share.
Ihe inference of this is too obvious to need drawing
out, and we would particularly recommend it to the con¬
sideration of those readers who think the common oc¬
currences of a newspaper, &c. cannot be properlv de¬
livered without a good deal of elbow room.
Although it is impossible to come to particulars in
any directions of this kind, yet there is one article of
our present subject on which a serviceable remark may
be made. In ordinary discourse, when we are particu¬
larly pressing and earnest in what we say, the eye is na¬
turally thrown upon those to whom we address ourselves:
And in reading, a turn of this organ now and then up¬
on the hearers, when any thing very remarkable or in¬
teresting falls in the way, has a good effect in gaining it
a proper attention, &c. But this should not be too
frequently used ; for if so, besides its having a tendency
to confound the natural importance of different passages,
it may not be altogether agreeable to some to have their
own reflexions broken in upon by a signal, which
might be interpreted to hint at their wanting regula¬
tion.
One observation more, and then we shall attempt to
recapitulate the substance of this section in the form of
a precept. Though it is, when strictly examined, incon¬
sistent, both in speaking and reading, to imitate with
action what we are describing, yet as in any thing comic
such a practice may suggest ideas that will accord vi\l\\
those of the subject, it may there be now and then in¬
dulged in either of these articles.
“ In a manner similar to that direeted with regard to
tones, moderate your bodily expressions of the signs of
the emotions. * And in order to supply, as it were, this
deficiency, introduce into your carriage such an easy
gracefulness, as may be consistent with your acquire¬
ments in these particulars, and the necessary dread which
should ever be present of falling into any kind of affec¬
tation or grimace.”
Pauses. Speech consisting of a succession of di¬
stinct words, must naturally be liable (both from a
kind of accident, and a difficulty there may be in be¬
ginning certain sounds or portions of phrases immedi¬
ately on the ending of certain others) to several small
intermissions of voice 5 of which, as they can have no
meaning, nothing farther need here be said. There are,
however, some pauses, which the sense necessarily de¬
mands ; and to these the substance of this section is di¬
rected.
The pauses are in part to distinguish the members of
sentences from one another, the terminations of complete
periods, and to afford an opportunity for taking breath.
Besides this, they have a very graceful effect in the mo¬
dulation, on the same account they are so essential in
music.—In both articles, like blank spaces in pictures,
they set off and render more conspicuous whatsoever
they disjoin or terminate.
Were language made up of nothing but short collo¬
quial sentences, these pauses, though they might do no
harm, and would generally be graceful, would however
be superseded as to use by the completeness and nor*
4 O rowness
REA
rowness, as we may say, of the meaning.
diffuse language, composed of several detached sen¬
tences, and which require some degree of attention in
order to take in the sense, the intermissions of voice
under consideration are of the greatest service, by sig-
nifyinn- to the mind the progress and completion of the
whole "passage. Now, though m extensive and dif¬
ferently formed periods there may be members whose
completeness of sense might be conceived of various de¬
grees, and hence might seem to require a set of pauses
equally numerous ; yet, since the sense does not alto¬
gether depend upon these intermissions, and their ra¬
tios to one another, if capable of being properly de¬
fined, could not be accurately observed, grammarians
have ventured to conceive the whole class of pauses as
reducible to the four or five kinds now in use, and
whose marks and ratios are well known (g) ; presum¬
ing that under the eye of taste, and with the assist¬
ance of a particular to be next mentioned, they would
not fail in all cases to suggest intermissions of vojce
suitable to the sense. But in many of these extensive
and complex periods, rounded with a kind of redun¬
dancy of matter, where the full sense is long suspended,
and the final words are not very important, there would
be some hazard of a misapprehension of the termina¬
tion, had we not more evident and infallible notice of
it than that which is given by the pause. 'I Ins notice
is the cadejtce, referred to in the section on Modula¬
tion; which, as is there observed, besides the ornamen¬
tal variety it affords, appears from these remarks to be
a very necessary and serviceable article in perspicuous
delivery. ,
As this cadence naturally accompanies the end of
every entire sense, circumstanced as above mentioned,
it may sometimes fall before the semicolon, but more
generally before the colon, as well as the period . I ci
these marks are often found to terminate a complete
sense : and in these cases, the relation what follows has
to what went before, is signified to the mind by the
relative shortness of the stop, and the form of introdu¬
cing the additional matter. Nor can any bad conse¬
quence arise from thus founding distinctions on ratios
of time, which it may be said are too nice to be. often
rightly hit upon : for if a confusion should happen be¬
tween that of the colon and period, there is perhaps so
trifling a difference between the nature of the passages
they succeed, as to make a small inaccuracy of no con¬
sequence. And as to the rests of the semicolon and
period, it will not be easy to mistake about them, as
their ratio is that of two to one. Add to this the
power which the matter and introduction of the sub¬
sequent passages have to rectify any slight error here
[ 658 ] REA
But in more made, and we shall be fully satisfied, that the pauses ]
as usually explained, with the cadence above desciibed,
and a proper knowledge of the language, will convey
sufficient information to the understanding of the con¬
structive nature of the passages after which they are
found.
It may be observed, that in natural speech, accoid-
ing to the warmth and agitation of the speaker, the rests
are often short and injudiciously proportioned, and hence
that every thing thus delivered cannot be so graceful as
it might have been from a proper attention to then mag¬
nitude and effects.
Pauses then, though chiefly subjected to the sense,
are, as was remarked at the outset, seiviceable in
beautifying the modulation, &c.—And since books
are often inaccurately printed as to points, and peo¬
ple’s tastes differ some little about their place and va¬
lue, it appears, that, “ although in reading great at¬
tention should be paid to the stops, yet a greater
should be given to the sense, and their correspondent
times occassionally lengthened beyond what is usual in
common speech j” which observation contains all that
we shall pretend to lay down by way of rule for the
management of piauses in the delivery of wiitten lan¬
guage. < .
As there are two or three species of writing, which
have something singular in them, and, with regard
to the manner in which they should be read, a
few particular remarks seem necessarily required, we
shall conclude this article with laying them before the
reader :
1. Of Plays, and such like conversation-pieces.
Writings of this kind may be considered as intended for
two different purposes ; one to unfold subject matter for
the exercise of theatric powers 5 and the other to convey
amusement, merely as fable replete with pleasing inci¬
dents and characteristic manners. Hence there appears
to be great latitude for the display of a consistent delivery
of these performances : for while, on one hand, a good
reader of very inferior talents lor mimicry may be heard
with a tolerable degree of pleasure j on the other, if
any person is qualified to give a higher degree of life
and force to the dialogue and characteis by delivering
them as an actor, he must be fully at liberty to start
from the confinement of a chair to a posture and area
more suited to his abilities j and, if he be not deceived
in himself, his hearers will be considerable gainers by
the change.—The next article is,
2. Sermons or other orations, which in like man¬
ner may be conceived intended for a double purpose.
First, as matter for the display of oratorical powers
and, secondly, as persuasive discourses, &c. which may
(g) Supposing the comma (,) one time, the semicolon (j) will be two ; the colon (:) three, ant tie pc no (.)
as also the marks of interrogation (?) and admiration (!) four of these times. Ihe blank line (— 01 * a.n.1
the breaks between paragraphs, intimate still greater times ; and by the same^nalogy may be rec one a ou e
and quadruple period respectively. Now and then these blank lines are placed immediately ajtei t ic or inar^
points, and then they are conceived only as separating for the eye the different natures of the matter p—-as a
question from an answer,—precept from example,—premises from inferences, &c. in which case t icir impor 1
evident. But of late some authors have not scrupled to confound these distinctions*, and to make a an' ser
for all the pauses universally, or the mark of an indefinite rest, the quantity of which is left to t ic etermina 1
of the reader’s taste. A practice, it is imagined, too destructive of the intended precision of these typica no 1
to be much longer adopted.
4
J Mr
ding.
Urv ■' *
r
REA
be read like any other book. Therefore it appears (for
reasons similar to those above) that according as cler¬
gymen are possessed of tl.e talents of elocution, they
may consistently either rehearse their sermons, in the
manner of an extemporary harangue, or deliver them in
the more humble capacity of one who is content to en¬
tertain and instruct his hearers with reading to them his
own or some other person’s written discourse.
That either of these manners ol delivery (ora mixture
of them), in either of the cases above mentioned, isagree-
able, we find on a careful examination. For this will
show us how frequently they run into one another 5 and
that we ai e so far from thinking such transitions wrong,
that, without a particular attention that way, we scarce
ever perceive them at all.
3. X o.'.iRY is the next and last object of our present
remarks. This is a very peculiar kind of writing, and
as mucn different fiom tne language of ordinary dis¬
course as the movements of the dance are from common
walking. To ornament and improve whatever is Sub¬
servient to the pleasures and amusements of life, is the
delight of human nature. We are also pleased’with a
kind of excess in any thing which has a power to amuse
the fancy, inspire us with enthusiasm, or awaken the
soul to a consciousness of its own importance and dig¬
nity. Hence one pleasure, at least, takes its rise, that
we feel in contemplating the performances of every art;
and hence the language of poetry, consisting of a mea¬
sured rythmus, harmonious cadences, and an elevated
picturesque diction, has been studied by the ingenious,
and found to have a powerful influence over the human
breast in every age and region. There is such an affi¬
nity between this language and music, that they were in
the earlier ages never separated ; and though modern
refinement has in a great measure destroyed this union,
yet it is with some degree of difficulty in rehearsing
these divine compositions we can forget the singin«- of
the muse.
From these considerations (and some kindred ones
mentioned in sect, iii.) in repeating verses they are ge¬
nerally accompanied with a modulation rather more or¬
namented and musical than is used in any other kind
of writing. And accordingly, as there seems to be
the greatest propriety in the practice, the rule for this
particular in the section just referred to, will allow any
latitude in it that can gain the sanction of taste and
pleasure.
Rhymes in the lighter and more soothing provinces
of poetry are found to have a good effect ; and hence
(for reasons like those just suggested) it is certainly
absurd to endeavour to smother them by a feeble pro¬
nunciation, and running one line precipitately into an¬
other, as is often affected to be done by many of our
modern readers and speakers. By this method they
not only destroy one source of pleasure intended by the
composer (which though not great is nevertheless ge¬
nuine), but even often supply its place with what is
really disagreeable, by making the rhymes, as they are
interruptedly perceived, appear accidental blemishes of
a different style, arising from an unmeaning recurrence
of similar sounds. With regard then to reading verses
terminated with rhyme, the common rule, which directs
to pronounce the final words full, and to distinguish
them by a slight pause even where there is none requir¬
ed by the sense, seems the most rational, and conse-
659 3 K E A
quently most worthy of being followed. See Decla¬
mation, Narration, and Oratory.
Iveading, a town of Berkshire in England, plea¬
santly situated on the river Kennet, near its confluence
with the J hames. It had once a fine rich monastery,
of which there are large ruins remaining. It had also a
castle built by King Henry I. afterwards ruined. It is
a corporation, enjoys several privileges, and sends two
members to parliament. The two navigable rivers ren¬
der it a fit place for trade. It had 10,788 inhabitants
in i8ii. W. Long. 1. o. N. Lat. 51. 25.
READINGS, or Various Readings, in criticism,
are the different manners of reading the texts of authors
in ancient manuscripts, where a diveisity has arisen
from the corruption of time, or the ignorance of copyists.
A great part of the business of critics lies in settling the
readings by confronting the various readings of the se¬
veral manuscripts, and considering the agreement of the
words and sense.
Readings are also used for a sort of commentary or
gloss on a law, text, passage, or the like, to shew the
sense an author takes it in, and the application he con¬
ceives to be made of it.
RE-AGGRAVATION, in the Roman ecclesiastical
law, the last monitory, published after three admoni¬
tions, and before the last excommunication. Before
they proceed to fulminate the last excommunication,they
publish an aggravation, and a re-aggravation. Fevret
observes, that in France the minister is not allowed to
come to re-aggravation, without the permission of the
bishop or official, as well as that of the lay judge. See
Excommunication.
REAL, Cesar Vichard de St, a polite French
writer, son of a counsellor to the senate of Chamberry
in Savoy. He came young to France, distinguished
himself at Paris by several ingenious productions, and
resided there a long time without title or dignity, in¬
tent upon literary pursuits. He died at Chamberry in
1692, advanced in years, though not in circumstances.
He was a man of great parts and penetration, a lover
of the sciences, and particularly fond of history. A
complete edition of his works was printed at Paris, in
3 vols 410, 1745, and another in 6 vols i2tno.
Real Presence. See Transubstantiation.
REALGAR, a jweparation of arsenic. See Arse¬
nic, Chemistry Index.
REALISTS, a sect of schpol philosophers formed
in opposition to the Nominalists. Under the Realists
are included the Scotists, Thomists, and all except¬
ing the followers of Qcham. Their distinguishing te¬
net is, that universal are realities, and have an actual
existence out of an idea or imagination j or, as they
express it in the schools, a parte rei; whereas the
nominalists contend, that they exist only in the mind,
rtiid are only ideas, or manners of conceiving things. 
Dr Odo, or Oudard, a native of Orleans, afterwards
abbot of St Martin de Tournay, was the chief of the
sect of the realists. He wrote three books of dialec¬
tics, where, on the principles of Boethius and the an¬
cients, he maintained that the object of that art is
things, not words ; whence the sect took its rise and
name.
REALITY, in the schools, a diminutive of res,
“ thing,” first used by the Scotists, to denote a thing
which may exist of itself; or which has a full and abso-
4 O 2 lute
mane
course
REA
lute being of itself, anil is not considefet)
any other. . .
REALM, a country which gives its head or gover¬
nor the denomination of a king. _
RE-ANIMATION means the reviving or restoring
to life those who are apparently dead. Sudden death is
dreaded bv every human being, and it is one ot those
evils against which the Church of England prays in her
Litany. Accidents, however, cannot always he pre¬
vented; but, after they have happened, it is often possi¬
ble to prevent their effects. This, by the establishment
of what with great propriety has been called the Hu-
Society, has been abundantly proved : tor, in the
of 12 years immediately after their institution,
they were the means of saving the lives ot 850 per¬
sons, who otherwise would in all human probability
have been lost to the community. Since that period,
they have saved many more ; and various persons, even
in the most distant parts of the kingdom, by following
their directions, have done the same. To preserve one
human being from premature death, we must consider
as of the utmost consequence both as citizens and
Christians ; how much more the preservation of thou¬
sands. It appears from the writings ot Doctors Mead,
Winslow, Bruhier, Fothergill, Haller, Lecat, Tissot,
Van Engelen, Gummer, and others, that they had pre¬
pared the way for institutions similar to the Humane
Society: for in their works they have elucidated the
principles on which they go, and furnished directions
for the practice they favour. See Death, Premature
Interment, and Drowning.
REAR, a term frequently used in composition, to
denote something behind, or backwards, in respect of
another j in opposition to van.
Rear of an Army, signifies, in general, the hinder-
most part of an army, battalion, regiment, or squadron \
also the ground behind either.
REAR-Guard, is that body of an army which marches
after the main-body j for the march of an army is al¬
ways composed of an advanced-guard, a main body, and
a rear-guard ; the first and last commanded by a gene¬
ral. The old grand guards of the camp always form
the rear guard of the army, and are to see that every
thing come safe to the new camp.
Rear Half files, are the three hindmost ranks of the
battalion, when it is drawn up six deep.
Rear-Line of an army encamped, is always 1200
feet at least from the centre line ; both of which run
parallel to the front line, as also to the reserve.
REAR-Rank, is the last rank of a battalion, when
drawn up, and generally 16 or 18 feet from the centre¬
line when drawn up in open order.
REASON, a faculty or power of the mind, where¬
by it distinguishes good from evil, truth from falsehood.
See Metaphysics.
REASONING, Ratiocination, the exercise of
that faculty of the mind called reason; or it is an act
or operation of the mind, deducing some unknown pro¬
position from other previous ones that are evident and
known. See Logic, Part III.
REAUMUR, Rene Antoine Ferchault, Sieur
DE, a person distinguished for his laborious researches
into natural knowledge, was born at Rochelle in 1683,
of a family belonging to the law. After having finished
bis early studies in the place of his birth, he began a
3
[ 660 ] REA
as a part of course of philosophy at Poitiers, and of civil law at Kean#,,
Bourges ; but soon relinquished the latter, to apply
himself, according to his taste, to mathematics, physics,
and natural history. Being come to Paris, he was re¬
ceived into the Academy of Sciences in 1708. From
that hour he was wholly employed in natural history, to
which his inclination particularly led him, and his in¬
quiries were not confined to any one part of it. His
memoirs, his observations, his discoveries on the forma¬
tion of shells, spiders, muscles, the marine flea, the ber¬
ry which affords the purple colour, and on the cause of
the numbness of the torpedo, excited the curiosity of the
public, and early procured our author the character of
an able, curious, and entertaining naturalist. Filled
with zeal for the welfare and advantage of society, and
the progress and perfection of arts, he endeavoured in all
his researches to promote the public good. We were
indebted to him for the discovery of the turquois mines
in Languedoc. He also found out a substance, which
is used to give false stones a colour, which is obtained
from a certain fish called in the French Able or Ablete* * Se«
on account of its whiteness, and which is the Bleak orlon, 31 i
Blay of our writersf. His experiments on the art of^T
turning iron into steel obtained him a pension ofVol.ii^
12,000 livres ; and this reward w-as to be continued top 315,
the Academy to support the expence which might ac-fSeeC
• *1 • pnnut
crue in this art. _ . N°
He continued his inquiries on the art of making tin j Se^' j_
and porcelain J, and endeavoured to render our ther-
mometers more useful than those of former times: he
composed a curious history of rivers where gold dust is
found in France ; and gave so simple and easy a detail
of the art of gathering this dust, that persons have been
employed for that purpose.
He also made curious and important observations on
the nature of flints, on the banks of fossil shells, from
whence is obtained in Touraine an excellent manure
for land ; as likewise on birds and their preservation, on
their method of building nests j on insects j and a great
number of other subjects, not less curious than useful.
He imagined at first, that a certain varnish would
keep eggs fresh j but the waste of time and money, &c.
showed him the inconvenience of such a process. He
afterwards adopted the method practised for time imme¬
morial in Greece and the islands of the Archipelago,
which is to steep or immerse eggs in oil, or melted fat ;
by this means, not being exposed to the air or to frost,
they are well preserved, and contract no bad smell. An¬
other experiment still more important made by our au¬
thor, was to introduce into France the art of hatching
fowls and birds, as practised in Egypt, without covering
the eggs. Active, sedulous, and attentive, he was ear¬
ly in his study, often at six in the morning. Exact in
his experiments and observations, he let no circumstance
escape him. His writings must be of great use to future
philosophers. In society, he was distinguished through
life for his modest and agreeable behaviour. His pro¬
bity, benevolence, goodness of heart, and other ami¬
able qualities, as well natural as acquired, endeared
him to his countrymen. He died in the 76th year of
his age, on the 18th of October 1757, and left this
world filled with sentiments of piety. His death was
the consequence of a fall, winch happened at the castle
of Barnardiere on the Maine, where he went to pass Ins
vacation. He bequeathed to the Academy of Sciences
his
l ee "o-
,p, Ikl-
Mhohgy
B E B [-
his manuscnpts and all his natural productions. His
works are, I. A very great number of memoirs and
observations on different parts of natural history; they
are printed in the collections of the Academy of Sciences.
2. A large work printed separately in 6 vols in uto en¬
titled, A Natural History of Insects. This important
work contains a description of vast numbers of caterpil-
lers, moths, gall insects, flies with two and four wings,
lady birds, and those ephemeron flies which live only in
that form a few hours ; and lastly, of those singular and
■wonderful insects which are called polypes, which being
cut into several pieces, each piece lives, grows, and be¬
comes an insect, anil aflords to our eyes a great number
of prodigies *. The works of M. de Reaumur are exact,
curious, interesting, and very ingenious. They are writ¬
ten with much candour, clearness, and elegance ; but it
must be acknowledged his manner is somewhat too dif¬
fuse. But we must not deceive the reader; he often
raises our expectations, and does not give us all the sa¬
tisfaction we promise ourselves from his writimrs. His
method of raising poultry, in particular, rather disap¬
points us. He spaied neither care, time, nor expence,
to render it practicable: he flattered himself and his
countrymen with the greatest hopes; but notwithstand¬
ing his assiduous industry, and vast charges, it proved
abortive. The late M. I’Advocat recommended him to
obtain better information from Egypt on the subject ;
and if possible to procure a person versed in the art to
instruct him in it; but bis death prevented the comple¬
tion of the scheme. If the native of Egypt had ar¬
rived, showed M. de Reaumur a better method than
his own, and practised it with success, as in his coun¬
try, the community would have been benefited; on the
other hand he would have seen, had it failed, that the
climate ot France was not proper for such experiments.
M. Maillet, consul at Cairo, to whom Monsieur the re¬
gent had written to obtain the art, offered to send over
a native of Egypt, if the government would pay the
expence of his voyage, and allow him a pension of i coo
livres. M. Maillet rightly judged, when he preferred
this method of proceeding. M. de Reaumur was not
ignorant of the design ; but be flattered himself, that
his efforts would be successful without further aid, and
thought lie should acquire some honour. He certainly
had great talents, industry, sagacity, and every other
requisite which are necessary in such attempts; but it is
morally impossible that a single man, in a different cli¬
mate, can attain such knowledge in an art as those who
live in a more favourable country, and have had the
experience of many ages to profit by : however M. de
Reaumur may have been unsuccessful, posterity is in¬
debted to him for his repeated trials. He has removed
some difficulties in the road, and those that travel it
may discover what he only saw at a distance.
REAUMURIA, a genus of plants belonging to the
pentandria class; and in the natural method ranking
under the 13th order, Succulentce. See Botany In¬
dex.
REBATE, or Rebatement, in Commerce, a term
much used at Amsterdam for an abatement in the price
of several commodities, when the buyer, instead of tak¬
ing time, advances ready money.
Rebatement, in Heralchy, a diminution or abate¬
ment, of the bearings in a coat of arms. See Abate¬
ment.
] , bee
REBELLION, Rebellio, among the Romans, was Rebellion
where those who had been formerly overcome in bat- fl
tie, and yielded to their subjection, made a second re- R^utter.
sistance : but with us it is generally used for the taking ' v '
up ot arms traitorously against the king, whether by
natural subjects, or others when once subdued; and
tbe word rebel'is sometimes applied to him who wilful¬
ly breaks a law; also to a villein disobeying bis lord.
J here is a difference between enemies and rebels.
Enemies are those who are out of the king’s allegiance!
therefore subjects of the king, either in open war, or re¬
bellion, are not the king’s enemies, but traitors. And
Havid prince of Wales, who levied war against Edw. I.
because he was within the allegiance of the king, had
sentence pronounced against him as a traitor and rebel.
111 vate persons may arm themselves to suppress rebels
enemies, &c. ’
REBELLIOUS ASSEMBLY, is a gathering toge¬
ther of twelve persons or more, intending or going
about to practice or put in use unlawfully, of their own
authority, any thing to change the law or statutes of
the realm ; or to destroy the inclosures of any ground,
or banks of any fish-pond, pool, or conduit, to the in¬
tent the same shall lie waste and void ; or to destroy
the deer in any park, or any warren of conies, dove-
houses, or fish in ponds; or any house, barns, mills, or
bays ; or to burn stacks of corn; or abate rents, or
prices of victuals, &c.
REBUS, an enigmatical representation of some name,
&c. by using figures or pictures insiead of words, or
parts of words. Camden mentions an instance of this
absurd kind ot wit in a gallant who expressed his Jove
to a woman named Rose Hill, by painting in the bor¬
der of his gown a rose, a hill, an eye, a loaf, and a well;
which, in the style of the rebus, reads, “ Rose Hill I
love welly Ibis kind of wit was long practised by
the great, who took the pains to find devices for their
names. It was, however, happily ridiculed by Ben
Jonson, in tbe humorous description of Abel X)rug-
ger’s device in the Alchemist; by the Spectator, in the
device of Jack of Newberry ; at which time the rebus,
being raised to sign-posts, was grown out of fashion at
court.
Rebus is also used by the chemical writers sometimes
to signify sour mi,k, and sometimes for what they call
the ultimate matter of which all bodies are composed.
Rebus, in Heraldry, a coat of arms which bears an
allusion to the name of the person ; as three castles, for
Castleton; three cups, for Butler; three conies, for
Conisby ; a kind of bearings which are of great anti¬
quity.
REBUTTER, (from the Fr. banter, i. e. repellere,
to put back or bar), is the answer of defendant to plain¬
tiff’s surrejoinder i and plaintiff’s answer to the rebut¬
ter is called a surrebutter ; but it is very rare the parties
go so far in pleading.
Rebutter is also where a man by deed or fine grants
to warranty any land or hereditament to another; and
the person making the warranty, or his heir, sues hiiu
to whom the warranty is made, or his heir or assignee,
for the same thing ; if he who is so sued plead the deed
or fine with warranty, and pray judgment, if the plain¬
tiff shall be received to demand the thing which he ought
to warrant to the party against the warranty in the deed,.
&c. this is called a rebutter. And if I grant to a te¬
nant
R E C [ 662 ]
lltbntlcr "ant tn hold without impeachment of waste, and after-
|1 wards implead him for waste done, he may debar me ot
Reciprocal t]j|s action by showing my grant, which is a rebutter.
Terms. RECAPITULATION, is a summary, or a con-
t” v cise and transient enumeration of the principal things in¬
sisted on in the preceding discourse, whereby the iorce
of the whole is collected into one view. See Oratory,
N° 37 and 127.
RECEIPT, or RecEIT, in Commerce, an acquit¬
tance, or discharge, in writing, intimating that the pai-
ty has received a certain sum of money, either m lull
for the whole debt, or in part, or on account.
RECEIVER, in Pneumatics, a glass vessel for con¬
taining the thing on which an experiment in the air-
pump is to be made.
Receiver, receptor or receptator, in Law, is com¬
monly understood in a bad sense, and used lor such as
knowingly receive stolen goods from thieves, and con¬
ceal them. This crime is felony, and the punishment
is transportation for 14 years.
RECENSIO, was an account taken by the censors,
eveiy lustrum, of a 11 the Roman people. It was a ge¬
neral survey ; at which the equites, as well as the rest ol
the people, were to appear. New names were now put
upon the censor’s list, and old ones cancelled. The
recensio, in short, was a more solemn and accurate sort
of probatio, and answered the purpose ol a review, by
showing who were lit lor military service.
RECEPTACULUM, in Botany, one of the seven
parts of fructification, defined by Linnteus to be the
base which connects or supports the other parts.
Receptaculum Chyli, or Pecquet's Reservatory, the
reservoir or receptacle for the chyle, situated in the left
side of the upper vertebra of the loins, under the aorta
and the vessels of the lelt kidney.
RECHABITES, a kind of religious order among
the ancient Jews, instituted by Jonadab the son of Re-
chab, comprehending only his own family and posterity.
Their founder prescribed them three things: first, not
to drink any wine ; secondly, not to build any houses,
but to dwell in tents ; and thirdly, not to sow any corn,
or plant vines.
The Rechabites observed these rules with great strict¬
ness, as appears from Jer. xxxv. 6, &c. Whence St
Jerome, in his 13th epistle to Paulinus, calls them mona-
chi, monks. Jonadab, their founder, lived under Jehoash,
king of Judah, contemporary with Jehu king of Israel*,
bis father Rechab, from whom his posterity rvere deno¬
minated, descended from Raguel or Jethro, father in¬
law to Moses, who was a Kenite, or of the race of Ken:
whence Kenite and Rechabite are used as synonymous
in Scripture.
RECHEAT, ill hunting, a lesson which the hunts¬
man plavs on the horn, when the hounds have lost
their game, to call them back from pursuing a counter
scent.
RECIPE, in Medicine, a prescription, or remedy, so
called because always beginning with the w'ord recipe,
i. e. take; which is generally denoted by the abbrevia¬
ture Ijo. See Prescription, Extemporaneous.
RECIPROCAL, in general, something that is mu¬
tual, or which is returned equally on both sides, or that
affects both parties alike.
-Reciprocal Terms, among logicians, are those which
EEC
Pieelu
have the same signification *, and consequently are con- Recipn
vertible, or may be used for each other. Tens
Reciprocal, in Mathematics, is applied to quanti¬
ties which multiplied together produce unity. Thus _
— and x, v and —, are reciprocal quantities. Likewise
x * y
- is said to be the reciprocal of .r, which is again the re-
x
ciprocal of—.
x
Reciprocal Figures, in Geometry, those which have
the antecedents and consequents of the same ratio in
both figures.
Reciprocal Proportion, is when in four numbers the
fourth is less than the second by so much as the third
is greater than the first, and vice versa. See Propor¬
tion and Arithmetic, chap. vi. Great use is made
of this reciprocal proportion by Sir Isaac Newton and
others, in demonstrating the laws of motion.
RECITAL, in Law, means the rehearsal or making
mention in a deed or writing of something which has
been done before.
RECITATIVO, or Recitative, in Music, a kind
of singing, that differs but little from ordinary pronun¬
ciation 5 such as that in which the several parts of the
liturgy are rehearsed in cathedrals *, or that wherein the
actors commonly deliver themselves on the theatre at the
opera, when they are to express some action or passion;
to relate some event \ or reveal some design.
RECKENHAUSEN, a strong town of Cologne,
now of the Rhenish Prussia provinces. The abbess of
its nunnery had formerly the power of punishing offend¬
ers with death, and she alone \yas obliged to the vow
of chastity.
RECKONING, or a Ship's Reckoning, in Navi¬
gation, is that account whereby at any time it may be
known where the ship is, and on what course or courses
she is to steer, in order to gain her port ; and that ac¬
count taken from the log-board is called the dead reckon¬
ing. See Navigation.
RECLAIMING, or Reclaming, in our ancient
customs, a lord’s pursuing, prosecuting, and recalling,
his vassal, who had gone to live in another place with¬
out his permission.
Reclaiming is also used for the demanding of a per¬
son, or thing, to be delivered up to the prince or state
to which it properly belongs: when, by any irregular
means, it is come into another’s possession.
Reclaiming, in Falconry, is taming a hawk, &c.
and making her gentle and familiar.
A partridge is said to reclaim, when she calls her
young ones together, upon their scattering too much
from her.
EEC LI NATION of a plane, in Dialling. See
Dialling.
RECLUSE, among the Papists, a person shut up in
a small cell of a hermitage, or monastery, and cut oil,
not only from all conversation with the world, but even
with the house. This is a kind of voluntary imprison¬
ment, from a motive either of devotion or penance.
The word is also applied to incontinent wives, whom
their husbands procure to be thus kept in perpetual im¬
prisonment in some religious house.
Recluses
tcluse
R E C
Recluses were anciently very numerous.
  The t K.
onnoi- n^.r ^ and Ling
r e;itere( Jt’ the b,sl\°P Set ius seal uPon the door; and
^ the recluse was to have every thing necessary for the
support ot life conveyed to him through a window. If
he was a priest, he was allowed a small oratory, with a
window, which looked into the church, through which
he might make Ins offerings at the mass, hear the sintr.
mg, and answer those who spoke to him ; hut this win-
dow had curtains before it, so that he could not he seen.
He was allowed a little garden, adjoining to his cell, in
winch he might plant a few herbs, and breathe a little
fresh air. If he had disciples, their cells were conti¬
guous to his, with only a window of communication,
through which they conveyed necessaries to him and
received his instructions. If a recluse fell sick, his door
might be opened for persons to come in and assist him,
but he himself was not to stir out.
RLCOGNIIION, in Law, an acknowledgement:
a word particularly used in our law hooks for "the first
chapter of the statute i Jac. I. by which the parlia¬
ment acknowledged, that, after the death of Queen
Rhzabeth, the crown had rightfully descended to King
Janies. ' ' °
RECOGNIZANCE, in Zow, is an obligation of
record, which a man enters into before some court of
record or magistrate duly authorised, with condition to
do some paiticular act ; as to appear at the assizes, to
keep the peace, to pay a debt, or the like. It is in
most respects like another bond : the difference being
clue fly this, that the bond is the creation of a fresh
debt or obligation de novo, the recognizance is an ac¬
knowledgement of a former debt upon record ; the form
whereof is, “ that A. B. doth acknowledge to owe to
our lord the king, to the plaintiff, to C. D. or the like,
tlie sum of ten pounds,” with condition to be void on
performance oi the thing stipulated : in which case the
king, the plaintiff, C. I). &c. is called the cognizee, is
cvi cognoscitur; as lie that enters into the recognizance
is called the cognizor, is qui cognoscit. This being cer¬
tified to, or taken by the officer of some court, is wit¬
nessed only by the record of that court, and not by the
party’s seal : so that it is not in strict propriety a deed,
though the effects of it are greater than a common
obligation ; being allowed a priority in point of pay¬
ment, and binding the lands of the cognizor from the
time of enrolment on record.
RECOIL, or Rebound, the starting backward of
a fire-arm after an explosion. Mersennus tells us, that
a cannon 12 feet in length, weighing 64001b. gives a
hall of 241b. an uniform velocity of 640 feet per se¬
cond. Putting, therefore, W=:6400, to = 14, V —
640, and v— the velocity with which the cannon recoils ;
we shall have (because the momentums of the camion
and ball are equal) W y — to V; and so v~ —
24 X 64 ...
—2,4; that is, it would recoil at the rate of
^•rrs feet per second, if free to move.
RECOLLECTION, a mode of thinking, by which
ideas sought after by the mind are found and brought
to view.
RECONNOITRE, in military affairs, implies to
tie
Recorde.
f 663 ] REG
view and examine the slate of things, in order to make n
a report thereof. * 6 Reconnw-
Parties ordered to reconnoitre are to observe the
country and the enemy ; to remark the routes, conve¬
niences, and inconveniences of the first; the position. ’
march °r forces of the second. In either case, they
should have an expert geographer, capable of taking
plans readily : he should be the best mounted of the
whole, m case the enemy happen to scatter the escorte,
d i v hlS work! and if,eas- War.
ECORD, an authentic testimony in writing, con¬
tained in rolls of parchment, and preserved in a court
of record. See Court.
Trial hj Record, a species of trial which is used
only in one particular instance : and that is where a mat¬
ter of record is pleaded in any action, as a fine, a judge¬
ment, or the like ; and the opposite party pleads, nul
tiel record, that there is no such matter of record exist-
ing. Upon this, issue is tendered and joined in the
following form, “ and this he prays may he inquired of
by the record, and the other doth the like and here¬
upon the party pleading the record has a day given him
to bring it in, and proclamation is made in court for him
to “ bring forth the record by him in pleading alleged
or else he shall be condemned and, on his failure, his’
antagonist shall have judgment to recover. The trial,
therefore, of this issue is merely by the record : for, as
bir Edward Coke observes, a record or enrollment is a
monument ot so high a nature, and importeth in itself
such absolute verity, that if it be pleaded that there is
no such record, it shall not receive any trial by witness,
jury, or otherwise, but only by itself. ' Thus titles of no-’
biiity, as whether earl or not earl, baron or not baron,
shall be tried by the kings’s writ or patent only, which
is matter of record. Also m case of an alien, whether
alien friend or enemy, shall be tried by the league or
treaty between his sovereign and ours ; for every league
or treaty is of record. And also, whether a manor be
held in ancient demesne or not, shall he tried by the re¬
cord of domesday in the king’s exchequer.
RECORDE, Robert, physician, and mathemati¬
cian, was descended of a respectable family in Wales,
and lived in the time of Henry VIII. Edward VI. and
Mary. Ihe time of his birth is not exactly known,
hut it must have been about the beginning of the 16th
century ; for he was entered of the university of Oxford
about 1525, and was elected fellow of All-Souls college
in 1531. As he made physic his profession, he went to
Cambridge, where he was honoured with the degree of
doctor in that faculty in 1545, and very much esteemed
by all who were acquainted with him, for his extensive
knowledge of many of the arts and sciences. He after¬
wards returned to Oxford, where he publicly taught a-
rithmetic and mathematics, as he had done prior to his
going to Cambridge, and that with great applause. It
appears that he afterwards went to London, and was, it
is said, physician to Edward VI. and to Mary, to whom
some of his books are dedicated ; yet he died in the
king’s-bench prison,, Southwark, where he was confined
for debt in the year 1558, at a very immature age.
He published several works on mathematical subjects,
chiefly in the form of dialogue between master and scho¬
lar, of which the following is a list.
The Pathway to Knowledge, containing the first prin¬
ciples.
n e c [
RrcorJc ciples of geometry, as they may moste aptly be applied
" F unto practice, bothe for the use of Instrumentes Geome-
Recovery. tr;ca]l and Astronomical!, and also for projection o
 ' Plattes, much necessary for all sortes of men. i^ond.
4t°T//c Ground of Arts, teaching the perfect worke and
practice of Arithmeticke, both in whole numbers and
fractions, after a more easie and exact forme tnen m
former time hath been set furth, 8vo, 1552.
The Castle of Knowledge, containing the implica¬
tion of the Sphere both Celestiall and Material!, and
divers other things incident thereto. With sundry
pleasaunt proofes and certaine newe demonstrations
not written before in any vulgare woorkes. Lond. tol.
'Ste Whetstone of Witte, which is the second part of
Arithmetike, containing the extraction of rootes j the
Cossike practice, with the rules of equation ; and the
woorkes of surde numbers. Lond. 4to, 1557*
Wood says that he was the author of several pieces
ou physic, anatomy, politics, and divinity, but it is
uncertain whether these were ever published. Sher¬
burne says that he also published Cosmographiw Isa-
g;o<ren; that he wrote a book De arte facjendi horolo¬
gium, and another De usu glohorum, et de statu
porum, none of which we have had an opportunity of
seeing.
RECORDER, a person whom the major and other
magistrates of a city or corporation associate to them,
for their better direction in matters of justice and
proceedings in law } on which account this person is
generally a counsellor, or other person well skilled in
the law.
The recorder of London is chosen by the lord mayor
and aldermen j and as he is held to be the mouth of the
city, delivers the judgment of the courts therein, and
records and certifies the city-customs. See London,
N° 58.
RECOVERY, or Common Recovery, in English
law, a species of assurance by matter of record; concern¬
ing the original of which it must be remarked, that com¬
mon recoveries were invented by the ecclesiastics to elude
the statutes of mortmain (see Tail) j and afterwards
encouraged by the finesse of the courts of law in 1 2 Ed¬
ward IV. in order to put an end to all fettered inherit¬
ances, and bar not only estates-tail, but also all remain¬
ders and reversions expectant thereon. We have here,
therefore, only to consider, first, the nature of a common
recovery 5 and, secondly, its force and effect.
1. A common recovery is a suit or action, either ac¬
tual or fictitious: and in itthe landsare recoveredagainst
the tenant of the freehold ; which recovery, being a sup¬
posed abjudication of the right, binds all persons, and vests
a free and absolute fee-simple in the recoverer. To ex¬
plain this as clearly and concisely as possible, let us, in
the first place, suppose David Edwards to be tenant of
the freehold, and desirous to suffer a common recovery,
in order to bar all entails, remainders, and reversions, and
to convey the same in fee-simple, to Francis Golding.
To effect this, Golding is to bring an action against him
for the lands; and he accordingly sues out a writ called
apreccipe quod reddat, because these were its initial or
most operative words when the law proceedings were
in Latin. In this writ the demandant Golding alleges,
that the defendant Edwards (here called the tenant) has
Rlackst.
Comment.
664 ] ft E C
no legal title to the land ; but that he came into posses- Reeo™
sion of it after one Hugh Hunt had turned the demand- -y-
ant out of it. The subsequent proceedings are made up
into a record or recovery roll, in which the writ and
complaint of the demandant are first recited : whereupon
the tenant appears, and calls upon one Jacob Morland,
who is supposed, at the original purchase, to have war¬
ranted the title to the tenant; and thereupon he prays,
that the said Jacob Morland may be called in to defend
the title which he so warranted. This is called the
voucher, “ vocatio,” or calling of Jacob Morland to
warranty ; and Morland is called the vouchee. Upon
this Jacob Morland, the vouchee, appears, is impleaded,
and defends the title. Whereupon Golding the deman¬
dant desires leave of the court to imparl, or confer with
the vouchee in private; which is (as usual) allowed him.
And soon afterwards the demandant Golding returns to
court; but Morland the vouchee disappears, or makes
default. Whereupon judgment is given for the deman¬
dant Golding, now called the recoverer, to recover the
lands in question against the tenant Edwards, who is
now the recoveree : and Edwards has judgment to re¬
cover of Jacob Morland lands of equal value, in recom¬
pense for the lands so warranted by him, and now lost
by his default ; which is agreeable to the doctrine ol
warranty mentioned in the preceding chapter. This is
called the recompense or recovery in value. But Jacob
Morland having no lands ef his own, being usually the
crier of the court, who, from being frequently thus
vouched, is called the common vouchee, it is plain that
Edwards has only a nominal recompense for the lands so
recovered against him by Golding; which lauds arenow^
absolutely vested in the said recoverer by judgment of
law, and seisin thereof is delivered by the sheriff of the
county. So that this collusive recovery operates merely
in the. nature of a conveyance in fee-simple, from Ed¬
wards the tenant in tail to Golding the purchaser.
The recovery here described, is with a single voucher
only ; but sometimes it is with a double, treble, or far¬
ther voucher, as the exigency of the case may requiie.
And indeed it is now usual always to have a recovery
with double voucher at the least: by first conveying an
estate of freehold to any indifferent person, against whom
theprcecipe is brought; and then he vouches the tenant
on tail, who vouches over the common vouchee. lor,
if a recovery be had immediately against tenant in tail,
it bars only such estate in the premises of which he is
then actually seised ; whereas if the recovery be had
against another person, and the tenant in tail he vouch¬
ed, it bars every latent right and interest which he may
have in the lands recovered. If Edwards therefore be
tenant of the freehold in possession, and John Barker be
tenant in tail in remainder, here Edwards doth first
vouch Barker, and then Barker vouches Jacob Morland
the common vouchee who is always the last person
vouched, and always makes default : whereby the de¬
mandant Golding recovers the land against the tenant
Edwards, and Edwards recovers a recompense of equal
value against Barker the first vouchee ; who recovers
the like against Morland the common vouchee, against
whom such ideal recovery in value is always ultimately
awarded. _ ,
This supposed recompense in value is the reason wny
the issue in tail is held to be barred by a common re¬
covery. For, if the recoveree should obtain a recom-
J pease
c. 20. no recovery had against tenant in tail of the
mg s girt, whereof the remainder or reversion is in the
king-, shall bar such estate-tail, or the remainder or re¬
version of the crown. And by the statute li H. VII.
c. 20. no woman, after her husband’s death, shall suffer
a recovery of lands settled on her by her husband, or
sett ed on her husband and her bv any of his ancestors.
And by statute 14 Eliz. c. 8. no tenant for life, of
any sort, can sutler a recovery so as to bind them in
remainder or reversion. For which reason, if there be
tenant for life, with remainder in tail, and other re¬
mainders over, and the tenant for life is desirous to suf¬
fer a valid recovery, either he, or the tenant to theprce-
npe by him made, must vouch the remainder-man in
tail, otherwise the recoveiy is void : but if he does
vouch such remainder-man, and he appears amf vouches
the common vouchee, it is then good j for if a man be
^ E C [66-1 R tt r
orery. l)ense m lands from the common vouchee fwh'rb ^
' is a possibility in contemplation of law, thou4 a ve. v efPectant 0,1 determination of such estates. Recovery
improbable one, of his doing), these lands v^„N ^ b0 1 mt a tenant m tai1 may, by this method of assn- ||
ply the place of those so recovered from him C°nVfy tll.e lands ,K;ltl in tail to the recoverer, IV'emits.
sion, and would descend to the issue in tail Tl ^ ° U’ ’J,3 1e,r* an(1 ass!gns> absolutely free and discharged of'
Xvill also hold with equal force as to mos't remaTnl? A cond‘tlons and ii™itations in tail, and of all remain-
men and reversioners, to whom the possibility will re- by.statute 34 and 35 H. VII.
main and revert, as a full recompense for the reality
winch they were otherwise entitled to : but it will not
always hold 5 and therefore, as Pigott says, the judges
have been even astutz, in inventing other reasons"to
maintain the authority ol recoveries. And in par¬
ticular, it bath been said, that though the estate-tail is
gone from the recoveree; yet it is not destroyed, but
only transferred, and still subsists 5 and will ever con¬
tinue to subsist (by construction of law) in the reco¬
verer, his heirs and assigns : and as the estate-tail so
continues to subsist for ever, the remainders or rever¬
sions expectant on the determination of such estate-tail
can never take place.
To such awkward shifts, such subtile refinements,
and such strange reasoning, were our ancestors obliged
to have recourse, in order to get the better of that stub¬
born statute de dovis. The design for which these con¬
trivances were set on foot, was certainly laudable ; the
un rivet ting the fetters of estates-tail, which were at¬
tended with a legion of mischiefs to the commonwealth •
but, while -we applaud the end, we cannot but admire
the means. Our modern courts of justice have indeed
adopted a more manly way of treating the subject; by
considering common recoveries in no other light than
as the formal mode of conveyance by which tenant in
tail is enabled to aliene his lands. But, since the ill
consequences of fettered inheritances are now generally
seen and allowed, and of course the utility and expe¬
dience of setting them at liberty are apparent, it hath
often been wished that the process of this conveyance
was shortened, and rendered less subject to niceties, by
either totally repealing the statute de donis j which per¬
haps, by reviving the old doctrine of conditional fees,
might give birth to many litigations : or bv vesting
in every tenant in tail, of full age, the same absolute
fee-simple at once, which now he may obtain whenever
he pleases, by the collusive fiction of 3 common reco¬
very ; though this might possibly bear hard upon those
in remainder or reversion, by abridging the chances
they would otherwise frequently have, as no recovery
can he suffered in the intervals between term and term,
which sometimes continue for near five months toge¬
ther : or, lastly, by empowering the tenant in tail to
bar the estate-tail by a solemn deed, to be made in
term-time, and enrolled in some court of record 5 which
is liable to neither of the other objections, and is war¬
ranted not only by the usage of our American colo¬
nies, but by the precedent of the statute 21 Jac. I. c. 19.
which, in the case of a bankrupt tenant in tail, em¬
powers his commissioners to sell the estate at any time,
by deed indented and enrolled. And if, in so national
a concern, the emoluments of the officers concerned in
passing recoveries are thought to he worthy attention,
those might be provided for in the fees to be paid upon
each enrollment.
2. 1 he force and effect of common recoveries may
appear from what has been said, to be an absolute bar
not only of all estates-tail, but of remainders and re-
Vol. XVII. Part II. f
vouched and appears, and suffers the recovery to be had,
it is as effectual to bar the estate-tail as if he himself
were the recoveree.
In all recoveries, it is necessary that the recoveree, or
tenant to the pracipe, as he is usually called, be actually
seized of the freehold, else the recovery is void. For all
actions to recover the seisin of lands must be brought
against the actual tenant of the freehold, else the suit will
ose its effect ; since the freehold cannot be recovered of
him who has it not. And, though these recoveries are
in themselves fabulous and fictitious, yet it is necessary
that there he adores fabulce, properly qualified. But the
nicety thought by some modern practitioners to be requi¬
site m conveying the legal freehold, in order to make a
good tenant to theprcecipe, is removed by the provisions
of the statute 14 Geo. II. c. 20. which enacts, with a
retrospect and conformity to the ancient rule of law,
that, though the legal freehold be vested in lessees, yet
those who are entitled to the next freehold estate in re¬
mainder, or reversion, may make a good tenant to the
prcecipe; and that, though the deed or fine which
cicates such tenant be subsequent to the judgment of
recovery, yet if it be in the same term, the recovery
shall be valid in law : and that though the recovery it¬
self do not appear to be entered, or be not regularly en¬
tered on record, yet the deed to make a tenant to the
prcecipe, and declare the uses of the recovery, shall after
a possession of 20 years be sufficient evidence on behalf
of a purchaser for valuable consideration, that such re¬
covery was duly suffered.
Recovery of persons drowned, or apparently dead.
See Re-animation, and the articles there referred to.
RECREANT, Cowardly, Faint-hearted; former¬
ly a word very reproachful. See Battel.
RECREMENT, in Chemistry, some superfluous mat¬
ter separated from some other that is useful ; in which
sense it is the same with scoriae^ Jceces, and excre¬
ments.
RECRIMINATION,inZow;, an accusation brought
by the accused against the accuser upon the same fact.
RECRUIIS, in military affairs, new-raised soldiers
designed to supply the place of those who have lost
4 their
R E c [666
their lives in the service, or who are disabled by age or
W< RECTANGLE, in Geometry, the same with a right-
angled parallelogram. See Geometry. .
RECTIFICATION, in Chemistry, is nothing but
the repetition of a distillation or sublimation severa
times, in order to render the substance purer, liner, and
freer from aqueous and earthy parts. j
Rectification, in Geometry, is the method ol
finding a right line equal to a curve. I he rectification
of curves is a branch belonging to the higher geometry,
in which the use of the inverse method ot fluxions is ot
singular utilitv.
Rectification of Spirits. See Distillation.
RECTIFIER, in Navigation, an instrument consist¬
ing of two parts, winch are two circles either laid one
upon, or let' into the other, and so fastened together m
their centres, that they represent two compasses, one
fixed, the other moveable: each of them divided in o
the 32 points of the compass, and 360 , and numbered
both ways, from the north and the south, ending at
the east and west, in 90°. . . ...
The fixed compass represents the horizon, in winch
the north and all the other points of the compass are
fixed and immoveable. .
The moveable compass represents the mariner s com¬
pass •, in which the north and all other points are liable
to variation. . „ .
In the centre of the moveable compass is fastened a
silk thread, long enough to reach the outside ol the
fixed compass. But if the instrument be made ot wood,
there is an index instead ol the thread.
Its use is to find the variation of the compass, to
rectify the course at sea*, having the amplitude or azi¬
muth given. „ ^ r
RECTIFYING the Globe. See Geography In-
dex,
RECTILINEAR, in Geometry, right-lined ; thus
figures whose perimeter consists of right lines, are said
to he rectilinear. ,
RECTITUDE, in Philosophy, refirs either to the
act of judging or of willing and therefore whatever
comes under the denomination ot rectitude, is either
what is true or what is good, these being the only ob¬
jects about which the mind exercises its two faculties
of judging and willing.
Moral rectitude, or uprightness, is the choosing and
pursuing those things which the mind, upon due inquiry
and attention, clearly perceives to be good ; and avoid¬
ing those that are evil. See Moral Philosophy.
RECTOR, a term applied to several persons whose
offices are very different : as, 1. The rector of a parish
is a clergyman that has the charge and cure of a parish,
and pn-sesses all the tithes, &c. 2. The same name is
also given to the chief elective officer in several foreign
universities, particularly in that of Paris, and also in
those of Scotland. It is also applied to the head mas¬
ter of large schools in Scotland, as in the high school
of Edinburgh. 3. Rector is also used in several con¬
vents for the superior officer who governs the house :
and the Jesuits give this name to the superiors ot such
of their houses as are either seminaries or colleges.
RECTORY, a parish-church, parsonage, or spiritual
living, with all its rights, tithes, and glebes.
] II E D
Rectory is sometimes used for the rector’s mansion
or parsonage-house.
RECTUM, in Anatomy, the third and last of the
large intestines or guts. See Anatomy, N 93,
RECTUS, in Anatomy, a name common to several
pairs of muscles, so called on account ol the straight¬
ness of their fibres.
RECUPERATORES, among the Romans, were
commissioners appointed to take cognizance of pin ate
matters m dispute, between the subjects of the state
and foreigners, and to take care that the former had
justice done them. It came at last to be used ioi com¬
missioners, to whom the praetor referred the determina¬
tion of any affair between one subject and another.
RECURRENTS, in Anatomy, a name given to seve¬
ral large branches of nerves sent out by the par vagum
from the upper part o' the thorax to the larynx.
RECUR VIROS IRA, a genus of birds belonging to
the order of grallse ot Linnaeus, and that ot palmipe¬
des of Pennant and Latham. See Ornithology In-
clcx»
RECUSANTS, such persons as acknowledge the
pope to be the supreme head of the church, and re¬
fuse to acknowledge the king’s supremacy *, who are
hence called Popish recusants. I He penal laws against
Papists are now abolished in Britain and in Ireland j
and in all probability they will quickly be allowed the
amplest privileges.
RED, one of the colours called simple or primary:
being one of the shades into which tne light natuially
divides itself when refracted through a prism. See
Chromatics.
Red, in Dyeing, see that article.—Some reckon six
kinds or casts of red, viz. scarlet-red, crimson-red, mad¬
der-red, half-grain red, lively oranue-red, and scarlet of
cochineal: but it is easy to see that there can be but
one proper species ol red ^ namely, the reflection ot the
light exactly in such a manner as it is refracted by the
pi ism } all other shades being adulterations ot that pure
colour, with yellow, brown, &c.
Red, in Heraldry. See Gules.
Red Bird. See Muscicapa. Ornithology Index.
Red-Breast. See Motacilla, Ornithology In¬
dex.
Red-Book of the exchequer, an ancient record or
manuscript volume, in the keeping of the king’s re¬
membrancer, containing divers miscellany treatises re¬
lating to the times before the conquest.
RED-Lead. See Chemistry Index.
Red- Precipitate of Mercury. See Ch EM 1 strY Index.
Red Russia, or Little Russia, a province of Poland,
bounded on the west by Upper Poland, on the north
by Lithuania, on the east by Little 'I artary, and on
the south by Moldavia, Transylvania, and a part of
Hungary. It comprehends Russia properly so called,
Volhynia, and Podolia. It is about 650 miles in length,
and from t 50 to 250 in breadth. It consists chiefly of
large fields, but little cul ivated on account of the fre¬
quent inroads ot the I art a r-, and because theie is no
water carriage. ft had the name of Bed Russia,
from the colour of the hair of its inhabitants. I he
western part is now subject to Austria, the east to
Russia. .
Red Sea, or Arabic Gulf, so much celebrated in sa-
7 cred
RED [*
Sea. cred history, separates Arabia from Upper Ethiopia
^ and part ot Egypt. This sea is 350 leagues in length
and 40 m breadth. As no river falls into it of suffi¬
cient force to counteract the influence of the tide it is
more affected by the motions of the great ocean’ than
any ot the inland seas nearly in the same latitude It
is not much exposed to tempests : the winds usually
blow trom north to south, and being periodical, tike
the monsoons of tndia, invariably determine the season
ot sailmg into or out of this sea. It is divided into two
gulfs j that to the east was called the JElanitic gu/f
from the city iElana at the north end of it j and that
to the west the Hcroopolitic, from the city of Heroopo-
Hs ; the former of which belongs to Arabia, and the
latter to Egypt.
Mr Bruce has made many observations on this sea
which are worthy of notice—With regard to the name’
he says it was certainly derived from Edom or Esau the
son of Jacob ; though in another place he says, he won¬
ders that writers have not rather supposed it to have got
the epithet of Red, from the colour of the sand on its
coasts, than for other reasons they have alleged. With
regard to any redness in the water itself, or in the bot¬
tom, which some have asserted, our traveller assures us
that there is no such thing. It is more difficult to assign
a reason for the Hebrew name of it, which signifies the
Sea of Weeds ; as he never saw a weed throughout the
whole extent of it. “ Indeed, (says he) upon the slight¬
est consideration, it will occur to any one, that a narrow
gulf, undei the immediate influence ot the monsoons,
blowing from contrary points six months each year’
would have too much agitation to produce such vege¬
tables, seldom found but in stagnant waters, and seldom,
if ever, found in salt ones. My opinion then is, that it
]
RED
like spears, while on the east side, every rock becomes Red Sea.
an island, and every two or three islands become an 1 v~—^
harbour. On the ends of the principal of these har¬
bours the people have piled up great heaps of stones
to serve as signals : “ and it is in these (says Mr Bruce)
that the large vessels from Cairo to Jidda, equal in size
to our large 74 gun ships (but from the cisterns of ma¬
son-work built within for holding water, I suppose
double their weight), after navigating thgir portion of
the channel in the day-time, come safely and quietly to
at lour 0 clock in the afternoon ; and in these little har¬
bours pass the night, to sail into the channel again next
morning.” 0
The western channel of the Red sea was chosen, in the
TV • oi the 1 demies, for the track of the Indian and
African commerce. These monarchs erected a great num¬
ber of cities all along the western coast; and notwith¬
standing the dangers of the navigation, we do not hear
that it was ever abandoned on account of them.
rom the observations made by our author on the
navigation of the Red sea, be undertakes to point out
a safe passage for large ships to the gulf of Suez, so
that they may be able to judge of the propriety of their
own course themselves, without trusting implicitly to
the pilots they meet with, who are often very ignorant
of their profession. ri his sea, according to Mr Bruce
may be divided into four parts, of which the channel
occupies two, till near the latitude of 26°, or that of
tosseir. On the west it is deep water, with many
rocks j and on the east it is full of islands, as has been
a ready mentioned. Between these islands there are
channels and harbours of deep water, where ships may
be protected in any wind j but a pilot is necessary in
any W1,1d j but a pilot is necessary m
is from the la*, trees „r plot's of white'^^dS fVT
everywhere over the bottom of the Red set,, perfectly in day. Ship, bound to Suez ,„/t the of ,‘he
imitation of plants on land, that the sea has obtained this sherifle of Mecca, that is, without any intention of sell-
11 g their cargo at Jidda, or paying custom there, ought
to take in their fresh water at Mocha, or if there be
any reason against this, a few hours will carry them to
Azab or Saba on the Abyssinian coast, where they may
be plentifully supplied: but it must be remembered,
that the people here are Gal/a, the most treacherous
and villanous wretches on earth.” Here not only wa¬
ter may be procured, but plenty of sheep, goats, with
some myrrh, and incense* in the proper season. Great
caution, however, must be used in dealing with the peo¬
ple, as even those of Mocha, who are absolutely neces¬
sary to them in their commercial dealings, cannot trust
them without surety or hostages. Not many years ago
the surgeon and mate of the Elgin East Indiaman, with’
several other sailors, were murdered by these savages
as they went ashore to purchase myrrh, though they had.
a letter of safe conduct from the shekh.
lo such as do not want to be known, our author
recommends a low black island on the coast of Arabia,
named Camaran, in latitude 150 30'. It is distinguish!
cd by a white bouse or fortress on the west end of it $
where water is to be had in still greater plenty than at
Azabj but no provisions, or such only as are very bad,
can be procured. If it is necessary not to be seen at
all on the coast, the island ol foosht is recommended
hy our author as having excellent water, with a sainfc
or monk, whose office is to keep l he wells clean. This
is one of the chain of islands which stretches almost
4 P 2
r   —J ov-c* 110,0 uuiaiucu Lllls
name.—I saw one of these, which, from a root nearly
central, threw out ramifications of an almost circular
form, measuring 26 feet every way.”
Our author has also made many useful observations
on the navigation of this sea. “ All the western shore
(he says) is bold, and has more depth of water than
the east j but on this side there is neither anchoring
ground nor shoals. It is rocky, with a considerable
depth of water everywhere ; and there are a number of
sunken rocks, which, though not visible, are sufficiently
near the surface to destroy a large ship.” The cause of
this, in Mr Bruce’s opinion, is, that the mountains on
the side of Abyssinia and Egypt are all of hard stone,
porphyry, many different kinds of marble, granite, ala¬
baster, and basaltes. These being all composed of so¬
lid materials, therefore, can part with very little dust
or sand, which might otherwise be blown from them
into the sea. On the opposite coast, viz. that of Ile-
jaz and fabamah, on the Arabian side, the whole con¬
sists ol moving sands; a large quantity of which is
blown from the south-east by the dry winter monsoons ;
which being lodged among the rocks on that side, and
confined there by the north-east or summer monsoon,
which is in a contrary direction, hinders them from com¬
ing over to the Egyptian side. Hence the western
«oast is full of sunk rocks for want of sand to cover
them, with which they would otherwise become islands.
They are naked and bare all round, with sharp points
across
across the gulf from Loheiah to Masuah, and from ac¬
tual observation by Mr Bruce, is found to be s.tuated
in N. Lat. 150 59' 43"- E* Lonbr-.42° 47'' 1 r"in.this
to Yamboo there is a safe watering-place ; and tlieie
is an absolute necessity for having a pilot before you
come to Has Mahomet*, because over the /ildamtic
gulf, the mountains of Aucha, and the cape itself,
there is often a thick haze, which lasts for many days
together, and a number of ships are lost by mistaking
the eastern bay or iElanitic gulf for the entrance of
the gulf of Suez *, the former has a ridge of locks
nearly across it. After reaching Sheduan, a large
island, about three leagues farther in a north-by-west
direction, there is a bare rock distinguished by no par¬
ticular name 5 but so situated that ships ought not to
come within three leagues of it. Tins rock is to be
left to the westward at the distance just mentioned j af¬
ter passing which you meet with shoals forming a
pretty broad channel, with soundings from 15 to 30
fathomsj and again, on standing directly for Tor, there
are two other oval sands with sunk rocks in the chan¬
nel, between which you are to steer. lor may be
known at a distance by two hills that stand near the
water-side 5 which, in clear weather, may be seen six
leagues off. Just to the south-east of these is the town
and harbour, where there are some palm trees about the
houses, the more remarkable, as being the first that are
seen on the coast. The soundings in the way to f or
harbour are clean and regular ; “ and, by giving tl.e
beacon a small birth on the larboard hand, you may
haul in a little to the northward, and anchor in five or
six fathom.” In spring tides, it is high water at lor
nearly about 12 o’clock: in the middle of the gulf
there is no perceptible tide, but at the sides it runs at
the rate of more than two knots in the hour. Tor it¬
self is but a small village, with a convent of monks be¬
longing to those of Mount Sinai. /It wras taken by
Don John de Castro, and fortified, soon after its disco¬
very by the Portuguese *, but has never since been a
place of any consideration *, serving now only for a wa¬
tering place to the ships trading to or horn Suez,.
Frorn this place there is a distinct view of Mounts Ho-
reb and Sinai, which appear above and behind the
others, with their tops frequently covered with snow in
the winter.
Mr Bruce next proceeds to consider some questions
which maybe reckoned matters of curiosity rather than
any thing else. One of these is concerning the level of
the water of this sea itself, which has been supposed se¬
veral feet above that of the Mediterranean. “ To this
(says our author) I answer, that the fact has been sup¬
posed to be so by antiquity, and alleged as a reason
why Ptolemy’s canal was made from the bottom of the
Heroopolitic gulf rather than brought due north a-
cross the isthmus of Suez ; in which last case it was
feared it would submerge a great part of Asia Minor.
But who has ever attempted to verify this by experi¬
ment ? or who is capable of settling the difference of
levels, amounting, as supposed, to some feet and inch¬
es, between two points 120 miles distant from each
other, over a desert that has no settled surface, but is
changing its height every day ? Besides, since all seas
are in fact but one, what is it that hinders the Indian
ocean to flow to its level? What is it that keeps the In¬
dian ocean up ? Till this last branch of the question is
2
resolved, I shall take it for granted that no such differ¬
ence of level exists, whatever Ptolemy’s engineers might
have pretended to him j because, to suppose it fact, is
to suppose the violation of one very material law of na¬
ture.”
The next thing considered by our author is the pas¬
sage of the Israelites through the Bed Sea. At the
place where he supposes the passage to have been, the
sea is not quite four leagues broad, so that it might ea¬
sily have been crossed in one night without any miracle.
There is about 14 fathom water in the channel, and
nine at the sides, with good anchorage every where ; the
farthest side is a low sandy coast, and a very easy land¬
ing place. “ The draught of the bottom of the gulf
(says he) given by Dr Pococke, is very erroneous in
every part of it. it was proposed to Mr Niebuhr, when
in Egypt, to inquire upon the spot, whether there were
not some ridges of rocks where the water was shallow,
so that an army at particular times might pass over ?
Secondly, whether the Etesian winds, which blow
strongly all summer from the north-west, could not
blow so violently against the sea, as to keep it back on
a heap, so that the Israelites might have passed with¬
out a miracle ? And a copy of these queries was left
for me to join my inquiries likewise. But I must con¬
fess, however learned the gentlemen were who proposed
these doubts, l did not think they merited any atten¬
tion to solve them. If the Etesian winds, blowing from
the north-west in summer, could keep up the sea as a
wall on the right or to the south, of fifty feet high,
still the difficulty would remain of building the wall on
the left hand or to the north. Besides, water standing
in that position for a day, must have lost the nature of
a fluid. Whence came that cohesion of particles that
hindered that wall to escape at the sides ? 'I his is as
great a miracle as that of Moses. If the Etesian winds
had done this once, they must have repeated it many a
time before and since, from the same causes. Tet Dio¬
dorus Siculus says, the Troglodytes, the indigenous in¬
habitants of that very spot, had a tradition from father
to son, from their very earliest and remotest ages, that
once this division of the sea did happen there *, and that,
after leaving the bottom some time dry, the sea again
came back and covered it with great fury. The words
of this author are of the most remarkable kind. M e
cannot think this heathen is writing in favour of reve¬
lation. He knew not Moses, nor says a word about
Pharaoh and his host; but records the miracle of the
division of the sea in words nearly as strong as those
of Moses, from the mouths of unbiassed undesigning
pagans.”
liED-S/ianfc. See Scolofax,!
RED-Start. SeeMoTACiLLA, S Ornithology//?**-
Red-Whig. See Turdus, J
REDANS, in Field Fortification. See the article
Redens. .
REDDENDUM, in Law, is used substantively tor
the clause in a lease wherein the rent is reserved to the
lessor. The proper place lor it is next alter the limita¬
tion of estate. f
REDDITTO, was the third part of the sacrihce or
the heathens, and consisted of the solemn act of putting
in again the entrails of the victims, after they had been
religiously inspected, oee Sacrifice. .
REDDLE, a soft, heavy, red, ferruginous earth, ot
great
RED [669
great use in colouring; and being washed and freed
from sand, is often sold by our druggists under the name
of bole armeniac.
REDEMPTION, m Law, a faculty or right of re¬
entering upon lands, &c. that have been sold and as¬
signed, upon reimbursing the purchase-money with le¬
gal costs
] RED
of figures, &C. whence they are called compasses of re-
auction. See the article Compass.
Ihere are various methods of reducing figures, &c
the most easy is by means of the pentagraph, or pa¬
rallelogram ; but this hath its defects. See the article
Pentagraph.
Redemption, in Theology denotes the recovery of follow: 1. To reduce a figure^a^ABCDE^fig^ 1 T
mankmd from sin and death, by the obedience and sa- into a less compass. About the middle of the fi'om'e
ZeZ of ^U "el Th“Y1S ^ ^ ^ °n ? and tr0m this ^to
HEDENS RKB.VKS, or Redans in Formation, a ifiTa^ler^ 1^’^’ pa’rati “&cgyo„e ^
,nd of indented work in form of the teeth of a saw. have the figure a b c rfc similar to ABCDE. 7
Reduction
u
Redundant.
Plate
ccecxLvm,
fig. r.
kind of indented work in form of the
with salient and re-entering angles; to the end that one
part may flank or defend another. It is likewise called
saw-work and indented work. The lines or faces in
this flank one another.
Redens are used in fortifying walls, where it is not
necessary to be at the expence of building bastions ;
as when they stand on the side of a river running
through a garrison town, a marsh, the sea, &c. But
the fault of such fortification is, that the besiegers from
one battery may ruin both the sides of the tenaille or
front of a place, and make an assault without fear of
being enfiladed, since the defences are mined. The pa¬
rapet of the corridor is likewise often redented or car¬
ried on by the way of redens. The redens was used be¬
fore bastions were invented, and some people think them
preferable.
REDI, Francis, an Italian physician and polite
scholar, was born at Arezzo in Tuscany in 1626. His
ingenuity and learning recommended him to the office
of first physician to Ferdinand II. duke of Tuscany;
and he contributed not a little toward the compiling of
the Dictionary of La Crusca. He wrote upon vipers,
upon the generation of insects, and composed a good
deal of poetry. All his writings are in Italian ; and his
language is so fine and pure, that the authors of the
Dictionary of La Crusca have often cited it as a stand¬
ard - f perfection. He died in 1697.
REDI N i EGRATION, is the finding the integral
or fluent again from the fluxion. See Fluxions.
REDOUBT, in Fortification, a small square fort,
without any defence but in front ; used in trenches,
lines of circumvallation, contravallation, and approach ;
as also for the lodgings of corps-de-gard, and to defend
passages.
REDUCTION, in the schools, a manner of bring¬
ing a term or propositions, which was before opposite
to some other, to be equivalent to it.
Reduction, in Arithmetic, that rule whereby num¬
bers of different denominations are brought into one de¬
nomination. See Arithmetic.
Reduction of Equations, in Algebra, is the clearing
them from all superfluous quantities, bringing them to
their lowest terms, and separating the known from the
unknown, till at length only the unknown quantity is
found on one side, and known ones on the other. The
reduction of an equation is the last part of the resolu¬
tion of the problem. See Algebra.
Reduction of a figure, design, or draught, is the
making a copy thereof, either larger or smaller than the
original ; still preserving the form and proportion. The
great use of the proportional compasses is the reduction
If the figure a b ede had been required to be enlar¬
ged, there needed nothing but to produce the lines from
the point beyond the angles, as 55 D, 2; C, &c. and to
draw lines, viz. DC, CB, &c. parallel to the sides dc,
c b, &.c.
2. To reduce a figure by the angle of proportion,
suppose the figure ABCDE (fig. 2.) required to be di¬
minished in the proportion of the line AB to c 6
(hg. 3.) draw the indefinite line GH (fig. 4.), and from
G to H set off the line AB. On G describe the arch
;7r‘ °tt Ule line as a chord on HI, and draw
. I hen with the angle IGH you have all the mea¬
sures ol the figure to be drawn. Thus to lay down the
point c, take the interval BC, and upon the point G
describe the arch KL. Also on the point G describe
MN ; and upon A, with the distance MN, describe an
arch cutting the preceding one in c, which will deter¬
mine the side be. And after the same manner are the
other sides and angles to be described. The same pro¬
cess will also serve to enlarge the figure.
3. To reduce a figure by a scale. Measure all the
sides of the figure, as ABCDE (fig. 2). by a scale, and
lay down the same measures respectively from a smaller
scale in the proportion required.
4* reduce a map, design, or figure, by squares.
Divide the original into little squares, and divide a fresh
paper of the dimensions required into the same number
of squares, which are to be larger or less than the for¬
mer, as the map is to be enlarged or diminished. This
done in every square of the second figure, draw what
you find in its correspondent one in the first.
Reduction, in Metallurgy, is the bringing back me¬
talline substances which have been changed into scorise
or ashes, or otherwise divested of their metallic form,
into their natural and original state of metals again.
See Ores, Reduction of.
Reduction, in Surgery, denotes an operation where¬
by a dislocated, luxated, or fractured bone, is restored
to its former state or place.
REDUNDANCY, a fault in discourse, consisting
in the use of a superfluity of words. Words perfectly
synonymous are redundant, and ought to be retrenched.
REDUNDANT, in Music. What the French call
une accord superflue, which we have translated a redun¬
dant chord in the article Music (from D’Alembert),
has by others been rendered a chord extremely sharp,
as in the translation of Rameau’s Principles of Compo¬
sition. Their nature will be best understood by a few
examples, and an account of the number of tones, semi¬
tones, or lesser intervals, contained in each.
The second redundant is composed of a major tone,
< and
Fig;. J.
Fig, 3-
and 4.
REE [ 6?° ] REF
Redundant and a minor semitone j as from fa to sol sharp. Us
proportion is as 64 to 75*
•Reeving. tf^rlj re(hmdunt consists of two tones ami a semi-
v ' tone, as fa la, sharp. Its proportion is as 96 to 125.
The fourth redundant is the same with the tritone.
From these examples compared with the same inter¬
vals in their natural state, the reader may form a gene¬
ra! idea of what is meant by redundant.
11EE, Rfcis, or Res, a little Portuguese coin. See
Money Tabic.
REED, in Botany See A RUN DO and Bamboo.
There are two sorts ol reeds, says Hasselquist, grow¬
ing near the Nile. One of them has scarce any branch¬
es •, but is furnished with numerous leaves, which are
narrow, smooth, channeled on the upper surface 5 and
the plant is about 1 1 feet high. The Egyptians make
ropes of the leaves. They lay them in water like hen p,
and then make them into good strong cables. I hese,
with the bark of the date tree, form almost the only ca¬
ble used in the Nde. 1 he other sort is of great conse¬
quence. It is a small reed, about two or three feet high,
full branched, with short, sharp, lancet shaped leaves.
The roots, which are thick as the stem, creep and mat
themselves together to a considerable distance. Ibis
plant seems useless in common life *, but to it, continues
the learned author, is the very soil of Egypt owing : for
the matted roots have stopped the earth which floated in
the waters, and thus formed, out of the sea, a country
that is habitable.
Fire Reeds. See Fire-Ship.
Reed, a term in the west of England for the straw
used by thatchers, which is wheat straw finely combed,
consisting of stiff, unbruised, and unbroken stalks of
great length, carefully separated from the straw used
for fodder by the thresher, and bound in sheaves or
nitches, each of which weighs 281b. and are sold from
2is. to 31s. per hundred nitches, according to the sea¬
son. This is a great improvement in the art of thatch¬
ing, as it gives a finish to the work which cannot be at¬
tained by straw', rough and tumbled together, without
any separation of the long and short: it is also a readier
mode of working.
REEF, a term in navigation. When there is a great
gale of wind, they commonly roll up part of the sail be¬
low, that by this means it may become the narrower,
and not draw so much wind which contracting or ta¬
king up the sail they call a reef, or reefng the sail: so
also when a top-mast is sprung, as they call it, that is
when it is cracked, or almost broken in the cap, they
cut off the lower piece that was near broken off, and
setting the other part, now much shorter, in the step
again, they call it a reefed top mast.
REEL, in the manufactories, a machine serving for
the office of ree ling. There are various kinds of reels }
some very simple, others very complex.
REELING, in the manufactories, the winding of
silk, cotton, or the like, into a skain, or upon a button,
to prevent its entangling. It is also used for the char¬
ging or discharging of bobbins, or quills, to use them in
the manufacture of different stuffs, as thread, silk, cot¬
ton, &c. Reeling is performed in different ways, and
on different engines.
REEVING, in the sea-language, the putting a rope
through a block : hence to pull a rope out of a block, is
.called unreeving.
RE-EXCHANGE, in commerce, a second payment Re-E*.
of the price of exchange, or rather the price of a new change:
exchange due upon a bill of exchange that comes to
protested, and to be refunded the bearer by the drawer. ^ e* l0j
or indorser.
REFECTION, among ecclesiastics, a spare meal or
repast, just sufficient for the support of life : hence the
hall in convents, and other communities, where the
monks, nuns, &c take their refections or meals in com¬
mon, is called the refectory.
REFERENCE, in writing, &c. a mark relative to
another similar one in the margin, or at the bottom of
the page, where something omitted in the text is added,
and which is to be inserted either in reading or copy-
ing. .
REFINING, in general, the art of purifying a
thing 5 including not only the essaying or refining of
metals, but likewise the depuration or clarification of
liquors. See Cdarification \ and Pharmacy^, un¬
der Materia Medica j and Ores, Reduction of.
Gold and silver may be refined by several methods,
which are all founded on the essential properties of these
metals, and acquire different names according to their
kinds. Thus, for instance, gold having the property
which no other metal, nor even silver, has of resisting
the action of sulphur, of antimony, of nitrous acid, or
marine acid, may be purified by these agents from all
other metallic substances, and consequently may be re¬
fined. These operations are distinguished by proper
names, as purification of gold by antimony, parting, con¬
centrated parting, dry parting. The term refining is
chiefly applied to the purification of gold and silver by
lead in the cupel. See Ores, Reduction of.
REFLECTION, the return or progressive motion
of a moving body, occasioned by some obstacle which
hindered it from pursuing its former direction.
Circular Instrument of Reflection, an instrument
for measuring angles to a very great degree of accura¬
cy. It was invented by the celebrated astronomer Mr
Tobias Mayer of Gottingen, principally with a view to
do away the errors of the divisions of the limb; and has
since been much improved by the Chevalier de Borda,
and M. J. H. de Magellan. This instrument is particu¬
larly applicable to the measuring of the distances of the
heavenly bodies, and was used by the French in their
part of the operation for determining the difference of
meridians of Paris and Greenwich. For the descrip¬
tion, rectification, and use of this instrument, see Na¬
vigation.
Reflection of the Rays of Light, in Catoptrics, is
their return, after approaching so near the surface of
bodies as to be thereby repelled or driven backwards.
For the causes of reflection, see Optics Index, at Rays
of Light, and Refection of Light, &e. For the appli¬
cation of the doctrine of reflection to mirrors, see Op¬
tics. See also Mirror, Burning-Glass, and G/ass-
G rinding ; and for the coating or foliating of mirrors,
see the article Foliating oj Looking-glasses, &c. See
also Telescope.
Reflection of Heat, see Chemistry, N° ijo.
Reflection of Cold. For an account of this curi¬
ous phenomenon, see also Chemistry, N° 272.
It has been generally supposed that this fact was first
noticed by Professor Pictet of Geneva; but we have
been informed from good authority (for we have not
yet
ref [ 6
flection, yei liad an opportunity of seeing the book), that the
illectors same fact is distinctly mentioned by Eaptista de Porta
in his Magia Natural is.
Reflection is also used figuratively, for an opera-
. tion of the mind, whereby it turns its view backwards
as it were upon itself, and makes itself and its own ope¬
rations the object of its disquisition ; and by contem¬
plating the manner, order, and laws, which it observes
in perceiving ideas, comparing them together, reason¬
ing, &c. it frames new ideas of the relations discovered
therein. See Metaphysics.
Reflectors for Light-Houses, have of late years
been very successfully adopted instead of coal fires.
They are composed of a number of square plane glass
mirrors, similar to those, which, it is said, were em¬
ployed by Archimedes ia setting fire to the Roman
fleet at the siege of Syracuse. The mirrors are an inch
square, and are disposed close to each other in the con¬
cave of a parabolic segment, formed of stucco, or any
other substance which retains them in their place.
Stucco, however, is found to answer sufficiently well,
and is employed in the reflectors of all the light-houses
which have been erected round the coast of Scot¬
land.
The parabolic moulds are from three to five or six
feet in diameter, and in the centre of each there is a
long shallow lamp of tin plate, filled with whale oil.
There are six cotton wicks in each lamp nearly conti¬
guous to each other, and so disposed as to stand in no
need of trimming lor the space of six hours. The light
is reflected from each mirror spread over the concave
surface, and is as it were multiplied by the number of
mirrors. Tin plate covers the back of the stucco mould¬
ing, from which a tube immediately over the lamp pro¬
ceeds to the roof of the light room, and answers the pur¬
pose of a funnel, through which the smoke passes with¬
out sullying the face of the mirror. The light-room is
a lantern of from eight to twelve sides, entirely made
of glass, fixed in frames of ca-t iron, and roofed with
copper. The reflectors with their lamps are placed on
circular benches passing round the in-ide of this lantern,
at about 18 inches from the glass frames, so that the
concave surfaces of two or three of the refit ctors front
every point of the compass, and throw a blaze of light
in all directions.
There is a hole in the roof, directly over the centre
of the room, through which all the funnels pass, and by
which fresh air is also conveyed to the lamps. This
light room is fixed in such a manner on the top of a
round tower, that n<' weather can move it; and the num¬
ber of the reflectors, and the height of the tower, are
greater or less according as the light is intended to be
seen at a greater or less distance.
It has been proposed to make the concave surface of
the parabola one speculumjnf metal, instead of covering
it over with a number of plain glass mirrors, or to di¬
minish the size of each mirror, if they are preferred to
the metallic speculum It must be obvious to every
man who knows any thing of optics, that either of
these alterations would be improper. The brightest
metal does not reflect so much light as plain clear glass,
and if the size of the mirrors were diminished, the num¬
ber of joinings would be increased, in each of which
some light is lost.
71 ] B E F
A man wholly guided by theory, would be ready to Reflectots
condemn light houses of this description j because a II
violent storm will shake the firmest building, which, in ■ Refoiin-
his opinion, would throw the. whole rays o? light into
the air, and thus mislead the bewildered mariner. Ex¬
perience, however, shows, that such apprehensions are
groundless, and that light-houses with lamps and reflec¬
tors, are in all respects preferable to those with fires
burning in tne open air. They are less expensive j they
give a more brilliant light, and are seen at a greater dis¬
tance, and cannot be obscured by smoke, or driven
Gown on the lee side by the most violent wind. If to
this we add, that the lamps do not stand in need of
trimming so often as fires require fuel, and that the
light-man is never exposed to the weather, we must al¬
low that light houses with reflectors are not so liable to
be neglected in stormy weather as those with open fires,
which alone must give the former a preference over the
latter.
It has been asserted, and particular!v stated, in the
supplement to the third edition of this work, that Mr
•Smith of Edinburgh, the principal, and we believe
now the sole contractor for managing and keeping in
repair the light-houses round the coast of Scotland, is
the first who conceived the idea of illuminating light¬
houses by means of lamps and reflectors. We do not
undeistand that MrSmith himself ever claimed the merit
of this invention ^ but it appears that reflectors, such as
are described above, were invented by Mr Ezekiel
Walker of Lynn Regis, who says, in a letter dated Oc¬
tober 1801, and addressed to the editor of the Monthly
Magazine,*, that such n Hectors were made and fixed up * Vol. xii;
under his direction, in a light house on the coast of Nor-P 4°2,
folk, in the year 1779; and adds farther, that in the year
1787, at the request of the trustees appointed by act of
parliament tor erecting four light-houses,on the northern
coast of Great .Britain, he instructed Mr Smith in this
method o( constructing light houses. Mr Walker’s
statement of the fact is confirmed by a letter from Mr
Giieve, then lord provost of Edinburgh, who informs
Mr Walker that the trustees had agreed to pay the
premium required for communicating the invention, and
that Mr Smith was engaged to go to Lynn Regis to re¬
ceive instructions from Mr Walker iii the method of
constructing the new reflectors.
REFLEX, in Painting, means those places in a pic¬
ture which are supposed to be illuminated by light re¬
flected from -ome other body in the same piece. See
Painting, Part I. sect. 2. and 5.
REFLUX, the liacku-ard course of water, has the
same meaning as the ebbing of the sea, and is op¬
posed to flood, flux, or the flowing of the sea. See
Tides.
REFORM means a change from worse to better, a re¬
establishment or revival of former neglected discipline,
or a correction of abuses therein. The term is much
used in a monastic sense for the reducing an order or
congregation of religious to the anci< nt severity ot the
rule from which it had gradually swerved, or even
for improving on the ancient rule or institution itself,
and voluntarily making it more severe. In this sense
the order of St Bernard is said to be only a reform of
that of St Benedict In this country it is applied both
to politics and religion, and may innocently be applied
to
REF
[ 67
establishment from
Reform, to any endeavours to change an
 y 'worse to better. But it appears at present to have
been chiefly made a pretence for designs which could
not fairly or safely be avowed.
A reform in religion and in parliament (see I ARLIA-
MENt), has, we know, been most loudly called lor by
men whose religious notions are immensely diflerent
from what has been generally reckoned Christianity, and
whose designs, as has been legally proved, went to the
overthrow of all civil order. For insidious purposes
like these, the word reform is a good cloak, especially
if any thing can be fixed upon, either in the religion or
government of the state, which, with the help ot exag¬
geration and distortion, can be represented to the weak
and unthinking as extremely defective and erroneous.
The general error of these men seems to be, that
having picked up a set of speculative notions which
flatter their own pride and the pride of those who listen
to them, they will allow nothing to the arguments of
their opponents or the experience of mankind. They
think so often and so much upon their ideal reforms,
that while they imagine their notions are liberal and ex¬
tensive, they become contracted beyond imagination j
while their judgments, of course, are warped with the
most inveterate prejudices (see Prejudice). Ihey see,
or think they see, the propriety of their schemes ; but
they seldom, perhaps never, reflect, that that may be
true in speculation or in theory which cannot possibly
be reduced to practice. They will not take the world
as it is, and allow it to profit by the wisdom and expe¬
rience of ages •, but they will reform it according to
those ideas of right which they have learned from their
own speculations and airy theories} seldom considering
what may be done, they are determined to do what
they think ought to be done. Liberty of conscience,
and liberty of action, have been claimed by them as
the unalienable rights of man} and so we ourselves are
disposed to think them : nor have we heard that in this
country they have been denied to any man, or set ot
men, so far as has been thought consistent with the safe¬
ty of the state, and that of the other individuals who
compose it. At the same time, the very same men hesi¬
tate not to blame, with acrimony the most violent, and
to the utmost of their power to restrain, the actions and
opinions of those who, with equal conviction, often on
better grounds, and generally with more modesty, dift'er
from them.
Amidst that excessive ardour, too, with which they
propagate their opinions, they forget the extreme dan¬
ger of withdrawing the attention of that part of the
community, who must earn their bread by the sweat
of their brow, from their proper occupations, to the
tempestuous sea of political debate, for which their
education and mode of life cannot possibly have quali¬
fied them. It requires but very little penetration,
however, to be able to see, that it can be of no real
service either to the individuals themselves, or to the
community at large, in whatever light we look upon it.
Indeed, to make those the judges of the law, and the
reformers of the legislature, who have all their lives
been employed in manual labour, is the extreme of fol¬
ly ; and yet it is what some men of considerable abili¬
ties, and from whom we had reason to expect better
things, have more than once attempted. The effect of
2 ] REF
such a mode of seduction, (and it deserves no better
name), when it shall become general, instead of serving'■
the purposes of a real reform, must be to annihilate all
civil order. Dissatisfaction is the most powerful check
to honest industry, and dissatisfaction and idleness must
be the effect of the wanderings of such men in the laby¬
rinths of politics } which, for uncultivated minds espe¬
cially, paves the way for every species of vice, and
gradually ripens them for any wickedness, however
atrocious. For the truth of these remarks, we appeal
to the history of mankind from the creation to the pre¬
sent time : and we would seriously request the sober
friends of reform, and many such, we doubt not, there
are, to reflect, that in the present day we have more tc»
fear from licentiousness than from despotism } from re¬
form carried to an extreme than from the pretended at¬
tempts either of kings or ministers to annihilate our real
liberty.
It may also be worth their while to consider, that
times of public danger are not generally the best adapt¬
ed to attempt changes of government} because what
might satisfy one party would probably be thought too
little by another, and divisions at such a period are most
dangerous. When, therefore, attempts are made for re¬
form which appear to be inconsistent with the safety of
the state, restrictions must be used, which may by spe¬
culative men be thought severe and unnecessary, but
of which they themselves are the causes. These re¬
strictions too will be patiently submitted to by the
wiser part of the community, when in more peaceable
times they would neither have been thought of nor al¬
lowed.
Speculative reasoners may speak as much as they
will of enlightening the minds of men, and of reform¬
ing government by the dictates of a refined and dis¬
passionate philosophy } but when they come to apply
their notions to practice, they will either find their re¬
presentations little better than empty sounds, and there¬
fore ineffectual } or, as is more generally found to be
the case, these schemes which in theory appeared to be
perfect, will in practice, when combined with the ma¬
lignant and ambitious passions of men, lead to ruin and
disorder. The first institution of government, except
among the Jews, was unquestionably the effect of pas¬
sion and interest combined } and this passion and this
interest, restrained within due bounds, is productive of
much happiness. That government, w7e believe, too,
will be best supported, and most productive of happi¬
ness, in which the mutual passions and interests ot the
individuals who compose it are so equally poised as to
support one another, and to promote each the ends and
success of the other : and this by the ablest reasoners
and the best men has been thought to be the case with
the British constitution. If the modern favourers of
reform should think this an unstable support, if they
will consider the world as it ever has been, and as it is,
they will find it the only one we have, except religion}
and they will thence be inclined to make the best of it.
If after all, however, they should be disposed to doubt
the position, we have only further to request them, with
the sincerity of men and of Christians, to consult their
own breasts, and seriously to consider the probable mo¬
tives of those who act with them. They will then per¬
haps see, and they surely ought to acknowledge, that
few
IWor»!
REP
fteform,
Reforma¬
tion.
i
' e pope
umes the
•iosal of
whole
i rid.
* rhe*s
it.
, [ ^7
few men have acted more according to the impulse of
passion, interest, and ambition, than those who have for
some time past sounded the toczin of reform
. REIORMATION, in general, an act of reform¬
ing or correcting an error or abuse in religion, disci¬
pline, or the like. By way of eminence the word is
used lor that great alteration and reformation in the
corrupted system of Christianity, begun by Luther in
the year 1517.
Under the article History (sect, ii.), the various
corruptions in religion, the oppressions and usurpations
ot the clergy, and the extreme insolence of the popes
have been so fully treated of, that any further detail
here is unnecessary. It is sufficient to observe, that
before the period of the Reformation, the pope had in
the most audacious manner declared himself the sove¬
reign of the whole world. All the parts of it which
were inhabited by those who were not Christians, he
accounted to be inhabited by no-body; and if Christians
took it into their heads to possess any of those countries,
he gave them full liberty to make war Upon the inhabi¬
tants without any provocation, and to treat them with
no more humanity than they would have treated wild
beasts. The countries, if conquered, were to be par¬
celled out according to the pope’s pleasure ; and dread¬
ful was the situation of that prince who refused to obey
the will of the holy pontiff, of which many instances
will occur to the reader in the various historical articles
of this work. In consequence of this extraordinary
authority which the pope had assumed, he at last grant¬
ed to the king of Portugal all the countries to the east¬
ward of Cape Non in Africa, and to the king of Spain
all the countries to the westward of it. In this, ac¬
cording to the opinions of some, wras completed in his
person the character of Antichrist sitting in the temple
. of God, and showing himself as God*. He had long-
before, say they, assumed the supremacy belonging to
the Deity himself in spiritual matters ; and now he as¬
sumed the same supremacy in worldly matters also, giv¬
ing the extreme regions of the earth to whom he pleas¬
ed. The Reformation, therefore, they consider as the
immediate efiect of divine power taking vengeance on
this and all other deviations from the system of truth ;
while others consider it merely as an effect of natural
causes, and which might have been foreseen and pre¬
vented, without abridging the papal power in any con¬
siderable degree.
Be this as it will, however, the above-mentioned par¬
tition was the last piece of insolence which the pope
ever had, or in all probability ever will have, in his
power to exercise, in the way of parcelling out the
globe to his adherents. Every thing was quiet, every
heretic exterminated, and the whole Christian world
supinely acquiesced in the enormous absurdities which
were inculcated upon them j when, in 1517, the empire
of superstition began to decline, and has continued to do
so ever since. The person who made the first attack on
the extravagant superstitions then prevailing was Martin
Luther } the occasion of which is fully related under
the article Luther. By some it is pretended, that
the only motive which Luther had in beginning the
Reformation was his enmity to the Dominican friars,
who had excluded his order (the Augustins) from all
share in the gainful traffic of indulgencies* But this
Vol. XVII. Part II. f
.5 ] REF
does not seem at all probable, if we consider that such lu fonna-
a motive would not naturally have led him to deny the tion
virtue of indulgences, as such conduct could not but ex- v—
elude him for ever from any chance of a share in the „ f 2
traffic, which otherwise perhaps he might have obtained. tionTeJim
Besides, the extreme contrariety of this traffic to the by Luther,
common principles of reason and honesty was so great,
that we cannot wonder at finding one man in the world
who had sense enough to discern it, and virtue enough
to oppose such an infamous practice. In all probabili¬
ty, however, the insignificancy of the first reformer was
the reason why he was not persecuted and exterminated
at his fust beginning, as others had been before him.
Another reason probably might be, that he did not at
once attack the whole errors of Popery, but brought
about his reformation gradually, probably as it occurred
to himself, and as we have related in the account of his
life.
The Reformation began in the city of Wirtemberg hi Switzer-
in Saxony, but was not Jong confined either to that city land by
or province. In 1520 the BYanciscan friars, who had the Zuinbiiu*-
care of promulgating indulgences in Switzerland, were
opposed by Zuinglius, a man not inferior in understand¬
ing and knowledge to Luther himself. He proceeded
with the greatest vigour, even at the very beginning,
to overturn the whole fabric of Popery 5 but his opinions
were declared erroneous by the universities of Cologne
and Louvain. Notwithstanding this, the magistrates of
Zurich approved of his proceedings ; and that whole
canton, together with those of Bern, Basil, and Chaffau-
sen, embraced his opinions.
In Germany, Luther continued to make great advan¬
ces, without being in the least intimidated by the eccle¬
siastical censures which were thundered against him from
all quarters, he being continually protected by the German
princes either from religious or political motives, so that
his adversaries could not accomplish his destruction a®
they had done that of others. The princes, who w'ere up¬
on bad terms with the court of Rome, took advantage of
the success of the new doctrines ; and in their own do¬
minions easily overturned a church which had lost all the
respect and veneration of the inferior ranks. The court
of Rome had disobliged some of the smaller princes in
the north of Germany, whom the pope probably thought
too insignificant to be worth the managing, and they
universally established the Reformation in their own do¬
minions. Melancthon, Carlostadius, and other men of
eminence, also greatly forwarded the work of Luther j
and in all probability the Popish hierarchy would have
soon come to an end, in the northern parts of Europe at
least, had not the emperor Charles V. given a severe 4
check to the progress of reformation in Germany. In Opposed ia
order to follow out the schemes dictated by his ambi-Germany
tion, he thought it necessary to ingratiate himself with by tllar' V*
the pope ; and the most effectual method of doing this
was by destroying Luther. The pope’s legates insist¬
ed that Luther ought to be condemned by the diet of
Worms without either trial or hearing j as being a
most notorious, avowed, and incorrigible heretic. How¬
ever, this appeared unjust to the members of the diet,
and he was summoned to appear; which he accordingly
did without hesitation*. There is not the least doubt* See
that his appearance there had been his last in this world// >'
had not the astonishing respect that was paid him, and
4 Q the
REF [674] REF
n 1c ramp rl iilv to see him, deterred his thusiast Munzer, or Munster, the anabaptist, put him
ILTsTom delivering thl church from the author of self at their head, than the face of things was entirely
judges iiorn uei s efrnncrlv soli- changed, and the civil commotions in Saxony and Ihu-
Reforma-
tion.
Form of
worship
'such a pestilent heresy *, which they were strongly soli¬
cited by the pope’s party to do. He was therefore per¬
mitted to depart with a safe conduct for a certain time -,
after which he was in the state of a proscribed criminal,
to whom it was unlawful to perform any of the offices
of humanity. ^ .
During the confinement of Luther in a castle near
Warburg, the Reformation advanced rapidly ; almost
every city in Saxony embracing the Lutheran opinions.
At this time an alteration in the established forms ot
worsmp worship was first ventured upon at Wittemberg, by abo-
fust altered Jishing the celebration of private masses, am iy gi\mg
by Wit- the cup as well as the bread to the laity in the Lord s
temberg. . In a si10rt time, however, the new opinions were
condemned by the university of Pans, and a refutation
of them was'attempted by Henry VIII. of England.
But Luther was not to be thus intimidated. He pub¬
lished his animadversions on both with as much acrimo¬
ny as if he had been refuting the meanest adversary j
and a controversy managed by such illustrious antago¬
nists drew a general attention, and the Reformers daily
6 gained new converts both in France and England.
Disputes ^ But while the efforts of Luther were thus every where
among the crowned with success, the divisions began to prevail
Reformers }iave since so much agitated the reformed church¬
es. The first dispute wras between Luther and Zuin-
glius concerning the manner in which the body and
blood of Christ were present in the eucharist. Luther
and his followers, though they had rejected the notion of
transubstantiation, were nevertheless of opinion that the
body and blood of Christ were really present in the
Lord’s supper, in a way which they could not pretend
to explain. Carlostadt, who was Luther’s colleague,
first suggested another view ot the subject, which was af¬
terwards confirmed and illustrated biy Zuinglius, name¬
ly, that the body and blood of Christ were not really
present in the eucharist; and that the bread and wine
were no more than external symbols to ^excite the re¬
membrance of Christ’s sufferings in the minds of those
who received it. Both parties maintained their tenets
with the utmost obstinacy j and, by their divisions, first
gave their adversaries an argument against them, which
to this day the Catholics urge with great force j name¬
ly, that the Protestants are so divided, that it is impos¬
sible to know who is right or wrong ; and that there
cannot be a stronger proof than these divisions, that the
whole doctrine is false.
Dhturban- ^'0 t'163e intest*ne divisions were added the horrors
ces in Ger-ofa civil war, occasioned by oppression on the one hand,
aiany. and enthusiasm on tlie other. In 15251 a great num¬
ber of seditious fanatics arose on a sudden in different
parts of Germany, took arms, united their forces, and
made war against the empire, laying waste the country
-with fire and sword, and committing everywhere the
greatest cruelties. The greatest part of this furious mob
was composed of peasants and vassals, who groaned un¬
der heavy burdens, and declared that they were no
longer able to bear the despotic government of their
chiefs } and hence this sedition had the name of t/ie rus¬
tic war, or the tear of the peasants. At first this rab¬
ble declared, that they had no other motives than the
redress of their grievances j but no sooner had the en-
changed, and the civil commotions in Saxony and Thu
ringia exceedingly increased, ot which an account is
given under the article Anabaptists.
In the mean time Frederic, surnamed the Wise, elec¬
tor of Saxony, and Luther’s great patron, departed this
life, and was succeeded by his brother John. Frederic,
though he had protected and encouraged Luther, yet
was at no pains to introduce the reformed religion into 8
his dominions. But with his successor it was otherwise j Reforma-
for he, convinced that Luther’s doctrine must soon be^ esta.
totally destroyed and suppressed unless it received a spec-g‘sl1^ m
dy and effectual support, ordered Luther and Melanc- ^ I
thon to draw up a body of laws relating to the form of
ecclesiastical government, the method of public worship,
&c. which was to he proclaimed by heralds'throughout
his dominions. This example was followed by all the
princes and states of Germany who renounced the papal
supremacy j and a like form of worship, discipline, and
government, was thus introduced into all the churches
which dissented from that of Rome. This open renun¬
ciation of the Romish jurisdiction soon changed the face
of affairs j and the patrons of Popery soon intimated,
in a manner not at all ambiguous, that they intended
to make war on the Lutheran party ; which would
certainly have been put in execution, had not the trou¬
bles that took place in Europe disconcerted their mea¬
sures. On the other hand, the Lutherans, apprised of
these hostile intentions, began also to deliberate on a
proper plan of defence against that superstitious vio¬
lence with which they were in danger of being assailed. 5
The diet of the empire assembled at Spire, in the year Resolution
1526 where the emperor’s ambassadors were desired^tkdiej
to use their utmost endeavours to suppress all disputes
about religion, and to insist upon the rigorous execution the Refer-
of the sentence which had been pronounced against Lu- mation.
ther and his followers at Worms. The greatest part of
the German princes opposed this motion with the utmost
resolution, declaring that they could neither execute that
sentence, nor come to any determination with regard to
the doctrines by which it had been occasioned, before
the whole matter was submitted to the decision of a
council lawfully assembled , alleging faither, that the
decision of controversies of this nature belonged proper¬
ly to it, and to it alone. This opinion, after long and
very warm debates, was adopted by a great majority, and
at length consented to by the whole assembly : for it was
unanimously agreed to present a solemn address to the
emperor, intreating him to assemble, without delay, a
free and general council j while in the mean time it was
also agreed, thatthe princes of the empire should, in their
respective dominions, be at liberty to manage ecclesias¬
tical affairs in the manner they should think most proper j
yet so as to be able to give to God and the emperor a
proper account of their administration when it should be
required of them.
These resolutions proved extremely favourable to the
cause of reformation ; neither had the emperor any lei¬
sure for some time to give disturbance to the reformed.
The war, which at this time ensued between him and
the pope, gave the greatest advantage to the friends of
the reformed, and considerably augmented their num¬
ber. Several princes, whom the fear of persecution and
REF
10
R.iiked
b;:ae em
far.
Or li of
thr ime
Pr 'tanti
[ 675
punishment had Intherto prevented from lending their
assistance, publicly renounced the Romish superstition
and introduced among their subjects the same forms of
religious worship, and the same system of doctrine that
had been received in Saxony. Others, though placed
in such circumstances as discouraged them from acting
in an open manner against the interests of the Roman
pontitt, were, however, far from discovering the smallest
opposition to those who withdrew the people from his
despotic yoke ; nor did they molest the private assem¬
blies of those who had separated themselves from the
church of Rome. And in general, all the Germans
who, before these resolutions of the diet of Spire, had
rejected the papal discipline and doctrine, were now, in
consequence of the liberty they enjoyed, wholly employ¬
ed in bringing their schemes and plans to a certain de¬
gree of consistence, and in adding vigour and firmness
to the cause in which they were engaged. Rut this
tranquillity and liberty was of no long duration. In
1529, a new diet was assembled at the same place by
the emperor, after he had quieted the troubles in vari¬
ous parts of his dominions, and concluded a peace with
the pope. The power which had been granted to prin¬
ces of managing ecclesiastical affairs till the meeting of
a general council, was now revoked by a majority of
votes j and every change declared unlawful that should
be introduced into the doctrine, discipline, or worship
of the established religion, before the determination of
the approaching council was known. This decree was
considered as iniquitous and intolerable by the elector
of Saxony, the landgrave of Hesse, and other members
of the diet, who were persuaded of the necessity of a
reformation. The protnise of speedily assembling a ge¬
neral council, they looked upon to be an artifice of the
church of Rome ; well knowing, that a free and lawful
council would be the last thing to which the pope would
consent. When, therefore, they found that all their
arguments and remonstrances made no impression upon
lerdinand the emperor’s brother, who presided in the
diet, Charles himself being then at Barcelona, they en¬
tered a solemn protest against this decree on the 19th
of April, and appealed to the emperor and a future
council. Hence arose the denomination oi Protestants,
which from this period has been give to those who se-
‘parated from the communion of the church of Rome.
The princes of the empire who entered this protest, were
John elector of Saxony ; George elector of Branden¬
burg j Ernest and Francis dukes of Lunenburg ; the
landgrave of Hesse 5 and the prince of Anhalt. These
were seconded by 13 imperial towns, viz. Strasburg,
Uim, Nuremberg, Constance, Rottengen, Windseim,
Memmingen, Nortlingen, Lindaw, Kempton, Heilbron,
Wissemburg, and St Gall.
The dissenting princes, who were the protectors and
heads of the reformed churches, had no sooner entered
their protest, than they sent proper persons to the em¬
peror, who was then upon his passage from Spain to
Italy, to acquaint him with their proceedings in this
matter. The ministers employed in this commission ex¬
ecuted it with the greatest intrepidity, and presence of
mind j but the emperor, exasperated at the audacity of
those who presumed to differ from him, caused the am¬
bassadors to be arrested. The news of this violent step
made the Protestant princes conclude, that their per*-
] REF
sonal safety, and the success of their cause, depended Reform*-,
entirely upon their own courage and union. They de- t*011
termined, therefore, to enter into a solemn confedera- — 'v
cy. for which purpose they held several meetings at
Rot, Nuremberg, Smalcald, and other places ; but so
different were their opinions and views, that they could
determine upon nothing. t2
One great obstacle to the intended confederacy was Conference
the dispute which had arisen between Luther and Zuin- between
glius concerning the real presence of Christ in the ^uth*1: and
Lord’s Supper. To terminate this dispute, if possible, UmS l"S’
1 hilip, landgrave of Hesse, invited, in the year 1529, to
a conference at: Marpurg, Luther and Zuingiius, toge¬
ther with several other of the more eminent doctors who
adhered to the respective parties of these contending
chiefs . but this measure was not attended with the sa-
lutaiy effects which were expected from it. The divines
disputed for four days in presence of the landgrave. Lu¬
ther attacked Oecolampadius, and Zuingiius was attack¬
ed by Melancthon. Zuingiius was accused of heresy,
not only on account of his explanation of the nature and
design of the Lord’s Supper, but also in consequence
of the false notions he was supposed to have adopted
concerning the divinity of Christ, the efficacy of the
divine word, original sin, and some other parts of the
Christian doctrine. This illustrious reformer, however,
cleared himself from the greatest part of these charges
with the most triumphant evidence, and in such a man¬
ner as appeared satisfactory even to Luther himself: but
their dissension concerning the manner of Christ’s pre¬
sence in the eucharist still remained 5 nor could either
of the contending parties be persuaded to abandon, or
even to modify, their opinions on that matter. The
only advantage, therefore, which resulted from the
meeting was, that the jarring doctors formed a kind of
truce, by agreeing to a mutual toleration of their senti¬
ments, and leaving to the disposal of Providence the
cure of their divisions.
In the mean time news were received that the em¬
peror designed to come into Germany, with a view to
terminate all religious differences at the approachingdiet
ot Augsburg. Having foreseen some of the Consequen¬
ces of those disputes, and, besides, taken the advice of
men of wisdom, sagacity, and experience, he became at
certain times more cool in his proceedings, and more
impartial in his opinions both of the contending par¬
ties and the merits of the cause. He, therefore, in
an interview with the pope at Bologna, insisted, in
the most serious and urgent manner, on the necessity
of a general council. His remonstrances and expo¬
stulations, however, could not move the pontiff; who
njaintained with zeal the papal prerogatives, reproached
the emperor with an ill-judged clemency, and alleged
that it was the duty of that prince to support the church,
and to execute speedy vengeance upon that obstinate
heretical faction who dared to call in question the au¬
thority of Rome and its pontiff. To this discourse the
emperor paid no regard; looking upon it as a most ini¬
quitous thing, and a measure directly opposite to the
laws of the empire, to condemn unheard a set of men
who had always approved themselves good citizens, and
deserved well of their country in several respects. Hi- Origia^of
therto indeed it was not easy for the emperor to form a the coufes
clear idea of the matters in debate, since there was nosion of
4 Q 3 regular Au£sbB,S’
REF [
regular system as yet composetl, by t'luch it might be
known with certainty what were the true causes ot Jm-
ther’s opposition to the pope. The elector ot Saxony,
therefore, ordered Luther, and other eminent divines,
to commit to writing the chief articles of their religious
system, and the principal points in which they dike red
from the church of Rome. Luther, in compliance with
this order, delivered to the elector at Torgaw 17 arti¬
cles which had been agreed upon in a conference at
Snltzbach in 1529-, from whence these received the
name of the articles of Torgaw. But though these were
deemed by Luther a sufficient declaration of the senti¬
ments of the reformers, yet it was judged proper to en¬
large them, in order to give perspicuity to their argu¬
ments, and strength to their cause, in this work Me-
lancthon was employed ; in which he showed a proper
deference to the counsels of Luther, and expressed his
sentiments and doctrine with the greatest elegance and
perspicuity *, and thus came forth to view the famous
Confession of Augsburg.
676 3 ft E F
communion, who had been present at the diet, endea-
voured to recollect the arguments and objections employ- tion.
ed bv Faber, and had again recourse to the pen ot Me-' v—•
lancthon, who refuted them in an ample and satisfactory
manner, in a piece which was presented to tl.e emperor
on the 22d of September, but which Charles refused to
receive. This answer was afterwards enlarged by Me-
lanct hon, when he had obtained a copy of Faber’s reply ;
and was published in the year 1531, with the other pie¬
ces that related to the doctrine and discipline of the Lu¬
theran church, under the title oi' A Defence of the Con¬
fession of Augsburg.
Matters now began to draw towards a crisis. There
were only three ways of bringing to a conclusion these
religious differences. I. To grant the Protestants a
toleration and privilege of serving God as they thought
proper: 2. To compel them to return to the church of
Rome by the violent methods of persecution : or, 3.
That a reconciliation should be made, upon fair, candid,
and equitable terms, by engaging each of the parties to
temper their zeal with moderation, to abate reciprocally
the rigour of their pretensions, and remit something of
their respective claims. The third expedient was most
generally approved of, being peculiarly agreeable to all
who had at heart the welfare of the empire •, nor did the
pope seem to look upon it either with aversion or con¬
tempt. Various conferences therefore were held between
persons eminent for piety and learning on both sides ;
and nothing was omitted that might have the least ten¬
dency to calm the animosities and heal the divisions
which reigned between the contending parties. But the
differences were too great to admit of a reconciliation; 15
and therefore the votaries of Rome had recourse to the Severe de-
powerful arguments of imperial edicts, and the force
the secular arm. On the 19th of November, a severestantr
decree was issued out by the express order of the emper¬
or (during the absence of the Hessian and Saxon princes,
who were the chief supporters of the Protestant cause),
in which every thing was manifestly adapted to deject
the friends of religious liberty, excepting only a faint and
dubious promise of engaging the pope to assemble a ge¬
neral council about six months after the separation of the
diet. In this decree the dignity and excellence oi the
Popish religion were extolled beyond measure, a new
degree of severity and force was added to that which had
been published at Worms against Luther and his adher¬
ents, the changes which had been introduced into the
doctrine and discipline of the Protestant churches were
severely censured, and a solemn order was addressed te
the princes, cities, and states, who had thrown oft the
Papal yoke, to return to their allegiance to Rome, on
pain of incurring the indignation and vengeance ol the
emperor as the patron and protector of the church. Of
this formidable decree the elector of Saxony and confe¬
derated princes were no sooner informed than they as¬
sembled in order to deliberate on the measures proper to 17
be taken in such a crisis. In the years 1530and
they met, first at Smalcald, and afterwards at Franclort,
where they formed a solemn alliance and confederacy,
with the intention of defending vigorously their religion
and liberties against the dangers and encroachments with
which they were threatened by the edict of Augsburg,
without attempting, however, any thing offensive against
the votaries of Rome \ and into this confederacy they in¬
vited
burg,
On the 15th of June 1530, Charles arrived at Augs-
and the diet was opened five days alter, i he
It is pre¬
sented to
the empe¬
ror.
1$
A refuta¬
tion of it,
in which
the Prote¬
stant!; are
ordered to
scfjuiesce.
Protestants received a formal permission to present an
account of their tenets to the diet on the 25th ol the
same month ; in consequence of which, at the time ap¬
pointed, Christian Bayer, chancellor of Saxony, read,
in the German language, before the emperor and the
princes assembled, the confession of Augsburg above
mentioned. It contained 28 chapters, ol which 21
were employed in representing the religious opinions ot
the Protestants, and the other seven in pointing out the
errors and superstitions of the church of Rome. The
princes heard it with the deepest attention and recollec¬
tion of mind : it confirmed some in the principles they
bad embraced ; surprised others; and many, who be¬
fore this time had little or no idea of the religious sen¬
timents of Luther, were now not only convinced ot their
innocence, but delighted with their purity and simplici¬
ty. The copies of this Confession, which after being
read were delivered to the emperor, were signed by John
elector of Saxony, George marquis ot Brandenburg,
Ernest duke of Lunenburg, Philip landgrave of Hesse,
W olfgang prince of Anhalt, and by the imperial cities
of Nuremberg and Reutlingen.
The creatures of the church of Rome who were pre¬
sent at this diet employed John Faber, afterwards bishop
of Vienna, together with Eckius, and another doctor
named Cockhzus, to draw up a refutation of the Prostes-
tant confession : which refutation having been publicly
read, the emperor required the Protestant members to
acquiesce in it, and put an end to the religious disputes
by an unlimited submission to the opinions and doctrines
contained in this answer. But this demand was far from
being complied with. The Protestants declared on the
contrary, that they were by no means satisfied wfith the
reply of their adversaries ; and earnestly desired a copy
of it, that they might more fully demonstrate its extreme
insufficiency and weakness. But this reasonable request
was refused by the emperor ; who interposed his supreme
authority to prevent any farther proceedings;in this mat¬
ter, and solemnly prohibited the publication of any new
writings or declarations that might contribute to length¬
en out these religious debates. This, however, did not
reduce the Protestants to silence. The divines of that
fro
itr
ofi
itn!
of:
mo1
and
He
wei
lea;
pre
Biol
con
the
aor
nor
«ho
emi
adv
and
arti
plie
trin
oft
not
fait
thei
him
and
thei
ral
con
the
a m
of (
the
negi
kini
tver
of h
prir
will
tors
1
twe
dea
pea
coin
lefu
Am
elec
oft
TOtf
prir
HEP
cS
Jl itiotl
t -nr>
A? . of
I land.
I
[ 677
v.teil the kings of England, Fiance, Denmark, &c.
leaving no means unemployed that might corroborate
and cement this important alliance.
This confederacy was at first opposed by Luther
from an apprehension of tbecalamities andtroubles wliich
]
REF
or peace was concluded at Nuremberg in 1532, between
the emperor and the Protestant princes, on the following
litions ; vi%. 'i hat the latter should furnish a subsidy
conditions ; vtx. J hat the latter should furnish a subsidy
for carrying on the war against the Turks, and acknow- l
it mhrht modnre ■ hot nt Uat ^ • • 7”"'“ led^e rerdinand lawful k*ng of the Romans j and that Nareniber®
of it, he consented : thonri, bi Lcharitahlvl>“rt 8l'<,llUI *bre*^ ",d
igh he uncharitably, as well as
imprudently, refused to comprehend in it the followers
of Zuinglius among the Swiss, together with the Ger¬
man states and cities who had adopted the sentiments
and confession of Bueer. In the invitation addressed to
Henry \ III. of England, whom the confederate princes
were willing to declare the head and protector of their
league, the following things, among others, were ex¬
pressly stipulated : That the king should encourage, pro¬
mote, and maintain, the true doctrine oi Cdinst as it was
contained in the confession of Augsburg, and defend
the same at the next general council: that he should not
agree to any council summoned by the bishop of Rome,
but protest against it j and neither submit to its decrees,
nor sufter them to be respected in his dominions: that be
should never allow the Roman pontiff to have any pre¬
eminence or jurisdiction in his dominions j that he should
advance 100,000 crowns for the use of the confederacy,
and double that sum if it became necessary : all which
articles the confederate princes were equally obliged to
observe on their part. To these demands the king re¬
plied, that he would maintain and promote the true doc¬
trine oi Christ j but, at the same time, as the true ground
of that doctrine lay only in the holy Scriptures, he would
not accept at any one’s hand what should be bis own
faith, or that of his kingdom ; and therefore desired that
they would send over two learned men to confer with
him, in order to promote a religious union between him
and the confederates. However, he declared himself of
their opinion with regard to the meeting of a free gene¬
ral council, and promised to join with them in all such
councils for the defence of the true doctrine j but thought
the regulation of the ceremonial part of religion, being
a matter of indifference, ought to be left to the choice
of each sovereign for his own dominions. After this
the king gave them a second answer more full and satis¬
factory ; but after the execution of Queen Anne, thi*
negotiation came to nothing. On the one hand the
king grew cold when he perceived that the confederates
were no longer of use to him in supporting the validity
of his marriage; and, on the other hand, the German
princes became sensible that they could never succeed
with Henry, unless they allowed him an absolute dicta¬
torship in matters of religion.
While every thing thus tended to an open war be¬
tween the two opposite par-ties, the elector Palatine and
the elector of Mentz offered their mediation, and en¬
deavoured to procure a reconciliation. The emperor
himself, for various reasons, was at this time inclined to
peace: for, on the one hand, he stood in need of suc¬
cours against the Turks, which the Protestant princes
refused to grant as long as the edicts of Worms and
Augsburg remained in force j and, on the other, the
election of his brother Ferdinand to the dignity of king
of the Romans, which had been carried by a majority of
votes at the diet of Cologne in 1531, was by the same
princes contested, as being contrary lo the fundamental
laws of the empire. In consequence of all this, after
many negotiations and projects of reconciliation, a treaty
5
edicts of Worms and Augsburg, and allow the Lu¬
therans the free and undisturbed exercise of their re¬
ligious doctrine and discipline, until a rule of faith was
fixed either in the free general council that was to he
assembled in the space of six months, or in a diet of the
empire.
Soon after the conclusion of the peace at Nuremberg
died John elector of Saxony, who was succeeded by his
son John Frederic, a prince of invincible fortitude and
magnanimity, but whose reign was little better than one
continued train of disappointments and calamities. The
religious truce, however, gave new vigour to the refor¬
mation. Pliose who had hitherto been only secret ene¬
mies to the Roman pontiff, now publicly threw off his
yoke ; and various cities and provinces of Germany en¬
listed themselves under the religious standards of Luther.
On the other hand, as the emperor had now no other
hope of terminating the religious disputes hut by the
meeting of a general council, he repeated his requests to 20
the pope for that purpose. The pontiff (Clement VII.), A genera!
whom the history of past councils filled with the greatestcouncil l)r°-
uneasiness, endeavoured to retard what he could not withP°Sed'
decency refuse. At last, in 1533, he made a proposal
by his legate to assemble a council at Mantua, Placen¬
tia, orBoiogna; but the Protestants refused their consent
to the nomination of an Italian council, and insisted that
a controversy which had its rise in the heart of Germany,
should be determined within the limits of the empire.
The pope, by his usual artifice?, eluded the performance
of his own promise j and, in 1534, was cut off by death,
in the midst of his stratagems. His successor Paul III.
seemed to show less reluctance to the assembling a gene¬
ral council, and in the year 1535 expressed his inclination
to convoke one at Mantua *, and, tlie year following,
actually sent circular letters for that purpose through all
the states and kingdoms under his jurisdiction. This
council was summoned hr a bull issued out cn the 2d of
June 1536, to meet at Mantua the following year: hut
several obstacles prevented its meeting j one of the most
material of which was, that Frederic duke of Mantua
had no inclination to receive at once so many guests,
some of them very turbulent, into the place of his resi¬
dence. On the other band, the Protestants were firmly
persuaded that, as the council was assembled in Italy,
and by the authority of the pope alone, the latter must
have had an undue influence in that assembly; of con¬
sequence, that all things must have been carried by the 2I
votaries of Rome. For this reason they assembled atProtesta-
Smalcald in the year 1537, where they solemnly pro-tionagainst
tested against this partial and corrupt council, and, atu*
the same time, had a new nummary of their doctrine
drawn up by Luther, in older to present it to the as¬
sembled bishops if it should he required of them. This
summary, which had the title of The Articles of Smal-
cald is commonly joined with the creeds and confessions
of the Lutheran church. 22
After the meeting of the general council in Mantua Fruitless
was thus prevented, many schemes of accommodation sc5,cmes ot
were proposed both by the emperor and the Protestants ; acc,.omrH®~
hot,
B E F
[ 678 •]
REF
*3
Council of
Trent pro¬
posed.
. 24
Plan of re
formation
proposed
by the
pope.
but, by the artifices of the church of Rome, all of them
came to nothing. In 1541, the emperor appointed a
conference at Worms on the subject of religion, between
persons of piety and learning chosen from the contending
parties. This conference, however, was, for certain
reasons, removed to the diet which was to be held at
Ratishon that same year, and in which the principal sub¬
ject of deliberation was a memorial presented by a person
unknown, containing a project of peace. But the con¬
ference produced no other effect than a mutual agree¬
ment of the contending parties to refer their matters to
a general council, or, if the meeting of such a council
should be prevented, to the next German diet.
This resolution was rendered ineflectual by a variety
of incidents, which widened the breach, and put off to
a farther day the deliberations which were designed to
heal it. The pope ordered his legate to declare to the
diet of Spire, assembled in 1542, that he would, ac¬
cording to the promise he had already made, assemble a
general council, and that Trent should be the place of
its meeting, if the diet had no objection to that city.
Ferdinand, and the princes who adhered to the cause of
the pope, gave their consent to this proposal ; but it was
vehemently objected to by the Protestants, both because
the council was summoned by the authority of the pope
only, and also because the place was within the jurisdic¬
tion of the pope j whereas they desired a free council,
which should not be biassed by the dictates, nor awed
by the proximity of the pontiff. But this protestation
produced no effect. Paul III. persisted in his purpose,
and issued out his circular letters for the convocation of
the council, with the approbation of the emperor. In'
justice to this pontiff, however, it must be observed,
that he showed himself not to be averse to every refor¬
mation. He appointed four cardinals, and three other
persons eminent for their learning, to draw up a plan
for the reformation of the church in general, and of the
church of Rome in particular. The reformation propo¬
sed in this plan was indeed extremelysuperficial and par¬
tial, yet it containedsome particulars which couldscarce-
ly have been expected from those who composed it.
They complained of the pride and ignorance of the bi¬
shops, and proposed that none should receive orders but
learned and pious men ; and that therefore care should
be taken to have proper masters for the instruction of
youth. They condemned translations from one benefice
to another, grants of reservation, non-residence, and
pluralities. They proposed that some convents should
be abolished : that the liberty of the press should be re¬
strained and limited j that the colloquies of Erasmus
should be suppressed; that no ecclesiastic should enjoy a
benefice out of his own country; that no cardinal should
have a bishopric ; that the questors of St Anthony and
several other saints should be abolished; and, which was
the best of all their proposals, that the effects and perso¬
nal estates of ecclesiastics should be given to the poor.
They concluded with complaining of the prodigious
number of indigent and ragged priests w’ho frequented
St Peter’s church ; and declared, that it was a great
scandal to see the whores lodged so magnificently at
Rome, and riding through the streets on fine mules,
while the cardinals and other ecclesiastics accompanied
them in the most courteous manner.—This plan of re¬
formation was turned into ridicule by Luther and Stur-
3
mius; and indeed it left unredressed the most intolerable Refotra!J ^
grievances of which the Protestants complained. tion.
All this time the emperor had been labouring to per- ''•““v-v
suade the Protestants to consent to the meeting of the
council at Trent; but when he found them fixed in theirtween^
opposition to this measure, he began to listen to the san-emperor
guinary measures of the pope, and resolved to terminate a,1(l the
the disputes by force of arms. The elector of Saxony *>10testai;:
and landgrave of Hesse, who were the chief supporters
of the Protestant cause, upon this took proper measures
to prevent their being surprised and overwhelmed by a
superior force ; but, before the horrors of war com¬
menced, the great reformer Luther died in peace at
Ayselben, the place of his nativity, in 1546.
The emperor and the pope had mutually resolved on
the destruction of all who should dare to oppose the
council of Trent. The meeting of it was to serve as a
signal for taking up arms; and accordingly its delibera¬
tions were scarcely begun in 1546, when the Protestants
perceived undoubted signs of the approaching storm, and
a formidable union betwixt the emperor and pope, which
threatened to crush and overwhelm them at once. This
year indeed there had been a new conference at Ratis-
bon upon the old subject of accommodating differences
in religion ; but from the manner in which the debates
were carried on, it plainly appeared that these differen¬
ces could only be decided in the field of battle. The
council of Trent, in the mean time, promulgated their
decrees ; while the reformed princes, in the diet of Ra-
tisbon, protested against their authority, and wejre on
that account proscribed by the emperor, who raised an
army to reduce them to obedience. See Father Paul's
History of the Council of Trent, and our articles Father
Paul, and Trent.
The elector of Saxony and the landgrave of Hesse led
their forces into Bavaria against the emperor, and can¬
nonaded his camp at Ingolstadt. It was supposed that
this would bring on an engagement, which would pro¬
bably have been advantageous to the cause of the re¬
formed ; but this w'as prevented, chiefly by the perfidy
of Maurice duke of Saxony, who invaded the dominions
of his uncle. Divisions were also fomented among the
confederate princes, by the dissimulation of the empe-
and France failed in paying the subsidy which had
scar
case
jijbr
set I
ed a
and
Mai
enip
land
lies
into
Sef°
of e
This
T
pera
calle
decii
conn
ofth
rino
whic
ofsu
of Cl
sion
u- it.
in-thee
,!ito B:
dissb
witlx
peroi
( peaci
f lil*- obtai
Mte
\\ t
been promised by-its monarch : all which so discouraged
the heads of the Protestant party, that their army soon
dispersed, and the elector of Saxony was obliged to di¬
rect his march homewards. But he was pursued by the
emperor, who made several forced marches, with a view
to destroy his enemy before he should have time to reco- ^
ver his vigour. The two armies met near Mulberg, on^1"^
the Elbe, on the 24th of April 1547 ; and, after afeate(] ^
bloody action, the elector was entirely defeated, andtaken pri-
himself taken prisoner.—Maurice, who had so basely be-soner.
trayed him, was now declared elector of Saxony ; and
by his intreaties Philip landgrave of Hesse, the other
chief of the Protestants, was persuaded to throw himself
on the mercy of the emperor, and to implore his pardon.
To this he consented, relying on the promise of Charles
for obtaining forgiveness, and being restored to liberty ;
but, notwithstanding these expectations, he was unjustly
detained prisoner, by a scandalous violation of the most
solemn convention. It is said that the emperor retract¬
ed his promise, and deluded this unhappy prince by the
ambiguity
liisho
(lie p
dra'v
and 1
as till
force
obtan
Tl,
sign t
to am
essem
derail
ed, at
edbe
Then
expre
ili, senses
Ijlj nions.
;! > rial ci
was p
b this
*ent tl
tli
REF
Tiie-un¬
til s'wisn-
Ivdifc ved.
f
A foi|-la-
rydr*!
up by e
tmpsi;;.
C‘*ple» (
botb p#
tiei,
ambiguity of two German words. History indeed can
scarcely afford a parallel to the perfidious, mean-spirited
and despotic behaviour of the emperor in the present
case. After having received in public the humble
submission of the prince on bis knees, and after bavins:
set him at liberty by a solemn treaty, he had him arrest¬
ed anew without any reason, nay, without any pretence,
and kept him close prisoner for several years. When
Maui ice remonstrated against this new confinement the
emperor answered, that he had never promised that the
landgrave should not be imprisoned anew, but only that
he should be exempted from perpetual imprisonment:
am., to support this assertion, he produced the treaty
into which his ministers had perfidiously foisted ewijer
gefangnis, which signifies a “ perpetual prison,” instead
of einiger gefangnis, which signifies “ any prison.”
This, however, is contested by some historians.
ihe a flairs of the Protestants now seemed to he des¬
perate. In the diet of Augsburg, which was soon after
called, the emperor required the Protestants to leave the
decision of these religious disputes to the wisdom of the
council which was to meet at Irent. The greatest part
of the members consented to this proposal, being con¬
vinced by the powerful argument of an imperial army,
which was at band to dispel the darkness from the eyes
of such as might otherwise have been blind to the foixe
of Charles’s reasoning. However, this general submis¬
sion did not produce the effect which was expected from
it. A plague which broke out, or was said to do so, in
the city, caused the greatest part of the bishops to retire
•to Bologna; by which means the council was in effect
dissolved, nor could all the mtreaties and remonstrances
of the emperor prevail upon the pope to re-assemble it
without delay. During this interval, therefore, the em¬
peror judged it necessary to fall upon some method of ac¬
commodating the religious differences, and maintaining
peace until the council so long expected should be finally
obtained. With this view he ordered Julius Pelugius,
bishop of Naumberg, Michael Sidonins, a creature of
the pope, and John Agricola, a native of Ayselben, to
draw up a formulary which might serve as a rule of faith
and worship, till the council should be assembled : but
as this was only a temporary expedient, and had not the
force of a permanent or perpetual institution, it thence
obtained the name of the Interim.
This project of Charles was formed partly with a de¬
sign to vent bis resentment against the pope, and partly
to answer other political purposes. It contained all the
essential doctrines of the church of Rome, though consi¬
derably softened by the artful terms which were employ¬
ed, and which were quite different from those employ¬
ed before and after this period by the council of Trent.
There was even an affected ambiguity in many of the
expressions, which made them susceptible of different
aenses, and applicable to the sentiments of botb commu¬
nions. The consequence of all this was, that the impe¬
rial creed was reprobated by both parties. However, it
was promulgated with great solemnity by the emperor
at Augsburg. The elector of Mentz, without even ask¬
ing the opinion of the princes present, gave a sanction
to this formula, as if he had been commissioned to repre¬
sent the whole diet. Many kept silence through fear,
and that silence was interpreted as a tacit consent. Some
had the courage to oppose it, and these were reduced by
force of arms; and the most deplorable scenes of blood-
r 679 ]
REF
shed and violence were acted throughout the whole em- Reform a
pire. Maurice, elector of Saxony, who had hitherto lion
kept neutral, now assembled the whole of his nobility 1 v  
and clergy, in order to deliberate on this critical affair.
A A- 4-1 1 /’ll 1 . . -■ .
At the head of the latter was Melancthon, whose word -
XAT Cl Q f a A r- 1    „   1 1 '!'* t-v . . ^CIIC
was respected as a law among the Protestants. But thisreconeiH^
man had not the courage of Luther ; and was therefore lion by
on all occasions ready to make concessions, and to pro-^e^an®-
pose schemes of accommodation. In the present case,*'*011'
therefore, he gave it as his opinion, that the whole of
the book called Interim could not by any means be
adopted by the Protestants ; but at the same time he de¬
clared, that he saw no reason why this book might not
be approved, adopted and received, as an authorative
mle in things that did not relate to the essential parts of
religion, and which he accounted indifferent. But this
scheme, instead of cementing the differences, made them
worse than ever ; and produced a division among the
rotestants themselves, which might have overthrown
the Reformation entirely, if the emperor and pope had
seized the opportunity.
In the year 1549, the pope (Paul III.) died ; andAne3\v
was succeeded by Julius III. who, at the repeated solici-eou^ci, F°-
tations of the emperor, consented to the re-assembling ofJp0sed at
a council at I rent. A diet was again held at Augs- 1Cnt
burg under the cannon of an imperial army, and Charles
laid the matter before the princes of the empire. Most
ol those present gave their consent to it, and among the
rest Maurice elector of Saxony ; who consented on the
following conditions: 1. That the points of doctrine
which had already been decided there, should here-exa¬
mined. 2. That this examination should he made in
presence of the Protestant divines. 3. That the Saxon
j rotestants should have a liberty of voting as well as of
deliberating in the council. 4. That the pope should
not pretend to preside in that assembly, either in person
or by his legatees. This declaration of Maurice was
read in the diet, and his deputies insisted upon its being
entered into the registers, which the archbishop of Mentz
obstinately refused. J his diet was concluded in the
year 1551 ; and, at its breaking up, the emperor desi¬
red the assembled princes and states to prepare all things
for the approaching council, and promised to use his ut¬
most endeavours to procure moderation and harmony,
impartiality and charity, in the transactions of that as¬
sembly.
On the breaking up of the diet, the Protestants took
such steps^ as they thought most proper for their own
safety. The Saxons employed Melancthon, and the
Wurtemhergers Brengius, to draw up Confessions of
I aith to be laid before the new council. The Saxon di¬
vines, however, proceeded no farther than Nuremberp-,
having received secret orders from Maurice to stop
there: For the elector, perceiving that Charles had
formed designs against the liberties of the German
princes, resolved to take the most effectual measures for
crushing his ambition at once. He therefore entered
with the utmost secrecy and expedition into an alliance
with the king of France and several of the German
princes, for the security of the rights and liberties ofT] 32
the empire; after which, assembling a powerful armyroHsTifr!'
in he marched against the emperor, who lay with prised, and
a handful of troops at Inspruck, and expected no suchfoiced 40 a
thing. By this sudden and unforeseen accident CharlesPreac^ by
was so much dispirited, that he was willing to make of Saxony
peace
li E
f l 680
peace almost on any terms. The consequence of this
was, that he concluded a treaty at Passau, which by the
Protestants is considered as the basis of their religious
liberty. By the first three articles of this treaty it was
agreed, that Maurice and the confederates should lay
down their arms, and lend their troops to Ferdinand to
assist him against the Turks ; and that the landgrave ot
Hesse should be set at liberty. By the fourth it was
agreed, that the rule of faith called the Interim should
be considered as null and void : that the contending par¬
ties should enjoy the free and undisturbed exercise ot
their religion, until a diet should be assembled to deter¬
mine amicably the present disputes (which diet was to
meet in the space of six months) j and that this reli¬
gious liberty should continue always, in case it_ should
be found impossible to come to an uniformity in doc¬
trine and worship. It was also determined, that all
those who had suffered banishment, or any other cala¬
mity, on account of their having been concerned in the
league or war of Smalcald, should be reinstated in their
privileges, possessions, and employments ; that the impe¬
rial chamber at Spire should be open to the Protestants
as well as to the Catholics ; and that there should al¬
ways be a certain number of Lutherans in that high
court.—To this peace Albert, marquis of Brandenburg,
refused to subscribe 5 and continued the war against the
Roman Catholics, committing such ravages in the em¬
pire, that a confederacy was at last formed against him.
At the head of this confederacy was Maurice elector of
Saxony, who died of a wound he received in a battle
fought on the occasion in 1553*
The assembling of the diet promised by Charles was
prevented by various incidents j however, it met at
Augsburg in 1555, where it was opened by Ferdinand
in name of the emperor, and terminated those deplorable
calamities which had so long desolated the empire. Al¬
ter various debates, the following acts were passed, on
the 25th of September ; That the Protestants who fol¬
lowed the Confession of Augsburg should be tor the fu¬
ture considered as entirely free from the jurisdiction of
the Roman pontift’, and from the authority and superin¬
tendance of the bishops 5 that they were left at perfect
liberty to enact laws for themselves relating to their re¬
ligious sentiments, discipline, and worship ; that all the
inhabitants of the German empire should be allowed to
judge for themselves in religious matters, and to join
themselves to that church -whose doctrine and worship
they thought the most pure and consonant to the spirit
of true Christianity *, and that all those who should in¬
jure or persecute any person under religious pretences,
and on account of their opinions, should be declared and
proceeded against as public enemies of the empire, in¬
vaders of its liberty, and disturbers of its peace.
Thus was the Reformation established in many parts
of the German empire, where it continues to tins day 5
nor have the efforts of the Popish powers at any time
been able to suppress it, or even to prevent it from gam-
Account of ing ground. It was not, however, in Germany alone
the Refor- that a reformation of religion took place. Almost all
tiie kingdoms of Furope began to open their eyes to the
truth about the same time. The leformed religion was
propagated in Sweden, soon after Luther’s rupture with
the church if Rome, by one of his disciples named Glaus
Petri. The zealous efforts of this missionary were se-
1
REF
Reform!,•
tion.
33
Treaty of
Augsburg.
34
ination in
Sweden
conded by Gustavus Vasa, whom the Swedes had raised
to the throne in place of Christiern king of Denmark,
whose horrid barbarity lost him the crown. rIhis prince,
however, was as prudent as he was zealous j and, as the v"""
minds of the Swedes were in a fluctuating state, he wise¬
ly avoided all kind of vehemence and precipitation in
spreading the new doctrine. Accordingly, the first ob¬
ject of his attention was the instruction of his people in
the sacred doctrines of the Holy Scriptures : for which
purpose he invited into his dominions several learned
Germans, and spread abroad through the kingdom the
Swedish translation of the Bible that had been made by
Olaus Petri. Some time after this, in 1526, he ap¬
pointed a conference at Upsal, between this reformer
and Peter Gallius, a zealous defender of the ancient su¬
perstition, in which each of the champions was to bring
forth hia arguments, that it might be seen on which
side the truth lay. In this dispute Olaus obtained a sig¬
nal victory 5 which contributed much to confirm Gusta-
vus in his persuasion of the truth of Luther’s doctrine,
and to promote its progress in Sweden. The following
year another event gave the finishing stroke to its propa¬
gation and success. This was the assembly of the states
at Westeraas, where Gustavus recommended the doc¬
trine of the reformers with such zeal, that, after warm
debates fomented by the clergy in general, it was una¬
nimously resolved that the reformation introduced by
Luther should have place in Sweden. This resolution
was principally owing to the firmness and magnanimity
of Gustavos, who declared publicly, that he would lay
down the sceptre and retire from the kingdom, rather
than rule a people enslaved by the orders and authority
of the pope, and more controuled by the tyranny of
theit bishops than by the laws of their monarch. From
this time the papal empire in Sweden was entirely over¬
thrown, and Gustavus declared head of the church. jj
In Denmark, the reformation -was introduced as early In Den
as the year 1521, in consequence of the ardent desired-
discovered by Christiern II. of having his subjects in¬
structed in the doctrines of Luther. This monarch,
notwithstanding his cruelty, for which his name has
been rendered odious, was nevertheless desirous of deli¬
vering his dominions from the tyranny of the church of
Rome. For this purpose, in the year 1520, he sent for
Martin Reinard, one of the disciples of Carlostadt, out
of Saxony, and appointed him professor of divinity at
Hafnia j and after his death, which happened in 1521,
he invited Carlostadt himself to fill that important place.
Carlostadt accepted of this office indeed, but in a short
time returned to Germany ; upon which Christiern used
his utmost endeavours to engage Luther to visit bis do¬
minions, hut in vain. However, the progress of Chris¬
tiern, in reforming the religion of his subjects, orfrather
of advancing his own power above that ot the church,
was checked, in the year 1523, by a conspiracy, by
which he w-as deposed and banished ; his uncle I rede-
ric, duke of Holstein and Sleswic, being appointed bis
successor.
Frederic conducted the reformation with much great¬
er prudence than his predecessor. He permitted the
Protestant doctors to preach publicly the sentiments of
Luther, but did not venture to change the established
government and discipline of the church. However,
he contributed greatly to the progress of the reforma¬
tion, by his successful attempts in favour ol religious
liberty in an assembly of the states held at Odensee in
B
3 Trance
® Se Ju-
&em.
E F j- 68l
UTt Pr0CUr^ tl,e rub|;^tion of a famous
ed.ct by which every subject of Denmark was declared
free either to adhere to the tenets of the church of Rome,
or to the doctrine ol Luther. The papal tyranny was
totally destroyed by Ins successor Christiern III ^ He
began by suppressing the despotic authority of the hi-
shops, and restoring to their lawful owners a great part
of the wealth and possessions which the church had ac¬
quired by various stratagems. This was followed by a
plan of religious doctrine, worship, and discipline, laid
down by Bugenhagius, whom the king had sent for from
71“emberbr purpose j and in i 539 an assembly
of the states at Odensee gave a solemn sanction to all
these transactions.
In France also, the reformation began to make some
progress very early. Margaret queen of Navarre, sister
to rrancis I. the perpetual rival of Charles V. was a
great friend to the new doctrine j and it appears that as
early as the year 1523, there were in several of the pro¬
vinces of I ranee great numbers of people who had con¬
ceived the greatest aversion both to the doctrine and ty¬
ranny of the church of Rome ; among whom were many
ot the first rank and dignity, and even some of the epis¬
copal order. But as their number increased daily, and
troubles and commotions were excited in several places
on account of the religious differences, the authority of
the king intervened, and many persons eminent for their
virtue and piety were put to death in the most barbarous
manner. Indeed Francis, who had either no religion at
all, or, at best, no fixed and consistent system of religious
principles, conducted himself towards the Protestants
m such a manner as best answered his private views.
Sometimes he resolved to invite Melancthon into France,
probably with a view to please his sister the queen of
Navarre, whom be loved tenderly, and who had strong¬
ly imbibed the Protestant principles. At other times
he exercised the most infernal cruelty towards the re¬
formed ; and once made the following mad declaration,
That if he thought the blood in his arm was tainted by
the Lutheran heresy, he would have it cut off; and that
he would not spare even his own children, if they en¬
tertained sentiments contrary to those of the Catholic
church.
About this time the famous Calvin began to draw the
attention of the public, but more especially of the queen
of Navarre. His zeal exposed him to danger ; and the
friends of the reformation, whom Francis was daily com-
mitting to the flames, placed him more than once in the
most perilous situation, from which he was delivered by
the interposition of the queen of Navarre. He therefore
retired out of France to Basil in Swisserland ; where he
published his Christian Institutions, and became after¬
wards so famous.
Those among the French who first renounced the ju¬
risdiction of the Romish church, are commonly called
Lutherans by the writers of I hose early times. Hence
it has been supposed that they had all imbibed the pecu¬
liar sentiments of Luther. But this appears by no means
to have been the case : for the vicinity of the cities of
Geneva, Lausanne, &c. which had adopted the doc¬
trines of Calvin, produced a remarkable effect upon the
French Protestant churches ; insomuch that, about the
middle of this century, they all entered into communion
with the church of Geneva. The French Protestants
were called Huguenots * by their adversaries, by way of
VOL. XVII. Part II. f
3 B E F
contempt. Their fate was very severe, being persecuted Refornia-
witn unparalleled fury ; and though many princes of the
blood, and of the first nobility, had embraced their sen- u
timents, yet in no part of the world did the reformers
suffer so much f. At last all commotions were quelled f See
tion.
—v—
„ . ,      nciu utieucu T iJee
by the fortitude and magnanimity of Henry IV. who in France,
the year 1598 granted all his subjects full liberty of con-N° I37>
science by the famous Edict of Nantes, and seemed to 141”I4-<,‘
have thoroughly established the reformation throughout
Jus dominions. During the minority of Louis XIV.
however, this edict was revoked by Cardinal Mazarine!
since which time the Protestants have often been cruelly
persecuted ; nor was the profession of the reformed reli-
gion in France at any time so safe as in most other coun-
tries or Lurope.
I 1,1 1tlie..0J>lier Parts of Europe the opposition to the In the^e*
church oi Rome was but faint and ambiguous before thetheilitnds,
diet of Augsburg. Before that period, however, it ap-&Q-
pears from undoubted testimony, that the doctrine of
Luther had made a considerable, though probably se¬
cret, progress through Spain, Hungary, Bohemia, Bri¬
tain, Poland, and the Netherlands ; and had in all these
countries many friends, of whom several repaired to
V\ ittemberg, in order to enlarge their knowledge by
means of Luther’s conversation. Some of these countries
threw off the Romish yoke entirely, and in others a pro¬
digious number of families embraced the principles of
the reformed religion. It is certain indeed, and some
Roman Catholics themselves acknowledge it without
hesitation, that the Papal doctrines and authority would
have fallen into ruin in all parts of the world at once,
had not the force of the secular arm been employed to
support the tottering edifice. In the Netherlands parti¬
cularly, the most grievous persecutions took place, so
that by the emperor Charles V. upwards of 100,000
were destroyed, while still greater cruelties were exerci¬
sed upon the people by his son Philip II. The revolt
of the United Provinces, however, and motives of real
policy, at last put a stop to these furious proceedings ;
and, though in many provinces of the Netherlands, the
establishment of the Popish religion was still continued,
the Protestants have been 'long free from the danger of
persecution on account of their principles.
The reformation made considerable progress in Spain I*1 Italy,
and Italy soon after the rupture between Luther and
the Roman pontiff. In all the provinces of Italy,
but more especially in the territories of Venice, Tusca-
by, and Naples, the superstition of Rome lost ground,
and great numbers of people of all ranks expressed an
aversion to the Papal yoke. This occasioned violent
and dangerous commotions in the kingdom of Naples
in the year 1546; which, however, were at last quelled
by the united forces of Charles V. and his viceroy Don
Pedro di Toledo. In several places the pope put a stop
to the progress of the reformation, by letting loose the
inquisitors ; who spread dreadful marks of their barba¬
rity through the greatest part of Italy. These formi¬
dable ministers of superstition put so many to death, and
perpetrated such horrid acts of cruelty and oppression,
that most of the reformed consulted their safety by a vo¬
luntary exile, while others returned to the religion of
Rome, at least in external appearance. But the inquisi¬
tion, which frighted into the profession of Popery seve¬
ral Protestants in other parts of Italy, could never make
its way into the kingdom of Naples ; nor could either
4 E the
39.
In Spain.
40
REF [682
the authority or entreaties of the pope engage the Nea¬
politans to admit even visiting inquisitors.
1 In Spain, several people embraced the Protestant re¬
ligion, not only from the controversies of Luther, but
even from those divines whom Charles V. had brought
with him into Germany in order to refute the doctrines
of Luther. For these doctors imbibed the pretended
heresy instead of refuting it, and propagated it more or
less on their return home? But the .nquis.t.on, wh.ch
could obtain no looting in Naples reigned triumphant
in Spain, and by the most dreadful methods frightened
die people back into Popery, and suppressed the desire
of exchanging their superstition for a more rational plan
of religion. It was indeed presumed that Charles him¬
self died a Protestant *, and it seems to be certain, that,
when the approach of death had dissipated those schemes
of ambition and grandeur which had so long blinded
him, his sentiments became much more rational and
agreeable to Christianity than they had ever been. Al
the ecclesiastics who had attended him, as soon as he ex¬
pired, were sent to the inquisition, and committed to the
flames, or put to death by some other method equally
terrible. Such was the fate of Augustine Casal, the
emperor’s preacher ; of Constantins Pontius, his confes¬
sor • of Egidius, whom he had named to the bishopric
of Tortosa } of Bartholomew de Caranza, a Dominican,
who had been confessor to King Philip and Queen Ma¬
ry ; with 20 others of less note.
InEiigliuul. In England, the principles of the reformation began
to be adopted as soon as an account of Luther s doc¬
trines could be conveyed thither. In that kingdom there
were still great remains of the sect called Lollards, whose
doctrine resembled that of Luther 5 and among whom,
of consequence, the sentiments of our reformer gained
great credit. Henry VIII. king of England at that
time was a violent partisan of the church ot Lome, and
had a particular veneration for the writings of Thomas
Aquinas. Being informed that Luther spoke of Ins fa¬
vourite author with contempt, he conceived a violent
prejudice against the reformer, and even wrote against
him, as we have already observed. Luther did not he¬
sitate at writing against his majesty, overcame him in
argument, and treated him with very little ceremony.
The first step towards public reformation, however, was
not taken till the year 1529. Great complaints had
been made in England, and of a very ancient date, of
the usurpations ot the clergy j and by the prevalence
of the Lutheran opinions, these complaints were now
become more general than before. 1 he house of com¬
mons, finding the occasion favourable, passed seveial
bills, restraining the impositions of the clergy: but what
threatened the ecclesiastical order with the greatest dan¬
ger were the severe reproaches thrown out almost with¬
out opposition in the house against the dissolute lives,
ambition, and avarice of the priests, and their continual
encroachments on the privileges of the laity. rlhe bills
for regulating the clergy met with opposition in the
house of lords ; and Bishop Fisher imputed them to want
of faith in the commons, and to a formed design, pro¬
ceeding from heretical and Lutheran principles, of rob¬
bing the church of her patrimony, and overturning the
national religion. The commons, however, complained
to the king, by their speaker Sir Thomas Audley, of
these reflections thrown out against them j and the bi¬
shop was obliged to retract his words.
E F
1 R . , . .
Though Henry had not the least idea of rejecting Keforma,.
any, even of the most absurd Romish superstitions, yet lion,
as the oppressions of the clergy suited very ill with the -y—..
violence of his own temper, he was pleased with every
opportunity of lessening their power’. In the parlia¬
ment of 1531? he showed his design of humbling the
clergy in the most effectual manner. An obsolete sta¬
tute was revived, from which it was pretended that it
was criminal to submit to the legatine povvei which
had been exercised by Cardinal Wolsey. By this stroke
the whole body of clergy was declared guilty at once.
They were too well acquainted with Henry’s disposi¬
tion, however, to reply, that their ruin would have
been the certain consequence of their not submitting
to Wolsey’s commission, which had been given by royal
authority. Instead of making any defence of this kind,
they chose to throw themselves on the mercy of their
sovereign j which, however, it cost them 118,840!. to
procure. Aconlession was likewise extorted fiom them,
that the king was protector and supreme head of the
church of England though some of them had the dex¬
terity to get a clause inserted, which invalidated the
whole submission, viz. in so far as is permitted by the
law of Christ.
The king, having thus begun to reduce the power
of the clergy, kept no bounds with them afterwards.
He did not indeed attempt any reformation in religious
matters’, nay, lie persecuted most violently such as did
attempt this in the least. Indeed, the most essential
article of his creed seems to have been his own supre¬
macy : for whoever denied this, was sure to suffer the
most severe penalties, whether Protestant 01 I apist.
But an account of the absurd and cruel conduct ol this
prince, and of his final quarrel with the pope on ac¬
count of his refusing a dispensation to marry Anne Bo-
leyn, is given under the article ENGLAND, N° 253—
292. * . ’
He died in 1547, and was succeeded by his only
son Edward VI. This amiable prince, whose early
youth was crowned with that wisdom, sagacity, and vir¬
tue, that would have done honour to advanced years,
gave new spirit and vigour to the Protestant cause, anti
was its brightest ornament, as well as its most eflee-
tual support. He encouraged learned and pious men
of foreign countries to settle in England, and addres¬
sed a particular invitation to Martin Bucer and Paul
Eagius, whose moderation added a lustre to their other
virtues, that, by the ministry and labours ol these emi¬
nent men, in concert with those of the friends of the
Reformation in England, he might purge his domi¬
nions from the sordid fictions of popery, and estabhsh
the pure doctrines of Christianity in their place. For
this purpose, he issued out the wisest orders for the resto¬
ration of true religion ; hut his reign was too short to
accomplish fully such a glorious purpose. In the year
1553, he was taken from his loving and afflicted subjects,
whose sorrow was inexpressible, and suited to their loss.
His sister Mary (the daughter of Catharine ot Arragon,
from whom Henry had been separated by the famous
divorce), a furious bigot to the church of Rome, and a
princess wdiose natural character, like the spirit of her
religion, was despotic and cruel, succeeded him on the
British throne, and imposed anew the arbitrary laws and ’
the tyrannical yoke of Rome upon the people of Eng¬
land. Nor were the methods she employed in the cause
Of*
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of superstition better than the cause itself, or tempered
by any sentiments of equity or compassion. Barbarous
tortures, and death in the most shocking forms, awaited
those who opposed her will, or made the least stand a-
gainst the restoration of Popery. And among many
other victims, the learned and pious Cranmer, archbi¬
shop of Canterbury, who had been one of the most illu¬
strious instruments of the Reformation in England, fell
a sacrifice to her fury. This odious scene of persecu¬
tion was happily concluded in the year 1558, by the
death of the queen, who left no issue j and, as’soon as
her successor the lady Elizabeth ascended the throne,
all things assumed a new and a pleasing aspect. This
illustrious princess, whose sentiments, councils, and pro¬
jects, breathed a spirit superior to the natural softness
and delicacy of her sex, exerted this vigorous and man¬
ly spirit in the defence of oppressed consciencs and ex¬
piring liberty, broke anew the despotic yoke of Papal
authority and superstition, and, delivering her people
from the bondage of Rome, established that form of re¬
ligious doctrine and ecclesiastical government which still
subsists in England. This religious establishment dif¬
fers, in some respects, from the plan that had been
formed by those whom Edward VI. had employed for
promoting the cause of the Reformation, and approaches
nearer to the rites and discipline of former times ;
though it is widely different, and, in the most important
points, entirely opposite to the principles of the Roman
hierarchy. See England, N* 293, &c.
The cause of the reformation underwent in Ireland
the same vicissitudes and revolutions that had attended
it in England. When Henry VIII. after the abolition
of the Papal authority, was declared supreme head up¬
on earth of the church of England, George Brown, a
native of England, and a monk of the Augustine order,
whom (hat monarch had created, in the year 1535,
archbishop of Dublin, began to act with the utmost
vigour in consequence of this change in the hierarchy.
He purged the churches of his diocese from supersti¬
tion in all its various forms, pulled down images, de¬
stroyed relics, abolished absurd and idolatrous rites,
and, by the influence as well as authority he had in Ire¬
land, caused the king’s supremacy to be acknowledged
in that nation. Henry showed, soon after, that this su¬
premacy was not a vain title ; for he banished the
monks out of that kingdom, confiscated their revenues,
and destroyed their convents. In the reign of Edward
VI. still farther progress was made in the removal of
Popish superstitions, by the zealous labours of Bishop
Brown, and the auspicious encouragement he granted
to all who exerted themselves in the cause of the Re¬
formation. But the death of this excellent prince,
and the accession of Queen Mary, .had like to have
changed the face of affairs in Ireland as much as in
England j hut her designs were disappointed by a very
curious adventure, of which the following account has
been copied from the papers of Richard earl of Corke.
“ Queen Mary having dealt severely with the Prote¬
stants in England, about the latter end of her reign
®ur> deigned a commission for to take (the same course with
them in Ireland j and to execute the same with greater
u f°rce> S^e nominates Dr Cole one of the commissioners.
J^oo-The doctor coming, with the commission, to Chester
1 ’rfl' on his journey, the mayor of that city hearing that her
raajeety was sending a messenger into Ireland, and he
appol.
men
Popi ^
(of !(;-■,
land
] KEF
being a churchman, waited on the doctor, who in dis¬
course with the mayor taketh out of a cloke-bag a
leather box, saying unto him, Here is a commission i’hat
shall lash the Heretics of Ireland, calling the Prote¬
stants by that title. The good woman of the house
being well affected to the Protestant religion, and also
having a brother named John Edmonds of the same
persuasion, then a citizen in Dublin, was much troubled
at the doctor’s words, hut watching her convenient time
while the mayor took his leave, and the doctor compli¬
mented him. down the stairs, she opens the box, takes
the commission out, and places in lieu thereof a sheet of
paper with a pack of cards wrapt up therein, the knave
of clubs being faced uppermost. The doctor coming up
to his chamber, suspecting nothing of what had been
done, put up the box as formerly. The next day go¬
ing to the water-side, wind and weather serving him,
he sails towards Ireland, and landed on the 7th of Oc¬
tober 1558 at Dublin. Then coming to the castle, tire
lord Fitz-Walters being lord deputy, sent for him to
come before him and the privy-council; who, coming
in, after he had made a speech relating upon what ac¬
count he came over, he presents the box unto the lord-
deputy ; who causing it to be opened, that the secretary
might read the commission, there was nothing save a
pack of cards with the knave of clubs uppermost j
which not only startled the lord-deputy and council,
but the doctor, who assured them he had a commission,
hut knew not how it was gone. Ihen the lord-deputy
made answer : Let us have another commission, and we
will shufiie the cards in the meanwhile. The doctor
being troubled in his mind, went away, and returned in¬
to England, and coming to the court obtained another
commission . hut staying for a wind on the water-side,
news came to him that the queen was dead : and thus
God preserved the Protestants of Ireland.” Queen
Elizabeth was so delighted with this story, which was
related to her by Lord I itz-AValter on Ins return to
England, that she sent for Elizabeth Edmonds, whose
husband’s name was Mattershad, and gave her a pen¬
sion of 40I. during her life.
In Scotland, the seeds of reformation were very early Of tlw Re¬
sown, by several noblemen who had resided in Germany forniafioa
during the religious disputes there. But for many years!11 S,cot'
it was suppressed by the power of the pope, seconded by aiU ’
inhuman laws and barbarous executions. The most emi¬
nent opposer of the Papal jurisdiction was John Knox,
a disciple of Calvin, a man of great zeal and invincible
fortitude. On all occasions he raised the drooping spi¬
rits of the reformers, and encouraged them to go on
with their work notwithstanding the opposition and
treachery of the queen-regent 5 till at last, in 1561, by
the assistance of an English army sent by Elizabeth,
Popery was in a manner totally extirpated throughout
the kingdom. From this period the form of doctrine,
worship, and discipline established by Calvin at Geneva,
has had the ascendancy in Scotland. But for an account
of the difficulties which the Scottish reformers had to
struggle with, and the manner in which these were
overcome, &c. see Scotland.
For further information on the subject of the refor¬
mation in general we refer our readers to the works
of Burnet and Brandt, to Beausobre’s Histoire' de la
Reformation dans ''Empire, et les Etats de la Confession
d' Augsbourg, depuis 1517—1530, in 4 vols 8vo, Berlin
4 R 2 1785,
REF [ 684
tleforma- 1785. »"'> Moaheim’s Eccle.UsUcal History. See also
tion, Sleidan De Statu Reltgioms et Rcipubhca:, Larolo Y.
Refraction. Ccesare, Commentarii; and Father Paul’s History or
’ 1 v the Council of Trent. _ .
REFRACTION, in general, is the deviation ot a
moving body from its direct course, occasioned by the
different density of the medium in which it moves j or
it is a change of direction occasioned by a body’s fall¬
ing obliquely out of one medium into another. Ihe
word is chiefly made use of with regard to the rays of
light. See Optics Index, at Refraction.
^Refraction of Altitude, the arc or portion of a ver¬
tical circle, by which the altitude of a star is increased
by the refraction ot light.
Refraction of Ascension and Descemion, an arc ot
the equator, by which the ascension and descension ot a
star, whether right or oblique, is increased or diminish¬
ed bv the refraction.
Refraction of Declination, is an arc of a circle of
declination, by which the declination of a star is in¬
creased or diminished by retraction.
Refraction of Latitude, an arc of a circle of lati¬
tude, by which the latitude of a star is increased or di¬
minished by the retraction.
Refraction of Longitude, an arc of the ecliptic, by
which the longitude of a star is increased or diminished
by means of the refraction.
Refraction, 'Terrestrial, is that which makes ter¬
restrial objects appear to be raised higher than they are
in reality, in observing their altitudes. Ihe quantity
of this refraction is estimated at one-tenth by Dr Mas-
kelyne •, at one-fourteenth by Le Gendre and by De
Lambre at one-eleventh. But there can be no fixed
quantity of this refraction, since it depends upon the
state of the atmosphere, which is extremely variable,
gome singular eftects of this refraction have been no¬
ticed, and in particular the following, which were ob¬
served by Mr Latham at Hastings, during a very hot
day, on which it was high water about two o’clock P. M.
The day was also perfectly calm.
“ Oii Wednesday, July 26. about five o’clock in the
afternoon, while I was sitting in my dining-room at this
place, which is situated upon the Parade, close to the
sea-shore, nearly fronting the south, my attention was
•xcited by a numb; r of people running down to the
sea-side. Upon inquiring the reason, 1 wa* informed
that the coast of France was plainly to be distinguished
by the naked eye. 1 immediately went down to the
shore, and was surprised to find that, even without the
assistance of a telescope, 1 could very plainly seV the
cliffs on the opposite coast ; which, at the nearest part,
are between 40 and 50 miles distant, and are not to be
discerned, from that low situation, by the aid of the
best glasses. They appeared to be only a few miles off’,
and seemed to extend for some leagues along the coast.
I pursued my walk along the shore eastward, close to
the water’s edge, conversing with the sailors and fisher¬
men upon the subject. They at first could not be per¬
suaded of the reality of the appearance 5 but thev soon
became so thoroughly convinced, by the cliffs gradually
appearing more elevated, and approaching nearer, as it
were, that they pointed out and named to me the dif¬
ferent places they had been accustomed to visit ; such
as the Bay, the Old Head or Man, the Windmill, &c.
at Boulogne) St Vailery, and other places on the coast
. ] REF
of Picardy ) which they afterwards confirmed when Refractio
they viewed them through their telescopes. Their ob- ||
servations were, that the places appeared as near as Refugees
if they were sailing at a small distance, into the har- y~""'
hours.’’ * *
REFRANGIBILITY of light, the disposition of ^a”*-
rays to be refracted. The term is chiefly applied to the 19 ’
disposition of rays to produce different colours, accord¬
ing to their different degrees of refrangibility. See
Chromatics and Optics passim.
REFRIGERATiVE, in Medicine, a remedy which
refreshes the inward parts by cooling them) as clysters,
ptisans, &c.
REFRIGERATORY, in Chemistry, a vessel filled
with cold water, through which the worm passes in di¬
stillations ) the use of which is to condense the vapours
as they pass through the worm.
Cities of REFUGE, were places provided as Asy-
la, for such as against their will should happen to kill a
man. Of these cities there were three on each side
Jordan : on this side were Kedesh of Naphtali, Hebron,
and Shechem •, beyond Jordan were Bezer, Golan, and
Ramoth-Gilead. When any of the Hebrews, or stran¬
gers that dwelt in their country, happened to spill the
blood of a man, they might retire thither to be out of
the reach of the violent attempts of the relations of the
deceased, and to prepare for their defence and justifica¬
tion before the judges. The manslayer underwent two
trials: first before the judges of the city of xefuge to
which he had fled ) and secondly before the judges of
his own city. If found guilty, he was put to death with
all the severity of the law. If he was acquitted, he
was not immediately set at liberty ) but, to inspire a de¬
gree of horror against even involuntary homicide, be
was reconducted to the place of refuge, and obliged to
continue there in a sort ot banishment till the death of
the high priest. If, before this time, he ventured out,
the revenger of blood might freely kill him) but after
the high-priest’s death he was at liberty to go where he
pleased without molestation. It was necessary that the
person who fled to any of the cities of refuge should
understand some trade or calling, that he might not be
burthensome to the inhabitants. The cities of refuge
were required to be well supplied with water and ne¬
cessary provisions. They were also to be easy of ac¬
cess, to have good roads leading to them, with commo¬
dious bridges where there was occasion. The width of
the roads was to be 32 cubits or 48 feet at least It was
further requmd, that at all cross-ways direction-posts
should be erected, with an inscription pointing out the
road to the cities of refuge. T he 15th of Adar, which
answers to our February moon, was appointed for the
city magistrates to see that the roads were in good con¬
dition. No person in any of these cities was allowed
to make weapons, lest the relations of the deceased
should be furnished with the me ans of gratifying their
revenge. Dent. xix. 3. iv. 41. 43. *, Josh xx. 7. Three
other cities of refuge were conditionally promised, but
never granted. See AsYLUM
REFUGEES, a term at first applied to the French
Protestants, who, by the revocation of the t diet ot Nantz,
were constrained to fly from persecution, and take re¬
fuge in foreign countries. Since that time, however,
it has been extended to all such as leave their country
in time of distress) and hence, since the revolt of the
British
It is usual in Italy, at the arrival of a traveller of
eminence, to send him a regale, that is, a present of sweet¬
meats, rriuts, occ. hy way of refreshment.
REGALIA, in Law, the rights and prerogatives of
a king, bee Prerogative.
Regalia is also used tor the apparatus of a coronation ;
as the crown, the sceptre with the cross, that with the
dove, St Edward’s staff, the globe, and the orb with the
cross, four several swords, &c._The regalia of Scot¬
land were deposited in the castle of Edinburgh in the
year 1707, m what is called the jewel office. The room
was a few years ago opened hy some commissioners ap¬
pointed by the king, when the large chest in which it is
supposed they were placed was examined; but nothing
was found in it. It is very generally thought that the
regalia were carried to the Tower of London in the
reign of Queen Anne ; aud a crown is there shown
which is called the Scotch crown. This, however, does
not appear to be the real crown of Scotland. It seems,
therefore, most probable that the Scottish regalia must
have been taken away by stealth, and either destroyed
or melted down. J
Lord of REGALITY, in Scots Law. See Law
3SJ° clviii. 4. ’
Court of REGARD. See FoREsr-Courts,
1  7  ^
ty and pleasure.
Although it is allowable for any man to go and in¬
scribe his name in the list of combatants until the fixed
number is complete, it will not be amiss to remark one
tiling, winch has relation to more ancient time®. The
state of a gondolier * is of much consideration among * See
the people j which is very natural, that having been the Gondola,
primitive condition of the inhabitants of this country.
Rut, besides this general consideration, there are among
them some families truly distinguished and respected by
their equals, whose antiquity is acknowledged, and who.
on account of a succession of virtuous men, able in
their profession, and honoured for the prizes they have
carried of! m these contests, form the body of noble
gondoliers; often more worthy of that title than the
higher order of nobility, who only derive their honours
from the merit of their ancestors, or from their own
riches. I he consideration for those families is carried
•so far, that, in the disputes frequently arising among
the gondoliers in their ordinary passage of the canals, we
sometimes see a quarrel instantly made up by the simple
interposition of a third person, who has chanced to be of
tins revered body. They are rigid with respect to mis¬
alliances in their families, and they endeavour recipro¬
cally to give and take their wives among those of their
own rank. But we must remark here, with pleasure
that these distinctions infor nn 1 non no 1 it»   I ’ i •
* famed I ,T,“ l'"" “r °,l'er 'V“h ^ »"‘l/i«uoU8 opinion,. Distinctions derived
hind
face turned towards his tail.
REGARDER, an ancient officer of the king’s fo¬
rest, sworn to make the regard of the forest every
year 5 that is, to take a view of its limits, to inquire
into all oflences and defaults committed by the foresters
within the forest, and to observe whether all the offi¬
cers execute their respective duties. See Forest-
Lows.
REGATA, or Regatta, a species of amusement
peculiar to the republic of Venice. This spectacle has
the power of excitintr the greatest emotions of the heart,
admiration, enthusiasm, a sense of glory, and the whole
train of our best feelings. The grand regata is only
exhibited on particular occasions, as the visits of foreign
princes and kings at Venice.
It is difficult to give a just idea of the ardour that the
notice of a regata spreads among all classes of the inha¬
bitants of Venice. Proud of the exclusive privilege of
giving such a spectacle, through the wonderful local cir¬
cumstances of that city, they are highly delighted with
making preparations a long time before, in order to con¬
tribute all they can towards the perfection and enjoyment
of the sprctacle. A thousand interests are formed and
augmented every day ; parties in favour of the different
competitors who are known ; the protection of young
noblemen given to the gondoliers in their service ; the
desire of honours and rewards in the aspirants j and, in
the midst of all thi-, that ingenious national industry,
which awakes the Venetians from their habitual indo¬
lence, to derive advantage and business from the agita¬
tion of the moment ; all these circumstances united give
to the numerous inhabitants of this lively city a degree
of spirit and animation which render it during that time
from fortune only, are those which always outrage na¬
ture, and often virtue.
In general, the competitors at the great regatas are
chosen from among these families of reputation. As
soon as they are fixed upon for this exploit, they spent!
the intermediate time in preparing themselves for it, by
a daily, a-siduous, and fatiguing exercise. If they are in
service, their masters during that time not only give
them their liberty, hut also augment their wages. This
custom would seem to indicate, that they look upon
them as persons consecrated to the honour of the na¬
tion, and under a sort of obligation to contribute to
its iporv.
At last the grand day arrives. Their relations assem
hie together j they encourage the heroes, by calling to
their minds the records of their families 5 the women
present the oar, beseeching them, in an epic tone, to
remember that they are tiie sons of famous men, whose
steps they will be expected to follow : this they do with
as much solemnity as the Spartan women presented the
shield to their sons, bidding them either return with or
upon it. Religion, as practised among the lower class
of people, has its share in the preparation for this en¬
terprise. They cause masses to be said $ they make
vows to some particular church j and they arm their
boats tor the contest with' the images of those saints
who are most in vogue. Sorcerers are not forgotten
upon this occasion. For gondoliers who have lost the
race often declare, that witchcraft had been practised
against them, or certainly they must have won the day.
Such a supposition prevents a poor fellow from thinking
ilf of himself, an opinion that might be unfavourable to
him another time.
The
Rei^atg..
REG
The course is about four miles.
a certain place, run through the great win(ling ^"a1’
which divides the town into two parts, turn round *
picket, and, coming back the same way, go and seize
the prize, which is fixed at the acutest angle ot the great
canal, on the convex side, so that the point o =ug 1 oiay
be the more extended, and the prize seized in the sight
of the spectators on both sides.
According to the number of competitors, different
races are performed in different sorts of boats j some
with one oar and others with two. The prizes propose
are four, indicated by four flags of diflerent colours, with
the different value of the prizes marked upon them.—
These flags, public and glorious monuments, are the
prizes to which the competitors particularly aspire. Hut
the government always add to each a gentee sum o
money 5 besides that the conquerors, immediately alter
[ 686 ] REG
The boats start from certain officers of the police in their robes, dispersed in
different places, at once operate and explain that tran¬
quillity, that security, which we see in the mid^t of the
greatest confusion, and that surprising docility in so
lively and fiery a people. Kegatas have been attempt¬
ed on the river Thames, but they were but humble imi¬
tations of the Venetian amusement.
HEGEL, or Kigel, a fixed star of the first magni¬
tude, in Orion’s left foot.
HEGENEHATION, in Theology, the act of be¬
ing born again by a spiritual birth, or the change of
heart and life experienced by a person who forsakes a
course of vice, and sincerely embraces a life of virtue
and pietr.
REGENSBURG, or Ratisbon. See Ratisbon.
REGENT, one who governs a kingdom during the
minority or absence of the king.
& i ■ 1 „ ,1 ,.uP rnnnuerors immediately alter minority or absence 01 tne King,
money ; oesides that 1 the’ beau monde, who In France, the queen-mother had the regency of the
tbe victory, aie  . aetpr AVhich they kimrdom during the minority of the king, under the title
congratulate and make them presents j after which they
go, bearing their honourable trophy in their hand down
the whole length of the canal, and receive the applause
of innumerable spectators. . . . .
This grand canal, ever striking by the singularity
and beauty of the buildings which border it, is, upon
these occasions, covered with an infinity of spectators,
in all sorts of barges, boats, and gondolas, i he ele¬
ment on which they move is scarcely seen j but the
noise of oars, the agitation of arms and bodies in per¬
petual motion, indicate the spectacle to be upon the
water. At certain distances, on each side of the shore
are erected little amphitheatres and scaffoldings, where
are placed bands of music ; the harmonious sound ot
which predominates now and then over the buzzing
noise of the people. Some days before a regata, one
may see on the great canal many boats for pleasure and
entertainment. The young noble, the citizen, the rich
axtizan, mounts a long boat of six or eight oars $ his
gondoliers decorated with rich and singular dresses, and
the vessel itself adorned with various stuffs. Among the
nobles there are always a number who are at a consider¬
able expence in these decorations j and at the regata
itself exhibit on the water personages of mythologic
story, with the heroes of antiquity in their train, or
amuse themselves with representing the costumes of dif¬
ferent nations : in short, people contribute with a mad
sort of magnificence, from all quarters, to this masque¬
rade, the favourite diversion of the Venetians. But
these great machines, not being the less in motion on
account of their ornaments, are not merely destined to
grace the show : they are employed at the regata, at
every moment, to range the people, to protect the
course, and to keep the avenue open and clear to the
goal. The nobility, kneeling upon cushions at the
prow of their vessels, are attentive to these matters, and
announce their orders to the most restive, by darting at
them little gilded or silvered balls, by means of certain
bows, with which they are furnished on this occasion.
And this is the only appearance of coercion in the Ve¬
netian police on these days of the greatest tumult: nor
is there to be seen, in any part of the city, a body of
guards or patrol, nor even a gun or a halbert. The
mildness of the nation, its gaiety, its education in the
habit of believing that the government is ever awake,
that it knows and sees every thing ; its respectful at-
. tachment to the body of patricians j the sole aspect of
kingdom during the minority of the king, under the title
of queen-regent.
In England, the methods of appointing this guar¬
dian or regent have been so various, and tbe duration
of his power so uncertain, that from hence alone it
may be collected that his office is unknown to the com¬
mon law *, and therefore (as Sir Edward Coke says,
4 Inst. 58.) the surest way is to have him made by au¬
thority of the great council in parliament, ihe earl of
Pembroke by his own authority assumed in very trou¬
blesome times the regency of Henry III. who was then
only nine years old ; but was declared of full age by
the pope at 17, confirmed the great charter at 18, and
took upon him the administration of the government at
20. A guardian and councils of regency were named
for Edward III. by the parliament, which deposed his
father j the young king being then 15, and not assuming
the government till three years after. When Richard II.
succeeded at the age of 11, the duke of Lancaster took
upon him the management of the kingdom till the parlia¬
ment met, which appointedanominal council to assist him.
Henry V. on his death-bed named a regent and a guar¬
dian for his infant son Henry VI. then nine months old:
but the parliament altered his disposition, and appoint¬
ed a protector and council, with a special limited autho¬
rity. Both these princes remained in a state ol pupil¬
age till the age of 23. Edward V. at the age of 13,
was recommended by his father to the care ot the duke
of Gloucester, who was declared proctector by the privy-
council. The statutes 25 Hen. VIII. c. 12. and 28
Henry VIII. c. 7. provided, that the successor, if a
male and under 18, or if a female and under 16, should
be till such age in the governance of his or liar na¬
tural mother (if approved by tbe king), and such other
counsellors as his majesty should by will or otherwise ap¬
point : and he accordingly appointed his 16 executors
to have the government of his son Edward \ I. and the
kingdom, which executors elected the earl ot Hartford
protector. rlhe statutes 24 Geo. II. c. 24* m case the
crown should descend to any of the children of I redo¬
ne late prince of Wales under the age of 18, appoint¬
ed the princess dowager j—and that of 5 Geo. HI. c.
27. in case of a like descent to any of his present ma¬
jesty’s children, empowers the king to name eituer the
queen or princess dowager, or any descendant of King
George II. residing in this kingdom j—to be guardian
and regent till the successor attains such age, assisted by
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E G
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. , the powers of them all being ex¬
pressly defined and set down in the several acts.
J . Regent also signifies a professor of arts and sciences
in a college, having pupils under his care; but it is ge¬
nerally restrained to the lower classes, as to rhetoric, lo¬
gic, &c. those of philosophy being called professors] In
the English universities it is applied to masters of arts
under five years standing, and to doctors under two, as
non-regent is to those above that standing.
RECrGIO, ancient and considerable town of
Italy, in the kingdom of Naples, and in the Farther
Calabria, with an archbishop’s see, and a woollen manu¬
factory. It is seated in a delightful country, which
produces plenty of oranges, and all their kindred fruits.
The olives are exquisite, and high flavoured. The town,
however, can boast of neither beautiful buildings nor
strong fortifications. Of its edifices the Gothic cathe¬
dral is the only striking one, but it affords nothing cu¬
rious in architecture. The citadel is far from formida¬
ble, according to the present system of tactics j nor could
the city walls make a long resistance against any enemy
but Barbary corsairs $ and even these they have not al¬
ways been able to repel, for in 1543 it was laid in ashes
by Barbarossa. Mustapha sacked it 15 years af ter, and
the desolation was renewed in 1593 by another set of
lurks. Its exposed situation, on the very threshold of
Italy, and fronting Sicily, has from the earliest period
rendered it liable to attacks and devastation. The Chal-
oidians seized upon it, or, according to the usual Greek,
phrase, founded it, and called the colony Ithegion, from
a word that means a break or crack, alluding to its po¬
sition on the point where Sicily broke off from the con¬
tinent. Anaxilas oppressed its liberties. Dionysius the
Elder took it, and put many of the principal citizens
to death, in revenge for their having refused his alliance.
The Campanian legion, sent to protect the Rhegians,
turned its sword against them, massacred many inhabi¬
tants, and tyrannized over the remainder, till the Ro¬
man senate thought proper to punish these traitors with
exemplary severity, though at the same time it entered
into league with the revolted garrison of Messina. This
union with a set of villains guilty of the same crime,
proved that no love of justice, but political reasons alone,
drew down its vengeance on the Campanians.-—It is a-
bout 12 miles S. E. of Messina, and 190 S. by E. of
Naples. E. Long. 16. o. N. Lat. 38. 4.
Reggio, an ancient, handsome, and strong town of
Italy, in the duchy of Modena, with a strong citadel,
and a bishop’s see. It has been ruined several times by
the Goths, and other nations. In the cathedral are
paintings by the greatest masters; and in the square is
the statue of Brennus, chief of the Gauls. The inha¬
bitants are about 22,000, who carry on a great trade in
silk. It was taken by Prince Eugene in 1706, and by
the king of Sardinia in 1742. It is seated in a fertile
country to the south of the Apennines, and to the north
of a spacious plain, 15 miles north-west of Modena, and
80 south-east of Milan. E. Long. 11. 5. N. Lat. 44. 43.
—The duchy of this name is bounded on the west by
that of Modena, and produces a great deal of silk. It
fell under the dominion of the French along with the
rest of Italy early in the Revolution, but was restored
to the duke of Modena at the peace of 1814.
REGIAM majestatem. See Law, N° civ. 3.
[ 687 ]
REG
REGICIDE, King-killer, a word chiefly used
with us in speaking of the persons concerned in the trial,
Regicide
condemnation, and execution of Charles I.
REGIFUGIUM was a feast celebrated at Rome on
the 24th of February, in commemoration of the Expul¬
sion of Tarquinius Superbus, and the abolition of regal
power. It was also performed on the 26th of May.
when the king of the sacrifices, or Rex Sacrorum, offer¬
ed bean flour and bacon, in the place where the assem¬
blies were held. The sacrifice being over, the people
hasted away with all speed, to denote the precipitate
flight of King Tarquin.
REGIMEN, the regulation of diet, and, in a more
general sense, of all the non-naturals, with a view to
preserve or restore health. See Abstinence, Ali¬
ment, Food, Diet, Drink, and Medicine.
I he vicissitude of exercise and rest forms also a ne¬
cessary part of regimen. See Exercise.
It is beneficial to be at rest now and then, but more
so frequently to use exercise j because inaction renders
the body weak and listless, and labour strengthens it.
But a medium is to be observed in all things, and too
Eiucb fatigue is to be avoided : for frequent and violent
exercise overpowers the natural strength, and wastes the
body; but moderate exercise ought always to be used
before meals. Now, of all kinds of exercise, riding on
horseback is the most convenient: or if the person be
too weak to bear it, riding in a coach, or at least in a
litter : next follow fencing, playing at ball, running,
walking. But it is one of the inconveniences of old age,
that there is seldom sufficient strength for using bodily
exercise, though it be extremely requisite for health :
wherefore frictions with the flesh-brush are necessary
at this time of life ; which should be performed by
the person himself, if possible ; if not, by his servants.
Sleep is the sweet soother of cares, and restorer of
strength j as it repairs and replaces the wastes that are
made by the labours and exercises of the day. Bui
excessive sleep has its inconveniences ; for it blunts the
senses, and renders them less fit for the duties of life.
The proper time for sleep is the night, when darkness
and silence invite and bring it on: day-sleep is less re¬
freshing; which rule, if it be proper for the multitude
to observe, much more is the observance of it necessary
for persons addicted to literary studies, whose minds and
bodies are more susceptible of injuries.
Regimen, in Grammar, that part of syntax, or con¬
struction, which regulates the dependency of words, and
the alterations which one occasions in another.
Regimen for Seamen. See Seamen.
REGIMENT, is a body of men, either horse, foot,
or artillery, commanded by a colonel, lieutenant-colonel,
and major. Each regiment of foot is divided into com¬
panies ; but the number of companies differs: though
in Britain our regiments are generally 10 companies,
one of which is always grenadiers, exclusive of the two
independent companies. Regiments of horse are com¬
monly six troops, but there are some of nine. Dragoon
regiments are generally in war time 8 troops, and in
time of peace but 6. Each regiment has a chaplain,
quarter master, adjutant, and surgeon. Some German
regiments consist of 2000 foot ; and the regiment of
Picardy in France consisted of 6000, being 120 com¬
panies, of 50 men in each company.
Regiments
Regiment.
4
REG [ 688 ] REG
Regiment Regiments were first formed in France in the year
|| 1558, and in England in the year 1660.
Reg'8 REGIOMONTANUS. See Muller.
» ' 1 REGION, in Geography, a large extent of land, in-
'habited by many people ot the same nation, and inclos¬
ed within certain limits or bounds.
The modern astronomers divide the moon into several
regions, or large tracts ot land, to each ot which they
give its proper name.
Region, in Physiology, is taken for a division of our
atmosphere, which is divided into the upper, middle, and
lower regions.
The upper region commences from the tops of the
mountains, and reaches to the utmost limits ot the at¬
mosphere. In this region reign a perpetual equable
calmness, clearness, and serenity. The middle region
is that in which the clouds reside, and where meteors
are formed, extending from the extremity of the lowest
to the tops of the highest mountains. The lowest re¬
gion is that in which we breathe, which is bounded by
the reflection of the sun’s rays $ or by the height to
which they rebound from the earth. See Atmosphere
and Air.
/Ethereal Region, in Cosmography, is the whole ex¬
tent of the universe, in which is included all the heaven¬
ly bodies, and even the orb of the fixed stars.
Elementary Region, according to the Aristotelians,
is a sphere terminated by the concavity ot the moon’s
orb, comprehending the atmosphere of the earth.
Region, in Anatomy, a division of the human body,
otherwise called cavity, of which anatomists reckon three,
viz. the upper region, or that of the head •, the middle
region, that of the thorax or breast j and the lower, the
abdomen or belly. See Anatomy.
Region, in ancient Rome, was a part or division of
the city. The regions were only four in number, till
Augustus Caesar’s time, who divided the city into four¬
teen ; over each of which he settled two surveyors, call¬
ed enratores viarum, who were appointed annually", and
took their divisions by lot. These fourteen regions
contained four hundred and twenty-four streets, thirty-
one of which were called greater or royal streets, which
began at the gilt pillar that stood at the entry of the
open place in the middle of the city. The extent of
these divisions varied greatly, some being from 12,000
or 13,000 to 33,000 feet or upwards in circumference.
Authors, however, are not agreed as to the exact limits
of each. The curatores viarum wore the purple, had
each two lictors in their proper divisions, had slaves un¬
der them to take care of fires that happened to break
out. They had also two officers, called denuneiatores,
in each region, to give account of any disorders. Four
vico-snagistridso were appointed in each street, who took
care of the streets allotted them, and carried the orders
of the city to each citizen.
REGIS, Peter Sylvain, a French philosopher,
and a great propagator of the doctrines of Des Cartes,
was born in Agenois in the year 1632. He studied
languages and philosophy under the Jesuits at Cahors •,
and as his views were then directed to the church, he
was afterwards occupied in the study of divinity at the
university of that town. His progress in learning was
so uncommon, that at the end of four vears he was of¬
fered a doctor’s degree without the usual charges \ but
l
he did not think it became him to accept of it till he pei
had studied also in the Sorbonne at Paris. He went Regd
thither, but was soon disgusted with theology; and as —v-i
the philosophy of Des Cartes began at that time to make
a noise through the lectures of Rohault, he conceived a
taste for it, and gave himself up entirely to it. He fre¬
quented these lectures ; and becoming an adept, went
to Toulouse in 1665, and read lectures in it himself.
Having fine parts, a clear and fluent manner, and a hap¬
py way of making himself understood, he drew all sorts
of people ; the magistrates, the learned, the ecclesiastics,
and the very wom^n, who now all affected to abjure the
ancient philosophy. In J 680 he returned to Paris $
where the concourse about him was such, that the stick¬
lers for Peripateticism began to be alarmed. They ap¬
plied to the archbishop of Paris, who thought it expedi¬
ent, in the name of the king, to put a stop to the lec¬
tures; which accordingly were discontinued for several
months. The whole life of Regis was spent in propa¬
gating the new philosophy. In 1690 he published a
formal system of it, containing logic, metaphysics, phy¬
sics, and morals, in 3 vols. 410, and written in French.
It was reprinted the year after at Amsterdam, with the
addition of a discourse upon ancient and modern philo¬
sophy. He wrote afterwards several pieces in defence
of his system , in which he had disputes with M. Huet,
Du Hamel, Malebranche, and others. His works,
though abounding with ingenuity and learning, have
been disregarded, inconsequence of the great discoveries
and advancement in philosophic knowledge that have
been since made. He died in 1707. He bad been
chosen member of the academy of sciences in 1699.
The works of this author are the following :—A Sy¬
stem of Philosophy, containing Logic, Metaphysics, and
Morals; in 1690, 3 vols. 4to. being a compilation of
the different ideas of Des Cartes.
The Use of Reason and of Faith.
An Answer to Huet’s Censures of the Cartesian Philo¬
sophy ; and an Answer to Du Hamel’s Critical Reflections.
Same pieces against Malebranche, to shew that the
apparent magnitude of an object depends solely on the
magnitude of its image, traced on the retina.
A small piece upon the question, Whether pleasure
makes our present happiness ?
REGISTER, a public book, in which are entered
and recorded memoirs, acts, and minutes, to be had re¬
course to occasionally for knowing and proving matters
of fact. Of these there are several kinds ; as,
1. Register of deeds in Yorkshire and Middlesex, in
which are registered all deeds, conveyances, wills, &c.
that affect any lands or tenements in those counties,
which are otherwise void against any subsequent pur¬
chasers or mortgagees, &c.; but this does not extend
to any copyhold estate, nor to leases at a rack-rent, or
where they do not exceed 21 years. The registered
memorials must be engrossed on parchment, under the
hand and seal of some of the granters or grantees, at¬
tested by witnesses who are to prove the signing or seal¬
ing of them and the execution of the deed. Rut these
registers, which are confined to two counties, are in
Scotland general, by which the laws of North Britain
are rendered very easy and regular. Of these there are
two kinds ; the one general, fixed at Edinburgh, under j
the direction of the lord-register ; and the other is kept
ia
, , R E G [680
K“'cr *" tl|'e EC™r»l sl"rcs, s(fu-ailncs, and regalities, the
|J clerks ot which ate obliged to transmit the registers ot
;"'lier' a their respective courts to the general register.
2. Parish-registers are books in which are registered
the baptisms, marriages, and burials, of each parish
. REp;STERS were kept both at Athens and Home
in which were inserted the names of such children as
were to be brought up, as soon as they were born.
Marcus Aurelius required all free persons to give in
accounts of their children, within 30 days after the
birth, to the treasurer of the empire; in order to their
being deposited in the temple of Saturn, where the pub¬
lic acts were kept. Officers were also appointed as
public registers m the provinces, that recourse might
be had to their lists of names, for settling disputes or
proving any person’s freedom.
Register Ships, in Commerce, are vessels which ob¬
tain a permission, either from the king of Spain, or the
council of the Indies, to traffic in the ports of the Spa¬
nish West Indies 5 which are thus called, from their be¬
ing registered before they set sail from Cadiz for Buenos
Ayres.
REGISTERS, in Chemistry, are holes, or chinks
with stopples, contrived in the sides of furnaces, to re¬
gulate the fire 5 that is, to make the heat more intense
or remiss, by opening them to let in the air, or keeping
them close to exclude it. There are also registers in
the steam-engine. See SrEAM-Engine.
REGISTRAR, an officer in the English universities,
who has the keeping of all the public records.
REGIUM, Regium Lepidi, Regium Lepidum in
Ancient Geography, a town of Cisalpine Gaul, on the
A'1a Emilia, so called from ./Timiiius Eepidus, who
was consul with C. I laminius j but whence it was sur-
named Regium is altogether uncertain. Tacitus relates,
that at the battle ol Bedriacum, a bird of an unusual
size was seen perching in a famous grove near Regium
Lepidum. Now called Reggio, a city of Modena.
£. Long. 11. o. N. Lat. 44. 43. See Reggio.
REGNARD, John IRANCIS, one ol the best French
comic writers after Moliere, was born at Paris in 1647.
He had scarcely finished his studies, when an ardent
passion for travelling carried him over the greatest
part of Europe. When he settled in his own country,
he was made a treasurer of France, and lieutenant of
the waters and forests : he wrote a great many come¬
dies j and, though naturally of a gay genius, died of
chagrin in the 5 2d year of his age. His works, con¬
sisting of comedies and travels, were printed at Rouen,
in 5 vols. 1 2mo, 1732.
REGNIER, Mathurin, the first French poet who
succeeded in satire, was born at Chartres in 1573. He
ivas brought up to the church, a place for which his de¬
baucheries rendered him very unsuitable ; and these by
his own confession were so excessive, that at 30 he had
all the infirmities of age. Yet he obtained a canonry
in the church of Chartres, with other benefices j and
died in 1613. There is a neat Elzevir edition of his
j works, i2mo, 1652, Leyden-, but the most elegant is
that with notes by M. Brossette, 410, 1729, London.
Regnier des Marets, Seraphin, a French poet,
born at Paris in 1632. He distinguished himself early
by his poetical talents, and in 1684 was made perpetual
secretary to the French academy on the death of Meze-
lay: it was he who drew up all those papers in tie name
Vol. XVII. Part II. f
]
BEG
of the academy against Furetiere: the king gave him
the priory ol Grammont, and he had also an abbey.
He died in 1713, and his works are, French, Italian,
Spanish, and Latin poems, 2 vols. j a French gram¬
mar j and an Italian translation of Anacreon’s odes
with some other translations*
REGNUM, in Ancient Geography, a town of the
Regm, a people in Britain, next the Cantii, now Sun v,
Sussex, and the coast of Hampshire, (Camden) ; a town
situated, by the Itinerary numbers, on the confines of
t le Belgte, in a place now called Ringwood, in Hamp¬
shire, on the rivulet Avon, running down from Salisbury
and about ten miles or more distant from the sea.
REGRATOR, signifies him who buys and sells any
wares or victuals in the same market or fair j and rc-
grators are particularly described to be those who buy
or get into their hands, in lairs or markets, any graii/
fash, butter, cheese, sheep, lambs, calves, swine, pigs!
geese, capons, hens, chickens, pigeons, conies, or other
dead victuals whatsoever, brought to a fair or market
to be sold there, and do sell the same again in the same
tair, market, or place, or in some other within four
miles thereof.
Regrating is a kind of huckstry, by which victuals
are made dearer; for every seller will gain something,
which must of consequence enhance the price. And
in ancient times, both the engrosser and regrator were
comprehended under the word forestaller. Regrator#
are punishable by loss and forfeiture of goods, and im¬
prisonment, according to the first, second, or third of-
lence, &c.
REGENSBERG, a handsome though small town of
Swisserland, in the canton of Zurich, and capital of a
bailiwick of the same name, with a strong castle, seated
on a lull, which is part of Mount Jura. There is a
well sunk through a rock, 36 fathoms deep.
REGULAR, denotes any thing that is agreeable t»
the rules of art: thus we say, a regular building, verb,
&c.
A regular figure in geometry, is one whose sides, and
consequently angles, are equal j and a regular figure
with three or four sides is commonly termed an equila¬
teral triangle or square, as all others w'ith more sides
are called regular polygons.
Regular Rody, called also Platonic Body, is a body
or solid comprehended by like, equal, and regular plane
figures, and whose solid angles are all eqnal.
The plane figures by which the solid is contained are
the laces ol the solid j and the sides of the plane figures
are the edges or linear sides of the solid.
There are only five regular solids, viz.
The tetrahedron, or regular triangular pyramid ha¬
ving four triangular faces j
The hexahedron, or cube, having six square faces •
The octahedron, having eight triangular faces. ’
The dodecahedron, having twelve pentagonal faces-
The icosahedron, having twenty triangular faces. ?
Besides these five, there can be no other regular bo¬
dies in nature.
Regular, in a monastery, a person who has taken
the vows ; because he is bound to observe the rules of
the order he has embraced.
REGULATION, a rule or order prescribed by a
superior, for the proper management of some affair.
REGULATOR of a Watch, the small spring be-
4 s - -
REG [
„ , . longing to the balance j serving to adjust its motions,
Regna °l and make it go faster or slower. See \\atcH.
Regulus. REGULBIUM, or Regulvium, (Notitia impe-
* m—1 rii) ; mentioned nowhere else more early : a town o
the Cantii, in Britain. Now lleculver, a village on the
coast, near the island Thanet, towards the lhames, to
the north of Canterbury, (Camden). . , .
REGULUS, M. Attilius, a consul during the nrst
Runic war. He reduced Brundusium, and in his second
consulship he took 64 and sunk 30 galleys ol the Car-
thaginian fleet, on the coasts of Sicily. Afterwards
he landed in Africa ; and so rapid was his success, that
in a short time he made himself master of about 200
places of consequence on the coast. The Carthaginians
sued for peace, but the conqueror refused to grant it ,
and soon after he was defeated in a battle by Xanthip-
pus, and 30,000 of his men were left on the field ot
battle, and 15,000 taken prisoners. Regulus was in
the number of the captives, and he was carried in tn-
umph to Carthage. He was sent by the enemy to
Rome, to propose an accommodation and an exchange
of prisoners 5 and if his commission was unsuccessful, he
was bound by the most solemn oaths to return toLar-
thage without delay. When he came to Rome, Regu¬
lus dissuaded his countrymen from accepting the terms
which the enemy proposed ; and when Ins opinion had
had due influence on the senate, Regulus retired to Car¬
thage agreeable te his engagements. The Carthagini¬
ans were told that their offers of peace had been rejec¬
ted at Rome by the means of Regulus 5 and therefore
they prepared to punish him with the greatest severity.
His eye-brows were cut, and he was exposed for some
days to the excessive heat of the meridian sun, and af¬
terwards confined in a barrel, whose sides weie every¬
where filled with large iron pikes, till he died in the
greatest agonies. His sufferings.were heard of at Rome j
and the senate permitted his widow to inflict vvhatever
punishment she pleased on some of the most illustrious
captives of Carthage which were in their hands. She
confined them also in presses filled with sharp iron points j
and was so exquisite in her cruelty, that the senate in-
tf.rferred, and stopped the barbarity of her punishment.
Regulus died about 251 years before Christ.—Mem-
mius, a Roman, made governor of Greece by Caligula.
While Regulus was in his province, the emperor vyished
to bring the celebrated statue of Jupiter Olympius by
Phidias to Rome, but this was supernaturally prevented 5
and according to ancient authors, the ship which was to
convey it was destroyed by lightning, and the workmen
who attempted to remove the statue were terrified away
by sudden noises. A man who condemned Sejanus.
 Roscius, a man who held the consulship but for one
day, in the reign of Vitellius.
Regulus, in Astronomy, a star of the first magnitude,
in the constellation Leo 5 called also, from its situation,
Cor Leonis, or the Lion's Heart; by the Arabs, Alhabor ;
and by the Chaldeans, Kalbeleced, or Karbeleceid; from
an opinion of its influencing the affairs of the heavens.
Regulus, in Chemistry, the metallic matter that falls
to the bottom of the crucible, in the melting of ores or
impure metallic substances. It is the finest or purest
part of the metal; and, according to the alchemists, is
denominated regulus, or little king, as being the first¬
born of the royal metallic blood. According to them,
it is really a son, but not a perfect man j i. e. not yet a
690 ] R E I
perfect metal, for want of time and proper nourishment.
To procure the regulus of metals, &c. flux powders
are commonly used ; as nitre, tartar, &c. which purge
the sulphureous part adhering to the metal, by^attiacting
and absorbing it to themselves.
REHEARSAL, in Music and the Drama, an essay
or experiment of some composition, generally made in
private, previous to its representation 01 perfoimance in
public, in order to render the actors and performeis moie
perfect in their parts.
REICHENBERG, in Bohemia, 95 miles west of
Prague, 205 north-west of Vienna, N. Lat. 50. 2. E.
Long. 12. 25. is only remarkable as the place where the
Prussian army defeated the Austrians on the 21st of April
1757. The Austrian army, commanded by Count Ko-
nigseck, was posted near Reichenberg, and was attacked
by the Prussians under the command of the prince of
Brunswick Bevern. The Prussians were 20,000 and the
Austrians 28,000 : the action began at half after six in
the morning, when the Prussian lines were formed, and
attacked the Austrian cavalry, which was ranged in three
lines of 30 squadrons, and their two wings sustained by
the infantry, which was posted among felled trees and
intretichments. The Austrians had a village on their
right, and a wood on their left, where they were intrench¬
ed. The Prussian dragoons and grenadiers cleared the
intrenchment and wood, and entirely routed the Austrian
cavalry j at the same time, the redoubts that covered
Reichenberg were taken by General Lestewitzj and the
Austrians were entirely defeated. The Prussians had
seven officers and 100 men killed j 14 officers ant! 150
men wounded. The Austrians had loco men killed
and wounded *, 20 of their officers and 400 men taken
prisoners. rIhe action ended at eleven.
REID, Thomas, D. D. an eminent philosopher and
distinguished literary character, was the son of Lewis
Reid, minister of the parish of Strachan in the county of
Kincardine, North Britain. His mother was the daugh¬
ter of Mr Gregory of Kinnairdie in Banffshire, was one
of twenty-nine children, and was sister to David, James,
and Charles Gregories, who were at the same period
professors of astronomy or mathematics, in the univer¬
sities of Oxford, Edinburgh, and St Andrews.
Dr Reid was born at the parsonage house of Strachan,
in April 1710, and received the elementary parts of his
education at the parish-school of Kincardine-o-niel. I he
parochial schools of Scotland are said to have been much
superior at that period to what they are at present and
young men went from them well furnished with philo¬
logical learning to the different universities. The early
progiess of young Reid must have been very extraordi¬
nary, since he was qualified to profit by the lectures of
the professors at the age of twelve. He soon gave very
striking proofs that he inherited the genius of his mother s
family, and was conspicuous among the students of ma¬
thematics, in a college where that science has always
been cultivated with zeal and success. He continued
longer at the university than the usual term of years, as
he had been appointed to the office of librarian, wlncli
was a situation every way agreeable to him, as it gave
AViiS H alllialiun    . '
him such an ample opportunity of gratifying his passion
for study. About this time he became intimately attacn-
ed to John Stewart, afterwards professor of mathematics
in Marischal college, which connection greatly strength-
ed his predilection for mathematical studies.
T, ■ R E I [ 691 ]
He resigned the office of librarian In - /r
aml accompanied Mr Stewart to England, wlien Ihey ^ ^
pa.d a visit to London, Oxford, and Cambridge, and
were introduced to several persons of the first literary
distinction. On account of his relation to Or David
Gregory he had ready access to the celebrated Martin
r cukes, whose house might be said to contain many of the
most interesting objects to be met with in the metropolis
He saw Dr Bentley at Cambridge, with whose erudition
he was much delighted, as well as amused with his va¬
nity; and he also conversed frequently with Saunderson
the blind mathematician. Dr Reid refers in his specu¬
lations to this gentleman’s blindness, as a singular pheno¬
menon in the history ol the human mind.
Dr Reid maintained an uninterrupted friendship with
tin learned and amiable IMr Stewart till the year 1766,
at which time Mr Stewart was carried oft’ by a malig¬
nant lever. The circumstances attending the death of
this excellent man deeply wounded the "sensibility of
Dr Reid ; for his wife and daughter were carried off
by the same disorder, and buried with him in one grave.
The King’s college of Aberdeen presented Dr Reid
to the living of New-Machar in the year 1737; but
such was the zeal of the people against the law of pa¬
tronage at that time, that he not only met with violent
opposition, but was also exposed to personal danger. But
his attention to the duties of his office was so exemplary,
his temper so mild and forbearing, and his spirit of hu¬
manity so active, that in a short time he subdued their
prejudices; and when at last called in the course of pro¬
vidence to a different situation, the very people who had
been guilty of gross and indecent outrages against him
followed him, on his departure, with their benedictions
and tears.
In 1740, he married Elizabeth, daughter of his uncle,
Dr George Reid, physician in London, after which bis
popularity at New-Machar very much incneased. Her
manners were so accommodating, and so numerous were
her kind offices to the sick and the indigent, that the
departure of the family from the neighbourhood was look¬
ed upon as a general misfortune. The manner in which
several old men were accustomed to speak upon the sub¬
ject is worthy of being kept in remembrance. “ We
fought, said they, against Dr Reid when he came, and
we would have fought for him when he went away.”
The greater part of his residence at New-Machar was
devoted to the most intense study, particularly directing
his attention to the laws of external perception, and of
the other principles which constitute the basis of human
knowledge. He unbended his mind by the amusements
of gardening and botany, of which he was extremely
fond, even in old age.
The professors of King's College, in the year 17 ^2,
made choice of Dr Reid to be professor of philosophy,
originating wholly from the high opinion they were led
to entertain of his talents and erudition. We are not
acquainted with the particular plan which he adopted
and pursued in the course of his lectures ; but his depart¬
ment at that period comprehended mathematics and phy-
tics, logics and ethics,—a practice then followed in the
other universities of Scotland, instead of appointing a
professor for each distinct branch.
Dr Reid had not been long in Aberdeen, till in con¬
junction with Dr John Gregory, he projected a liter-
R E I
The writings of Reid, Gregory,
Campbell, Beattie and Gerard, evince the numerous ad¬
vantages which the members derived from this institu¬
tion, as they were in the habit of subjecting such works
as they intended for publication, to the test of friendly
criticism. J
It is perhaps not too much to assert, that of all the
publications which appeared about this time, the Inquiry
into the Human Mind by Dr Reid, discovered by far
the greatest originality and profound thinking. It ap¬
pears that he had conceived the plan, and deeply medi¬
tated upon it, long before its publication ; yet without
the applause ol his literary associates, it is more than
probable that his native modesty might have prevented
him from giving it to the world.
I he publication of Mr Hume’s Treatise of Human
Nature, in I739» ^ l'*m to question the principles
commonly received with regard to the human understand¬
ing. He admitted, when a youth, but without any at¬
tentive examination, the opinions on which Mr Hume’s
scepticism was raised ; but when he carefully adverted
to the consequences which these principles appeared to
involve, he instantly began to suspect their truth. To
subvert the sceptical theory of Mr Hume wras the grand
object of Dr Reid’s Inquiry, which he submitted to the
examination of Mr Hume himself. That philosopher,
even alter he had seen some parts of the Work, discovers
not a little of the Jewish spirit of unbelief that any good
thing should come out of Nazareth ; and considering his
antagonist as a clergyman, and belonging to an order of
men from whom prejudice would not allow him to ex¬
pect any soundness of reasoning in matters of science,
he betrays more than want of good humour, as Dr
Reid’s biographer expresses himself, when he says in no
very courteous language in a letter to Dr Blair, “ I
wish that the parsons would confine themselves to their
old occupation of worrying one another, and leave phi¬
losophers to argue with temper, moderation, and good
manners.” But though Mr Hume, as appears from the
words just quoted, was very angry that a clergyman
should become a philosopher, on a second perusal of the
Inquiry, he seems to have held very different sentiments,
when he wrote to the author himself in the following terms.
” By Dr Blair’s means, I have been favoured with the
perusal of your performance, which I have read with
great pleasure and attention. It is certainly very rare,
that a piece so deeply philosophical is wrote (written)
with so much spirit, and affords so much entertainment to
the reader; though I must still regret the disadvantages
under which I read it, as I never had the whole perfor¬
mance at once before me, and could not be able fully to
compare one part with another. To this reason,-chiefly,
I ascribe some obscurities, which, in spite of your short
analysis or abstract, still seem to hang over your system.
I or I must do you the justice to own, that when I enter¬
ed into your ideas, no man appears to express himself
with greater perspicuity than you do ; a talent which,
above all others, is requisite in that species of literature
which you have cultivated.—As I was desirous to be of
some use to you, I kept a watchful eye all along over
your style ; but it is really so correct, and so good Eng¬
lish, that I found not any thing worth the remarking.
There is only one passage in this chapter, where you
make use of the phrase hinder to do instead of hinder
Reid.
junction wun j;r Jonn Gregory, ne projected a liter- maice use or me pnrase ninaer to ao instead or nmaer
ary society which continued for a number of years, and from doing, which is the English one; but I could not
4 S 2 find
Reid.
R E I [ 69
{tiiil tlie passage when I sought for it. ^ 011 may judge
how unexceptionable the whole appeared to me, when
I could remark so small a blemish.”
The impression made on the minds of speculative men
by the publication of Dr Reid’s Inquiry was as great as
could reasonably be expected from the nature of Ins un¬
dertaking. It was not level to the comprehension of
the multitude, nor even addressed to them 5 and &s it
examined opinions with the utmost freedom which had
obtained the sanction of the highest authorities, it Inu
little prospect of conciliating the favour of the learned.
Some, however, there were, who perceived the extent of
his Views, and beheld in his pages the true spirit and
language of inductive investigation, which made prose¬
lytes of many, and was, by them, warmly recommend¬
ed to the attention of others. The Inquiry of Dr Reid
was so much esteemed by the learned body of teachers
then in the university of Glasgow, that they gave him
an invitation to the vacant professorship of moral philo¬
sophy, in the year 1763. It was no doubt with a con¬
siderable degree of reluctance that he resolved to leave
Aberdeen} yet so numerous were the allurements which
Glasgow presented to a man of his extensive erudition
and deep research, that he gave it the preference. Ihat
seminary of learning could then boast of a Moor, a Sim-
son, a Black, a Leechman, the two Wilsons, father and
son, and an acute, discriminating Millar, with all of
whom he was more or less intimate, and whose fascina¬
ting conversation made him in some measure forget that
he was long acquainted with men of genius in the uni¬
versity of Aberdeen.
Dr Reid’s merit as a public teacher arose principally
from that fund of original philosophy which is characte¬
ristic of his writings ^ and from his invincible patience
and perseverance in recommending such principles as he
conceived to be of the last importance to human happi¬
ness. His style, too, was simple and perspicuous j his
character grave and possessed of authority ; and his stu¬
dents felt such an interest in the doctrines which he in¬
culcated, that he never failed to be beard with the most
profound attention.
In the year 1773 his remarks on Aristotle’s logic ap¬
peared in Lord Karnes’s Sketches of the History of
Man, of which he himself has favoured us with the fol¬
lowing account. “ In attempting to give some account
of the Analytics, and of the Topics of Aristotle, inge¬
nuity obliges me to confess, that though I have often
purposed to read the whole with care, and to under¬
stand what is intelligible, yet my courage and patience
always failed before I had done. W by should I throw
away so much time and painful attention upon a thing
of so little use? If I had lived in those ages when the
knowledge of Aristotle’s Organon entitled a man to the
highest rank in philosophy, ambition might have indu¬
ced me to employ upon it some years of painful study j
and less, I conceive, would not be sufficient. Such re¬
flections as these always got the better of my resolution
when the first ardour began to cool. All I can say is,
that I have read some part of the different books with
care, some slightly, and some perhaps not at all. I
have glanced over the whole often ; and when any thing
attracted my attention have dipped into it till my appe¬
tite was satisfied.”
But in spite of his modest declarations, it is matter of
ipubt with some, whether any of his publications does
R E I
2 1
him more honour than his perspicuous view of this com¬
plicated system. It is unquestionably superior to any
other analysis of these writings we have yet seen, an
opinion amply confirmed by the sentiments of different
literary characters who were intimately acquainted with
the works of Aristotle.
Dr Reid declined reading lectures in the university
for some years before his death j and he devoted this
period to the task of preparing for the press his great
work, which was published in two volumes 410, the first
in 1785, entitled, “ Essays on the Intellectual Powers
Reid.
of Man and the second in 1788, entitled, “ Essays
on the Active Powers of Man.” His Essay on (iuan-
tiUy, occasioned by reading a Treatise, in which Simple
and Compound Ratios are applied to Virtue and Merit,
w’as composed previous to the year I 74^> was publish¬
ed in the Philosophical Transactions of London for that
year. This paper affords some light with regard to the
progress of his speculations about this time. The In¬
quiry into the Human Mind, of which we have already
taken notice, appeared in 1 764 j and at time he was
complimented with the degree of Doctor in Divinity.
In the year 1796 (the last of his mortal existence),
he was prevailed upon to spend with his friends at Edin¬
burgh a few weeks during the summer. From that visit
he returned to Glasgow in his usual health and spirits,
and for some time continued to devote a portion of his
time to the exercise both of body and mind. About the
end of September the same year, he was seized with a
violent disorder, with which he maintained a seveie
struggle $ and this, together with repeated strokes of
the palsy, put a final period to his long and useful life
on the 7th of October, and in the 87th year of his
age.
" As to his bodily constitution, few men have been
more indebted to nature than Dr Reid. In this respect
he was athletic and vigorous, and his muscular strength
was uncommonly great j advantages which were power¬
fully seconded by his temperance, exercise, and the
unclouded serenity of his temper. Deep and collect¬
ed thought was very conspicuous in his countenance,
and all his looks were expressive of kindness and good
will.
With respect to his character, his rectitude was in¬
flexible and intiepid j his attachment to truth was pure^
and he had an entire command over all his passions,
which he acquired by the unwearied exertions of a long
life. When, therefore, he found it necessary to dispute
the conclusions of others in any of his writings, he ne¬
ver employed any expressions to irritate those whom he
was anxious to convince, and the asperity of his op¬
ponents could not provoke him to repress his spirit of li¬
berality and good-humour j for he considered the intem¬
perance with which controversy is usually carried on, as
an enemy to the progress of useful knowledge, and as
having done more harm to the practice than service to
the theory of morality. He uniformly maintained the'
dignity of philosophy in private life, and he united in
his character the most amiable modesty and gentleness,
with the noblest spirit of independence. He never soli¬
cited any favours from the great, and all his academica
or other preferments were conferred upon him by those
who were real judges of his merit, and thought he de¬
served them. To a sound, cautious, and discriminating
judgment, a singular patience and perseverance
of
T
lath
the
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cour
the
tion,
l\
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in c<
was
ring
by u
wenl
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the t
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beco
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edh
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thought,
R E I [ 69
tl.ouglit an.l fixed attention to the operations of his own
muul, he added the curiosity of a naturalist and the
J eyes ot’ aa 0|jserver, and of course his information was
accurate and extensive. His sensibility was of an ac¬
tive and lively nature, and wherever he could command
the means of relieving the distressed, he always employ¬
ed them with the utmost secrecy possible. J
His works are now in the hands of the public, and we
believe we may venture to assert, that they will always
he much esteemed, while sound sense continues to he
preferred to unintelligible jargon, sophistry, or impiety!
lie has divested metaphysics of mystery, and rendered
intelligible the most profound speculations, by the reou-
lar and constant use of words in one determined sense.
In the state^in which he found the philosophical world,
it was Dr Reid’s opinion, that his talents could not be
so usefully employed, as in combating the schemes of
those who aimed at the complete subversion of religion,
both natural and revealed. He apprehended the opera¬
tions ot his own mind with a clearness which gave to his
language a perspicuity and precision that the language
of Locke never possessed ; and in this respect he is de¬
cidedly superior to all his predecessors.
REIN deer, or Tarandus. See Cervus, Ento¬
mology Index.
REINS, in Anatomy, the same with Kidneys. See
Anvtomy Index.
Reins of a Bridle, are two long slips of leather, fas¬
tened on each side of a curb or snaffle, which the rider
holds in his hand, to keep the horse in subjection.
^ here is also what is called false veins ; which is a
lata ol leather, passed sometimes through the arch of
the banquet, to bend the horse’s neck.
REJOINDER, in Law, is the defendant’s answer
to the plaintiff’s replication or reply. Thus, in the
court of chancery, the defendant puts in an answer to
the plaintiff’s bill, which is sometimes also called an ex¬
ception ; the plaintiff’s answer to that is called a replica¬
tion, and the defendant’s answer to that a rejoinder.
REISKE, John James, a profound scholar and emi¬
nent critic, was born in 1706 at a small town in the
duchy of Anhalt in Germany. His connections, it
would appear, were in a humble situation of life j and
in consequence of the narrow circumstances in which he
was placed, he had many difficulties to struggle with du¬
ring the early part of his education. These, however,
by unabating perseverance he surmounted, and in 1733
went to Leipsic, where he remained for five years in the
ardent pursuit of his studies. Here he acquired an ex¬
tensive knowledge of the Arabic, and was engaged in
the translation of a book from that language, which
was afterwards published. With the view of prosecuting
with greater advantage the study of Arabic, which had
become with him a favourite object of pursuit, he tra¬
velled on foot to Leyden, where new difficulties attend¬
ed him. While he I’emained in Leyden he was employed
in arranging the Arabic manuscripts belonging to the
university ; and for this labour he received a very small
remuneration. During his residence here, part of his
time was occupied in the translation of various essays
from the German and French languages into Latin.
These essays afterwards appeared in the Miscellanea
Critica. About the same time also our learned author
translated into Latin the whole of the Chariton from
.5 ]
REE
the Greek ami the Geography of Abulfeda from the
Arabic.
Having spent eight years at Leyden, ReLke was dri¬
ven from this place by jealousy and calumny, which it
is said were excited against him chiefly by the younger
Rurman, in consequence of his critical strictures on the
edition of Petronius published by that author; but be¬
fore his departure from this learned seminary, he had
obtained the degree of doctor of physic, which was con¬
ferred in a manner highly to his honour. He after¬
wards visited different parts of Germany, and at last set¬
tled a second time at Leipsic, where he remained for
twelve jears. Rut although he had received the ap¬
pointment of professor of Arabic, the emoluments of his
office were so scanty, that he had yet to struggle with
all the difficulties attendant on poverty, and merely to
procure a subsistence was obliged to engage in the hum¬
bler employments of literary labour, and submit to the
severe and ill-requited drudgery of editing works for
booksellers, or contributing detached papers to periodi¬
cal publications. About this time the Acta Eruditorum
were greatly indebted to the labours of our author..
Lut in the midst of all the difficulties and hardships now
alluded to, he prepared and published a work of pro¬
found learning and great merit. This work, which ex¬
tended to five volumes, appeared under the title of Ani-
madversiones in Auctores Grcecos, and added much to
our author’s reputation.
In the year 1758, in consequence of the death of
Haltausius, he obtained a situation, whic h was not only
honourable but lucrative. This was the place of rec¬
tor of the academy of Leipsic, in which he continued
during the remainder of his life. He was now raised
above want, and being free from the difficulties and
embarrassments which had hitherto constantly attended
him, he was thus enabled in the midst of learned ease
to prosecute Ins favourite studies.
In the year 1764 Reiske married E. C. Muller, a wo¬
man of great learning, and of whom it is said that her
knowledge, especially in Greek literature, was little in¬
ferior to that of her husband. In all his literary labours
she was an useful associate ; hut the assistance which she
contributed to his great work, the edition of the Greek
Orators, was particularly valuable. Thus passed the
latter period of the life of this learned man. He died
in 1 774, possessing a very distinguished reputation as a
scholar and a critic. The number of the works which
he superintended and published is very great. The most
approved are the following. “ Remarks upon Greek
Authors.” An “ Edition of the Greek Orators,” in
12 vols. 8vo, which was completed by his widow.
Reisk£,
Ri land.
“ Dionysius Halicarnassensis,” in 7 vols. “ Plutarch’s
Works,” in 9 vols. “ Theocritus,” &c.
RELAND, Adrian, an eminent Orientalist, born
at Ryp, in North Holland, in 1676. During three
years study under Surenhusius, he made an uncommen
progress in the Hebrew, Syriac, Chaldee, and Arabic
languages, and these languages were always his fa¬
vourite study. In 1701, he was, by the recommenda¬
tion of King William, appointed professor of Oriental
languages and ecclesiastical antiquities in the university
of Utrecht, and died of the small-pox in 1718. He
was distinguished by his modesty, humanity, and learn¬
ing; and carried on a correspondence with the most
eminent
R E L
[ 694 ]
R E L
Blackst.
Comment.
eminent scholars of his time. His principal works are,
1 An excellent description of Palestine. 2. I ivc dis¬
sertations on the Medals of the ancient Hebrews, and
several other dissertations on different subjects. 3. An
Introduction to the Hebrew Grammar 4. 1 lie An¬
tiquities of tlie ancient Hebrews. 5. On the Maho¬
metan Religion. These works are all written in La-
tinRELATION, the mutual respect of two things, or
what each is with regard to the other. See Metaphy¬
sics, N° 93, &c. and 128, &c.
Relation, in Geometry. See Katio.
Relation, is also used for analogy. See Analogy
and Metaphysics.
RELATIVE, something relating to or respecting
another.
Relative, in Music. See Mode.
Relative Terms, in Logic, are words which imply
relation j such are master and servant, husband and
wife, &c.
In grammar, relative words are those which answer
to some other word foregoing, called the antecedent;
such are the relative pronouns qui, qua, quod, &c. and
in English, who, whom, which, &c. ’I he word an¬
swering to these relatives is often understood, as, “ I
know whom you mean for “ I know the person ivliom
you mean.”
RELAXATION, in Medicine, the act of loosening
or slackening or the looseness or slackness of the fibres,
nerves, muscles, 8cc.
RELAY, a supply of horses placed on the road, and
appointed to be ready for a traveller to change, in order
to make the greater expedition.
RELEASE, in Law, is a discharge or conveyance
of a man’s right in lands or tenements, to another that
hath some former estate in possession. The words ge¬
nerally used therein are “ remised, released, and for
ever quitclaimed.” And these releases may enure,
either, 1. By way of enlarging an estate, or enlarger
Vestate: as, if there be tenant for life or years, remain¬
der to another in fee, and he in remainder releases all
his right to the particular tenant and his heirs, this gives
him the estate in fee. But in this case the relessee must
he in possession of some estate, for the release to work
upon j for if there^be lessee for years, and, before he en¬
ters and is in possession, the lessor releases to him all
his right in the reversion, such release is void for want
of possession in the relessee. 2. By way of passing an
estate or mitter Vestate: as when one of two coparceners
releaseth all his right to the other, this passeth the fee-
simple of the whole. And, in both these cases, there
must be a privity of estate between the relessor and re¬
lessee ; that is, one of their estates must be so related to
the other, as to make but one and the same estate in law.
3. By way of passing a right or mitter le droit: as if a
man be disseised, and releaseth to his disseisor all his
right} hereby the disseisor acquires a new right, which
changes the quality of his estate, and renders that law¬
ful which before was tortius. 4. By way of extinguish¬
ment : as if my tenant for life makes a lease to A for
life, remainder to B and his heirs, and I release to A ;
thi» extinguishes my right to the reversion, and shall
enure to the advantage of B’s remainder as well as of
A’s particular estate 5. By way of entry and feoff¬
ment : as if there be two joint disseisors, and the dissei¬
see releases to one of them, he shall be sole seised, and
shall keep out his former companion 5 which is the same
in effect as if the disseisee had entered, and thereby put
an end to the disseisors in fee. And hereupon we may
observe, that when a man has in himself the possession
of lands, he must at the common law convey the free¬
hold by feoffment and livery : which makes a notoriety
in the country : but if a man has only a right or a fu¬
ture interest, he may convey that right or interest by a
mere release to him that is in possession of the land:
for the occupancy of the relessee is a matter of suffici¬
ent notoriety already.
RELEVANCY, in Scots Law. See Law, N°
clxxxvi. 48.
RELICS, in the Romish church, the remains of the
bodies or clothes of saints or martyrs, and the instru¬
ments by which they were put to death, devoutly pre¬
served, in honour to their memory j kissed, revered, and
carx-ied in procession.
The respect which was justly due to the martyrs and
teachers of the Christian faith, in a few ages increased
almost to adoi-ationj and at length adoration was really
paid both to departed saints and to relics of holy men or
holy things. The abuses of the church of Rome, with
respect to x-elics, are very flagrant and notorious. For
such was the rage for them at one time, that, asE. Ma-
billon a Benedictine justly complains, the altars were
loaded with suspected relics •, numerous spurious ones
being everywhexe ofl'ered to the piety and devotion of
the faithful. He adds, too, that bones are often conse¬
crated, which, so far from belonging to saints, probably
do not belong to Christians. From the catacombs nu¬
merous relics have been taken, and yet it is not known
who were the persons interred therein. In the nth
century, relics were tried by fire, and those which did
not consume were reckoned genuine, and the rest not.
Relics were, and still are, preserved on the altars where¬
on mass is celebrated 5 a square hole being made in the
middle of the altar, big enough to receive the hand, and
herein is the relic deposited, being first wrapped in red
silk, and inclosed in a leaden box.
The Romanists plead antiquity in behalf of relics:
For the Manichees, out of hatred to the flesh, which
they considered as an evil principle, refused to honour
the relics of saints j which is reckoned a kind of proof
that the Catholics did it in the first ages.
We know, indeed, that the touching of linen cloths
on x’elics, from an opinion of some extraordinary virtue
derived therefrom, was as ancient as the first ages, there
being a hole made in the coffins of the 40 martyrs at
Constantinople expressly for this,purpose. The honour¬
ing the relics of saints, on which the church of Rome
afteiwvards founded her superstitious and lucrative use
of them, as objects of devotion, as a kind of charms or
amulets, and as instruments of pretended mii’acles, ap¬
pears to have originated in a very ancient custom, that
prevailed among Christians, of assembling at the ceme¬
teries or burying-places of the martyrs, for the purpose
of commemorating them, and of performing divine woi’-
ship. When the profession of Christianity obtained the
protection of the civil government, under Constantine
the Great, stately churches were erected over their se¬
pulchres, and their names and memories were treated
with every possible token of affection and respect. Ibis
reverence, however, gradually exceeded all reasonable
boundsj
[
,’ices were
R E L
,s bounds j and those prayers and religious servi
—' thought to have a peculiar sanctity and virtue, which
were performed over their tombs. Hence tiie practice,
which afterwards obtained, of depositing relics of saints
and martyrs under the altars in all churches. This
practice rvas then thought of such importance, that St
Ambrose would not consecrate a church because it had
no relics ; and the council of Constantinople in Trullo
ordained, that those altars should be demolished under
which there were found no relics. The rage of procurino-
relics for this and other purposes of a similar nature be¬
came so excessive, that in 386 the emperor Theodosius
the Great was obliged to pass a law, forbidding the
people to dig up the bodies of the martyrs, and to traf¬
fic in their relics.
Such was the origin of that respect for sacred relics,
which afterwards was perverted into a formal worship of
them, and became the occasion of innumerable proces¬
sions, pilgrimages, and miracles, from which the church
of Rome hath derived incredible advantage.—In the end
of the ninth century, it was not sufficient to reverence
departed saints, and to confide in their intercessions and
succours, to clothe them with an imaginary power of
healing diseases, working miracles, and delivering from
all sorts of calamities and dangers ; their bones, their
clothes, the apparel and furniture they had possessed
during, their lives, the very ground which they had
touched, or in which their putrified carcases were laid,
were treated with a stupid veneration, and supposed to
retain the marvellous virtue of healing all disorders both
of body and mind, and of defending such as possessed
them against all the assaults and devices of the devil.
The consequence of all this was, that everyone was ea¬
ger to provide himself with these salutary remedies j
consequently, great numbers undertook fatiguing and
perilous voyages, and subjected themselves to all sorts of
hardships ; while others made use of this delusion to ac¬
cumulate their riches, and to impose upon the miserable
multitude by the most impious and shocking inventions.
As the demand for relics was prodigious and universal,
the clergy employed the utmost dexterity to satisfy all
demands, and were far from being nice in the methods
they used for that end. The bodies of the saints were
sought by fasting and prayer, instituted by the priest in
order to obtain a divine answer and an infallible direc¬
tion, and this pretended direction never failed to accom¬
plish their desires ; the holy carcase was always found,
and that always in consequence, as they impiously gave
out, of the suggestion and inspiration of God himself.
Each discovery of this kind was attended with excessive
demonstrations of joy, and animated the zeal of these
devout seekers to enrich the church still more and more
with this new kind of treasure. Many travelled with
this view into the eastern provinces, and frequented the
places which Christ and his disciples had honoured with
their presence, that, with the bones and other sacred re¬
mains of the first heralds of the gospel, they might com¬
fort dejected minds, calm trembling consciences, save
sinking states, and defend their inhabitants from all sorts
of calamities. Nor did these pious travellers return
home empty ; the craft, dexterity, and knavery of the
Greeks, found a rich prey in the stupid credulity of the
Latin relic-hunters, and made a profitable commerce ol
this new devotion. The latter paid considerable sums
for legs and arms, skulls and jaw-bones (several of which
695 ] BEL
were Pagan, and some not human), and other things
that were supposed to have belonged to the primitive
worthies of the Christian church ; and thus the Latin
re1™ Cam® t0 the Possessi°n of those celebrated relics
ot bt Mark, St James, St Bartholomew, Cyprian, Pan-
taleon, and others, which they show at this day with so
much ostentation. But there were many who, unable
to procure for themselves these spiritual treasures by voy¬
ages and prayers, had recourse to violence and theft;
for ail sorts ef means, and all sorts of attempts in a cause
of tins nature, were considered, when successful, as pious
and acceptable to the Supreme Being. Besides the ar¬
guments from antiquity to which the Papists refer, in
vindication of their worship of relics, of which the read¬
er may form some judgment from this article, Bellar-
mine appeals to Scripture in support of it, and cites the
following passages, viz. Exod. xiii. 9.; Dent, xxxiv. 6.;
2 Kings xiii. 21. ; 2 Kings xxiii. 16, 17, 18. ; Isaiah
xi. 10. ; Matthew xi. 20, 21, 22.; Acts v. 12—15. j
Acts xix. 11, 12. See Popery.
J he Roman Catholics in Great Britain do not ac¬
knowledge any worship to be due to relics, but merely
a high veneration and respect, by which means they
think they honour God, who, they say, lias often
wrought very extraordinary miracles by them. But,
however projier this veneration and respect may be, its
abuse has been so great and so general, as fully to war¬
rant the rejection of them altogether.
Rtlics are forbidden to be used or brought into Eng¬
land by several statutes ; and justices of peace are em¬
powered to search bouses for popish books and relics,
which, when found, are to be defaced and burnt, &c.
3 Jac. I. cap. 26.
RELIC r, in Law, the same with Widow.
RELIEF(Relevumen; but, in Domesday, Relevatio,
Relevmm), signifies a certain sum of money, which the
tenant, holding by knight’s service, grand serjeanty, or
other tenure (for which homage or legal service is due),
and being at full age at the death of his ancestor, paid
unto his lord at his entrance. See Primer.
'I hough reliefs had their original while feuds were
only life estates, yet they continued after feuds became
hereditary ; and were therefore looked upon, very just¬
ly, as one of the greatest grievances of tenure : espe¬
cially wheft, at the first, they were merely arbitrary
and at the will of the lord ; so that, if he pleased to de¬
mand an exorbitant relief, it was in effect to disinherit
the heir. The English ill brooked this consequence of
their newly adopted policy ; and therefore William the
Conqueror by bis laws ascertained the relief, by direct¬
ing (in imitation of the Danish heriots), that a certain
quantity of arms, and habiliments of war, should be paid
by the earls, barons, and vavasours respectively ; and,
if the latter had no arms, they should pay 100 shillings.
William Rufus broke through this composition, and again
demanded arbitrary uncertain reliefs, as due by the feo-
dal laws ; thereby in effect obliging every heir to new-
purchase or redeem his land : but his brother Henry I.
by the charter before mentioned, restored his father’s
law ; and ordained, that the relief to be paid should be
according to the law so established, and not an arbitrary
redemption.—But afterwards, when, by an ordinance
in 27 Hen. II. called the assise of arms, it was provided,
that every man’s armour should descend to his heir, for
defence of the realm, and it thereby became impracti¬
cable
Relics
Relief.
Relief
Religion.
R E L t
caWe to pay those acknowledgements In arms according
to the laws of the Conqueror, the composition was uni¬
versally accepted of too shillings for every knight s lee.
But it must be re
as we find it ever after established,
membered, that this relief was only then payable, it the
heir at the death of his ancestor had attained his lull
* De Na
■fura Deo
age of 21 years. . ,, .
To RELIEVE the Guard, is to put fresh men up¬
on guard, which is generally every 24 hours.
To Relieve the Trenches, is to relieve the guard ot
the trenches, by appointing those for that duty who have
been there before.
To Relieve the Sentries, is to put fresh men upon
that duty from the guard, which is generally done every
two hours, by a corporal who attends the relief, to see
that the proper orders are delivered to the soldier who
relieves*
RELIEVO, or Relief, in Sculpture, &c. is the
piojecture or standing out of a figure which arises pro¬
minent from the ground or plane on which it is formed •,
whether that figure be cut with the chisel, moulded, 01
'CaS** r. . ,
There are three kinds or degrees of relievo, viz. alto,
basso, and demi-relievo. Tdie alto-relievo, called also
haut-relief, or high-relievo, is when the figure is formed
after nature, and projects as much as the life. Basso-
relievo, bass-relief, or lovv-relievo, is when the woik is
raised a little from the ground, as in medals, and the
frontispieces ot buildings ; but particularly in the histo¬
ries, festoons, foliages, and other ornaments of friezes.
Demi-relievo is when one half of the figure rises from
the plane. When, in a basso-relievo, there are parts
that stand clear out, detached from the rest, the work is
called a demi-hasso.
In architecture, the relievo or projecture of the orna¬
ments ought always to' be proportioned to the magnitude
of the building it adorns, and to the distance at which
it is to be viewed.
Relievo, or Relief, in Painting, is the degree of
boldness with which the figures seem, at a due distance,
to stand out from the ground of the painting.
The relievo depends much upon the depth of the sha¬
dow, and the strength of the light •, or in the height of
the different colours, bordering on one another ; and
particularly on the difference of the colour of the figure
-from that of the ground } thus, when the light is so dis¬
posed as to make the nearest parts of the figure advance,
and is well diffused on the masses, yet insensibly diminish¬
ing, and terminating in a large spacious shadow, brought
off insensibly, the relievo is said to be bold, and the
clare obscure well understood.
RELIGION (Religio), is a Latin word derived,
according to Cicero *, from relegere, “ to re-consider 5”
but according to Servius and most modern grammarians,
696 ] R E L
tion which we feel on our minds from the iclation in
which we stand to some superior power. In either case,
the import of the word religion is different from that of 2
theology, as the former signifies a number of practical
duties, and the latter, a system of speculative trutlis.fr0m ^
Theology is therefore the foundation of religion, or ti eiogy.
science from which it springs-, for no man can study
what pertains to the worship of superior powers till he
believe that such powers exist, or feel any obligation on
his mind from a relation of which he knows nothing.
This idea of religion, as distinguished from theology,
comprehends the duties not only of those more refined
and complicated systems of theism or polytheism which
have prevailed among civilized and enlightened nations,
such as the polytheism of the Greeks and Romans, and
the theism of the Jews, the Mahometans, and the Chris¬
tians ^ it comprehends every sentiment of obligation
which human beings have ever conceived themselves un¬
der to superior powers, as well as all the forms of wor¬
ship which have ever been practised through the world,
however fantastic, immoral, or absurd. ^
When we turn our eyes to this feature of the human It is an ii
character, we find it peculiarly interesting. Mankind P°rtantsu»
are distinguished from the brutal tribes, and elevated toje(,'t
a higher rank, by the rational and moral faculties with
which they are endowed ; hut they are still more widely
distinguished from the inferior creation, and more high¬
ly exalted above them, by being made capable of reli¬
gious notions and religious sentiments. The slightest
knowledge of history is sufficient to inform us, that reli¬
gion has ever had a powerful influence in moulding the
sentiments and manners of men. It has sometimes dig¬
nified, and sometimes degraded, the human character.
In one region or age it has been favourable to civiliza¬
tion and refinement; in another, it has occasionally
a I
of
§ 28-
Religion
defined;
jin® cat
tx ffh
ff.
we
are
Ka
rea
Wi
the
stri
, (is®
’De
wh
or
the
der
pov
cha
wot
wh<
cramped the genius, depraved the morals, and deformed
the manners of men. The varieties of religion are in-
ram, lib. ii. from religare, “ to bind fast.'” The reason assigned by
the Roman orator for deducing religio from relego, is in
these words, “ qui autem omnia, quae ad cultum deorum
pertinerent, diligenter retractarent, et tanquam relege-
rent, sunt dicti rehgiosi ex relegendo.” The reason
given by Servius for his derivation of the word is,
“ quod mentem religio religet.” If the Ciceronian ety¬
mology be the true one, the word religion will denote
the diligent study of whatever pertains to the worship
of the gods but according to the other derivation,
which we are inclined to prefer, it denotes that obliga-
5
numerable ; and the members of every distinct sect must
view all who difl'er from them as more or less mistaken
with respect to the most important concerns of man.
Religion seems to be congenial to the heart of man 5
for wherever human society subsists, there we are cer¬
tain of finding religious opinions and sentiments. ^
It must, therefore, he an important subject of specu-Three qu«
lation to the man and the philosopher to consider thetions eon-
origin of religion to inquire, How far religion in ge-,7™;g rc
neral has a tendency to promote or to injure the order ^
and happiness of society ? and, above all, to examine,
Wbat particular religion is best calculated to produce a
happy influence on human life P
We shall endeavour to give a satisfactory answer to
each of these questions j reserving to the article Iheo-
LOGY the consideration of the dogmas of that particular
religion which, from our present inquiries, shall appear
to be true, and to have the happiest influence on human
life and manners. „ <
I. The foundation of all religion rests on the belief ofof the
the existence of one or more superior beings, who govern source or
the world, and upon whom the happiness or misery of^j.8^011
mankind ultimately depends. Of this belief, as it may0
be said to have been universal, there seem to be but
three sources that can be conceived. Either the image
of Deity must be stamped on the mind of every human
being, the savage as well as the sage ; or the founders
of societies, and other eminent persons, tracing, by the
efforts
mm
or I
iVfl
by 1
are
girt
is tl
boy
mus
or t
belt
aog
squ;
sqm
com
clus
prov
bom
supF
hoi
Rilii
mast
caus
andt
it is
natic
not 1
of si
tbeb
audit
Jure
V,
t
'5
Ij|ies not
a: from
a: itiginal
jJtpon
tl ;nind;
7
nosrom
reioning
It E L
efforts of their own reason visible effects to invisible
causes, mnst have discovered the existence of snnerior
powers, and communicated the discovery to their asso¬
ciates and followers ; or, lastly, the universal belief in
such powers, must have been derived by tradition from
0fl’the'humanera1e''0n’ COmmUnicated ‘° 0>e progenitors
One or other of these hypotheses must be true, be¬
cause a fourth cannot be framed. But We have else-
where (PoLYIHElsst, N» 2.) examined the reasoning
which has been employed to establish the first, and shewn
that it proceeds upon false notions of human nature.
Y\e should likewise pronounce it contrary to fact, could
we believe on the authority of some of its patrons, who
are not ashamed to contradict one another, that the
Kamtschatkans and other tribes, in the lowest state of
reasoning and morals, have no ideas whatever of Deity.
We proceed, therefore, to consider the second hypo¬
thesis, which is much more plausible, and will bear a
stricter scrutiny.
That the existence and many of the attributes of the
’Deity are capable of rigid demonstration, is a truth
which cannot be controverted either by the philosopher
or the Christian j for “the invisible things of Him from
the creation ot the world are clearly seen, being un¬
derstood by the things that are made, even His eternal
power and Godhead,” (see Metaphysics, Part III.
chap. vi. and Theology, N° 8, 9.). But surely it
would be rash to infer, either that every truth for which,
when it is known, the ingenuity of man can frame a de¬
monstration, is therefore discoverable by human sagacity,
01 that all the tiuths which have been discovered bv a
Newton or a Locke might therefore have been discovered
by untaught barbarians. In mathematical science there
are few demonstrations of easier comprehension than that
given by Euclid, of the theorem of which Pythagoras
is the reputed author j yet no man ever dreamed that a
boy capable of being made to understand that theorem,
must tlieiefore have sagacity equal to the sage ol Samosj
or that such a hoy, having never heard of the relation
between the hypothenu'e and other two sides of a right-
angled triangle, would be likely to discover that the
square of the former is precisely equal to the sum of the
squares of the latter. Just so it seems to be with the
fundamental truths of theology. There can hardly he
conceived a demonstration less intricate, or more coa-*
elusive, than that which the man of science employs to
prove the existence of at least one God, possessed of
boundless power and perfect wisdom. And could vve
suppose that the human race had remained without any
knowledge of God in the world, till certain lucky indi¬
viduals had by some means or other made themselves
masters of the rules of logic, and the philosophy of
causes, there can he no doubt but that these individuals
might have discovered the existence of superior powers,
and. communicated their discovery to their associates and
followers. But this supposition cannot he admitted, as
697 ] It E L
before die rules of logic, anil die pliilosopliy of causes, Religion.
were thought of by any people under heaven. 1 y—
I he supposition before us is inadmissible upon other
accounts. Some modern philosophers have fancied that
the original progenitors of mankind were left entirely to
themselves from the moment of their creation j that they
wandered about for ages without the use of speech and
in the lowest state of savagism ; but that they gradually
civilized themselves, and at last stumbled upon the con¬
trivance of making articulate sounds significant of ideas*
which was followed by the invention of arts and scien¬
ces, with all the blessings of religion and legislation in
their train. But this is a wild reverie, inconsistent with
the phenomena of human nature.
It is a well known fact, that a man blind from his
. th, an(l suddenly made to see, would not by means of
ms newly acquired sense discern either the magnitude or
figure or distance of objects, but would conceive every
thing which communicated to him visible sensations as
inseparably united to his eye or his mind (see Meta¬
physics, IS;0 49—53.). How long his sense of sight
would remain in such an imperfect state, we cannot po¬
sitively say j but from attending to the visible sensations
of infants, we are confident that weeks, if not months,
elapse before they can distinguish one thing from ano¬
ther. We have indeed been told, that Cheselden’s fa¬
mous patient, though he was at first in the state which
we have described, learned to distinguish objects by
sight in the course of a few hours, or at the most of a few
days: but admitting this to a certain extent to be true, it
may easily be accounted for. The disease called a cata*
ract does not always occasion total blindness j hut let
us suppose the eyes of this man to have been so com¬
pletely dimmed as to communicate no sensation what¬
ever upon being exposed to the rays of light ; still we
must remember that he had long possessed the power of
loco-motion and all his other senses in perfection. He
was therefore well acquainted with the real, i. e. the
tangible magnitude, figure, and distance of many ob¬
jects 5 and having been often told that the things which
he touched would, upon his acquisition of sight, com¬
municate new sensations to his mind, differing from
each other according to the distance, figure, and mag¬
nitude of the objects by which they were occasioned,
he would soon learn to infer the one from the other,
and to distinguish near objects by means of his sight.
The progenitors of the human race, however, if left
to themselves from the moment of their creation, had
not the same advantages. When they first opened
their eyes, they had neither moved, nor handled, nor
heard, nor smelled, nor tasted, nor had a single idea or
notion treasured up in their memories j but were in all
these respects in the state of new-born infants. Now,
we should lie glad to be informed by those sages who
have conducted mankind through many generations in
which they were mutnm et turpe pecus to that happy
period when they invented language, how the first men
were taught to distinguish objects by their sense of
it is contradicted by the evidence of all history. No were i<tugiu 10 msunguisii onjecis oy tneir sense ot
nation or tribe has ever been found, in which there is sight, and how they contrived to live till this most ne-
not reason to believe that some*notions were entertained cessary faculty was acquired ? It does not appear that
of superior and invisible powers, upon which depends men are like brutes, provided with a number of instincts
■   £   
the happiness or misery of mankind: and from the most
authentic records of antiquity, it is apparent that veiy
pure principles of theism prevailed in some nations long
Vol. XVII. Part II. f
which guide them blindfold and without experience to
whatever is necessary for their own preservation (see
Instinct) : On the contrary, all voyagers tell us that
, 4 T in
R E L
t 698 ]
R E L
Religion.
but from
an original
revelation.
9 .
This opi¬
nion agree¬
able to the
writings of
Moses.
The mode
of commu¬
nication
not certain
ly known.
in strange anil uninhabited countries, they dare not ven¬
ture to taste unknown fruits unless they perceive that
these fruits are eaten by the fowls of the air. . But with¬
out the aid of instinct, or of some other guide equally
to he depended upon, it is not in our power to conceive
how men dropt from the hands of their Creator, and
left from that instant wholly to themselves, could move
a single step without the most imminent danger, or
even stretch out their hands to lay hold oi that food
which we mav suppose to have been placed within
their reach. 'They could not, for many days, distin¬
guish a precipice from a plane, a rock from a pit, or a
river from the meadows through which it rolled. Ami
in such circumstances, how could they possibly exist,
till their sense of sight had acquired such perfection as
to he a sufficient guide to all their necessary motions ?
Can any consistent theist suppose that the God whose
goodness is so conspicuously displayed in all his works,
Would leave his noblest creature on earth, a creature for
whose comfort alone many other creatures seem to have
been formed, in a situation so forlorn as this, where his
immediate destruction appears to be inevitable? No!
This supposition cannot be formed, because mankind
still exist. iir
Will it then be said, that when God formed the first
men, he not only gave them organs of sensation, and
souls capable ot arriving by discipline at the exeicise of
reason, but that he also impressed upon their minds
adequate ideas and notions of every object in which
they were interested 5 brought all their organs, external
and internal, at once to their utmost possible state of per¬
fection ; taught them instantaneously the laws of reason¬
ing 5 and, in one word, stored their minds with every
branch of useful knowledge ? This is indeed our own
opinion ; and it is perfectly agreeable to what we are
taught by the Hebrew lawgiver. When God had
formed Adam and Eve, Moses does not say that he
left them to acquire by slow degrees the use of their
senses and reasoning powers, and to distinguish as they
could fruits that were salutary from those that were
poisonous. No: he placed them in a garden where
every tree but one bore fruit fit for food 5 he warned
them particularly against the fruit of that tree ; he
brought before them the various animals which roamed
through the garden ; he arranged these animals into
their proper genera and species ; and by teaching Adam
to give them names, he communicated to the first pair
the elements of language. This condescension appears
in every respect worthy of perfect benevolence; and
indeed without it the helpless man and woman could
not have lived one whole week. But it cannot be sup¬
posed, that amidst so much useful instruction the gra¬
cious Creator would neglect to communicate to his ra¬
tional creatures the knowledge of himself; to inform
them of their own origin, and the relation in which
they stood to him ; and to state in the plainest terms
the duties incumbent on them in return for so much
goodness.
In what manner all this knowledge was communica¬
ted, cannot be certainly known. It may have been in
either of the following ways conceivable by us, or in
others of which we can form no conception. God may
have miraculously stored the minds of the first pair with
adequate ideas and notions of sensible and intellectual
objects ; and then by an internal operation of his own
Spirit have enabled them to exert at once their rational Religion;
faculties so as to discover his existence and attributes,
together with the relation in which as creatures they
stood to him their Almighty Creator. Or, after ren¬
dering them capable of distinguishing objects by means
of their senses, of comparing their ideas, and understand¬
ing a language, he may have exhibited himself under
some sensible emblem, and conducted them by degrees
from one branch of knowledge to another, as a school¬
master conducts his pupils, till they were sufficiently
acquainted with every thing relating to their own hap¬
piness, and duty, as rational, moral, and religious crea¬
tures. In determining the question before us, it is of
no importance whether infinite wisdom adopted either
of these methods, or some other different from them,
both which we cannot conceive. The ordinary process
in which men acquire knowledge is, by the laws ot their
nature, extremely tedious. They cannot reason before
their minds be stored with ideas and notions ; and they
cannot acquire these but through the medium of their
senses long exercised on external objects. Ir
The progenitors of the human race, left to inform But wlie
themselves by this process, must have inevitably perished ^r^tei-
before they had acquired one distinct notion ; and it is) a ore!i
rie
pin
mu
tur
Su]
-- I- -- - . . ' . ’temal, it
the same thing with respect to the origin ot religion,w
»§ u........... -—, — ^ 0 f ,,-asequall
whether God preserved them from destruction by an a revela-
internal or external revelation. If he stored their minds bon.
at once with the rudiments of all useful knowledge, and
rendered them capable of exerting their rational facul¬
ties, so as, by tracing ellects to their causes, to discover
his being and attributes, he revealed to them as
certainly as he did afterwards to Moses, when to him he
condescended to-speak face to face. u
If this reasoning be admitted as fair and conclusive, Such a re-
and we apprehend that the principles on which it pro- velati“t(;
cecds cannot he considered as ill-founded, we have
vanced so far as to prove that mankind must have been j)anc[c(it0
originally enlightened by a revelation. But it is scarce posterity,
necessary to observe, that this revelation must have been
handed down through succeeding generations. It could
not fail to reach the era of the deluge. It is not absurd
to suppose, that he who spake from heaven to Adam,
spake also to Noah. And both the revelation which had
been handed down to the postdiluvian patriarch by tra¬
dition, and that which was communicated immediately
to himself, would be by him made known to his descen¬
dants. Thus it appears almost impossible that some part
of the religions sentiments of mankind should not have
been derived from revelation; and that not ot the reli¬
gions sentiments of one particular family or tribe, but of
almost all the nations of the earth. _ 13
This conclusion, which we have deduced by fair rea-Theautha
soiling from the benevolence of God and the nature of^G^^
man is confirmed by the authority ot the Jewish and
Christian Scriptures, which are entitled to more ini*scriptures,
plicit credit than all the other records of ancient hi*£rc.
story.
When we review the internal and external evidence
of the authenticity of these sacred books, we cannot for
a moment hesitate to receive them as the genuine ivord
of God. If we examine their internal character, they
everywhere appear to be indeed the voice of Heaven.
The creation of the wrorld—the manner in which this
globe was first peopled—the deluge which swept away
its inhabitants—the succeeding views of the state 0
eve
crifl
Ion
(lie
Bei
it,
tha
gisl
equ
mot
som
rac!
any
wer
infii
the
thei
writ
circ
ture
CLE
l
vak
five
cum
by
insp
one
and
into
divii
If
the (
perfi
off it
of I
divic
their
sent
was
bewi
must
eithe
been
>! otbei
tm
to wvr
h book:
What
•ilO
ti ""ml
that
and!
oftb
§•§ a- y„ g s ° g g-.y y .
RfL
11 E L [699
iligion. mankind 111 the next ages after the deluge—the callinn-
^ 'of Abraham—the legislation of Moses—the whole stT
nes of events which befel the Jewish nation—the pro¬
phecies—the appearance of Jesus Christ, and the pro¬
mulgation of his gospel, as explained to us in the Scrip¬
tures—form one series, which is, in the highest degree
illustrative of the power, wisdom, and goodness of the
Supreme Being.
While it must he allowed that the human mind is
ever prone to debase the sublime principles of true reli¬
gion by enthusiasm and superstition, reason and can¬
dour will not for a moment hesitate to acknowledge, that
the whole system of revelation represents the Supreme
Being in the most sublime and amiable light: that, in
it, religion appears essentially connected with morality :
that the legislative code of Moses was such as no le¬
gislator ever formed and established among a people
equally rude and uncultivated : that the manners and
morals of the Jews, vicious anti savage as they may in
some instances appear, yet merit a much higher cha¬
racter than those either of their neighbours, or of almost
any other nation, whose circumstances and character
were in other respects similar to theirs : that there is an
infinite difference between the Scripture prophecies and
the oracles and predictions which prevailed among hea¬
then nations : and that the miracles recorded in those
writings which w'e esteem sacred were attended with
circumstances which entitle them to be ranked in a very
different class from those which enthusiasm and impos¬
ture have fabricated among other nations. See Mira¬
cle and Prophecy.
But as the evidence of the divine origin of the primse-
val religion rests particularly on the authority of the first
five books of the Old Testament, it may be thought in¬
cumbent on us to support our reasoning on this subject,
by proving, that the author of those books was indeed
inspired by God. This we shall endeavour to do by
one decisive argument j for the nature of the article,
and the limits prescribed us, admit net of our entering
into a minute detail of all that has been written on the
divine legation of Moses.
If the miracles recorded in the book of Exodus, and
the other writings of the Hebrew lawgiver, were really
performed ; if the first-born of the Egyptians were all cut
off in one night, as is there related ; and if the children
of Israel passed through the Bed sea, the waters being
divided, and forming a wall on their right hand and on
their left—it must necessarily be granted, that Moses was
sent by God; because nothing less than a divine power
was sufficient to perform such wonderful works. But
he who supposes that those works were never performed,
must affirm that the books recording them were forged,
either at the era in which the miracles are said to have
been wrought, or at some subsequent era : There is no
other alternative. *
That they could not be forged at the era in which
they affirm the miracles to have been wrought, a very
few reflections will make incontrovertibly evident. These
books inform the people for whose use they were written,
that their author, after having inflicted various plagues
upon Pharaoh and his subjects, brought them, to the
number of 600,000, out of Egypt with a high hand ;
that they were led by a pillar of cloud through the day,
and by a pillar of fire through the night, to the brink
of the Red sea, where they were almost overtaken by
] R E L
the Egyptians, who had pursued them with chariots Reiiirion
and horses ; that, to make a way for their escape, Moses
stretched out his rod over the sea, which was immediate-
Jy divided, and permitted them to pass through on dry
ground, between two walls of water ; and that the E-
gyptians, pursuing and going in after them to the midst
of the sea, were all drowned by the return of the waters
to their usual state, as soon as the Hebrews arrived at
the further shore. Is it possible now that Moses or any
other man could have persuaded 600,000 persons, how¬
ever barbarous and illiterate we suppose them, that they
had been witnesses of all these wonderful works, if no
such works had been performed ? Could any art or elo¬
quence persuade all the inhabitants of Edinburgh and
Eeitn, that they had yesterday walked on dry ground
through the Frith to Kinghorn, the waters beino di¬
vided and forming a wall on their right hand and on their
left: II this question must be answered in the negative,
it is absolutely impossible that the books of Moses, sup¬
posing them to have been forged, could have been re¬
ceived by the people who were alive when those won¬
ders are said to have been wrought.
Let us now inquire, whether, if they be forgeries, - l5 ,
they could have been received as authentic at any sub-'criod.8 ^1
sequent period ; and we shall soon find this supposition
as impossible as the former. The books claiming Moses
fin tnt 11 aiunor speak of themselves as delivered by him,
and from his days kept in the ark of the covenant*; an* Deut.
ane which, upon this supposition, had no existence prior xxxi. 24—
to the forgery. They speak of themselves likewise, not27-
only as a history of miracles wrought by their author,
but as the statutes or municipal law of the nation, of
which a copy was to be always in the possession of'the
pnests, and another in that of the supreme magistrate'}', f Deut.
Now, in whatever age we suppose these Tiooks to have xvhi. 19.3
been forged, they could not possibly be received as au¬
thentic ; because no copy of them could then be found
either with the king, with the priests, or in the ark,
though, as they contain the statute law of the land, it
is not conceiveable that, if they had existed, they could
have been kept secret. Could any man, at this day,
forge a book of statutes for England or Scotland, and
make it pass upon these nations for the only book of sta¬
tutes which they had ever known ? Was there ever
since the world began a book of sham statutes, and
these, too, multifarious and burdensome, imposed upon
any people as the only statutes by which they and their
fathers had been governed for ages? Such a forgery is
evidently impossible.
But the books of Moses have internal proofs of au¬
thenticity, which no other books of ancient statutes ever
had. They not only contain the laws, but also give
an historical account of their enactment, and the reasons
upon which they were founded. Thus they tell us|, that | Gen.xvii
the rite of circumcision was instituted as a mark of the +
covenant between God and the founder of the Jewish
nation, and that the practice of it was enforced by the
declaration of the Almighty, that every uncircumcised
man-child should be cut off from his people. They in¬
form us that the annual solemnity of the passover was
instituted in commemoration of their deliverance, when
God slew, in one night, all the first-born of the Egyp¬
tians ; that the first-born of Israel, both of men and
beast, were on the same occasion dedicated for ever to
God, who took the Levites instead of the first-born of
4 E 2 the
R E L
[
the men *5 that this tribe was consecrated as priests, by
whose hands alone the sacrifices of the people were to
od. xii. ijg offered ; that it was death for any person of a difter-
Numb- ent tribe to approach the altar, or even to touch the ark
of the covenant; and that Aaron’s budding rod was
kept in the ark in memory of the wonderful destruc¬
tion of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram, for their rebellion
against the priesthood.
Is it possible now, if all these things had not been
practised among the Hebrews from the era of Moses,
with a retrospect to the signal mercies which they are
said to commemorate, that any man or body of men
could have persuaded a whole nation, by means of foi-
ged books, that they had always religiously observed
such institutions? Could it have been possible, at any pe¬
riod posterior to the Exodus, to persuade the Israelites
that they and their fathers had all been circumcised on
the eighth day from their birth, if they had been consci¬
ous themselves that they had never been circumcised at
all ? or that the passover was kept in memory of their
deliverance from Egyptian bondage, if no such festival
was known among them ?
But let us suppose that circumcision has been prac¬
tised, and all their other rites and ceremonies observed
from time immemorial, without their knowing any rea¬
son of such institutions: still it must be confessed, that
the forger of these books, if they were forged, con¬
structed his narrative in such a manner as that 110 man
of common sense could receive it as authentic. He says
it was death to touch the ark ! As such an assertion was
never heard of before, and as the ritual he was endea¬
vouring to make them esteem sacred was oppressively
multifarious 5 surely some daring spirit would have ven¬
tured to put his veracity to the test by moving the ark
and even offering sacrifices ; and such a test would at
once have exposed the imposture. The budding rod,
too, and the pot of manna, which, though long preser¬
ved, were never before heard of, must have produced
inquiries that could not fail to end in detection. These
books speak likewise of weekly sabbaths, daily sacrifices,
a yearly expiation, and monthly festivals, all to be kept
in remembrance of great things, particularly specified as
done for the nation at an early period of its existence.
If this was not the case, could the forger of the books
have persuaded the people that it really was so ? The
enlightened reasoners of this nation would be offended
were we to compare them with the ancient Israelites j
but surely they will not say that we are partial to that
people, if we bring them to a level with the most savage
tribes of the Russian empire, who profess Christianity?
Now, were a book to be forged containing an account
of many strange things done a thousand years ago in
Siberia by an Apollonius, or any other philosopher or
hero, numbers of the barbarians inhabiting that coun¬
try would, we doubt not, give implicit credit to the
legend: But were the author, in confirmation of his nar¬
rative, to affirm, that all the Siberians had from that
day to this kept sacred the first day of the week in me¬
mory of his hero j that they had all been baptized or
circumcised in his name •, that in their public judica¬
tories they had sworn by his name, and upon that very
book which they had never seen before j and that the
very same book was their law and their gospel, by which
for a thousand years back the actions of the whole people
had been regulated—surely the grossest savage among
3
oo ] R E L
them would reject with contempt and indignation a for
Relic
gery so palpable.
If this reasoning he conclusive, the books of Moses
most indubitably be authentic, and he himselt must have
been inspired by the spirit of God. But this point be¬
ing established, the question respecting the origin of the
primaeval religion is completely answered. The writer
of the book of Genesis informs us, that Adam and Noah
received many revelations from the Author of their be¬
ing, and that their religion was founded on the princi¬
ples of the purest theism. How it degenerated among
the greater part of their descendants into the grossest
idolatry, has been shown at large in another place. See
Polytheism. ^ # 17
II. Having thus answered the first question proposed Of the in
for discussion in the present article, we now proceed tofluenceol
consider the second, and to inquire whether and how far^0"0”
religious sentiments have a tendency to injure or to pro¬
mote the welfare of society ? T.his is a subject of the
utmost importance ; and if we prove successful in our in¬
quiries, we shall be enabled to determine whether the
governors of mankind ought carefully to suppoit icligi-
ous establishments, or whether the philosopher who calls
himself a citizen of the world, and professes to feel the
most eager desire to promote the interests of his species,
acts consistentlv when he labours to exterminate religion
from among men. ,
A celebrated French financier *, a man of abilities * Af. Mt-
and virtue, who has published a book on the importance
of religious opinions, labours to show that religious esta-
hlishments are indispensably necessary for the maintain-
ance of civil order, and demonstrates how weak the in¬
fluence of political institutions is on the morals of man¬
kind •, but he refuses to review the history of past agea
in order to discover bow fat religious opinions have ac¬
tually been injurious or beneficial to the welfare of so¬
ciety choosing rather to content himself with the re¬
sult of a series of metaphysical disquisitions.
We admire the spirit which induced a man who had
spent a considerable part of his life amid the hurry of
public business, to become the strenuous advocate of re¬
ligion but we cannot help thinking that, notwithstand¬
ing the eloquence, the acuteness, and the knowledge of
mankiqd which he has displayed, his refusing to admit
the evidence of facts, concerning the influence of reli¬
gion on society, may possibly be regarded by its enemies
as a tacit acknowledgment that the evidence of facts
would be unfavourable to the cause which he wishes to
defend. The fallacy of general reasonings, and the in¬
utility of metaphysics for the purposes of life, are so uni¬
versally acknowledged, that they have long been the js
theme of declamation. Though the abuses of religion, Triumph
as well as the abuses of reason, the perversion any 0naSc.
of the principles of the human mind, and the misap-COUI)toftlii
plication of the gifts of Providence, may have often8buses of
produced effects hurtful to the virtue and the happiness religion,
of mankind ; yet, after tracing religion to a divine ori¬
gin, we cannot, for a moment, allow ourselves to think
that the primary tendency of religion must be hostile
to the interest of society, or that it is necessary to view
it abstractly in order that we may not behold it in an
odious light. Often lias the sceptic attacked religion
with artful malice : but perhaps none of his attacks has
been so skilfully directed as that which has first ridi¬
culed the absurdity of the most absurd superstitions,
and
R E L [* ?
li£ion. aml Hfterwaras laboured to prove that the most absurd
p--'^tem ot polytheism is more favourable to the interests
of society than the purest and most sublime theism In¬
stances in which the abuse of religion had tended to
deprave the human heart, and had led to the most
shocking crimes, have been assiduously collected and
displayed in all the aggravating colours in which elo¬
quence could array them, till at length even the friends
of true religion have been abashed j and it has become
a fashionable opinion, that nothing but self-interest or
bigotry can prompt men to represent religion as the
friend of civil order. But let us try if, by a candid
consideration of what elFects have resulted to society
from religious principles, in general, without compar¬
ing these with regard to truth or falsehood, we can
advance any thing to vindicate the character of reli¬
gion.
Notions of Deity in general, of various orders of di¬
vinities, of their moral character, of their influence on
human life, of a future state, and of the immortality
of the human soul, constitute the leading articles of re¬
ligion. Let us view these together with the rites to
which they have given rise ; and we may perhaps be
enabled to form some well-grounded notions on this im¬
portant point.
T1 irstre- I* Having proved that the first religious principles
ligpts opi- entertained by men were derived from revelation, it is
nii en- impossible to suppose that they could produce effects in-
te» ned jurious to society. If religion of any kind has ever les-
m not sene(1 t,ie virtue °y disturbed the peace of men, it must
po lybe l,ave heen that religion which springs from a belief in
inj ousto a multitude of superior powers actuated by passions, and
woy. of whom some were conceived as benevolent and others
as malicious beings. That such sentiments should have
o produced vices unknown in societies where pure theism
Tkifect *s professed, will be readily admitted. Even the few
of eism atheists who live in Christian or Mahometan countries
are restrained by the laws, by a desire to promote the
honour of the sect, and by many other considerations,
from indulging in practices which the example of the
false gods of antiquity sanctioned in their votaries. But
in determining the present question, we must not com¬
pare the virtues of the pagan world with those of indi¬
vidual atheists in modern Europe, but with those of
wofr'oTM'professingatheism; and such nations are nowhere
to be found. We can however easily conceive, that in
a society unawed by any notions of God or a future state,
no such laws would be enacted as those which restrain
the sensual appetites ; of which the criminal indulgence
was one ot the greatest stigmas on the pagan worship of
antiquity. In such societies, therefore, those vices would
be practised constantly to which paganism gave only an
occasional sanction *, and many others, in spite of the
utmost vigilance of human laws, would be perpetrated
in secret, which the most profligate pagans viewed with
horror. Conscience, though acting with all her energy,
would not be able to command any regard to the laws
of morality : No virtue would be known ; social order
would be nowhere observed; the midnight assassin
would everywhere be found j and in the general scramble
mankind would be exterminated from the face of the
earth.
The worst species of paganism, even that which pre¬
vails among savages who worship evil spirits, affords
greater security than this. It is indeed shocking to
cm
ma jrsof
Mi IS.
01 ] R E L
think that demons should he worshipped, while deities, lulhuMu
who are regarded as being all benevolence, are treated v 
with contempt: And it has been asked, If the influence 21
of such religious sentiments on the moral practice of the wouId be
ulolaters must not naturally be, to cause them to treat Want1'
their friends aud benefactors with ingratitude, and to than that
humble themselves with mean submission be fore a power-of the
fu! enemy ? most ab-
Tbey do not appear to have produced such effects S“rd pasa*
on the morality of the savages by whom they yvere en- m
tertained. 1 be benevolent deities were neglected, only
because their benevolence was necessary. A voluntary
favour merits a grateful return : a designed injury pro¬
vokes resentment But when you become, by accident,
the instrument of any man’s good fortune, the world
will scarce consider him as owing you any obligation :
the stone which bruises your foot excites only a momen¬
tary emotion of resentment. Those gods who could
not avoid doing good to men might not receive a pro¬
fusion of thanks for their services ; and yet a favour
conferred by a human benefactor commands the warm¬
est gratitude. But those rude tribes appear to have had
so much wisdom as to confer a less absolute malice on
their malevolent deities, than the benevolence which
they attributed to their more amiable order of superior
beings : though the latter could not possibly do them
any thing but good, and that constantly j yet the for¬
mer were not under an equally indispensable necessity of
persevering in depressing them under calamities. On
their malevolent deities they conferred a freedom of
agency which they denied to the benevolent. No won¬
der., then, that they were more assiduous in paying
then com t to the one than to the other. rIhey might
with as much propriety have thought of being grate¬
ful to the boar or stag whose flesh supported them, as
to deities who were always benevolent, because they
could not possibly be otherwise. Though negligent
of such deities, this can scarce be thought to have had
any tendency to render them ungrateful to benefac-
tors like themselves. And yet, it must not be dis¬
sembled, that the American Indians, among whom
such religious sentiments have been found to prevail,
are said to be very little sensible to the emotions of gra¬
titude. An Indian receives a present without think¬
ing of making any grateful acknowledgments to the
bestower. He pleases his fancy or gratifies his appetite
with what you have given, without seeming to consider
himself as under the smallest obligation to you for the
gift.
It may he doubted, however, whether this spirit of
ingratitude originates from, or is only collateral with,
that indiflerence which refuses adoration and worship to
the benevolent divinities. If the former be actually the
case, we must acknowledge that those religious notions
which we now consider, though preferable to general
atheism, are in this respect unfriendly to virtue. But
if the Indians may be thought to owe the ingratitude
for which they are distinguished to the opinion which
they entertain of the existence of a benevolent order of
deities, whose benevolence is necessary and involuntary,
their ideas of the nature of their malevolent demons do
not appear to have produced equal effects on their mo¬
ral sentiments. However submissive to those dreaded
beings, they are far from showing the same tame and
cowardly submission to their human enemies : towards
them
R E L [ 702 ] R E L
Ke!i<>ion. them they seem rather to adopt the sentiments of their
^—v ' demons. Inveterate rancour and brutal fury, inhuman
cruelty and inconceiveable cunning, are displayed in the
hostilities of tribes at war 5 and we know not, alter all,
if even these sentiments do not owe somewhat of their
force to the influence of religion.
Yet let us remember that these same Indians have
not been always represented in so unamiable a light j or,
at least, other qualities have been ascribed to them
which seem to be inconsistent with those barbarous dis¬
positions. They have been described as peculiarly sus¬
ceptible of conjugal and parental love j and he who is
21 so cannot be destitute of virtue.
The influ- 2. But leaving the religion ol: savages, of which very
cnce of little is known with certainty, let us proceed to examine
Kom^po- what is the natural influence of that mixed system of
]ytheism theology which represents to the imagination of men a
number of superior and inferior divinities, actuated by
the same passions and feelings with themselves, and often
making use of their superior power and knowledge for
no other purpose but to enable them to violate the laws
of moral order with impunity. This is the celebrated
polytheism of the Greeks and Homans, and most other
nations of antiquity (see Polytheism). Could its in-
22 fluence be favourable to virtue ?
apparently At a first view every person will readily declare, that
friendly to gud, a system must have been friendly to profligacy. If
profligacy; y0U comrnit the government of the universe, and the
inspection of human society, to a set of beings who are
often disposed to regard vice with a no less favourable
eye than virtue, and who, though there he an establish¬
ed order by which virtue is discriminated from vice, and
right from wrong, yet scruple not to violate that order
in their own conduct j you cannot expect them to require
in you a degree of rectitude of which they themselves
appear incapable. A Mercury will not discourage the
thievish arts of the trader; a Bacchus and a Venus can¬
not frown upon debauchery ; Mars will behold with sa¬
vage delight all the cruelties of war. The Thracians
O D . .
indeed, one of the most barbarous nations of antiquity,
whose ferocity was little if at all inferior to that of the
Indians who have been distinguished as cannibals, was
the favourite nation of Mars ; among whom stood his
palace, to which lie repaired when about to mount his
chariot, and arm himself for battle. Even Jupite r, who
had been guilty of so many acts of tyrannical caprice,
had been engaged in such a multitude of amorous in¬
trigues, and seemed to owe his elevated station as mo¬
narch of the sky, not to superior goodness or wisdom,
but merely to a superior degree of brutal force, could
not be feared as the avenger of crimes, or revered as the
impartial rewarder of virtues.
That this system had a pernicious effect on morals,
and that, as compared with pure theism, it was injuri-
23 ous to society, cannot be denied ; hut yet, when con-
but when trasted with atheism, it wras not without its favourable
e^ec^8* It was 80 connected with the order of society,
theism its that, without its support, that order could scarce have
effects were been maintained. The young rake might perhaps ju-
favourable: stify himself by the example of Jupiter, or Apollo, or
some other amorous divinity ; the frail virgin or matron
might complain of Cupid, or boast of imitating Venus ;
and the thief might practise his craft under the patron¬
age of Mercury: But if we take the whole system
together, if we consider with what views those deities
were publicly worshipped, what temples were raised, Reli^o,,
what rites instituted, what sacrifices ofl’ered, and what1—y-*,
ferice consecrated ; we shall perhaps find it necessary to
acknowledge that the general effects even of that mixed
and incoherent system of polytheism which prevailed
among the Greeks and Romans were favourable to so¬
ciety. To state a particular instance 3 the ancilia of
Mars and the fire of A esta were thought to secure the
perpetuity of the Roman empire. As long as the sa¬
cred ancile, which had been dropped from heaven for
that benevolent purpose, was safely preserved in those
holy archives in which it had been deposited ; and as
long as the sacred fire of Vesta was kept burning, with¬
out being once extinguished, or at least suffered to
remain for an instant in that state j so long was Rome
to subsist and flourish. And, however, simple and ab¬
surd the idea which connected the prosperity of a na¬
tion with the preservation uf a piece ot(wood in a cer¬
tain place, or with the constant blazing of a fiame upon
an hearth : yet no fact can be more certain, than that
the patriotism and enthusiastic valour of the Romans,
which we so much extol and admire, were, in many in¬
stances, owing in no inconsiderable degree to the vene¬
ration which they entertained for the ancilia and the
vestal fire.
A numerous series of facts occur in the Roman hi-asispro-
stoiy, which show the happy eflects of their religious ved by a
opinions and ceremonies on their sentiments concerning "|!s
social order and the public welfare. How powerful )atts &c
was the influence of the sacramentum administered to
the soldiers when they enlisted in the service of their
country ? The promises made, the idea of the powers
invoked, and the rites performed on that occasion, pro¬
duced so deep and so awful an impression on their minds,
that no danger, nor distress, nor discontent, could
prompt them to violate their engagements. The re¬
sponses of the oracles, too, though the dictates of de¬
ceit and imposture, were often of singular service to
those to whom they were uttered j when they inspired
the warrior, as he marched out to battle, with the con¬
fidence of success, they communicated to him new vi¬
gour, and more heroic valour, by which he was actu¬
ally enabled to gain, or at least to deserve, the success
which they promised. Again, when in times of pub¬
lic distress, the augur and the priest directed some games
to be celebrated, certain sacrifices to be offered, or some
other solemnities to be performed, in order to appease
the wrath of the offended deities 5 it is plain that the
means were not at all suited to accomplish the end pro¬
posed by them j yet still they were highly beneficial.
When the attention of the whole people was turned en¬
tirely to those solemnities by which the wrath of hea¬
ven was to be averted, they were roused from that de¬
spondency under which the sense of the public distress
or danger might have otherwise caused them to sink:
the public union was at the same time more closely ce¬
mented, and the hearts of the people knit together 5
and when persuaded, that by propitiating the gods they
had removed the cause of their distress, they acquired
such calmness and strength of mind as enabled them to
take more direct and proper measures for the safety of
the state.
Could we view the ancient Greeks and Romans acting
in public or in private life under the influence of that
system of superstition which prevailed among them;
could
Ltoi' cm
nia
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tific
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R E L
-%i°n ; could we perceive how much it contributed to the
' maintenance ot civil order ; could we behold Numa and
Lycurgus establishing their laws, which would other
ryise have met w.th a very different reception, under
the sanction of divinities 5 could we observe all the be¬
neficial effects which arose to communities from the ce-
lebration of religious ceremonies, we should no longer
hesitate to acknowledge, that those principles in the hu¬
man heart by which we are susceptible of religious sen¬
timents, are so eminently calculated to promote the hap¬
piness of mankind, that even when perverted and abu¬
sed, their influence is still favourable.
T / no- The itleas w,lich P^ailed among the nations of the
ti of a heathen woikl concerning a future state of retribution
ft : state were, it must be confessed, not very correct. Some of
oi libu- the poets, we believe, have represented them in no un-
tr moor- faJr light: both Homer and Virgil have conducted their
heroes through the realms ofPluto, and have taken oc¬
casion to unfold to us the secrets of those dreary abodes.
The scenes are wild and fanciful; the rewards of the
just and virtuous are of no very refined or dignified na¬
ture : and of the punishments inflicted on the guilty, it
is often hard to say for what ends they could be in¬
flicted j whether to correct and improve, or fer the gra¬
tification of revenge or whim : they are often so whim¬
sical and unsuitable, that they cannot with any degree
f 7°3 ]
R E L
cerning a future state were exceedingly distinct; they RdMon.
were not vague or general, but such as might be readi- v—
ly conceived by the imagination, in all their circum¬
stances, as really existing. When a man is told that
for such a deed he will be put to death, be may shud¬
der and be alarmed, and think of the deed as what he
must by no means commit 5 but place before him the
scene and the apparatus for his execution, call him to
behold some other criminal mounting the scaffold, ad¬
dressing his last words in a wild scream of despair to
the surrounding spectators, and then launching into
eternity—his horror of the crime, and his dread of the
punishment, will now be much more powerfully excited.
In the same manner, to encourage the soldier marching
out to battle, or the mariner setting sail under the pr©!
spect of a storm, promise not, merely in general terms,
a liberal reward ; he sure to specify the nature of the’
reward which you mean to bestow 5 describe it so as that
it may take hold on the imagination, and may rise in
opposition to the images of death and danger with which
his courage is to he assailed.
If these phenomena of the human mind are fairly
stated, il it be true that general ideas produce no very
powerful effects on the sentiments and dispositions of
the human heart, it must then be granted, that though
the scenes ot future reward and punishment, which the
n ... -I 1 . , ;,T svruca ui luiure reward anu punishment, which the
of propriety be ascnhed to any cause but bhmf chance, heathens considered as prepared for the righteous and
nr wanton ranrirn. A t rlrwr vintU   - • i i *• . .
or wanton caprice. A great dog with three tongues,
a peevish old boatman with a leaky ferry boat^ de¬
manding his freight in a surly tone, and an uxorious
monarch, are objects too familiar and ludicrous not to
degrade the dignity of those awful scenes which are
represented as the mansions of the dead, and to prevent
them from making a deep enough impression on the
imagination. The actions and qualities too, for which
departed spirits were admitted into Elysium, or doom¬
ed to the regions of suffering, were Hot always of such
a nature as under a well-regulated government on earth
would have been thought to merit reward, or to be
worthy of punishment. It was not always virtue or
wisdom which conducted to the Elysian fields, or gain¬
ed admission into the society of the immortal gods.—
Ganimede was for a very different reason promoted’to
be the cup-hearer of Jove; and Hercules and Bacchus
could not surely plead that any merits of that kind en¬
titled them to seats in the council, and at the banquets
of the immortals. That doctrine, likewise, which re¬
presented mortals as hurried by fate to the commission
of crimes, which they could no more abstain from com¬
mitting than the sword can avoid to obey the impulse
ot a powerful and furious arm plunging it into the breast
of an unresisting antagonist, could not but produce ef¬
fects unfavourable to virtue ; and it afforded a ready ex¬
cuse for the most extravagant crimes.
Yet, after all, he who attentively considers the ideas
„„ , of the Greeks and Homans concerning the moral !K>-
virtu; ud vernment of the world and a future state of rewards and
fflorau-- punishments, will probably acknowledge, that their ge-
^er‘I neral influence must have been favourable to virtue and
moral order. Allow them to have been incorrect and
dashed with absurdity ; still they represent punishments
prepared for such qualities and actions as were injurious
to the welfare of society; whilst, for those qualitieswbich
rendered men eminently useful in the world, they hold
forth a reward. Though incorrect, their ideas con-
tot iker-
thelifa-
the 'wicked, were of a somewhat motley complexion ;
yet still, as they were distinct and even minute draughts,
they must have been favourable to virtue, and contribu¬
ted in no inconsiderable degree to the support of civil
order.
Another thing of which we may take notice under The notion
this head, is the vast multiplicity of deities with which deities,
the Greek and Roman mythology peopled all the re-peopling
gions of nature. Flocks and fields, and woods arid of
oaks and flowers, and many much more minute objects, tendency
had all their guardian deities. These were somewhatw^encom_
capricious at times, it is true, and expected to have at.Pai‘£dwith.
tention paid them. But yet the faithful shepherd,at]ieiSn1’
and the industrious farmer, knew generally how to
acquire their friendship; and in the idea of deities en¬
joying the same simple pleasures, partaking in the same
labours, protecting their possessions, and bringing for¬
ward the fruits of the year, there could not but be some¬
thing of a very pleasing nature, highly favourable to
industry, which would animate the labours, and cheer
the festivals, of the good people who entertained such
a notion : nay, would diffuse a new' charm over all the
scenes of the country, even in the gayest months of the
year.
From all of these particular observations, we think
ourselves warranted to conclude, that notwithstanding
the mixed characters of the deities who were adored by
the celebrated nations of antiquity ; though they are in
many instances represented as conspicuous for vices 311(1
frolics ; however vain, absurd, and morally criminal,
some of the rites by which they were worshipped may
have been, and however, incorrect the notions of the
heathens concerning the moral government of the uni¬
verse and a future state of retribution ; yet still, after
making a just allowance for all these imperfections, the
general influence of their religious system was rather
favourable than unfavourable to virtue and to the order
and happiness of society.
U
ft E L
[ 764 1
ft E L
Religion.
on the
sis of reli¬
gion.
It was not without good reason that the earliest legis¬
lators generally endeavoured to establish their laws and
sS constitutions on the basis of religion ; government needs
The advan-tjie supp0Vt Gf opinion 5 the governed must be im-
tafneh£himpressed with a belief that the particular establishment
taw. See. to which they are required to submit, is the best calcu-
on the ba, lated for their security and happiness, or is supported
on some such solid foundation, that it must prove im¬
possible for them to overturn it, or is connected with
some awful sanction, which it would be the most hei¬
nous impiety to oppose. Of these several notions, the
last will ever operate on most men with the most steady
influence. We are frequently blind to our own interest;
even when eager for the attainment of happiness, we often
refuse to take the wisest measures for that end. The
great bulk of the people in every community are so lit¬
tle capable of reasoning and foresight, that the public
minister who shall most, steadily direct his views to the
public good will often be the most unpopular. Those
laws, and that system of government, which are the
most beneficial, will often excite the strongest popular
discontents. Again, it is not always easy to persuade
people that your power is superior to theirs, when it is
not really so. No one man will ever be able to persuade
a thousand that he is stronger than they all together :
and therefore, in order to persuade one part of his sub¬
jects or army that it is absolutely necessary for them to
submit to him, because any attempts to resist his power
would prove ineffectual, a monarch or general must take
care first to persuade another part that it is for their in¬
terest to submit to him j or to impress the whole with a
belief that, weak and pitiful as he himself may appear,
when viewed singly in opposition to them all, yet by the
assistance of some awful invisible beings his friends and
protectors, he is so powerful, that any attempts to re¬
sist his authority must prove presumptuous folly. Here,
then, the aid of religion becomes requisite. Religious
sentiments are the most happily calculated to serve this
purpose. Scarce ever was there a society formed, a
mode of government established, or a code of laws
framed and enacted, without having the religious senti¬
ments of mankind, their notions of the existence of su¬
perior invisible beings, and their hopes and fears from
those beings, as its fundamental principle. Now, we
believe, it is almost universally agreed, that even the
rudest form of society is more favourable to the happi¬
ness of mankind, and the dignity of the human charac¬
ter, than a solitary and savage state. And if this, with
what we have asserted concerning religion as the basis
of civil government, Ire both granted, it will follow,
that even the most imperfect religious notions, the most
foolish and absurd rites, and the wildest ideas that have
been entertained concerning the moral government of
the universe by superior beings, and a future state of
retribution, have been more advantageous than atheism
to the happiness and virtue of human life. We have al¬
ready granted, nor can it be denied, indeed, that many
of the religious opinions which prevailed among the an¬
cient-heathens, did contribute, in some degree, to the
depravation of their morals : and all that we argue for
is, that on a comparative vietv of the evil and the good
which resulted from them, the latter must appear more
than adequate to counterbalance the effects of the
former.
But if such be the natural tendency of those princi- Religior
pies by which the human heart is made susceptible of v—.
religious sentiments, that even the enthusiasm and absurd 2_9
superstition are productive of beneficial effects more than
sufficient to counterbalance whatever is malignant in0fapUrcf
their influence on society—surely a pure rational reli-rational,
gion, the doctrines of which are founded in undeniable ftI1d true
truth, and all the observances which it enjoins ealeu-m'£>on-
lated to promote by their direct and immediate effects
some useful purposes, must be in a very high degree
conducive to the dignity and the happiness of human
nature. Indeed one collateral proof of the truth of
any religion, which must have very considerable weight
with all who are not of opinion that the system of the
universe has been produced and hitherto maintained in
order and existence by blind chance, will be its having
a stronger and more direct tendency than others to pro¬
mote the interests of moral virtue and the happiness of
mankind in the present life. Even the testimony of
thousands, even miracles, prophecies, and the sanction
of remote antiquity, will scarce have sufficient weight
to persuade us, that a religion is of divine origin, if its
general tendency appear to be rather unfavourable than
advantageous to moral virtue. 3°
III. We shall therefore, in the next place, endea-romPara-
vour to determine, from a comparative view of the ef-^^1'”
fects produced on the character and circumstances of^cts of
society by the most eminent of these various systems of different
religion which have been in different ages or in differ-re*igf(,BS
ent countries established in the world, how far anys-'8lenh'
one of them has in this respect the advantage over the
rest} and, if the utility of a system of religion were to
be received as a test of its truth, what particular system
might, with the best reason, be received as true, while
the rest were rejected.
1st, The principle upon which we here set out is,
that all, or almost all, systems of religion with which we
are acquainted, whether true or false, contribute more
or less to the welfare of society. But as one field is
more1 fruitful, and one garden less overgrown with
weeds than another j so, in the same manner, one sys¬
tem of religious opinions and ceremonies may be more
happily calculated than others to promote the truest in- 31
terests of mankind. In opposition to those philosophers Advantag
who are so vehement in their declamations against the|,^‘'‘1®|
inequality of ranks, we have ever been of opinion,
that refinement and civilization contribute to the hap¬
piness of human life. The character of the solitary sa¬
vage is, we are told, more dignified and respectable
than that of the philosopher and the hero, in pro¬
portion as he is more independent. He is indeed
more independent but his independence is that of
a stone, which receives no nourishment from the
earth or air, and communicates none to animals or
vegetables around it. In point of happiness, and in
point of respectability, we cannot hesitate a moment,
let philosophers say what they will, to prefer a virtu¬
ous, enlightened, and polished Briton, to any of the
rudest savages, the least acquainted with the restraints
and the sympathies of social life, that wander through^
the wild forests of the western world. But if we pre-)ol.e0f
fer civilization to barbarism, we must admit, than in (jhristia-
this view Christianity has the advantage over every nity.
other religious system which has in any age or country
prevailed
R E L
:IigJon.
prevailed among men ; for nowhere has civilization and
Chrt im,?06 C ‘0 ,l,ch a lleig'>t as among
t 7°5 ]
R E L
'
I
r It is not, indeed, in any considerable degree that the
r* absur.d suPf>-st.tidns of those rude tribes, who can scarce
of be said to be formed «nto any regular society, can con-
ia. tribute to their happiness. Among them the faculty
of reason is but m a very low state ; and the moral prin¬
ciple usually follows the improvement or the depression
of the reasoning faculty. Their appetites and merely
animal passions are almost their only principles of ac¬
tion : their first religious notions, if we suppose them
not to be derived from revelation or tradition, are pro¬
duced by the operation of gratitude, or grief or hope
or fear upon their imaginations. And to these, however
Wild and fanciful, it is not improbable that they may
owe some of their earliest moral notions. The idea of
superior powers naturally b ads to the thought that
those power-, have some influence on human life. From
this they will most probably proceed to fancy one set
of actions agreeable, another offensive, to those heines
to whom they believe themselves subject And this,
perhaps, is the first distinction that savages can be sup¬
posed to form between aetions, as right or wrong, to
be performed or to be avoided. But if this be the
case, we must aeknowledye, that the religious notions
of the savage, however absurd, contribute to elevate
his character, and to improve his happiness, when
they call forth the moral principle implanted in his
breast.
But if the social state be preferable to a state of wild
and solitary independence, even the rude superstitions
of unenlightened tribes of savages are in another respect
beneficial to those among whom they prevail. They
■usually form, as has been already observed under this
article, the basis of civil order. IWivious opinions
may lead the great body of the community to reve¬
rence some particular set of institutions, some indivi¬
dual, or some family, which are represent! d to them as
peculiarly connected with the gods whom they adore.
Under this sanction some form of government is esta¬
blished } they are taught to perform social duties, and
rendered capable of social enjoyments. Not only Nu-
ma and Lycursms, but almost every legislator who has
sought to civilize a rude people, and reduce them un¬
der the restraints of legal government, have endeavour¬
ed to impress their people with an idea that they acted
with the approbation, and under the immediate direc¬
tion of superior powers. We cannot but allow that
the rude superstitions of early ages are productive of
these advantages to society 5 hut we have already ac¬
knowledged, and it cannot be denied, that they are al¬
so attended with many unhappy effects. When we
view the absurdities intermixed with the systems of re¬
ligion which prevailed among most of the nations of
antiquity, we cannot help lamenting that so n \ble a
principle of human nature as our religious sentiments
should be liable to such gross perversion ; and when we
view the effects which they produce on the morals of
mankind, and the forms of society, though we al'ow
them to have been upon the whole rather beneficial than
hurtful, yet we cannot hut observe, that their unfavour¬
able effects are by far more numerous than if they had
been better directed. What unhappy effects, for instance,
have been produced by false notions concerning tl e
Vol. XVII. Part II. f
condition of human souls in a future state. Various na¬
tions have imagined that the scenes and objects of the
world of spirit-, are only a shadowy representation of
the things of the present world. Not only the souls
, me".’ .^cording to them, inhabit those regions j all
t h in enor animals and vegetables, and even inanimate
bodies that are killed 01 destroyed Ik re, are supposed
to pass into that visionary world ; and, existing there
in unsubstantial forms, to execute the same functions
or serve the same purposes, as on earth. Such are the
ideas of futurity that were entertained by the inhabi¬
tants of Gum. a And by these ideas they were indu¬
ced, when a king or great man died among them, to
provide for Ins comfortable accommodation in the world
of spirits by burying with him meat and drink for his
subsistence, slaves to attend and serve him, and wives
unth whom he might still enjoy the pleasures of love.
Jiis faithful subjects vied with each other in offering,
one a servant, another a wife, a third a son or daugh-
tei, to be sent to the other world in company wuh the
monarch, that they might there he employed in his
service. In New Spain, in the island of Java, in the
kingdom of Benin, and among the inhabitants of Jn-
dostan, similar practices on the same occasion, owing
no doubt to similar notions of futurity, have been pre¬
valent. But such practices as these cannot he viewed
with greater contempt on account of the opinions
which have given ri-e to them, than horror 01 account
of their unhappy effects on the condition of those
among whom they prevail. A lively impression of the
enjoyments to lie obtained in a future state, together
with some very false or incorrect notions concerning
the qualities or actions which were to entitle the de¬
parting ^0ul to admission into the scene of those enjoy¬
ments, is said to have produced equally unhappy ef¬
fects amoni) the Japanese. T hey not only bribe their
priests to solicit for th< m j but looking upon the enjs yr-
ments of the present life with disgust or contempt, they
used to dash themselves from precipices, or cut tlieir
thioats, in order to get to paradise as soon as possible.
Various other superstitions subsisting among rude na-
tiuns might here be enumerated, as instances of the
perversion of the religious principles of the human
heart, which render them injurious to virtue and hap¬
piness. The austerities which have been practised,
chiefly among rude nations, as means of propitiating
superior powers, are especially worthy of notice.-—
When the favourite idol of the Banians is carried in
solemn procession, some devotees prostrate themselves
on the ground, that the chariot in which the idol is
carried may run over them 5 others, with equal enthu¬
siasm, dash themselves on spikes fastened on purpose to
the car. Innumerable are the ways of torture which
have been invented and practised on themselves bv men
ignorantly striving to recommend themselves to the fa¬
vour of heaven. I hese we lament as instances in which
religious sentiments have been so ill directed by the in¬
fluence of imagination, and unenlightened erring rea¬
son, as to produce unfavourable cflects on the human
character, and oppose the happiness of social life  
Though we have argued, that even the most absurd sy¬
stems of religion that have prevailed in the world, have
been upon the whole rather beneficial than injurious to
the dignity and happiness of human nature j yet if it
shall not appear, as we procei el farther m our conipara-
4 U tive
Rdigeou.
R E L
[ 7°6 ]
R E L
tive view of the effects of religion on society, that others
have been attended with happier effects than these su¬
perstitions which belong to the rude ages of society,
we may scarce venture to brand the inlidel with the ap¬
pellation of/oo/, for refusing to give his assent to reli¬
gious doctrines, or to act under their influence.
2d, The polytheism ol the Greeks and Homans, and
other heathen nations in a similar state of civilization,
we have already considered as being, upon the whole,
rather favourable than unfavourable to virtue 5 but
we must not partially conceal its defects. The vici¬
ous characters of the deities which they worshipped,
the incorrect notions which they entertained concern¬
ing the moral government of the universe and a future
retribution, the absurdity of their rites and ceremonies,
and the criminal practices which were intermixed with
them, must have altogether had a tendency to pervert
both the reasoning and the moral principles ol the hu¬
man mind. The debaucheries ot the monarch of the
gods, and the fidelity with which his example in that
respect was followed by the whole crowd of the inferior
deities, did, we know, dispose the devout heathen, when
he felt the same passions which had asserted their power
over the gods, to gratify them without scruple. It is
a truth, however, and we will not attempt to deny or
conceal it, that the genius of the polytheism of the
Greeks and Romans was friendly to the arts; to such
of them especially as are raised to excellence by the vi¬
gorous exertion of a fine imagination j music, poetiy,
sculpture, architecture, and painting, all of these arts
appear to have been considerably indebted tor that per¬
fection, to which they attained, especially among the
Greeks, to the splendid and tanciful system of mytholo¬
gy which was received among that ingenious people.
But we cannot give an equally favourable account of
its influence on the sciences. There was little in that
system that could contribute to call forth reason. \\e
may grant indeed, that if reason can be so shocked with
absurdity as to be roused to a more vigorous exertion
of her powers, and a more determined assertion of her
rights in consequence of surveying it; in that case, this
system of mythology might be favourable to the exer¬
cise and improvement of reason ; not otherwise.
The connection of paganism with morality was too
imperfect for it to produce any very important effects
on the morals of its votaries. Sacrifices and prayers,
and temples and festivals, not purity of heart and in¬
tegrity of life, were the means prescribed for propitia-
ating the favour of the deities adored by the Pagans.
There were other means, too, besides true heroism and
patriotism, of gaining admission into the Elysian fields,
or obtaining a seat in the council of the gods. Xeno¬
phon, in one of the most beautiful parts of his Memoirs
of Socrates, represents Hercules wooed by Virtue and
Pleasure in two fair female forms, and deliberating
with much anxiety which of the two he should prefer.
But this is the fiction of a philosopher desirous to im¬
prove the fables of antiquity in such a way as to render
them truly useful. Hercules does not appear, from the
tales which are told us of his adventures, to have been
at any such pains in choosing his way of life. He was
received into the palace of Jove, without having occa¬
sion to plead that he had through life been the faithful
follower of that goddess to whom the philosopher makes
him give the preference ; his being the son of Jove, and
his wild adventures, were sufficient without any other
merits to gain him that honour. The same may be said
concerning many of the other demi-gods and heroes
who were advanced to heaven, or conveyed to the bliss¬
ful fields of Elysium. And whatever might be the
good effects of the religion of Greece and Rome in ge¬
neral upon the civil and political establishments, and
in some few instances on the manners of the people.
Rcligioa.
yet still it must be acknowledged to have been but ill
calculated to impress the heart with such principles as
might in all circumstances direct to a firm, uniform te¬
nor of virtuous conduct.
But after what has been said on the character of
this religion elsewhere (see Polytheism), and in the
second part of this article, we cannot without repeti¬
tion enlarge farther on it here. Of the Jewish reli¬
gion, however, we have as yet said little, having on
purpose reserved to this place whatever we mean to in¬
troduce under the article, concerning its influence on
society. _ #
3d, When we take a general view of the circum-view of
stances in which the Jewish religion was established, the Judaism,
effects which it produced on the character and fortune
of the nation, the rites and ceremonies which it enjoin¬
ed, and the singular political institutions to which it
gave a sanction, it may perhaps appear hard to deter¬
mine, whether it were upon the whole more or less be¬
neficial to society than the polytheism of the Egyp¬
tians, Greeks, and Romans. But if such be the judge¬
ment which preconceived prejudices, or a hasty and
careless view, have induced some to form of this celebra¬
ted system \ there are others who, with equal keenness,
and sounder reasoning, maintain, that it was happily
calculated, not only to accomplish the great design of
preparing the way for the promulgation of the Gospel,
but likewise to render the Jews a more refined and vir¬
tuous people, and a better regulated community, than
any neighbouring nation. In the first place, the attri¬
butes of the Deity were very clearly exhibited to the
Jews in the establishment of their religion. The mi¬
racles by which he delivered them from servitude, and
conducted them out of Egypt, were striking demon¬
strations of his power; that condescension with which
he forgave their repeated acts of perverseness and rebel¬
lion, was a most convincing proof of his benevolence j
and the impartiality rvith which the observance and the
violation of his laws were rewarded and punished, even
in the present life, might well convince them of his
justice. A part of the laws which he dictated to Mo¬
ses are of eternal and universal obligation ; others of
them were local and particular, suited to the character
of the Jews, and their circumstances in the land of Ca¬
naan. The Jewish code, taken altogether, is not to be
considered as a complete system of religion, or laws cal¬
culated for all countries and all ages of society. Mhen
we consider the expediency of this system, we must take
care not to overlook the design for which the Jews are
said to have been separated from other nations, the cir¬
cumstances in which they had lived in Egypt, the cu¬
stoms and manners which they had contracted by their
intercourse with the natives of that country, the man¬
ner in which they were to acquire to themselves settle¬
ments by extirpating the nations of Canaan, the rank
which they were to hold among the nations of Syria
and the adjacent countries, together with the difficulty
R £ L
li'-irm
35
t; >ab-
j,
,6
»«< ther
f«si ill.
of restraining a people so little civilized and enlighten¬
ed from the idolatrous worship which prevailed among
their neighbours : All these circumstances were cei?
tainly to be taken into account j and had the legislator
of the Jews not attended to them, his institutions must
have remained in force only for a short period j nor
could they have produced any lasting effects on the
character of the nation. With a due attention to these
circumstances, let us descend to an examination of par¬
ticulars.
Although in every religion or superstition that has
prevailed through the world, we find one part of its in¬
stitutions to consist in the enjoining of certain festivals
to be celebrated by relaxation from labour, and the per¬
formance of certain ceremonies in honour of the gods ;
yet in none, or almost none besides the Jewish, do we
ffnd every seventh day ordained to be regularly kept
holy. One great end which the legislator of the Jews
had in view in the institution of the Sabbath was, to im¬
press them with a belief that God was the maker of the
universe. In the early ages of the world a great part
of mankind imagined the stars, the sun, the moon, and
the other planets, to be eternal, and consequently ob¬
jects highly worthy of adoration. To convince the Is¬
raelites of the absurdity of this belief, and prevent them
from adopting that idolatry, Moses taught them, that
those conspicuous objects which the Gentile nations re¬
garded as eternal, and endowed with divine power and
intelligence, were created by the hand of God ; who,
after bringing all things out of nothing, and giving
them form, order, and harmony, in the space of six
days, rested on the seventh from all his works. Vari¬
ous passages in the Old Testament concur to show,
that this was one great end of the institution of the
Sabbath. The observance of the Sabbath, and detesta¬
tion of idolatrous worship, are frequently inculcated to-
getherj and, again, the breach of the Sabbath, and the
worship of idols, are usually reprobated at the same
time. Another good reason for the institution of a
Sabbath might be, to remind the Jews of their delive¬
rance from bondage, to inspire them with humanity to
strangers and domestics, and to mitigate the rigours of
servitude.
The purposes for which the other festivals of the
Jewish religion were instituted appear also of sufficient
importance. The great miracle, which, after a series
of other miracles, all directed to the same end, finally
effected the deliverance of the Jews out of Egypt, and
their actual departure from that land of servitude, might
well be commemorated in the feast of the passover. To
recal to the minds of posterity the history of their an¬
cestors, to impress them with an awful and grateful sense
of the goodness and greatness of God, and to make
them think of the purposes for which his almighty
power had been so signally exerted, were surely good
reasons for the institution of such a festival. The feast
of Pentecost celebrated the first declaration of the Jaw
by Moses, in the space of fifty days after the feast of
the passover. It served also as a day of solemn thanks¬
giving for the blessings of a plenteous harvest. On the
feast of tabernacles, they remembered the wanderings of
their ancestors through the wilderness, and expressed
their gratitude to heaven for the more comfortable cir¬
cumstances in which they found themselves placed.
The feast of new moons served to fix their kalendar, and
t 707 ]
It E L
determine the times at which the other festivals were Religion,
to be celebrated; on it trumpets were sounded, to give s—y-—»
public notice ol the event which was the cause of the
iestival ; no servile works were performed, divine ser¬
vice was carefully attended, and the first fruits of the
month were offered to the Lord. The Jewish legisla¬
tor limited his festivals to a very small number, while
the heathens devoted a considerable part of the year to
the celebration of theirs. But we perceive the occa¬
sions upon which the Jewish festivals were celebrated
to have been of suitable importance j whereas those of
the heathens were often celebrated on trifling or ridicu¬
lous occasions. Piety and innocent recreation shared
the Jewish festival; the festivals of the heathens were
chiefly devoted to debauchery and idleness.
Jhe Hebrews had other solemn seasons of devotion The sabba-
besides the weekly Sabbath and these annual festivals, >ear’
Every seventh year they rested from labour : they wercjll^^-811'*
then neither to plough, to sow, nor to prune ; and what- Jsuiy.0
ever the earth produced spontaneously that year belong¬
ed rather to strangers, orphans, and the poor, than to
the proprietors of the ground. On this year insolvent
debtors were discharged from all debts contracted by
purchasing the necessaries of life j and the great end of
this release from debts contracted during the preceding
six years, appears to have been to prevent the Hebrew
from flying to the Gentiles and forsaking his religion
when embarrassed in his circumstances. None but na¬
tive Israelites and proselytes of righteousness were ad¬
mitted to this privilege j it was refused to strangers,
and even to proselytes of the gate. The jubilee was
a festival to be celebrated every fiftieth year. It pro¬
duced the same effect with the sabbatical vear as to
rest from labour and the discharge of debts j with this
addition, that in the year of the jubilee slaves obtained
their freedom, and the lands reverted to the old pro¬
prietors. On the year of the jubilee, as on the sabba¬
tical year, the lands were to rest uncultivated, and law¬
suits were now to terminate. The chief design of this
institution appears to have been, to preserve the order
of ranks and property originally established in the He¬
brew state. None but Israelites or circumcised con¬
verts could enjoy the benefit of this institution j nor
could even these hope to regain their estates on the
year of the jubilee, if they sold them for any other pur¬
pose but to supply their necessities. The law relative
to usury was evidently founded on the same plan of
polity with respect to property. To almost any other
nation such a law, it must be confessed, would have been
unsuitable and unjust: but as the Jews were not de¬
signed for a trading nation, they could have little occa¬
sion to borrow, unless to relieve distress; and as an in¬
dulgence to people in such circumstances, the Jew was
forbidden to exact usury from his brother to whom he
had lent money.
The Jewish legislator, we may well think, would be Of clean
disposed to adopt every proper method to prevent his an(l un¬
nation from falling away into the idolatry of heathenclean
nations. Probably one reason of the distinctions be-the place"1
tween c/ean beasts which they were permitted to eat, ot worship.'
and unclean beasts, the eating of which they were taught
to consider as pollution, was to prevent them from con¬
vivial intercourse with profane nations, by which thev
might be seduced to idolatry. We do not readily sit
down at table with people who are fond of dishes which
4 U 2 we
R E L
R E L
Religion. we regard with abhorrence. And if the Jews were
 v—— taught to loathe the flesh of some of those animals which
were among the greatest delicacies of the Gentiles, they
would naturally of consequence avoid sitting down at
meat with them, either at their ordinary meals or at
those entertainments which they prepared in honour of
their deities j and this we may with good reason con¬
sider as one happy mean to preserve them from idola¬
try. Besides, the Jews were permitted, or rather en¬
joined, to eat animals which the Gentiles reverenced as
sacred, and from which they religiously withheld all
violence. Goats, sheep, and oxen, were woishipped in
Egypt (see Polytheism and Pan) 5 and several lear¬
ned writers are of opinion, that Moses directed his
people to saclifice and eat certain of the favourite animals
of the Egyptians, in order to remove from their minds
any opinions which they might have otherwise enter¬
tained of the sanctity of those pretended deities. Many
of the observances which Moses enjoined with regard to
food, appear to have been intended to inspire the Israel¬
ites with contempt tor the superstitions of the people
among whom they had so long sojourned. hey were
to kill the animal which the Egyptians worshipped ; to
roast the flesh which that people ate raw j to eat the
head, which they never ate ; and to dress the entrails,
which they set apart for divination. 1 liese distinctions
concurred with the peculiarities of their dress, language,
government, customs, places and times of worship, and
even the natural situation of their country, by which
they were in a manner confined and foitified on all
sides, to separate them in such a manner from neigh¬
bouring nations, that they might escape the infection of
their idolatry. And if we reflect both on the design
for which Providence separated the Israelites from other
nation*, and on the probability that, in the state of so¬
ciety in which mankind were during the earlier period
of the Jewish history, the Jews, by mixing with other
nations would rather have been themselves converted to
idolatry than have converted idolatrous nations to the
worship of the: true God 5 we cannot hut be satisfied,
that even this, however it may at first appear, was a
benefit, not a disadvantage ; and in the author of their
legislation wisdom, not caprice.
But not only in the distinctions of meats, and be-
'a icu t'veen clean and unclean animals, does the legislator of
TaiVia tliv t*,e Jews appear to have laboured to fix a barrier he-
Jewish ri- tween them and other nations, which might preserve
39 .
Other di-
stinguish-
tual.
[ 708 ]
confined to Jerusalem, but it would then be lawful to pejg.
worship him anywhere.
The whole institutions and observances of the Jewish 4°
religion, appear to have been designed and happily cal-¥lect8
culated to impress the minds of the people with vene-tu^0en‘nr
ration and respect for the Deity. All the festivals in
which either commemorated some gracious dispensation sh'g a r«
of his providence towards their ancestors, or served as sPect fm’
days of thanksgiving for the constant returns of histte ®eiti
goodness to those who celebrated them, and all the
other rites designed to fortify them against idolatry,
served at the same time to impress their hearts with
awful reverence for the God of Jacob. Various other
particulars in the institutions of the Jewish economy ap¬
pear to have been directed solely to that end. Into
the most sacred place, the Holy of Holies, none but the
high priest was admitted, and he only once a-ycar. No
fire was used in sacrifice but what was taken from the
altar. Severe punishments were on various occasions
inflicted on such as presumed to intermeddle in the ser¬
vice of the sanctuary in a manner contrary to what the
law had directed. All the laws respecting the charac¬
ter, the circumstances, and the services, of the priests
and the Levites, appear plainly to have a similar ten¬
dency.
In compliance with the notions of Deity which na¬
turally pn vailed among a gross and rude people, though
no visible object of vvor-hip was granted to the Jews,
yet they were allowed in their wanderings through the
wilderness to have a tabernacle or portable temple, in
which the sovereign of the universe sometimes deigned
to display some rays of his glory. Incapable as they
were of conceiving aright concerning the spiritual na¬
ture and the omnipresence of the Deity, they might
possibly have thought Jehovah careless and indifferent
about them, had they been at no time favoured with a
visible demonstration of his presence. ^
The sacrifices in use among the Gentiles in their Sacrifices
worship of idols were permitted by the Jewish legisla »ni1 lustra
turns,
tor j but he direct* d them to lie offered with views ve-'
ry different from those with which the Gentiles saeri-
them from the contagion of idolatry—we shall not err,
perhaps, if we ascribe many particulars of their worship
to this design in the institutor. The heathens had
gods who presided over woods, rivers, mountains, and
valleys, and to each of these thev offered sacrifices, and
performed other rites of worship in a suitable place.
Sometimes the grove, sometimes the mountain top, at
other times the bank of the river or the brink of the
spring, was the scene of their devotions. But as the
unity of the divine nature was the truth the most ear¬
nestly inculcated on the children of Israel*, so in order
to impress that truth on their minds with the more
powerful efficacy, they were taught to offer their sacri¬
fices and other offerings only in one place, the place
chosen by the Lord j and death was threatened to those
who dared to disobey the command. To confirm this
idea, one of the prophets intimates, that when idolatry
should be abolished, the worship of God should not be
V1°
L/lou
i*1 ffit
tvei
liat
var
per
sha
all
mo'
tthi
l-VC I
p;*"
In.
itfli
that
ase
taui
ted
kno
deei
ada|
and
sue!
on i
latti
nelii
the,
eart
ficed to their idols. Some of the sacrifices of the Jew¬
ish ritual were designed to avert the indignation of the
Deity ; some to expiate offences and purify the heart ;
and all of them to abolish or remove idolatry. Lu'-tra-
tions or ablutions entered likewise into the Jewish ritual;
but these were retojnmended and enjoined by Moses for
purposes widely different from those which induced the
heathens to place so high a value upon them. The
heathens practised them with magical and superstitious
ceremonies ; but in the Jeivish ritual they were intend¬
ed simply lor the cleansing away of impurities and pol¬
lutions.
The theocratical form ef government to which the Tendency
pose
wliil
rend
thty
and
Jews were subject, the rewards which they were sure of01 thetfo
receiving, and (he punishments whic h they were equally
.V. _ I* I.      1. 1*1’. 1 (     -1 -. D*— * *
liable to softer in the present life, had a powerful effectba]ltll01is.
to remove superstition and preserve them from idolatry,
as well as to support all the social virtues among them.
They were promised a numerous offspring, a land flow¬
ing with milk and honey, long life, and victory over
their enemies, on the condition of their paying a faith¬
ful obedience to the will of their heavenly Sovereign ;
plague, famine, disease, defeats, and death, w'ere threat¬
ened as the punishments to be inflicted on those who
violated
;]igl'0fl
R E L
43 ^
:;s and
mbi¬
ts of
appa-
t utility,
44
1 whole
a irably
c; uluted
!fi lie pur
p ■ m-
t«ed,
violated his laws ; and these sanctions, it must he al
lowed, were happily accommodated to the genius of a
rude and carnal-minded people, attentive only to pre¬
sent objects, and not likely to be influenced by remote
and spiritual considerations. 7
There were other rites and prohibitions in the Mo¬
saic law, which appear to have had but little connection
with religion, morals, or policy. These may he more
liable to be objected against, as adding an unnecessary
weight to a burden which, though heavy, might yet
have been otherwise borne in consideration of the ad¬
vantages connected with it. Even these, however, may
Perhaps admit of being viewed in a light in which they
shall appear to have been in no way unfavourable to the
happiness of those to whom they were enjoined. They
appear to have had none of them an immoral tendency:
all ot them had, in all probability, a tendency to re-
move or prevent idolatry, or to support, in some way
or other, the religious and the civil establishment to
which they belonged.
From these views of the spirit and tendency of the
Jewish religion, w'e may fairly conclude it to have been
happily calculated to promote the welfare of society.
In comparing it with other religions, it is necessary to
reflect on the peculiar purposes for which it was given ;
that its two principal objects were to preserve the Jews
a separate people, and to guard them against the con¬
tagion of the surrounding idolatry. When these things
are taken into consideration, every candid mind acquain¬
ted with the history of ancient nations will readily ac¬
knowledge that the whole system, though calculated in¬
deed in a peculiar manner for them, was as happily
adapted for the purposes for which it had been wisely
and graciously intended, as it is possible to imagine any
such system to be. It would be unhappy, indeed, if
on a comparison of pure theism with polytheism, the
latter, with all its absurdities, should he found more be¬
neficial to mankind than the former. The theism of
the Jews was not formed to be disseminated through the
earth ; that would have been inconsistent with the pur¬
poses for which it is said to have been designed. But
while the Jews were separated by their religion from all
other nations, and perhaps, in some degree, fixed and
rendered stationary in their progress towards r« finement,
they were placed in circumstances, in respect to laws,
and government, and religion, and moral light, which
might with good reason render them the envy of every
other nation in the ancient world.
IV. The Christ ian religion next demands our atten¬
tion. It is to he considered as an improvement of the
Jewish, or a new superstructure raised on the same ba¬
sis. If the effects of the Jewish religion were benefi¬
cial to those among whom it was established, they were
confined almost to them alone. But is the spirit of
Christianity equally pure and benignant ? Is its influ
[ 7°9 ]
Jl E L
hnm..n, y, integnty, and good will towards men ; and itcliaioo.
& of 00r appetites and ^
bocial happiness again proceeds from the members of so¬
ciety entertaining a disinterested regard for the public
we fare j being actively industrious each in his proper
sphere of exertion ; and being strictly just and faithful
and generously benevolent in their mutual intercourse!
ike tenor of the gospel inculcates these virtues; it
seems everywhere, through the whole of the Christian
code, to have been the great design of its Author to in¬
spire mankind with mild, benevolent, and peaceable dis¬
positions, and to form them to courteous manners. Chri¬
stianity again represents the Deity and his attributes in
the fairest light; even so as to render our ideas of his
nature, and the manner in which he exerts his power
consistent with the most correct principles of morality
that can be collected from all the other religions that
have prevailed in the earth, and from the writings of
the most admired philosophers. The ritual observances
winch Christianity enjoins are few in number, easy to
perform, decent, expressive, and edifying. It inculcates
no duties but what are founded on the principles of hu¬
man nature, and on the relation in which men stand to
Uod, their Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier; audit
prescribes accurate rules for the regulation of the con¬
duct. The assistance of the spirit of God is promised in
this sacred volume to those who assiduously labour to
discharge the duties which it enjoins; and it exhibits a
striking example of spotless purity, which we may safely
to imitate. rlhe gospel teaches that worldly
afflictions are incident to both good and bad men ; a doc¬
trine highly conducive to virtue, which consoles us in
distress, prevents despair, and encourages us to persist
firmly in our integrity under every difficulty and trial.
Christianity represents all men as children of the same
God, and heirs of the same salvation, and levels all di¬
stinctions of i ich and poor,as accidental and insignificant
in the sight of him who rewards or punishes with im¬
partiality according to the merits or d< merits of his crea¬
tures. This doctrine is highly favourable to virtue, as
it tends to humble the proud, and to communicate dig¬
nity of sentiment to the lowly ; to render princes and
inferior magistrates moderate and just, gentle and con¬
descending, to their inferiors. It farther requires hus¬
bands to be affectionate and indulgent to their wives
wives to be faithful and respectful to their husbands, and
both to he true and constant to each other. Such is the
purity of the gospel, that it forbids us even to harbour
impure thoughts ; it requires us to abandon our vices,
however dear to us ; and to the cautious wisdom of the
serpent it directs us to join the innocent simplicity of the
dove. 1 he Christian dispensation, to prevent a per¬
severance in immorality, offers pardon for the past, pro¬
vided the offender forsake his vicious practices, with a
firm resolution to art differently in future. The sane-
"-'ll* lonmiii njunuy puit evuu ift ii imii i ; jlo ilo iiiuu- ijaiii lva cut umciruu^ Hi llliurt. 1116 SailC-
once equally beneficial and more diffusive than that of tions of the gospel have a natural tendency to exalt the
Judaism ? Does it really merit to have triumphed over mind above the paltry pursuits of this world, and to
both the theism of the Jews and the polytheism of the
heathens?
It we con-ider the doctrines and precepts of the Chri¬
stian religion, nothing can be more happily calculated
to raise the dignity of human nature, and promote the
happiness of mankind. Tin happiness of the individual
is he-t promoted by the exercise of love and gratitude
towards God, and resignation to his providence; of
mind above the paltry pursuits of this world, and to ren¬
der the Christian incorruptible by wealth, honours, or
pleasures. The true Christian not only abstains from
injustice towards others, but even forgives those injuries
which he himself suffers, knowing that he cannot other¬
wise hope for forgiveness from God. Such are the pre¬
cepts, such the spirit, and such the general tendency of
the gospel. Even those who refused to give credit to
its doctrines and history have yet acknowledged the ex¬
cellence
R E
47
The virtues
it recom¬
mends uu
ostenta¬
tious.
L L 71
Relieion. cellence of its precepts. They have acknowledged,
 v ' that “ no religion ever yet appeared in the world, ot
which the natural tendency was so much directed to
promote the peace and happiness of mankind as the
Christian; and that the gospel ofChrist is one continued
less&n of the strictest morality, of justice, benevolence,
and universal charity.” These are the words ot Boling-
broke, one of its keenest and most insidious opponents.
Without examining the effects of this religion on socie¬
ty, we might almost venture to pronounce with confi¬
dence, that a religion, the precepts of which are so hap¬
pily formed to promote all that is just and excellent,
cannot but be in the highest degree beneficial to man¬
kind. By reviewing the effects which it has actually
produced, the favourable opinion which we naturally
conceive of it, after considering its precepts, cannot but
be confirmed.
One circumstance we must take notice of as rather
unfavourable to this review. It is really impossible to
do justice to Christianity by such a discussion of its me¬
rits. The virtues which it has a natural tendency to
produce and cherish in the human heart, are not of a
noisy ostentatious kind ; they often escape the observa¬
tion of the world. Temperance, gentleness, patience,
benevolence, justice, and general purity of manners, are
not the qualities which most readily attract^ the admi¬
ration and obtain the applause of men. The man of
Boss, whom Mr Pope has so justly celebrated, Was a
private character ; his name is now likely to live, and
his virtues to be known to the latest posterity: and yet,
however disinterested his virtues, however beneficial his
influence to all around him, had his character not at¬
tracted the notice of that eminent poet, his name would
perhaps ere this time have been lost in oblivion. Indi¬
viduals in private life seldom engage the attention of
the historian j his object is to record the actions of
princes, warriors, and statesmen. Had not the profes¬
sors of Christianity in the earlier ages of its existence
been exposed to persecutions, and unjust accusations
from which they were called on to vindicate themselves,
we should be strangers to the names and virtues of saints
and martyrs, and to the learning and endowments of
the first apologists for Christianity. We can therefore
only trace the general influence of the institutions of
nations5 ° Christianity on society. We cannot hope to make an
accurate enumeration of particulars. In many of the
countries in which it has been established, it has pro¬
duced a very favourable change on the circumstances of
domestic life. Polygamy, a practice repugnant to the
will of our Creator (see Polygamy), who has declar¬
ed his intentions in this instance in the plainest manner,
by causing nearly equal numbers of males and females
to be brought into the world, was never completely
abolished but by Christianity.
The practice of divorce, too, though in some cases
proper and even necessary, had been so much abused at
the time of our Saviour’s appearance in the world, that
he found reason to declare it unlawful, unless in the case
of adultery. The propriety and reasonableness of this
prohibition will sufficiently appear, if we consider, that
when divorces are easily obtained, both parties will often
have nothing else in view at the period of marriage than
the dissolution of their nuptial engagements after a short
cohabitation ; the interests of the husband and the wife
will almost always be separate j and the children of such
,43
Its eftects
on the
o ] R E L
a marriage are scarce likely to enjoy the cordial affec-
tion and tender watchful care ot either parent, i he
husband in such a case will naturally be to his wife, not
a friend and protector, but a tyrant; fear and deceit,
not love, gratitude, or a sense of duty, will be the prin¬
ciples of the wife’s obedience.
In another instance, likewise, Christianity has pro¬
duced an happy change on the circumstances of domes¬
tic life f it must be acknowledged to have contributed
greatly to the abolition of slavery, or at least to the
mitigation of the rigour of servitude. rIhe customs and
laws of the Romans in relation to slaves were cruel and
severe. Masters were oiten so inhuman as to remove
aged, sick, or infirm slaves, into an island in the liber,
where they suffered them to perish without pity or as¬
sistance. The greater part ot the subjects oi many of
those republics which enjoyed the most liberty, groaned
under tyrannical oppression j they were condemned to
drag out a miserable existence in hard labour, under in¬
human usage, and to be transferred like beasts from on*
master to another. The hardships of slavery were eased,
not by any particular precept of the Gospel, but by the
gentle and humane spirit which breathed through the
general tenor of the whole system of doctrines and pre¬
cepts of which the Gospel consists. It must indeed be
allowed, that a trade in slaves is at present carried on by
people who presume to call themselves Christians, and
protected by the legislature ot Christian states: but the
spirit of the Christian code condemns the practice, and
the true Christian will not engage in it.
Partly by the direct and conspicuous, partly by the
secret and unseen, influence of Christianity since its pro¬
mulgation in the world, the hearts of men have been
gradually softened ; even barbarians have been formed
to mildness and humanity ; the influence of selfishness
has been checked and restrained j and even war, amid
all the pernicious improvements by which men have
sought to render it more terrible, has assumed much more
of the spirit of mildness and peace than ever entered into
it during the reign of heathenism.
If we review the history of mankind with a view to
their political circumstances, we shall find, that by some
means or other, it has happened, since the time when the
Gospel was first preached, that both systems of legislature
and forms of government have been raised to much
greater perfection, at least in those parts of the world
into which the religion of Jesus has made its way, and
obtained an establishment.
The popular government of the Romans, notwith¬
standing the multiplicity of their laws, and the imper¬
fections of their political constitution, was, no doubt,
happily enough adapted to promote the increase of the
power and the extension of the empire of Rome. In
Greece there were various republics, the wisdom and
impartiality of whose laws have been highly celebrated.
But we apprehend that there is a sufficient number ot
wrell authenticated facts to warrant us to affirm, that
since Christianity has been propagated, and has had suf¬
ficient time to produce its full effect on arts, manners,
and literature, even under governments the form of
which might appear less favourable than the celebrated
models of antiquity to the liberty and happiness of the
people in general, these actually have been much better
provided for than under the laws of Athens or Sparta,
or even of Rome in the days of the consuls. It is a
just
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II E L [ 711
ligion. just and happy observation of Montesquieu, who has
-v 'attributed so much to the influence of climate and local
circumstances, that “ the mildness so frequently recom¬
mended in the Gospel is incompatible with the despo-
tic rage with which an arbitrary tyrant punishes his sub¬
jects, and exercises himself in cruelty. It is the Chris¬
tian religion (says he) which, in spite of the extent of
empire, and the influence of climate, has hindered des¬
potism from being established in Ethiopia, and has car¬
ried into Africa the manners of Europe. The heir to
the empire of Ethiopia enjoys a principality, and gives
to other subjects an example of love and obedience. 
Nor far from hence may be seen the Mahometan shut¬
ting up the children of the king of Sennaar, at whose
death the council sends to murder them in favour of
the prince who ascends the throne. Let ns set before
our eyes (continues that eloquent writer), in the third
chapter of the 24th book of his Spirit of Laws, on one
hand the continual massacres of the kings and generals
of the Greeks and Romans, and on the other the de¬
struction of people and cities by the famous conquerors
Timur Beg and Jenghiz. Khan, who ravaged Asia ; and
we shall perceive, that we owe to Christianity in go¬
vernment a certain political law, and in war a certain
law of nations, which allows to the conquered the great
advantages of liberty, laws, wealth, and always reli¬
gion, when the conqueror is not blind to his own in¬
terest.”
These are the reflections of no common judge in this
matter, but one who had long studied the history of
nations, and observed the phenomena of the various
forms of society, with such success as few others have
attained.
But on no occasion has the mild influence of Christi-
in ienin2anjty been more eminently displayed, or more happily
ds 'bar- exe,^ec*» than in softening and humanizing the barba-
b.iis. rians who overturned the Roman empire. The idola¬
trous religion which prevailed among those tribes before
their conversion to Christianity, instead of disposing
them to cultivate humanity and mildness of manners,
contributed strongly to render them fierce and bloods
thirsty, and eager to distinguish themselves by deeds of
savage valour. But no sooner had they settled in the
dominions of Rome, and embraced the principles of
Christianity, than they became a mild and generous
people.
We are informed by Mosheim, who was at pains to
collect his materials from the most authentic sources,
that in the 10th century Christian princes exerted them¬
selves in the conversion of nations whose fierceness they
had experienced, in order to soften and render them
more gentle. The mutual humanity with which nations
at war treat each other in modern times, is certainly
owing, in a great measure, to the influence of the mild
precepts of the Gospel. It is a fact worthy of notice,
too, that during the barbarous ages, the spiritual courts
of justice were more rational and impartial in their de¬
cisions than civil tribunals.
How many criminal practices which prevailed among
heathen nations have been abolished by their conversion
to Christianity ! Christians of all nations have been ob¬
served to retain the virtues and reject the vicious prac¬
tices of their respective countries. In Tarthia, where
polygamy prevailed, they are not polygamists j in Persia,
the Christian father does not marry his own daughter.
40
Iti Fects
] R E L
By tlie laws of Zoroaster the Persians committed incest Religion.,
until they embraced the Gospel j after which period 1——v 1 41
they abstained from that crime, and observed the duties
of chastity and temperance, as enjoined by its precepts.
Even the polished and enlightened Romans were cruel
and blood-thirsty before the pi-opagation of the Gospel.
I he breaking of a glass, or some such trifling offence,,
was sufficient to provoke Vidius Pollio to cast his slaves
into fish-ponds to be devoured by lampreys. The effu¬
sion of human blood was their favourite entertainment y
they delighted to see men combating with beasts, or
with one another j and we are informed on respectable
authority, that no wars ever made such havock on man¬
kind as the fights of gladiators, which sometimes depri¬
ved Europe of 20,000 lives in one month. Not the
humanity of Titus, nor the wisdom and virtue of Tra¬
jan, could abolish the barbarous spectacle. However
humane and wise in other instances, in this practice those
princes complied with the custom of their country, and
exhibited splendid shows of gladiators, in which the
combatants were matched by pairs j who, though they
had never injured nor offended each other, yet were ob¬
liged to maim and murder one another in cold blood.
Christian divines soon exercised their pens against these
horrid practices j the Christian emperor Constantine re¬
strained them by edicts, and Honorius finally abolished
them. It would be tedious to proceed through an enu¬
meration of particulars ; but wherever Christianity has
been propagated, it has constantly operated to the civi¬
lization of the manners of mankind, and to the abolition
of absurd and criminal practices. The Irish, the Scotch,
and all the ancient inhabitants of the British isles, were,
notwithstanding their intercourse with the Romans, rude
barbarians, till such time as they were converted to Chri¬
stianity. The inhuman practice of cxposinginfants, which
once prevailed so generally over the world, and still pi'e-
vails among some Pagan nations, even under very hu¬
mane and enlightened legislatures, yielded to the influ¬
ence of Christianity.
Let us likewise remember, in honour of Christianity, Learning
that it has contributed eminently to the diffusion of|s inuck
knowledge, the preservation and the advancement
learning. When the barbarians overspread Europe,^
what must have become of the precious remains of po¬
lished, enlightened antiquity, had there been no other
depositaries to preserve them but the heathen priests ?
We allow that even the Romish clergy during the dark
ages did not study the celebrated models of ancient
times with much advantage themselves, and did not la¬
bour with much assiduity to make the laity acquaint¬
ed with them. It must even be acknowledged, that
they did not always preserve those monuments of ge¬
nius with sufficient care, as they were often ignorant of
their real value. Yet, after all, it will be granted,
it cannot be denied, that had it not been for the clergy
of the Christian church, the lamp of learning would, in
all probability, have been entirely extinguished, duringThe benc-
that night of ignorance and barbarity in which all Eu-fic*al influ-
rope was buried for a long series of centuries, after ^ie christ°i!ini
irruption of the barbarians into the Roman empire. ty },^s cx_
Such is the excellence of the Christian system, and tended
such its tendency to meliorate the human character, thateven to
its beneficial influence has not been confined to thosewho
who have received its doctrines and precepts, and have^1^^0^
professed themselves Christians j it has even producedit> ‘
many
R E L
[ 712 1
n e l
fleligion.
many liapnv (rffectis on the circumstances and the cha¬
racters of Pagans and infidels, who have had opportuni¬
ties of beholding the virtues of Christians, and learning
the excellence of the morality of the gospel. 1 hose
virtues which distinguished the character of the apostate
Julian w< re surely owing in no inconsiderahle degree to
his acquaintance with Christianity ; and it is an undeni¬
able fact, that after the propagation of Christianity
th rough the Roman empire, even while the purity ot
that holy religion was gradually debased, the manm rs ot
those Pagans who remained unconverted became mOre
pure, and their religious doctrines and worship less un¬
moral and absurd.— We might here adduce a tedious
series of 'acts to the same purpose. Wheilt ver Christi¬
ans have had any intercourse with Pagan idolaters, and
have not concealed the laws ot the gospel, nor shewn by
their conduct that they disregarded them, even those
who have not been converted to Christianity have, how¬
ever, been improved in their dispositions and manners by
its influence. The emperor, whose virtues we have men¬
tioned as arising, in a certain degree, irom his acquaint¬
ance with Christianity, in a letter to an Heathen pontifl,
desires him to turn his eyes to the means by which the
superstition ofChristians was propagated; by kindness to
strangers, by sanctity of life, and by the attention which
they paid to the burial of the dead. He recommends
an imitation of their virtues, exhorts him to cause the
priests of Galatia to be attentive to the worship of their
gods, and authorises him to strip them of the sacerdotal
/unction, unless they obliged their wives, children, and
servants, to pay attention to the same duties. He like¬
wise enjoins works of beneficence, desires the priest to
I'elieve the distressed, and to build houses for the accom¬
modation of strangers of whatever religion : and says it
is a disgrace for Pagans to disregard those of their own
religion, while Christians do kind offices to strangers
and enemies. This is indeed an eminent instance of the
happy influence of Christianity even on the sentiments
and manners of those who regarded the Christian name
with abhorrence.
Upon the whole, then, may we not, from the particu-
ty to be pre-jars exhibited concerning the influence of this re¬
ferred to all. ,, ii- r • • .
other reli- ''g1011 on ^'ie manners and happiness ot men in society,
conclude that Christianity is infinitely superior to the
superstitions of Paganism ? as being in its tendency uni¬
formly favourable to the virtue and the happiness of
mankind, and even to the system of religion and laws
delivered by Moses to the children of Israel. because,
while the religion of the Jews was calculated only for
one particular nation, and it may almost be said for one
particular stage in the progress ot society, Christianity
is an universal religion, formed to exert its happy in¬
fluence in all ages and among all nations; and has a
tendency to dispel the shades of barbarism and ig¬
norance, to promote the cultivation of the powers of the
human understanding, and to encourage every virtuous
refinement of manners.
V. Another religion, which has made and still makes
a conspicuous figure in the world, remains yet to he ex¬
amined. The religion of Mahomet is that which we
here allude to. Whether we consider through what
an extensive part of the globe that religion prevails, the
political importance of the nations among whom it is
professed, or the striking peculiarity of character by
which it is distinguished from all other religious systems
.5? ..
Chris! iam-
gions
S.'S
View of
Mahome¬
tanism.
54
—it is for all these reasons well worthy of particular rC];,
notice. Like the Jewish religion, it is not barely a sy¬
stem of religious doctrines and general moral precepts;
it forms both the civil legislature and the religious sy-
tem of those nations among whom it is professed; and,
like it too, it would appear to be calculated rather for
one particular period in the progress of mankind from
rudeness to refinement, than tor all ages and all states
of society.
The history of its origin is pretty well known, and
we have had occasion to enlarge upon it under a iormer
article (see Mahomet and Mahometanism). We
are not here to trace the impostures of the prophet, or
to consider the arts by which he so successfully accom¬
plished his designs ; but merely to consider the mora¬
lity oi his religion, and its influence on civil order and
the happiness of society.
If we view the state of the nations among whom it It is idea
is established, we cannot hesitate a moment to d< clare '.v tu k'
it friendly to ignorance, to despotism, and to impurityIance’d
of manners. The Tin ks, the Persians, and the Malays,
are all Mahometans; and in reviewing their history and
considering their present state, we might find a suffi¬
cient number of facts to justify the above assertion :
and we must not neglect to observe, that, as those na¬
tions are not known to have ever been since their con¬
version to Mahometanism under a much happier govern¬
ment, or in a much more civilized state than at present,
it cannot be, with any degree of fairness, argued, with
respect to Mahometanism as with respect to Christiani¬
ty, that it is only when its influence is so opposed by
other causes as to prevent it from producing its full ef¬
fects, that it does not conduct those societies among
which it is established to a high state of civilization and
refinement. 55
One, and that by no means an inconsiderable, part ofR marks
the Koran, was occasionally invented to solve some dif °n^^c‘
ficulty with which the pi' phet found himself at the ’
time perplexed, or to help him to the gratification of
his ruling passions, lust and ambition. When he and
his followers were, at any time, unsuccessful in those
wars by which he sought to propagate his religion, to
prevent them from falling away into unbelief, or sink¬
ing into despondency, he took care to inform them that
God suffered su Ji misfortunes to befal believers, as a
punishment for their sins, and to try their faith. The
doctrine of predestination, which he assiduously incul¬
cated, had a happy effect to persuade his followers to
rush boldly into the midst of death and danger, at his
command. He prevailed with Zeyd to put away his
, wife, married her himself, and pretended that his crime
had the approbation of heaven ; and, in the Koran, he
introduces the Deity approving of this marriage. Be¬
ing repulsed from the siege ot Mecca, he made a league
with the inhabitants ; but on the very next year, find¬
ing it convenu nt to surprise the city, by violating tins
treaty, he justified Ins perfidy by teaching his followers
to disregard promises or leagues made wit h infidels. In
some instances again, we find absurd prohibitions enjoin¬
ed for similar reasons • his officers, having on some occa-
son drunk to excess, excited much riot and confusion in
the camp, he prohibited the use of wine and other in¬
ebriating liquors among his followers in future. Now,
though it must be acknowledged that many evils arise
from the use of these liquors, yet we cannot but think
R E L [ ?
;i^Ion that, when used in moderation, they are in many cases
''V * beneficial to men j and certainly as much allowed by
God as opium, which the Mahometans have substituted
,5 in their place.
; ome- Mahomet is allowed to have copied from the Christian
t maf and the Jewish religions, as well as from the idolatrous
I T suPerStitions which prevailed through Arabia, and thus
Jfju- t0 1,aye formed a motley mixture of reason and absurdi-
| n, and tv, of pure theism and wild superstition. He considered
tf aiper- a|so the circumstances of his country, and the prejudices
si^nscf 0f his countrymen. When he attended to the former,
he was generally judicious enough to suit his doctrines
and decisions to them with sufficient skill j the latter he
also managed with the greatest art: but he entered into
accommodation with them in instances when a true pro¬
phet or a wise and upright legislator would surely have
opposed them with decisive vigour. Where the prophet
indulges his own fancy, or borrows from the supersti¬
tion* of his countrymen, nothing can be more ridiculous
than that rhapsody of lies, contradictions, and extrava¬
gant fables, which he delivers to his followers. Ama¬
zing are the absurdities which he relates concerning the
patriarchs, concerning Solomon, and concerning the
57 animals that were assembled in Noah’s ark.
N:on of But in the whole tissue of absurdities of which his
he nan]SyStem cons;sts? there is nothing more absurd, or more
happily calculated to promote impurity of manners, than
his descriptions of heaven and hell •, the ideas of future
rewards and punishments which he sought to impress
on the minds of his followers. Paradise was to abound
with rivers, trees, fruits, and shady groves 5 wine which
would not intoxicate was to be there plentifully served
up to believers ; the inhabitants of that happy region
were all to enjoy perpetual youth j and their powers of
enjoyment were to be enlarged and invigorated, in or¬
der that so many fine things might not be thrown away
upon them. “ Instead of inspiring the blessed inhabi¬
tants of paradise with a liberal taste for harmony and
science, conversation and friendship (says Mr Gibbon),
Mahomet idly celebrates the pearls and diamonds, the
robes of silk, palaces of marble, dishes of gold, rich
wines, artificial dainties, numerous attendants, and the
whole train of sensual luxury.—Seventy two houris, or
black-eyed girls of resplendent beauty, blooming youth,
virgin purity, and exquisite sensibility, will be created
for the use of the meanest believer j a moment of plea¬
sure will be prolonged for IOOO years, and his faculties
will be increased too fold, to render him worthy of his
felicity.” It must be acknowledged that he allows be¬
lievers other more refined enjoyments than these; thus
they are to see the face of God morning and evening ;
a pleasure which is far to exceed all the other pleasures
of paradise. The following is his description of the pu¬
nishments of hell : The wicked are there to drink no¬
thing but boiling stinking water ; breathe nothing but
hot winds ; dwell for ever in continual burning fire and
smoke ; eat nothing but briars and thorns, and the fruit
of a tree that riseth out of the bottom of hell, whose
branches resemble the heads of devils, and whose fruits
shall be in their bellies like burning pitch.
All that we can conclude from a general view of the
religion of Mahomet, from considering the character of
the prophet, or from reviewing the history of the nations
among whom it has been established, is, that it is one
tissue of absurdities, with a few truths, however, and
Vol. XVII. Part II.
] It E L
valuable precepts incongruously intermixed; that a great FLeliirion,
part oi it is unfavourable to virtuous manners, to wise Religion*.
and equal laws, and to the progress of knowledge and —v /
refinement. It often inculcates in a direct manner sen¬
timents that are highly immoral; it substitutes trifling-
superstitious observances in the room of genuine piety
and moral virtue ; and it gives such views of futurity as
render purity of heart no necessary qualification for see-
ingGod. ^
ourely, therefore, even the deist, who rejects all but ^fahome-
natural religion, would not hesitate to prefer Chrjstiani-tanism to
ty, and even Judaism, to the religion of Mahomet. Ju-
(husm, calculated for a peculiar people, was undoubted-ganism.
ly much more sublime and much more happily framed
• to render that people virtuous and happy in the circum¬
stances in which they were placed; and Christianity we
find to be an universal religion, suited to all circumstan¬
ces and to all the stages of society, and acting, where-
ever it is received, with more or less force to the sup¬
port of civil order, virtuous manners, improvement of
.11 ts, and toe advancement ol science. However, as Ma¬
hometanism forms in some measure a regular system, as
it has borrowed many of the precepts and doctrines of
Judaism and Christianity, not indeed without corrupting
and degrading them ; and as it has contributed consider-
ablv to the support of civil government, although in a
very imperfect form, in those countries in which it has
obtained an establishment; for all these reasons we can¬
not hut give it the preference to the superstitions of Pa¬
ganism.
The whole result of our inquiries under this article, Conclusion,
therefore, is, 1. That as man, by the constitution of bis
mind, is naturally fitted for acquiring certain notions
concerning the existence of invisible superior beings, and
their influence on human life; so the religious ideas
which w'e find to have in all ages of the world, and in
a 1 the different stages of the progress of society, prevail¬
ed among mankind, appear to have originated partly
from the natural exertions of the human imagination,
understanding, and passions, in various circumstances,
and partly from supernatural revelation.
2. That though religious opinions, together with the
moral precepts, and the rites ©f worship connected with
them, may appear to have been in numerous instances
injurious to the virtue and happiness of society ; yet, as
they have often contributed to lead the mind to form
moral distinctions, when it would otherwise in all proba¬
bility have been an entire stranger to such distinctions;
and as they have always contributed in an essential man¬
ner to the establishment and the support of civil govern¬
ment—it must therefore he acknowledged that they have
always, even in their humblest state, been more benefi¬
cial than hurtful to mankind.
3. That when the different systems of religion that
have prevailed in the world are comparatively viewed
with respect to their influence on the welfare of society,
we find reason to prefer the polytheism of the Greeks
and Homans to the ruder, wilder, religious ideas and
ceremonies that have prevailed among savages ; Maho¬
metanism, perhaps in some respects, to the polytheism of
the Greeks and Romans; Judaism, however, to Maho¬
metanism ; and Christianity to all of them.
RELIGIOUS, in a general sense something that
relates to religion.—We say, a religious life, religious
f 4 ^ society,
R E M t 7H ] REM
KehVious society, See.—Churches and churchyards are religious
Ktinbrandt.places!—A religious war is also called a croisade. Oee
* v—^ Croisade.
Religious, is also used substantially for a person en-
rao-ed by solemn vows to the monastic life j or a person
^hut up in a monastery to lead a life of devotion and au¬
sterity, under some rule or institution. Ihe male ie!i-
gious we popularly call monks and friars ; the female,
nuns and canonesses. _ ,
REMBRANDT Van Rhin, a Flemish painter and
engraver of great eminence, was born in 1606, in a
mill upon the banks of the Rhine, from whence he de¬
rived his name of Van Rhin. This master was born
with a creative genius, which never attained perfection.
It was said of him, that he would have invented paint¬
ing, if he had not found it already discovered. With¬
out study, without the assistance of any master, but by
his own instinct, he formed rules, and a certain piacti-
cal method for colouring 5 and the mixture produced
tiie designed effect. Nature is not set off to the greatest
advantage in Ins pictures} hut there is such a striking
truth and simplicity in them, that his heads, particular¬
ly his portraits, seem animated, and rising from the can¬
vas. He was fond of strong contrasts of light and shade.
The light entered in his working-room only by a hole,
i:i the maimer of a camera obscura, by which he judged,
with greater certainty of his productions. This artist
considered painting like the stage, where the characters
do not strike unless they are exaggerated. He did not
pursue the method of the Flemish painters, of finishing
his pieces. He sometimes gave his light such thick
touches, that it seemed more like modelling than paint¬
ing. A head of his has been shown, the nose of which
was as thick of paint, as that which he copied from
nature. He was told one day, that by bis peculiar me¬
thod of employing colours, his pieces appeared rugged
and uneven—he replied, he was a painter, and not a
dyer. He took a pleasure in dressing his figures in an
extraordinary manner : with this vieiv he had collected
a great number of eastern caps, ancient armour, and
drapery long since out of fashion. When he was ad¬
vised to consult antiquity to attain a better taste in
drawing, as his was usually heavy and uneven, he took
bis counsellor to the closet where these old vestments
were deposited, saying, by way of derision, those were
his antiques.
Rembrandt, like most men of genius, had many ca¬
prices. Being one day at work, painting a whole fa¬
mily in a single picture, word being brought him that
bis monkey was dead, he was so affected at the loss of
this animal, that, without paying any attention to the
persons who were sitting for their pictures, he painted
the monkey upon the same canvas. This whim could
not fail of displeasing those for whom the piece was de¬
signed } hut he would not efface it, choosing rather to
lose the sale of his picture.
This freak will appear still more extraordinary in
Rembrandt, when it is considered that he was extremely
avaricious *, which vice daily grew upon him. He prac¬
tised various stratagems to sell his prints at a high price.
The public were very desirous of purchasing them, and
not without reason. In his prints the same taste prevails
as in his pictures 5 they are rough and irregular, but
picturesque. In order to heighten the value of his
t rints, and increase their price, he made his son sell them
Reim
cox
as if he had purloined them from his father ; ethers he ReinLn
exposed at public sales, and went thither lumselt in dis¬
guise to bid for them ; sometimes he gave out that he
was going to leave Holland, and settle in another coun-1
try. These stratagems were successful, and he got his
own price for his prints. At other times he would print
his plates half finished, and expose them to sale ; he af¬
terwards finished them, and they became fresh plates.
When they wanted retouching, he made some altera¬
tions in them, which promoted the sale of his prints a
third time, though they differed but little from the first
impressions.
H is pupils, who were not ignorant of his avarice,
one day painted some pieces of money upon cards; and
Rembrandt no sooner saw them, than he was going to
take them up. He wTas not angry at the pleasantry ;
but it had no effect in checking his avarice. He died
in 1674.
REMEMBRANCE, is when the idea of something
formerly known recurs again to the mind without the
operation of a like object on the external sensory. See
Memory and Reminiscence.
REMEMBRANCERS, anciently called clerks of
the remembrance, certain officers in the exchequer,
whereof three are distinguished by the names of the king's
remembrancer, the lord treasurer's remembrancer, and
the remembrancer of the fust fruits. The king’s remem¬
brancer enters in his office all recognizances taken be¬
fore the barons for any of the king’s debts, for appear¬
ances or observing of orders j he also takes all bonds for
the king’s debts, £cc. and makes out processes thereon.
He likewise issues processes against the collectors of the
customs, excise, and others, for their accounts ; and in¬
formations upon penal statutes are entered and sued in
his office, wdiere all proceedings in matters upon English
bills in the exchequer-chamber remain. His duty far¬
ther is to make out the bills of compositions upon penal
laws, to take the statement of debts ; and into his office
are delivered all kinds of indentures and other evidences
which concern the assuring any lands to the crown. He
every year in crastino animarum, reads in open court
the statute for election of sheriffs •, and likewise openly
reads in court the oaths of all the officers, when they
are admitted.
The lord treasurer’s remembrancer is charged to make
out process against all sheriffs, escheators, receivers, and
bailiffs for their accounts. He also makes out writs of
fieri facias, and extent for debts due to the king, either
in the pipe or with the auditors: and process for all such
revenue as is due to the king on account of his tenures.
He takes the account of sheriffs; and also keeps a re¬
cord, by which it appears whether the sherifls or other
accountants pay their proffers due at Easter and Mi¬
chaelmas $ and at the same time he makes a record,
whereby the sheriffs or other accountants keep their pre¬
fixed days: there are likewise brought into his office all
the accounts of customers, comptrollers, and account¬
ants, in order to make entry thereof on record; also all
estreats and amercements are certified here, &c.
The remembrancer of the fhst-fruits takes all com¬
positions and bonds for the payments of first-fruits and
tenths 5 and makes out process against such as do not
pay the same.
REMINISCENCE, that power of the human mind,
whereby it recollects itself, or calls again into its remem-
baa nee,
it
REM
t
cmni s-
cei'ce
!l
emplian
hrance, such ideas or notions as it had really forgot • in
ivh.ch it differs from memory, which is a treasuring im
of thmgs m the mind, and keeping them there, without
^ lorgetting them.
REMISSION, in Physics, the abatement of tlie
power or efficacy of any quality ; in opposition to the
increase of the same, which is called intension.
Remission, in Latv, &c. denotes the pardon of a
crime, or giving up the punishment due thereto.
Remission, in Medicine, is when a distemper abates
for a time, but does not go quite off.
REMITTANCE, in Commerce, the traffic or re¬
turn of money from one place to another, by bills of ex¬
change, orders, or the like.
REMONSTRANCE, an expostulation or humble
supplication, addressed to a king, or other superior, be¬
seeching him to reflect on the inconveniences or ill
consequences of some order, edict, or the like. This
word is also used for an expostulatory counsel, or ad¬
vice J or a gentle and handsome reproof, made either
in general, or particular, to apprize of or correct some
fault, &c.
REMONSTRANTS, in church history, a title which
was given to the Arminians in consequence of the re¬
monstrance made by them in the year 1610 to the states
of Holland, against the sentence of the synod of Dort,
which pronounced them to be heretics. The chief lead¬
ers of the Remonstrants were Episcopius and Grotius j
and their principles were first openly countenanced in
England by Archbishop Laud. In opposition to the
representation or remonstrance of the Arminians, the
Hutch Calvinists presented an address, which was called
a counter-remonstrance; and hence they obtained the
denomination of Counter-remonstrants. A great deal
of keen controversy was agitated in this affair, by these
rival sects. See Arminians.
REMORA, or Sucking-fish, a species of Eche-
neis. See Echeneis, Ichthyology Index.—Many
incredible things are related of this animal by the an¬
cients 5 as that it had the power of stopping the largest
and swiftest vessel in its course , and even to this day it
is asserted by the fishermen in the Mediterranean, that
it has a power of retarding the motion of their boats by
attaching itself to them j for which reason they kill it
whenever they fancied this retardation took place.
REMORSE, in its ivorst sene, means that pain or
anguish which one feels after having committed some
bad action. It also means tenderness, pity, or sympathe¬
tic sorrow. It is most generally used in a bad sense, and
is applied to persons w’ho feel compunction for some
great crime, as murder and such like. Murders which
have been committed with the utmost circumspection
and secrecy, and the authors of which could never have
been discovered by any human investigation, have been
frequently unfolded by the remorse and confession of the
perpetrators, and that too many years afterwards. Of
this there are numerous instances, which are well au¬
thenticated, and which are so generally known that it
is needless to relate them here. See Repentance.
REM PH AN, an idol or Pagan god whom St Ste¬
phen says the Israelites worshipped in the wilderness as
they passed from Egypt to the land of Promise : “ Yea,
ye took up the tabernacle of Moloch, and the star of
your god Remphan j figures which ye made to worship
them.” That the martyr here quotes the following
!5 ] U E M
words of the prophet Amos, all commentators are a-
greed : “ \ e have borne the tabernacle of your Moloch,
and Lhiun your images, the star of your god, which
ye made to yourselves.” But if this coincidence be-
wten the Christian preacher and the Jewish prophet
be admitted, it follows, that C/tiun and Remphan -avc
two names of one and the same deity. This'is indeed
dither evident from the LXX translators having sub¬
stituted in their version the word instead of
Uiiun which we read in the Hebrew and English Billies.
i t t',e question which still remains to be answered is,
what g°d was worshipped by the name of' Remphan.
liaiphan, or C/nun ? for about the other divinity here
mentioned there is no dispute. See Moloch. ^
I hat Chmn or llemphan was an Egyptian divinitv,
cannot be questioned ; for at the era of the Exodus tlie
Hebrews must have been strangers to the idolatrous
worship of all other nations ; nor are they ever accused
of any other than Egyptian idolatries during their 40
years wanderings in the wilderness, till towards the end
ot that period that they became infected by the Moa¬
bites with the worship of Baal-pcor. That Moloch, Mo-
leek, Melek, or Milcom, in its original acceptation, de¬
notes a king or chief, is known to every oriental scholar;
and therefore when it is used as the name of a god, it
undoubtedly signifies the sun, and is the same divinity
with the Egyptian Osiris. Reasoning in this way, many
critics, and We believe Selden is in the number, have
concluded that Chum, and of course Remphan, is the
planet Saturn ; because Chinn is written Ciun, Cevan,
Ceuan, Chevvin ; all of which are modern oriental names
of that planet.
But against this hypothesis insurmountable objections
present themselves to our minds. It is universally al¬
lowed (see Polytheism), that the first objects of ido¬
latrous worship were the sun and moon, considered as the
king and queen of heaven. The fixed stars, indeed, and
the planets, were afterwards gradually admitted into the
Pagan rubric ; but we may be sure that those would be
first associated with the two prime luminaries which most
resembled them in brightness, and were supposed to be
most benignant to man. But the planet Saturn appears
to the naked eye with so feeble a lustre, that, in the in¬
fancy of astronomy, it could not make such an impres¬
sion on the mind as to excite that admiration which we
must conceive to have always preceded planetary wor¬
ship. It is to he observed, too, that by the Pagan wri¬
ters of antiquity Saturn is constantly represented as a
star of baleful influence. He is termed the leaden pla¬
net ; the planet of malevolent aspect; the dismal, the in¬
human star. That the Egyptians, at so early a period
as that under consideration, should have adored as one
of their greatest gods a planet obscure in its appearance,
distant in its situation, and baleful in its influence, is
wholly incredible.
There is, however, another star which they might
naturally adore, aad which we know they actually did
adore, as one of their most beneficent gods, at a very
early period. This is the uCgctKvaiv or entgtos of the
Greeks, (he cam's or ste/la canicularis of the Romans,
and the dog-star of modern Europe. By the Egyptians
it was called Sothis or Soth, which signifies safety, bene¬
ficence, fecundity; and it received this name, because
making its appearance in the heavens at the very time
when the Nile overflowed (he country, it was supposed
4X2 to
REM [ 7'
to requisite tlio inundation. On tills account Plutarcli
f Is. et Osir.) tells us, they believed the soul of their il¬
lustrious benefactress Isis to have transmigrated into the
star &t/us, which they therefore worshipped as the divi¬
nity which rendered their country fruitful. It made its
appearance, too, on the first day of the month I/iot/i (a),
which was the beginning of the Egyptian year, and as
such celebrated with feasting and festivity J and being
by much the brightest star in the heavens, Horapollo
fcap. 1. informs us it was considered as sovereign over
the rest. A combination of so many important circum¬
stances might have induced a people less superstitious
than the Egyptians to pay divine homage to that glori¬
ous luminary, which was confounded with Is‘is, who had
been long regarded with the highest veneration ; and as
Isis was the wife and sister ot Osins, and always associ¬
ated with him, the star of Isis or Remphan was natu¬
rally associated with Moloch, the same with Osiris.
But it will be asked, how the star which by the E-
gvptians was called Soth or Solhis came to be worship¬
ped by the Hebrews under the appellation of C/uun or
Remphan ? This is a very pertinent question, and we
shall endeavour tft answer it. _ ...
Every one knows that the pronunciation of oriental
words is very uncertain j and that as the vowels weie
often omitted in writing, it is of very little importance
to the meaning how they be supplied, provided we re¬
tain the radical consonants. The word Chiun may with
equal propriety be written Kiun, Kion, or even Kyon,
the Hebrew jod being convertible into the Greek v or
the Roman y; but the words Lane, Chan^ Ran, 01
Khan, which are often diversified into Khen,Kyn, Cohen,
Cahan, signifying Head, Chief, Prince, King, &c. are
diffused through a great part of Asia and Europe. In
the Chinese language Quin, which signifies a King, is
so similar to the word Chiun ovKhiun under considera¬
tion, that no etymologist will hesitate to pronounce them
of the same original and the same import. Ihe word
Kan or Khan is universally known to be an honorary
title in Tartary ; and Kaian or Kain, which is manifest¬
ly cognate of the word Chiun or Kiun, is, in the Plhevi
or old Persian language, the epithet applied to the dy¬
nasty of princes which succeeded Cyrus the Great.
Among the Scythians or ancient Tartars, Chiun signi¬
fies the Sun and likewise the day ; and Kung, Kinung,
Kun, runs through all the dialects of the Gothic
tongue, everywhere denoting a chief or sovereign. In
the Syrian dialect, Kon signifies a prince ; and hence
the Almighty is styled (Gen. xiv. 19.) Kondh, which
is translated possessor, but might have, with perhaps more
propriety, been rendered Sovereign of heaven and earth.
In Hebrew, the word Kahan or Kahen, which is the
very same with Khan or Kan, signifies either a priest or
a prince; and in Egypt Kon was the name of the first
Hercules or the sun. Hence the same word in compo¬
sition denotes greatness, as Can-ohus the great serpent •,
Can-athoth, the great Thoth or Mercury 5 Can-osir is,
the great Osiris.
From this deduction we would conclude, that the
word, which is found in so many tongues, and always
6 ] R _E N
denotes Chief, Prince, Sovereign, is the very word Chiun ilcm[)!l
which the Egyptians and Hebrews applied to Sot his, as y
being, in their conceptions, the chief or sovereign of all keiuou:
the stars. This will appear still more probable, when tui
we have ascertained the import of the word Remphan,
or, as the LXX have it, Raiphan.
Phan, the latter part of this word, is unquestionably
the same with Pan, the most ancient of the Egyptian
gods (see Pan). It is likewise a cognate of the Hebrew
Phanah, conspexit, spectavit, vidit •, and the radical
word seems to be PHAH, which signifies sometimes the
countenance, and sometimes light. Hence Phaethon,
which is compounded of pha “ light,” eth or esh, “ fire,”
and on, “ strength,” came to be one of the names of the
sun. Rai, which we commonly write Rajah, has long
signified, among the Indians, a subordinate prince ; and
we know, that between India and Egypt there was a
verv early intercourse. Raiphan, therefore, may be ei¬
ther the royal light or the bright prince, subordinate to
Osiris •, and in either sense, it was a very proper epithet
of Sot his in the Egyptian kalendar. Lhe word Rem ov
Rom, again (for it is sometimes written Remphan, and
sometimes Rompha), is no other than the Hebrew cm.
Rum, “ high, exalted.” Hence Remphan is the high
or exalted light, which Sothis certainly was.
For this etymological disquisition we are indebted to
Dr Doig, the learned author of Letters on the Savage
State, who has written a dissertation on Chiun and Rem¬
phan, of such value that we hope it will not be much
longer withheld from the public. The ascertaining
tlie identity of those names, and the ged to which they
belonged, is the least of its merit *, for it will be found to
throw much light upon many passages in the Old Tes¬
tament. What confirms his interpretation is, that the
idol consecrated by the Egyptians to Sothis or the dog-
star, was a female figure with a star on her head j and
hence the prophet upbraids his countrymen with having
borne the Star of their deity.
Action of REMO\ ING, in Scots Law. See
Law, N° clxvii. 18.
REMURIA, festivals established at Rome by Romu¬
lus to appease the manes of his brother Remus. They
were afterwards called Lemuna, and celebrated yearly.
REMUS, the brother of Romulus, was exposed to¬
gether with his brother, by the cruelty of his grandfa¬
ther. In the contest which happened between the two
brothers about building a city, Romulus obtained the
preference, and Remus, for ridiculing the rising walls,
was put to death by his brother’s orders, or by Romulus
himself (see Romulus). The Romans were afflicted
with a plague after this murder j upon which the oracle
was consulted, and the manes of Remus appeased by
the institution of the Remuria.
RENAL, something belonging to the reins or KlS-
NEYS.
RENCOUNTER, in the military art, the encoun¬
ter of two little bodies or parties of forces. In which
sense rencounter is used in opposition to a pitched bat-
tle. „
Rencounter, in single combats, is used by way ot
contradistinction
(a) This was the case at a very remote period $ but it is otherwise at present, owing to the Precession <f
the Equinoxes. See that article. .
4
REN
neoontcrcontradistinction to duel—When two persons tall out
“ ll,<;|s|’,ot I'sving premeditated the
I combat, it is calk’d a rencounter.
RENDEZVOUS, or Re.vdevous, a place appoint-
ed to meet in at a certain day and hour.
RENDSBURG, the frontier town in Holstein is
regularly built, and better fortified than any in the .Da¬
nish dominions. It is situated on a canal which runs
irom the Baltic. This is a work of considerable com¬
mercial consequence, and deserves to be particularly no¬
ticed. It has its source three miles north of Keil, form¬
ing the boundary of Holstein and Sleswick, and by
means of it ships of 140 tons can come up from the Bal¬
tic. This canal was begun in 1777, and it is intended
to make it stretch across the whole peninsula, the uti¬
lity of which will be clearly perceived by all those who
aie acquainted with the value of inland navigation.
Rendsburg is a place of considerable trade, and con¬
tains about 2800 inhabitants, including the garrison
which is usually stationed there.
RENEALMIA, a genus of plants belonging to the
nionandria class. See Botany Index.
RENEGADE, or Renegado, a person who has
apostatized or renounced the Christian faith to embrace
some other religion, particularly Mahometanism.
RENFREW, a royal borough, and the county town
of Renfrewshire, situated not far from the south bank of
the Clyde, about five miles west from Glasgow, and three
north from Paisley. It has only one narrow street half
a mile long, and its trade is inconsiderable, though fa¬
vourably situated for commerce. The riverClyde having
shifted its bed, a canal was formed in it, by which vessels
of 200 tons burden can come up to the town during
spring tides. The manufacture of thread has been long-
carried on here, and that of soap and candles to a great
extent. Many looms are constantly employed in the fa¬
brication of silk and muslin. In the year 1164 it be¬
came memorable for a battle between Somerled thane of
Argyle and Gilchrist earl of Angus, in which the former
was defeated. King Robert II. made it a royal borough j
and charters were afterwards granted to it by James VI.
and Queen Anne. Its political constitution consists of
a provost, two bailies, and 16 counsellors, who have the
management of about 360k of annual revenue, arising
from lands, salmon fishing, &c. In the year 1791 the
population amounted to 1628. The soil consists of clay,
sand, and rich loam, the latter of which is the most pre¬
dominant. The whole of the land is enclosed and well
cultivated. It is a place of very great antiquity, as we
find mention is made of it in the chartularies of the ab¬
beys of Dunfermline and Paisley.
RENFREWSHIRE, a small but populous county of
Scotland, bounded on the south-west by the hills which
run along the northern part of Ayrshire ; towards the
west and north by the river Clyde, and on the east by
Lanarkshire. It is rather level along the north-east and
north part of it ; and it has few hills which rise to any
considerable height. But the summits of Balagich and
Dunware, in the parish of Eaglesham, are about 1000
feet above the level of the sea.
The waters of Renfrewshire are not extensive, but
£ 717 1
R E N
human industry has rendered them of considerable im-
poitance; and they are rather employed to turn some
vast water whee or other pieces of machinery, than to
give variety to the beauties of a park, or to please the
eye with the romantie scenery which nature sometimes
delights to display. The chief rivers are the White
and Black Carts, and the Grief, which ultimately form
a junction and discharge themselves into the Clyde be¬
low Inchinnan bridge.
1 he number of lakes in this county is increased for
the purpose of collecting water to give motion to the
machinery of cotton mills, or to answer the demands of
extensive bleachfields.
The general appearance of this county is favourable
o agriculture, the population being very extensive, and
the inclosures numerous, while manure in abundance is
obtained from the neighbouring towns. Commerce and
manufactures have been so often successfully pursued
producing great and sudden riches, that in a greater or
Jess degree they occupy the attention of almost every
individual. Although a considerable part of it might
be constantly kept with advantage under arable crops
yet so extensive is the demand for the products of the
dairy, that a very large proportion of the soil is perpe¬
tually kept in grass. With respect to crops, potatoes
generally constitute a part of every rotation. This is
the usual arrangement : Oats from grass 5 potatoes or
barley dunged; oats, with five pounds of red clover and
three firlots of rye-grass j hay for two years; pasture.
Ihe proprietors of land in this county have shewn a
laudable zeal for the making of excellent roads, which
are constantly kept in the best repair, and steelyards
are fixed at every toll-bar to prevent carts from being
overloaded ; I ^ cwt. being allowed in the vicinity of
Paisley as the load for a cart with one horse.
The mineral productions are not very extensive, but
they are very abundant in the vicinity of Paisley. No
coal has been met with near Greenock or Port-Glas-
govv ; but what is called osmund stone is found in the
parishes of Eaglesham and Ivilbarcban, so very soft at
first that it may be cut with a chisel, but it becomes
much harder by exposure to the air. It is of various co¬
lours ; breaks in every direction ; readily absorbs wa¬
ter ; and if recently heated in the fire, the absorption is
accompanied with a hissing noise. There are two mi¬
neral springs in the same vicinity of Eaglesham ; the
one possessing a purgative quality, and the other is re¬
garded as a remedy for what is called the moor-ill in
black cattle.
The most remarkable field of minerals is in the vici¬
nity of Paisley; the most singular being the coal at
Quarreltown, upwards of 50 feet thick, consisting of five
strata in contact with each other (a). The Hurlet coal,
belonging to Lord Glasgow, about three miles south-east
of Paisley, is five feet three inches thick, and supposed
to have been wrought for more than two centuries. In¬
flammable air and fixed air are met with in this mine,
but from the precautions adopted accidents are not so
frequent as might otherwise be apprehended. The coal¬
mines of Hurlet have for a long time afforded the ma¬
terials for a copperas manufactory on a small scale; and
one
Renfrew¬
shire.
(a) For a detailed account of this singular mass of coal* the reader is referred to the Appendix to Williams’s
Mineral Kingdom, by Dr Millar, 2 vols^ 8vo, 1809.
REN
[ 71® 1
E E in
one of the most extensive manufactories of alum in Bri¬
tain has been established and successfully carried on by a
spirited and enterprising company, for several years past,
at the same place. Coal is also found in the upper part
of the county, as in the parish of Cathcart, and also not
far from Renfrew. Limestone is abundant in many parts
of the county, as in the parish of Cathcart; and at Lord
Glasgow’s coal work at Hurlet, it forms a very consi¬
derable stratum covering the coal. But one of the most
remarkable masses of limestone is found at the entiance
to a romantic glen called Glenniffer, three miles to the
south of Paisley. The limestone is in a mass of about
io feet thick, dips to the centre, and is wrought by dri¬
ving mines under a thick mass of whinstone which co¬
vers it. Ironstone is also abundant along with the coal
strata in some parts of the county.
The ruins of an old castle, called the Peel, to which
the lairds of Semple retreated in times of imminent dan¬
ger, are still to be seen in an island of Castle Semple
loch ; and the ruins of the castle of Newark, lower
down the country, are even at this day deserving of at¬
tention. They are lofty, and have still an air of magni¬
ficence, and some parts of it were inhabited about half
a century ago. It is situated on the eastern part of the
bay containing the town and harbour of Port Glasgow
and New-ark. This castle is very ancient, is the pro¬
perty of Lord Belhaven, but when it was erected cannot
be fully ascertained. Mearns Castle, another ruin, stands
in the south-east part of the county, near the village and
church of the same name. Crookstone Castle is situated
about three miles to the south-east of Paisley. The
strong position and commanding prospect of this magni¬
ficent ruin must have rendered it a favourite residence of
the powerful family of Lennox, to whom it oiiginally
belonged. Near the castle there is a yew-tree, venera¬
ble from its antiquity, but still more so, according to the
legendary lore of the country, as having afforded its
shade to the unfortunate Queen Mary and her equally
unfortunate husband Darnley. If this be true, the said
tree is not less than three centuries old.
There are four cups in the parish of Kilmacolm which
were used by the celebrated reformer John Knox at the
dispensation of the Lord’s supper. They are formed of
the purest silver, and seem to have been originally in¬
tended for candlesticks, although necessity converted
them into communion cups. This sacred use of them,
joined to their antiquity, makes them much esteemed by
the people at large.
Renfrew is the only royal borough in this county, a
privilege which was conferred upon it by Robert Bruce.
It elects a member of parliament along with Glasgow,
Dunbarton, and Rutherglen.
The other towns are Paisley, Greenock, Port Glas¬
gow *, and some of smaller note, as Kilbarchan, Loch-
winnoch, Neilston, Gourock, and Auldkirk. Among
these deserves also to be mentioned Johnston, which
within a period of little more than 20 years has become
a large town, owing to the progress and prosperity of
the cotton manufacture.
The manufacture of silk gauze was introduced into
Paisley about the year 1760, in imitation of that of
Spittalfields in London 5 experiencing at first many dif¬
ficulties to which new inventions are very frequently ex¬
posed. Patterns and designs of fancy works were ori¬
ginally composed at Paris ; but the manufacturers at
5
Paisley established draughtsmen of their own, and the Renfrew
patterns thus executed were sent to London and Paris in shire,
order to be approved of. By means of industry andge- , Ren^
nius properly encouraged, the most curious fabrics came
to be devised $ and the vast variety of elegant and
highly ornamented gauze manufactured here is allowed
to be superior to every thing of the kind which had for¬
merly made its appearance. Even London itself was
obliged to relinquish ibis manufacture j merchants from
the metropolis came to carry it on at Paisley $ and
warehouses were opened in London, in Dublin, and Pa¬
ris, for vending their commodities. We formerly said
that Paisley must contain upwards of 25,000 inhabitants
see (Paisley) ; but we have since seen a more recent
computation, by which they are stated at upwards of
31,000.
The whole population of Renfrewshire amounted to
78,000 in 1801, of which Paisley alone contained much
more than a third, and in 1811 it was 92,596. In the
year 1755 the population of this county was 26,645,
so that in the course of sixty years it has more than
tripled. The following table exhibits a view of the po¬
pulation of each parish according to the reports com¬
municated to the Statistical History of Scotland.
10
15
r> • / Population
lans/ies. • 1
101755.
Cathcart 499
Eaglesham uoj
Eastwood 1142
Erskine 829
Greenock 3858
Houston 947
Inchinnan 347
Innerkip 159°
Kilbarchan
Kilmacolm I495
Lochvvinnoch I53^
Mearns 886
Neilston 1299
Paisley, town 429°
Ditto, Abbey parish 2509
Port Glasgow l^9S
Renfrew 1091
Population in
1790—1798.
697
IOOO
2642
808
i5,°oo
*034
306
1280
2506
951
2613
I43°
233°
13,800
10,792
4036
1628
26,645
See Renfrewshire, Supplement.
62,853
RENNES, a town of France, and capital of the de¬
partment of lile and Vilaine. Before the revolution it
had a bishop’s see, two abbeys, a parliament, and a
mint. The houses are six or seven stories high, and
the suburbs of larger extent than the town itself.
The cathedral church is large, and the parliament-
house a handsome structure. The great square be¬
longing to it is surrounded with handsome houses.
There is a toiver, formerly a pagan temple, which now
contains the town-clock. It is seated on the river Vi¬
laine, which divides it into two parts, and was an¬
ciently fortified, but the walls are now in ruins, and
the ditch nearly filled up. The population in 1817
was 29,000. The siege of the city by Edward III.
king of England is very celebrated in history. 1 he
English and Breton army consisted of 40,000 men ; and
nevertheless, after having remained befoi’c it six months,
were
[ 7
E. Long. o. 23.
kltres
pantts
.vricu ■
REP
nnes vrere obliged to retire without success
|j N. Lat. 48. 7.
'ertory, RENNET See RuXNET.
REN ! , m Law, a sum of money, or other considera¬
tion, issuing yearly out of lands or tenements.
RENTERING, in the manufactories, the same with
fine-drawing. It consists in sewing two pieces of cloth
edge to edge, without doubling them, so that the seam
scarcely appears; and hence it is denominated fine draw¬
ing. It is a French word meaning the same*thing, and
is derived from the Latin retra/iere, of re, in, and tra-
hcre, because the seam is drawn in or covered. We are
told *, that in the East Indies, if a piece of fine mus¬
lin be torn and afterwards mended by the fine drawers
it will be impossible to discover where the rent was. In
this country the dexterity of the fine-drawers is not so
great as that of those in the east; but it is still such as
to enable them to defraud the revenue, by sewing a head
or slip of English cloth on a piece of Dutch, Spanish, or
other foreign cloth ; or a slip of foreign cloth on a piece
of English, so as to pass the whole as of a piece, and
by that means avoid the duties, penalties, &c. The
trick was discovered in France by M. Savary.
Rentering, in tapestry, is the working new warp
into a piece of damaged tapestry, whether eaten by the
rats or otheiwise destroyed, and on this warp to restore
the ancient pattern or design. The warp is to be of
woollen, not linen. Among the titles of the French
tapestry-makers is included that of renterers. Fine-
drawing is particularly used for a rent or hole, which
happens in dressing or preparing a piece of cloth artful¬
ly sewed up or mended with silk. All fine-drawings
are reckoned defects or blemishes, and should be allow¬
ed for in the price of the piece.
RENVERSE, Inverted, in Heraldry, is when
any thing is set with the head downwards, or contrary
to its natural way of standing. Thus, a chevron ren-
verse is a chevron with the point downwards. They use
also the same term when a beast is laid on its hack.
RENUNCIATION, the act of renouncing, abdi¬
cating, or relinquishing, any right, real or pretended.
REPARTEE, a smart, ready reply, especially in
matters of wit, humour, or raillery. See Raillery.
REPEALING, in Law, the revoking or annulling
of a statute or the like.
No act of parliament shall be repealed the same ses¬
sion in which it was made. A deed or will may be re¬
pealed in part, and stand good for the rest. It is held
that a pardon of felony may be repealed on disproving
the suggestion thereof.
REPELLENTS, in Medicine, remedies which are
supposed to drive back a morbid humour into the mass
of blood, from whence it was unduly secreted.
REPENTANCE, in general, means sorrow for any
thing past. In theology it means such a sorrow for sin
as produces newness of life, or such a conviction of the
evil and danger of a sinful course as is sufficient to pro¬
duce shame and sorrow in the review of it, and effectu¬
al resolutions of amendment. In this sense the evange¬
lical writers use g.i'ruy.i’Kn.u, and gtTctvoioc. See Peni¬
tence and Theology.
REPERCUSSION, in Music, a frequent repetition
ef the same sound.
REPERTORY, a place wherein things are orderly
disposed, so as to be easily found when wanted. The
] REP
indices of hooks are repertories, showing where the Repertory
matters sought for are treated of. Common-place books !| '
are also kinds ot repertories. Replevy.
RkCi. 1 END, in Arithmetic, signifies that part of' v '
an infinite decimal fraction, which is continually repeat¬
ed ad infinitum. Thus in the numbers 2. 13 13 13 &c.
the figures 13 are the repetend and marked thus i 2.
O.ese repr (ends chiefly ariSe in the reduction of vulgar
fractions to decimals. Thus, 4=0.222 &c-0.3
RgPE 1 i 1TON, the reiterating of an action.
. -KEPETrnoN, in Music, denotes a reiterating or play¬
ing over again the same part of a composition, whether
£be a whole strain, part of a strain, or double strain,
VVhen the song ends with a repetition of the fust
strain, or part of it, the repetition is denoted by da ca¬
po, or D. C. 7. e. “ from the beginning.”
Repetition, in Rhetoric, a figure which gracefully
and emphatically repeats either the same word, or the
same sense in different words. See Oratory N° 67
—80. ’ '
. ^,e natui’e and design of this figure is to make deep
impressions on those we address. It expresses an^er
and indignation, full assurance of what we affirm, and
a vehement concern for what we have espoused.
REPHIDIM, in Ancient Geography, a station of
the Israelites near Mount Horeb, where they murmur¬
ed for want of water; when Moses was ordered to smite
the rock Horeb, upon which it yielded water. Here
Joshua discomfited the Amalekites. This rock, out of
which Moses brought water, is a stone of a prodigious
height and thickness, rising out of the ground ; on two
sides of which are several holes, by which the water
ran. (Thevenot).
REILEGIARE, in Low, signifies to redeem a
thing taken or detained by another, by putting in legal
sureties.
De homine REPLEGIANDO. See Homine.
REPLEVIN, in Laiv, a remedy granted on a dis¬
tress, by which the first possessor has his goods restored
to him again, on his giving security to the sheriff that
h« will pursue his action against the party distraining,
and return the goods or cattle if the taking them shall
be adjudged lawful.
In a replevin the person distrained becomes plaintiff;
and the person distraining is called the defendant or
avowant, and his justification an avowery.
At the common law replevins are by writ, either out
of the king’s-bench or common-pleas ; but by statute,
they are by plaint in the sheriff’s court, and court ba¬
ron, for a person’s more speedily obtaining the goods
distrained.
If a plaint in replevin be removed into the court of
king’s bench, &c. and the plaintiff makes default and
becomes non-suited, or judgment is given against him,
the defendant in replevin shall have the writ of retoimo
hahendo of the goods taken in distress. See the next
article.
REPLEVY, in Law, is a tenant’s bringing a writ
of replevin, or replegiari facias, where his goods are
taken by distress for rent; which must be done within
five days after the distress, otherwise at the five days
end they are to be appraised and sold.
This word is also used for bailing a person, as in the
case of a homine replegiundo,
REPORT;,
REP
[ 72° ]
REP
Bladcst.
Comment.
REPORT, the relation made upon oath, hy officers
or persons appointed to visit, examine, or estimate the .
state, expences, &c. of any thing. . . .
Report, in Law, is a public relation of cases judici-
al'iy argued, debated, resolved, or adjudged in any of the
king’s courts of justice, rvith the causes and reasons ot
the same, as delivered by the judges. Also when the
court of chancery, or any other court, refers the stating
of a case, or the comparing of an account, to a master
of chancery, or other referee, his certificate thereon is
called a 7'eport. .
REPOSE; in Poetry, Stc, the same with rest and
pause. See Rest, &c.
Repose, in Painting, certain masses orlarge assem¬
blages of light and shade, which being well conducted,
prevent the confusion of objects and figures, by enga¬
ging and fixing the eye so as it cannot attend to the
other parts of the painting for some time ; and thus lead¬
ing it to consider the several groups gradually, proceed¬
ing as it were from stage to stage.
REPRESENTATION, in the drama, the exhibi¬
tion of a theatrical piece, together with the scenes, ma¬
chinery, &c.
REPRESENTATIVE, one who personates or sup¬
plies the place of another, and is invested with his right
and authority. Thus the house of commons are the re¬
presentatives of the people in parliament. See Commons
and Parliament.
REPRIEVE, in Criminal Law, (from reprendrc, “to
take back”) is the withdrawing of a sentence for an in¬
terval of time ; whereby the execution is suspended. See
Judgment.
This may be, first, ex arbitriojudicis, either before or
P after judgment : as, where the judge is not satisfied with
the verdict, or the evidence is suspicious, or the indict¬
ment is insufficient, or he is doubtful whether the of¬
fence be within clergv : or sometimes if it be a small
felony, or any favourable circumstances appear in the
criminal’s character, in order to give room to apply to
the crown for either an absolute or conditional pardon.
These arbitrary reprieves may be granted or taken off
bv the justices of gaol-delivery, although their session
be finished, and their commission expired : but this ra¬
ther by common usage than of strict right.
Reprieves may also be ex necessitate legis: as where
a woman is capitally convicted, and pleads her preg¬
nancy. Though this is no cause to stay judgment, yet
it is to respite the execution till she be delivered. This
is a mercy dictated by the law of nature, infavorem pro-
lis ; and therefore no part of the bloody proceedings in
the reign of Queen Mary hath been more justly detest¬
ed, than the cruelty that was exercised in the island of
Guernsey, of burning a woman big with child ; and,
when through the violence of the flame the infant
sprang forth at the stake, and was preserved by the by¬
standers, after some deliberations of the priests who as¬
sisted at the sacrifice, they cast it into the fire as a young
heretic. A barbarity which they never learned from
the laws of ancient Rome; which direct, with the same
humanity as our own, quodprcegnantis muliers damnatce
pcena differatur, quoadpariat: which doctrine has also
prevailed in England, as early as the first memorials of
our laws will reach. In case this plea be made in stay
of execution, the judge must direct a jury of twelve ma¬
trons or discreet women to inquire into the fact: and
if they bring in their verdict quick ivith child (for bare- Reprieve
ly with child, unless it be alive in the womb, is not suf- Reprisals
ficient), execution shall be staid generally till the next
session ; and so from session to session, till either she is
delivered, or proves by the course of nature not to have
been with child at all. Rut if she once hath had the
benefit of this reprieve, and been delivered, and after¬
wards becomes pregnant again, she shall not be intitled
to the benefit of a farther respite for that cause. For
she may now be executed before the child is quick in the
womb ; and shall not, by her own incontinence, evade
the sentence of justice.
Another cause of regular reprieve is, if the offender
become non compos between the judgment and the award
of execution : for regularly, though a man be compos
when he commits a capital crime, vet if he becomes
non compos after, he shall not be indicted ; if after in¬
dictment, he shall not be convicted; if after conviction,
he shall not receive judgment ; if after, judgment, he
shall not be ordered for execution : ior furiosus solo fu¬
rore punitur; and the law knows not but lie might have
offered some reason, if in his senses, to have stayed these
respective proceedings. It is therefore an invariable
rule, when any time intervenes between the attainder
and the award of execution, to demand of the prisoner
what he hath to allege why execution should not be
awarded against him ; and, if he appears to be insane,
the judge in his discretion may and ought to reprieve
him. Or, the party may plead in bar of execution ;
which plea may be either pregnancy, the king’s par¬
don, an act of grace, or diversity of person, viz. that
he is not the same that was attainted, and the like. In
this case a jury shall be impanelled to try this collate¬
ral issue, namely, the identity of his person ; and not
whether guilty or innocent, for that has been tiecided
before. And in these collateral issues the trial shall be
instanter ; and no time allowed the prisoner to make his
defence or produce his witnesses, unless he will make
oath that he is not the person attainted : neither shall
any peremptory challenges of the jury be allowed the
prisoner, though formerly such challenges were held to
be allowable whenever a man’s life was in question. If
neither pregnancy, insanity, non-identity, nor other plea,
will avail to avoid the judgment, and stay the execution
consequent thereupon, the last and surest resort is in the
king’s most gracious pardon ; the granting of which is
the most amiable prerogative of the crown. See the ar¬
ticle Pardon.
REPRISALS, a right which princes claim of ta¬
king from their enemies any thing equivalent to what
they unjustly detain from them or their subjects. For
as the delay of making war may sometimes be detri¬
mental to individuals who have suffered by depredations
from foreign potentates, our laws have in some respects
armed the subject with power to impel the preroga¬
tive ; by directing the ministers of the crown to issue
letters of marque and reprisal upon due demand : the
prerogative of granting which is nearly related to, and
plainly derived from, that other of making war; this
being indeed only an incomplete state of hostilities, and
generally ending in a formal denunciation of war. T hese
letters are grantable by the huv of nations, whenever the
subjects of one state are oppressed and injured by those
of another-; and justice is denied by that state to which
the oppressor belongs. In this case letters ot marque
and
RE?
epical,
L’preba-
tioJi.
ami reprisal (words used as synonymous ; and si<rnifv
mg the latter a taking in return, the former the passing
_ U,e f,7tiers ,n or(1? taking) may be obtained,
in order to seize the bodies or goods of the subjects of
the offending state, until satisfaction be made where
ever they happen to be found. And indeed this custom
of reprisals seems dictated by nature herself; for which
reason we find in the most ancient times very notable
instances of it. But here the necessity is obvious of
calling in the sovereign power, to determine when’re¬
prisals may be made; else every private sufferer would
be a judge in his own cause. In pursuance of which
principle, it is with us declared by the stat. 4 Hen. V.
c. 7. that, if any subjects of the realm are oppressed in
time of truce by any foreigners, the king will grant
marque in due form, to all that feel themselves grieved.
Which form is thus directed to be observed : the"sufferer
must first apply to the lord privy-seal, and he shall make
out letters of request under the privy-seal ; and if after
such request of satisfaction made, the party required do
not within convenient time make due satisfaction or re¬
stitution to the party grieved, the lord chancellor shall
make him out letters of marque under the great seal;
and by virtue of these he may attack and seize the pro¬
perty of the aggressor nation, without hazard of beino-
condemned as a robber or pirate.
Reprisal, or Recaption^ is a species of remedy al¬
lowed to an injured person. This happens when any
one has deprived another of his property in goods or
chattels personal, or wrongfully detains one’s wife, child,
or servant: in which case the owner of the goods, and
the husband, parent, or master, may lawfully claim and
retake them, wherever he happens to find them ; so it
lie not in a riotous manner, or attended with a breach
of the peace. The reason for this is obvious; since it
may frequently happen that the owner may have this
only opportunity of doing himself justice : his goods
may be afterwards conveyed away or destroyed ; and
his wife, children, or servants, concealed or carried out
of his reach ; if he had no speedier remedy than the or¬
dinary process of law. If therefore he can so contrive
it as to gain possession of his property again, without
force or terror, the law favours and will justify his pro¬
ceeding. But, as the public peace is a superior con¬
sideration to any one man’s private property ; and as, if
individuals were once allowed to use private force
as a remedy for private injuries, all social justice must
cease, the strong would give law to the weak, and
every man would revert to a state of nature; for these
reasons it is provided, that this natural right of recap¬
tion shall never be exerted, where such exertion must
occasion strife and bodily contention, or endanger the
peace of society. If, for instance, my horse is taken
away, and I find him in a common, a fair, or a public
inn, I may lawfully seize him to my own use ; but I
cannot justify breaking open a private stable, or entering
on the grounds of a third person, to take him, except
he be feloniously stolen; but must have recourse to an
action at law.
REPROBATION, in Theology, means the act of
abandoning, or state of being abandoned, to eternal de¬
struction; and is applied to that decree or resolve which
God h as taken from all eternity to punish sinners who
shall die in impenitence ; in which sense it is directly
opposed to election. When a sinner is so hardened as to
Vql. XVII. Part II.
C 721 ]
It £ P
fee! no remorse or misgiving of conscience, it is considered Rcproba-
a.|> a sign of reprobation ; which by the casuists has been tion,
distinguished into positive and negative. The first is that R-epi-oduc-
w here by God is supposed to create men with a positive ,
and absolute resolution to damn them eternally. This ^ ” *
opinion is countenanced by St Augustine and other
Christian fathers, and is a peculiar tenet of Calvin and
most of his followers. The church of England, in The
thirty-nine Articles, teaches something like it; and tlie
church of Scotland, in the Confession of Faith, maintains
it in the strongest terms. But the notion is generally
exploded, and is believed by no rational divine in either
church, being totally injurious to the justice of the Deity.
Negative or conditional reprobation is that whereby God*
though he has a sincere desire to save men, and furnishes
them with the necessary means, so that all if they will
may be saved, yet sees that there are many who will not
be saved by the means, however powerful, that are af¬
forded them ; though by other means which the Deity
sees, but. will not afford them, they might be saved.
Repiobation respects angels as well as men, and respects
the latter either fallen or unfallen. See Predestina¬
tion.
REPRODUCTION is usually understood to mean
the restoration of a thing before existing, and since de¬
stroyed. It is very well known that trees and plants
may be raised from slips and cuttings; and some late ob¬
servations have shown, that there are some animals which
have the same property. The polype * was the first in- * Se« Po,
stance we had of this; but we had scarce time to won- ^MS>
der at the discovery Mr Trembley had made, when Mr
Bonnet discovered the same property in a species of wa¬
ter-worm. Amongst the plants which may be raised from
cuttings, there are some which seems to possess this q uality
m so eminent a degree, that the smallest portion of them
will become a complete tree again.
It deserves inquiry, whether or not the great Author
of nature, when he ordained that certain insects, as these
polypes and worms, should resemble those plants in that
particular, allowed them this power of being reproduced
in the same degree ? or, which is the same thing, whe¬
ther this reproduction will or will not take place in what¬
ever part the worm is cut ? In order to try this, Mr
Bonnet entered on a course of many experiments on the
water-worms which have this property. These are, at
their common growth, from two to three inches long,
and of a brownish colour, with a cast of reddish. From
one of these worms he cut oft' the head and tail, taking
from each extremity only a small piece of a twelfth of an
inch in length; but neither of these pieces was able to
reproduce what was wanting. They both perished in
about 24 hours ; the tail first, and afterwards the head.
As to the body of the worm from which these pieces were
separated, it lived as well as before, and seemed indeed
to suffer nothing by the loss, the head-part being imme¬
diately used as if the head was thereon, boring the crea¬
ture’s way into the mud. There are, besides this, two
other points in which the reproduction will not take place ;
the one of these is about the fifth or sixth ring from the
head, and the other at the same distance from the tail;
and in all probability the condition of the great artery
in these parts is the cause of this.
What is said of the want of the reproductive power
of these parts relates only to the head and tail ends ;
for as to the body, it feels very h'ttle ii:convenience from
f 4 Y the
R E P [722 1 K E P
tlie loss of what is taken off, and very speedily repro¬
duces those parts. Where then does the principle ot
life reside in such worms, which, alter having their
heads cut off, will have not only the same motions, but
even the inclinations, that they had before? and yet
this difficulty is very small, compared to several others
which at the* same time offer themselves to our reason.
Is this wonderful reproduction of parts only a natural
consequence of the laws of motion ? or is there lodged
in the body of the creature a chain of minute buds or
shoots, a sort of little embryos, already formed and pla*
ced in such parts where the reproductions are to begin ?
Are these worms only mere machines ? or are they,
like more perfect animals, a sort of compound, the
sprimrs of whose motions are actuated or regulated by a
sort of soul ? And if they have themselves such a prin¬
ciple, how is it that this principle is multiplied, and is
found in every separate piece ? Is it to lie granted that
there are in these worms, not a single soul (if it is to
be so called) in each, but that each contains as many
souls as there are pieces capable of reproducing perfect
animals? Are we to believe with Malpighi, that these
sorts of worms are all heart and brain from one end to
the other ! This may be ; but yet if we knew that it
was so, we should know in reality but very little the
more for knowing it: and it seems, after all, that in cases
of this kind we are only to admire the works of the
great Creator, and sit down in silence.
The nice sense of feeling in spiders has been much
talked of by naturalists ; but it appears that these worms
have yet somewhat more surprising in them in regard
to this particular. If a piece of stick, or any other
substance, be brought near them, they do not stay tor
its touching them, but begin to leap and frisk about as
soon as it comes towards them. There want, however,
some farther experiments to ascertain whether this be
really owing to feeling or to sight ; for though we can
discover no distinct organs of sight in these creatures,
yet they seem affected by the light of the sun or a can¬
dle, and always frisk about in the same manner at the
approach of either ; nay, even the moon-light has some
effect upon them.
A twig of willow, poplar, or many other trees, being
planted in the earth, takes root, and becomes a tree,
every piece of which will in the same manner produce
other trees. The case is the same with these worms :
they are cut in pieces, and these several pieces become
perfect animals $ and each of these may be again cut
into a number of pieces, each of which will in the same
manner produce an animal. It had been supposed by
some that these worms were oviparous : but Mr Bon¬
net, on cutting one of them to pieces, having observed
a slender substance, resembling a small filament, to move
at the end of one of these pieces, separated it ; and on
examining it with glasses, found it to be a perfect worm,
of the same form with its parent, which lived and grew
larger in a vessel of water into which he put it. These
small bodies are easily divided, and very readily complete
themselves again, a day usually serving for the produc¬
tion of a bead to the part that wants one } and, in ge¬
neral, the smaller and slenderer the worms are, the soon¬
er they complete themselves after this ojjeration. When
the bodies of the large worms are examined by the mi¬
croscope, it is very easy to see the appearance of the
young worms alive, and moving about within them:
but it requires greater precision and exactness to he cer- Reprodr,^
tain of this ; since the ramifications of the great artery turn,
have very much the appearance of young worms, and ~~v—J
they are kept in a sort of continual motion by the sy¬
stoles and diastoles of the several portions of the artery,
which serve as so many hearts. It is very certain, that
what we force in regard to these animals by our opera¬
tion®, is done also naturally every day in the brooks amf
ditches where they live, A curious observer will find
in these places many of them without heads or tails, and
some without either : as also other fragments of various
kinds, all which are then in the act of completing them¬
selves : but whether accidents have reduced them to
this state, or they thus purposely throw off parts of their
own body for the reproduction of more animals, it is
not easy to determine. They are plainly liable to many
accidents, by which they lose the several parts of their
body, and must perish very early if they had not a power
of reproducing what was lost: they often are broken
into two pieces, by the resistance of some hard pieces of
mud which they enter •, and they are subject to a disease,
a kind of gangrene, rotting off the several parts of their
bodies, and must inevitably perish by it, bad they not
this surprising property.
This worm was a second instance, after the polype,
of the surprising power in an animal of recovering its
most essential parts when lost. But nature does not
seem to have limited her beneficence in this respect to
these two creatures. Mr Bonnet tried the same expe¬
riments on another species of water-worm, differing from
the former in being much thicker. This kind of worm,
when divided in the summer season, very often shows the
same property : for if it be cut into two or three pieces,
the pieces will lie like dead for a long time, but after¬
wards will move about again ; and will be found in this
state of rest to have recovered a head, or a tail, or both.
After recovering their parts, they move very little ;
and, according to this gentleman’s experiments, seldom
live more than a month.
It should seem, that the more difficult success of this
last kind of worm, after cutting, and the long time it
takes to recover the lost parts, if it do recover them at
all, is owing to its thickness ; since we always find in
that species of worms which succeeds best of all, that
those which are thinest always recover their parts much
sooner than the others.
The water-insects also are not the only creatures
which have this pourer of recovering their lost parts.
The earth affords us some already discovered to grow in
this manner from their cuttings, and these not less de¬
serving our admiration than those of the w’ater : the
common earth-worms are of this kind. Some of these
worms have been divided into two, others into three or
four pieces ; and some of these pieces, after having pas¬
sed two or three months without any appearance of life
or motion, have then begun to produce a head or tail,
or both. The reproduction of the anus, after such a
state of rest, is no long work •, a few days do it; but it
is otherwise with the head, that does not seem to pei-
form its functions in the divided pieces till about seven
months after the separation. It is to be observed, that
in all these operations both on earth and water-worms,
the hinder part suffers greatly more than the fore part
in the cutting ^ for it always twists itself about a long
time, as if actuated by strong couvulsions 3 whereas the
]
t'Oil,
eptiles.
R E P ' [ 725
prodnc- llMl1 usually crawls away witliout the apneai ance of anv
turn. great uneasiness. ■f
/ . Tbe "Potion of several parts of lobsters, crabs,
&c. makes also one of the great curiosities in natural
history. I hat, in lieu of an organical part of an ani¬
mal broken olt, another shall rise perfectly like it may
seem inconsistent with the modern system of generation,
where the animal is supposed to be wholly formed in
tie egg. has the matter of fact been well attested that when the
by the hshermen, and even by several virtuosos who have and applied
tioen the point into examination, particularly M. de
Reaumur and M. Perrault, whose skill and accuracy in
things of this nature will hardly be questioned. The
legs ot lobsters, &c. consist each of five articulations-
now, when any of the legs happen to break by any ac¬
cident, as in walking, &c. which frequently happens,
the fracture is always found to be in a part near the
fouith articulation ; and what they thus lose is precise¬
ly reproduced some time afterwards} that is, a part
of a leg shoots out, consisting of four articulations, the
first whereof has two claws as before} so that the* loss
is entirely repaired.
It a lobster’s leg be broken off by design at the fourth
or fifth articulation, what is thus broken olf always
comes again } but it is not so if the fracture be made
m the first, second, or third articulation. In those cases,
the reproduction is very rare if things continue as they
^nt »s exceedingly surprising is, that they
; : for. uoon visiting the loi^tpr m ..i 
REP
are.
do not : for, upon visiting die lobster maimed in these
barren and unhappy articulations, at the end of two or
three days, all tbe other articulations are found broken
ofl to the fourth} and it is suspected they have perform¬
ed the operation on themselves, to make the reproduc¬
tion of a leg certain.
The part reproduced is not only perfectly like that
retrenched, hut also, in a certain space of time, grows
equal to it. Hence it is that we frequently see lob¬
sters, which have their two big legs unequal, and that
in all proportions. This shows the smaller leg to be a
new one.
A part thus reproduced being broken, there is a se¬
cond reproduction. The summer, which is the only
season of the year when the lobsters eat, is the most
favourable time for the reproduction. It is then per¬
formed in four or five weeks} whereas it takes up eight
or nine months in any other season. The small legs are
sometimes reproduced, but more rarely, as well as more
slowly, than the great ones : the horns do the same.
The experiment is most easily tried on the common
crab.
REPTILES, in Natural History, a kind of animals
denominated from their creeping or advancing on the
belly. Or reptiles are those animals, which, instead of
feet, rest on one part of the body, while they advance
forward with the rest. Such are earthworms, snakes,
caterpillars, &c. Indeed, most of the reptiles have feet}
only those very small, and the legs short in proportion
to the bulk of the body.
Naturalists observe a world of artful contrivance for
the motion of reptiles. Thus, particularly in the earth¬
worm, Dr Willis tells us, the whole body is only a chain
of annular muscles } or, as Dr Derham says, it is only
one continued spiral muscle, the orbicular fibres where¬
of being contracted, render each ring narrower and
longer than before } by which means it is enabled, like
the worm of an augre, to bore its passage into the
earth. Ls reptile motion might also be explained by
a wire wound on a cylinder, which when slipped off,
and one end extended and held fast, will bring the
otner near to it. So the earthworm havino- shot out
or extended his body (which is with a wreathing),
it takes hold by these small feet it hath, and so con¬
tracts the hinder part of its body. Dr Tyson adds,
forepart of the body is stretched out,
. - . , a Plane at a distance, the hind part
relaxing and shortening is easily drawn towards it as a
centre.
Its feet are disposed in a quadruple row the whole
length of the worm, with which, as with so many hooks
rt fastens down sometimes this and sometimes that part
of the body to the plane, and at the same time stretches
out or drags after it another.
[he creeping of serpents is effected after a somewhat
< i erent manner } there being a difference in their struc¬
ture, in that these last have a compages of hones articu¬
lated together.
Hie body here is not drawn together, but as it were
complicated} part of it being applied on tbe rough
ground, and the rest ejaculated and shot from it, which
being set on the ground in its turn, brings the othei af-
ter it. i he spine of the back variously wreathed has
the same effect in leaping, as the joints in the feet of
otlier animals } they make their leaps by means of mus-
Cles» an<l extend the plica; or folds. See Erpetology
and Ophiology.
RE PIT LI A, the name of one of the orders of the
class amphibia, including tortoises, frogs, lizards. See
Erpetology.
RL1 LliLIC, or Commonwealth, a popular state or
government} or a nation where the people have the
government in their own hands. See Government,
Aristocracy, Democracy, and Monarchy.
Republic oj Letters, a phrase used collectively of
the whole body of the studious and learned people.
REPUDIATION, in the Civil Law, the act of di¬
vorcing. See Divorce.
REPULSION, in Physics, that property of bodies
whereby they recede from each other, and, on certain
occasions, mutually avoid coming into contact.
Repulsion, as well as attraction, has of late been
considered as one of the primary qualities of all matter,
and has been much used in explaining the phenomena
of nature : thus the particles of air, fire, steam, electric
fluid, &c. are all said to have a repulsive power with
respect to one another.—That this is the case with the
air, and vapour of all kinds, is certain } because when
they are compressed into a small space, they expand
with great force : but as to fire, light, and electricity,
our experiments fail} nay, the supposition of a repulsive
power among the particles of the electric fluid is incon¬
sistent with the phenomena, as has been demonstrated
under the article Electricity. Even in those fluids,
air and steam, where a repulsive power most manifestly
exists, it is demonstrable that the repulsion cannot be a
primary quality, since it can be increased to a great de¬
gree by heat, and diminished by cold : but it is impos¬
sible that a primary quality of matter can be increased
or diminished by any external circumstances whatever}
for whatever property depends upon external circum¬
stances, is not a primary but a secondary one.—The re-
4 Y 2 pulsion
Reptiles
I!
Repulsion.
R E Q t 72
Tt( i»«J4on pnlsion ofelcctriSod bodies Is explained niider the ai ticle
it Electricity : that of others is less subject to investi-
1’equeNts. potion •, and the most that can he said concerning IS»
  v   that in many cases it seems to be the consequence oi a
modification of tire, and in others of electricity.
REPUTATION means credit, honour, or the cha¬
racter of good •, and since we are destined to live in so¬
ciety is necessary and useful more or less to every hu¬
man being. There is no man, except one who is over¬
grown with pride and self-conceit, or whose actions are
bad but pays attention to his reputation, and wishes to
possess the good opinion of his neighbours or the world.
The love of reputation and of fame are most powerful
springs of action 5 but though they proceed from the
same principle, the means of attaining them, and the
effects of them, are not altogether the same.
Many means indeed serve equally to support the re¬
putation, and to increase the fame, differing only in de¬
grees ; others, however, belong peculiarly either to the
one or to the other. An honest reputation is within the
reach of the bulk of mankind j it is obtained by the so¬
cial virtues and the constant practice of the common du¬
ties of life. This kind of reputation indeed is neither
extensive nor brilliant, but it is often the most useful in
point of happiness. Wit, talents, and genius, are the
necessary requisites for fame •, but those advantages are
perhaps less real in their consequence than those arising
from a good reputation. M hat is of real use costs little •,
things rare and splendid require the greatest labour to
procure, and yield perhaps a more ideal happiness.
Fame can be possessed, comparatively speaking, but
by few individuals ; as it requires either very superior
abilities, supported by great efforts, or very fortunate
circumstances. It is constituted by the applause of man¬
kind, or at least by that of a single nation j whilst repu¬
tation is of much less extent, and arises from diflerent
circumstances. rI. hat reputation which is founded on
deceit and artifice is never solid 5 and the most honour¬
able will always be found to be the most useful. Every
one may safely, and indeed ought to, aspire to the consi¬
deration and praise due to his condition and merit j but
he who aspires to more, or who seeks it by dishonest
means, will at length meet with contempt.
REQUEST, in Law, a supplication or petition pre¬
ferred to a prince, or to a court of justice ; begging re¬
lief in some conscionable cases where the common law
grants no immediate redress.
Court of Requests (curia requisitionum) was acourt
of equity, of the same nature with the court of chan¬
cery, but inferior to it; principally instituted for the
relief of such petitioners as in conscionahle cases addres¬
sed themselves by supplication to his majesty. Of this
court the lord privy-seal was chief judge, assisted by the
masters of requests ; and it had beginning about the 9
H en. V II. according to Sir Julius Csesar’s tractate upon
this subject : Though Mr Gwyn, in his preface to his
Readings, saith it began from a commission first grant¬
ed by King Henry VIII. This court, having assumed
great power to itself, so that it became burthensome,
Mich, anno 40 and 41 Eli*, in the court of common-
pleas it was adjudged upon solemn argument, that
the court of requests was no court of judicature, &c.
and by stat. 16 and 17 Carl. cap. 10. it was taken
away.
There are still courts of requests, or courts of con-
4
B lac test.
Comtnmt.
4 ] R E Q
science, constituted in London and other trading and Requests,
populous districts for the recovery of small debts, ^tequitm.
The first of these was established in London so early V"»
as the reign of Henry VHL by an act of then common
council j which however was certainly insufficient for
that purpose, and illegal, till confirmed by statute 3 Jac.
J. c> 13. which has since been explained and amended
by statute 14 Geo. II. c. 10. The constitution is this:
two aldermen and four commoners sit twice a week
to hear all causes of debt not exceeding the value of
forty shillings ; which they examine in a summary way,
by the oath of the parties or other witnesses, and
make such order therein as is consonant to equity and
good conscience. The time and expence of obtain¬
ing this summary redress aie very inconsiderable, winch
make it a great benefit to trade 5 and thereupon divers
trading towns and other districts have obtained acts
of parliament for establishing in them courts of con¬
science upon nearly the same plan as that in the city of
London.
By 25 Geo. III. c. 45. (which is confined to prose¬
cutions in courts of conscience in London, Middlesex,
and the borough of Southwark), and by 26 Geo. III.
c. 38. (which extends the provisions of the former act
to all other courts instituted for the recovery of small
debts), it is enacted, that after the first day of Septem¬
ber 1786, no person whatsoever, being a debtor or de¬
fendant, and who has been or shall be committed to any
gaol or prison, by order of any couit or comn.issioners
authorised bv any act or acts of parliament foi constitu¬
ting or regulating any court or courts for the iccovery
of small debts, where the debt does not exceed twenty,
shillings, shall be kept or continued in custody, on any
pretence whatsoever, more than twenty days horn the
commencement &f the last mentioned act j or fiom the
time of his, her, or their commitment to prison : and
where the original debt does not amount to 01 exceed
the sum of forty shillings, more than forty days from the
commencement of the said act, or from the time of lus,
her, or their commitment as aforesaid •, and all gaolers
are thereby required to discharge- such persons accord¬
ingly. And by sect. 2. if it shall be proved to the sa¬
tisfaction of the court, that any such debtor has money
or goods which he has wilfully and fraudulently con¬
cealed : in that case the court shall have power to en¬
large the aforesaid times of imprisonment for debts un¬
der twenty shillings, to any time not exceeding thirty
days, and for debts under forty shillings, to any time not
exceeding sixty days} which said ground ot larthei de¬
tention shall be specified in the said commitment. And
that (by sect. 3.) at the expiration of the said respec¬
tive times of imprisonment, every such person shall im¬
mediately be discharged, without paying any sum of
money, or other reward or gratuity whatsoever, ^ ®
gaoler of such gaol on any pretence whatsoever j and
every gaoler demanding or receiving any fee for the dis¬
charge of any such person, or keeping any such person
prisoner after the said respective times limited by tie
said act, shall forfeit five pounds, to be recovered in a
summary way before two justices of the peace, one
moiety thereof to be paid to the overseeis of the P00^
of the parish where the offence shall be committed, and
the other to the informer.
REQUIEM, in the Romish history, a mass sung tor
the rest of the soul of a person deceasepES(-.jggjoN
EC- of
Crsism.
fSrJfo.
wL,
RES [
RESCISSION, in the Civil Law, an action intend¬
ed for the annulling or setting aside any contract, deed
Sec. ’ ’
RESCRIPT, an answer delivered by an emperor, or
a pope, when consulted by particular persons on some
difficult: question or point of law, to serve as a decision
thereof.
RESEDA, a genus of plants belonging to the dode-
eandria class; and in the natural method ranking under
the 54th order, Miscellanea;. See Botany Index.
The Luteola or Dyer's-weed. Yellow-weed, IFeld, or
Wild-wood, is one of the most valuable of the species
on account of its extensive use in dyeing. See Dyeing.
The odorata or mignionette is well known for the sweet¬
ness of its fragrance, and as an ornament of the flower-
garden.
RESEMBLANCE Dissimilitude, the rela¬
tions oi likeness and difference among objects. See
Comparison.
The connection that man hath with the beings around
him, requires some acquaintance with their nature, their
powers, and their qualities, for regulating his conduct.
For acquiring a branch of knowledge so essential to our
well-being, motives alone of reason and interest are not
sufficient: nature hath providentially superadded curio¬
sity, a vigorous propensity, which never is at rest. This
propensity alone attaches us to every new object f; and
incites us to compare objects, in order to discover their
differences and resemblances.
Resemblance among objects of the same kind, and
dissimilitude among objects of different kinds, are too
obvious and familiar to gratify our curiosity in any de¬
gree : its gratification lies in discovering differences
among things where resemblance prevails, and resem¬
blances where difference prevails. Thus a difference in
individuals ot the same kind of plants or animals, is
deemed a discovery, while the many particulars in which
they agree are neglected ; and in different kinds, any
resemblance is greedily remarked, without attending to
the many particulars in which they dift'er.
A comparison of the former neither tends to gra¬
tify our curiosity, nor to set the objects compared in
a stronger light: two apartments in a palace, similar
in shape, size, and furniture, make separately as good
a figure as when compared ; and the same observation
is applicable to two similar compartments in a garden :
on the other hand, oppose a regular building to a fall
of water, or a good picture to a towering lull, or even
a little dog to a large horse, and the contrast will pro¬
duce no effect. But a resemblance between objects of
the same kind, have remarkably an enlivening effect.
The poets, such of them as have a just taste, draw all
their similies from things that in the main differ wide¬
ly from the principal subject; and they never attempt
a contrast, but where the things have a common genus,
and a resemblance in the capital circumstances : place
together a large and a small sized animal of the same
species, the one will appear greater, the other less, than
when viewed separately : when we oppose beauty to
deformity, each makes a greater figure by the compa¬
rison. We compare the dress of different nations with
curiosity, but without surprise ; because they have no
such'resemblance in the capital parts as to please us by
contrasting the smaller parts. But a new cut of a
725 ] RES
sleeve, or of a. pocket, enchants by its novelty y and, in Rescm-
opposition to the former fashion, raises some degree of blance.
surprise.
. -l-fi^t resemblance and dissimilitude have an enliven¬
ing effect upon objects of sight, is made sufficiently evi¬
dent; and that they have the same effect upon objects
ot the other senses, is also certain. Nor is that law con¬
fined to the external senses ; for characters contrasted
make a greater figure by the opposition : lago, in the
tragedy of Othello, says,
He hath a daily beauty in his life
rI hat makes me ugly.
The character of a fop, and of a rough warrior, are
nowhere more successfully contrasted than in Shake¬
speare :
Hotspur. My liege, I did deny no prisoners:
But I remember, when the fight was done,
When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil,
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,
Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress’d,
I reffi as a bridegroom ; and his chin, new-reap’d,
Show’d like a stubble-land at harvest-home. *
He was perfumed like a milliner ;
And ’tvvixt his finger and his thumb he held
A pouncet-box, which ever and anon
He gave his nose and still he smil’d and talk’d ;
And as tne soldiers bare dead bodies by,
He call’d them untaught knaves, unmannerly,
i 0 bring a slovenly unhandsome corse
Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
AVith many holiday and lady terms
He question’d me : among the rest, demanded
My pris’ners in your Majesty’s behalf.
1 then, all smarting with my wounds; being gall’d
J o be so pester’d with a popinjay,
Out of my grief, and my impatience,
Answer’d, neglectingly, I know not what :
He should, or should not ; for he made me mad,
To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,
And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman,
Of guns, and drums, and wounds, (God save the mark!)
And telling me, the sovereign’st thing on earth
Was parmacity for an inward bruise ;
And that it was great pity, so it was,
This villanous saltpetre should be digg’d
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow had destroy’d
So cowardly : and but for these vile guns,
He would himself have been a soldier.-  
First part, Henry IV. act i. sc. 4.
Passions and emotions are also inflamed by compari¬
son. A man of high rank humbles the bystanders even
to annihilate them in their own opinion : Crnsar, behold¬
ing the statue of Alexander, was greatly mortified, that
now, at the age of 3 2, when Alexander died, he had
not performed one memorable action.
Our opinions also are much influenced by comparison.
A man whose opulence exceeds the ordinary standard
is reputed richer than he is in reality ; and wisdom or
weakness, if at all remarkable in an individual, is ge¬
nerally carried beyond the truth.
The opinion a man forms of his present distress
RES [ 72(5 3
is heightened by contrasting it with his former happi¬
ness :
   Could I forget
What I have been, I might the better bear
What I’m destin’d to. I’m not the first
That have been wretched : but to think how much
I have been happier.
Southern's Innocent Adultery, act 11.
The distress of a long journey makes even an indif¬
ferent inn agreeable : and, in travelling, when the road
is good, and the horseman well covered, a bad day
may lie agreeable, by making him sensible how snug
he is.
The same effect is equally remarkable, when a man
opposes his condition to that ol others. A ship tos¬
sed about in a storm, makes the spectator reflect upon
his own ease and security, and puts these in the strong¬
est light.
A man in grief cannot bear mirth; it gives him a
more lively notion of his unhappines*, and of course
makes him more unhappy. Satan, contemplating the
beauties of the terrestrial paradise, has the following
exclamation :
With what delight could I have walk’d thee round,
If I could joy in ought, sweet interchange
Of hill and valley, rivers, woods, and plains,
Now land, now sea, and shores with forest crown’d,
Hocks, dens, and caves ! but I in none of these
Find place or refuge; and the more I see
Treasures about me, so much more I feel
Torment within me, as from the hateful siege
Of contraries : all good to me becomes
Bane, and in heav’n much worse would be my state.
Paradise Lost, book ix. 1. 114.
The appearance of danger gives sometimes pleasure,
sometimes pain. A timorous person upon the battltv
ments of a high tower, is seized with fear, which even
the consciousness of security cannot dissipate. But upon
one of a firm head, this situation has a contrary effect:
the appearance of danger heightens, by opposition, the
consciousness of security, and consequently the satisfac¬
tion that arises from security : here the feeling resem¬
bles that above mentioned, occasioned by a ship labour¬
ing in a storm.
The efiect of magnifying or lessening objects by
means of comparison is to be attributed to the influ¬
ence of passion over our opinions. This will evident¬
ly appear by reflecting in what manner a spectator is af¬
fected, when a very large animal is for the first time pla¬
ced beside a very small one of the same species. The
first thing that strikes the mind is the difference be¬
tween the two animals, which is so great as to occasion
surprise ; and this, like other emotions, magnifying its
object, makes us conceive the difference to be the
greatest that can be : we see, or seem to see, the one
animal extremely little, and the other extremely large.
The emotion of surprise arising from any unusual re¬
semblance, serves equally to explain, why at first view
we are ant to think such resemblance more entire than
it is in reality. And it must be observed, that the cir¬
cumstances of more or less, which are the proper sub¬
jects of comparison, raise a perception so indistinct and
vague as to facilitate the effect described 3 we have no
1
mental standard of great and little, nor of the several Re5ei1>
degrees of any attribute; and the mind, thus unrestrain- Wancr
cd, is naturally disposed to indulge its surprise to the ut-
most extent.
In exploring the operations of the mind, some of
which are extremely nice and slippery, it is necessary
to proceed with the utmost circumspection : and after
all, seldom it happens that speculations of that kind
afford any satisfaction. Luckily, in the present case,
our speculations are supported by facts and solid argu¬
ment. First, a small object of one species opposed to
a great object of another, produces not, in any degree,
that deception which is so remarkable when both ob¬
jects are of the same species. The greatest disparity
between objects of different kinds, is so common as to
be observed with perfect indifference ; but such dispa¬
rity between the objects of the same kind being uncom¬
mon, never fails to produce surprise : and may we not
fairly conclude, that surprise, in the latter case, is what
occasions the deception, when we find no deception in
the former P In the next place, if surprise be the sole
cause of the deception, it follows necessarily that the
deception will vanish as soon as the objects compared
become familiar. This holds so unerringly, as to leave
no reasonable doubt that surprise is the prime mover:
our surprise is great, the first time a small lapdog is
seen with a large mastiff; but when two such animals
are constantly together, there is no surprise, and it
makes no difference whether they be viewed separately
or in company We set no bounds to the riches of a
man who has recently made his fortune ; the surprising
disproportion between his present and his past situation
being carried to an extreme : but with regard to a fa¬
mily that for many generations hath enjoyed great
wealth, the same false reckoning is not made. It is
equally remarkable, that a trite simile has no effect: a
lover compared to a moth scorching itself at the flame
of a candle, originally a sprightly simile, has by fre¬
quent use lost ail force ; love cannot now be compared
to fire, without some degree of disgust. It has been
justly observed against Homer, that the lion is too often
introduced into his similes ; all the variety he is able
to throw into them not being sufficient to keep alive
the reader’s surprise.
To explain the influence of comparison upon the mind,
we have chosen the simplest case, viz. the first sight of
two animals of the same kind, differing in size omy ; but
to complete the theory, other circumstances must be ta¬
ken in. And the next supposition we make, is where
both animals, separately familiar to the spectator, are
brought together for the first time. In that case, the
efiect of magnifying and diminishing is found remarkably
greater than in that first mentioned ; and the reason will
appear upon analysing the operation: the first feeling we
have is of surprise at the uncommon difference ot two
creatures of the same species ; we are next sensible, that
the one appears less, the other larger, than they did
formerly ; and that new circumstance increasing our sur¬
prise, makes us imagine a still greater opposition between
the animals, than if we had formed no notion of them
beforehand.
Let us make one other supposition, that the specta¬
tor wms acquainted beforehand with one of the animals
only ; the lapdog, for example. This new' circumstance
will vary the effect; for, instead of widening the natu-
" rat
esem-
iiice.
B E S' r
ral (litTerence, by enlarging in appearance the one ani¬
mal, and dmunislnnsf the other in proportion, the
727
B
E S
, II , .   jMUWUiiiuii, uie
,y!,ole apparent alteration will rest upon 'the l-.mlo.. •
the surprise to find it less than it appeared formerly'.
directs to it our whole attention, and makes us conceive
it to be a most diminutive creature: the mastiff in the
mean time is quite overlooked. To illustrate this ef¬
fect by a familiar example. Take a piece of paper or of
nnen tolerably white, and compare it with a pure white
of the same kind ; the judgment we formed of the first
object is instantly varied; and the surprise occasioned bv
finding it less white than was thought, produceth a hasty
conviction that it is much less white than it is in reality-
withdrawing now the pure white, and putting in its place
a deep black, the surprise occasioned by that new cir¬
cumstance carries us to the other extreme, and makes us
conceive the object first mentioned to he a pure white ;
and thus experience compels us to acknowledge, that
our emotions have an influence even upon our eye-sight.
I his experiment leads to a general observation, that
whatever is found more strange and beautiful than was
expected, is judged to be more strange and beautiful
than it is in reality. Hence a common artifice, to de¬
precate beforehand what we wish to make a figure in
the opinion of others.
The comparisons employed by poets and orators are
of the kind last mentioned: for it is always a known
object that is to be magnified or lessened. The former
is effected by likening it to some grand object, or by
contrasting it with one of an opposite character. To
effectuate the latter, tiie method must be reversed : the
object must he contrasted with something superior to it,
or likened to something inferior. The whole effect
is produced upon the principal object j which by that
means is elevated above its rank, or depressed below it.
In accounting for the effect that any unusual resem¬
blance or dissimilitude hath upon the mind, no cause
has. been mentioned hut surprise 5 and to prevent con¬
fusion, it was proper to discuss that cause first. But
surprise is not the only cause of the effect described :
another occurs, which operates perhaps not less power¬
fully, viz. a principle in human nature that lies still
in obscurity, not having been unfolded by any writer,
though its effects are extensive : and as it is not distin¬
guished by a proper name, the reader must he satisfied
with the following description. Every man who stu¬
dies himself or others, must be sensible of a tendency
or propensity in the mind to complete every work that
is begun, and to carry things to their full perfection.
I here is little opportunity to display that propensity
upon natural operations, which are seldom left imper¬
fect ; but in the operations of art it hath great scope:
it impels us to persevere in our own work, and to wish
for the completion of what another is doing : we feel
sensible pleasure when the work is brought to perfec¬
tion ; and our pain is not less sensible when we are dis¬
appointed. Hence our uneasiness when an interesting
story is broke off in the middle, when a piece of music
ends without a close, or when a building or garden is
left unfinished. ri he same propensity operates in making
collections; such as the whole works, good and bad, of
any author. A certain person attempted to collect prints
of all the capital paintings, and succeeded except as to a
few. LaBruyere remarks, that an anxious search was
]
made for these ; not for their value, but to complete the
set. i
I ne final cause of the propensity is an additional
proof of its existence. Human works are of no signi-
ficancy till they be completed j and reason is not al¬
ways a sufficient counterbalance to indolence: some
principle over and above is necessary to exdte our in¬
dustry, and to prevent our stopping short in the middle
of the course.
e riced not lose time to describe the co-operation
0 tlieforegoing propensity with surprise, in producing
the eftect that follows any unusual resemblance or dis¬
similitude. Surprise first operates, and carries our opi¬
nion of the resemblance or dissimilitude beyond truth.
^,e propensity we have been describing carries us still
farther 5 for it forces upon the mind a conviction, that
the resemblance or dissimilitude is complete. We need
no better illustration, than the resemblance that is fan¬
cied in some pebbles to a tree or an insect 5 which re¬
semblance, however faint in reality, is conceived to be
wonderfully perfect. The tendency to complete a re¬
semblance acting jointly with surprise, carries the mind
sometimes so far, as even to presume upon future events.
In the Greek tragedy entitled Phtneidcs, those unhappy
women seeing the place where it was intended they
should he slain, cried out with anguish, “ They now Arist. Poet.
saw their cruel destiny had condemned them to die inCilP- 17-
that place, being the same where they had been exposed
in their infancy.”
I he propensity to advance every thing to its per¬
fection, not only co-operates with surprise to deceive
the mind, but of itself is able to produce that effect.
Of this we see many instances where there is no place
for surprise 5 and the first we shall give is of resem¬
blance. Unumquodtjtte eodem mo do dissolvitur quo colli-
gatum est, is a maxim in the Roman law that has no
foundation in truth j for tying and loosing, building
and demolishing, are acts opposite to each other, and
are performed by opposite means: but when these acts
ax-e connected by their relation to the same subject,
their connection leads ns to imagine a sort of resem¬
blance between them, which by the foregoing propen¬
sity is conceived to be as complete as possible. The
next instance shall be of contrast. Addison observes, Spectator,
“ That the palest features look the most agreeable in^°26S*
white 5 that a face which is overflushed appears to advan¬
tage in the deepest scarlet ; and that a dark complexfbn
is not a little alleviated by a black hood.” The forego¬
ing propensity serves to account for these appearances :
to make this evident, one of the cases shall suffice. A
complexion, however dark, never approaches to black :
when these colours appear together, their opposition
strikes us ; and the propensity we have to complete the
opposition, makes the darkness of complexion vanish
out of sight.
The operation of this propensity, even where there
is no ground for surprise, is not confined to opinion or
conviction : so powerful it is, as to make us sometimes
proceed to action, in order to complete a resemblance
or dissimilitude. If this appear obscure, it will be
made clear by the following instance. Upon what
principle is the/fvr tolionis founded, other than to make
the punishment resemble the mischief? Reason dictates,
that there ought to be a conformity or resemblance be¬
tween
RES [7:
Re sc m- tween a crime and its punishment*, and the foregoing
blame, propensity impels 11s to make the resemblance as com-
”"v   plete as possible. Titus Livius*, under the influence
Lib. i. t|iat propensity, accounts fora certain punishment, by
a resemblance between it and the crime too subtile for
common apprehension. Speaking of Mettus I1 ufletius,
the Alban general, who, for treachery to the Romans
his allies, was sentenced to be torn to pieces by horses,
he puts the following speech in the mouth of I ullus
Hostillius, who decreed the punishment. “ Melte Fuf-
fcti, in quit, si ipse discene passesjidem ac feeder a serveire,
vivo tihi ca disciplina a me adhibiUi esset. Nunc, quo-
niani tumn insanuhile ingenium est, (it tu tuo supphcio dace
kumamtm genus ea sancta credere, quee a te violata sunU
Ut igitur paulo ante animum inter Fidenatem Roma-
immque ran ancipitem gessisti, itajam corpus passim dis-
trahenduni dabisF By the same influence, the sentence
is often executed upon the very spot where the crime
was committed. In the Electro of Sophocles, Egis-
theus is dragged from the theatre into an inner room of
the supposed palace, to suffer death where he murdered
Agamemnon. Shakespeare, whose knowledge of nature
is not less profound than extensive, has not overlooked
this propensity :
“ Othello. Get me some poison, Tago, this night.
I’ll not expostulate with her, lest her body and her
beauty unprovide my mind again. This night, lago.”
“ do go. Do it not with poison *, strangle her in her
bed, even in the bed she hath contaminated.”
“ Othello. Good, good: the justice of it pleases:
very good.” Othello, act iv. sc.
Persons in their last moments are generally seized
with an anxiety to be buried ivith their relations. In
the Amynta of Tasso, the lover, hearing that his mis¬
tress was torn to pieces by a wolf, expresses a desire to
die the same death.
Upon the subject in general we have twro remarks
to add. The first concerns resemblance, which, when
too entire, hath no effect, however different in kind the
things compared may be. The remark is applicable
to works of art only *, for natural objects of different
kinds have scarce ever an entire resemblance. To give
an example in a work of art : Marble is a sort of mat¬
ter very different from what composes an animal *, and
marble cut into a human figure, produces great plea¬
sure by the resemblance : but if a marble statue be co¬
loured like a picture, the resemblance is so entire as at
a distance to make the statue appear a real person: we
discover the mistake when we approach ; and no other
emotion is raised, but surprise occasioned by the de¬
ception : the figure still appears a real person, rather
than an imitation *, and we must use reflection to cor¬
rect the mistake. This cannot happen in a picture 5
for the resemblance can never be so entire as to dis¬
guise the imitation.
The other remark belongs to contrast. Emotions
make the greatest figure when contrasted in succession j
hut then the succession ought neither to be rapid, nor
immoderately slow : if too slow, the effect of contrast
becomes faint by the distance of the emotions •, and if
rapid, no single emotion has room to expand itself to
its full size, but is stifled, as it were, in the birth bv
a succeeding emotion. The funeral oration of the bi¬
shop pf Meaux upon the duchess of Orleans, is a per-
8 ] RES
feet hodge-podge of cheerful and melancholy represen- Rescn
tations, following each other in the quickest succession : Manto
opposite emotions are best felt in succession j but eacb ^
emotion separately should be raised to its due pitch,
before another be introduced.
What is above laid down, will enable us to deter¬
mine a very important question concerning emotions
raised by the fine arts, viz. Whether ought similar
emotions to succeed each other, or dissimilar? ilie
emotions raised by the fine arts are for the most part
too nearly related to make a figure by resemblance ;
and for that reason their succession ought to be regu¬
lated as much as possible by contrast. This holds
confessedly in epic and dramatic compositions j and the
best writers, led perhaps by taste more than by rea¬
soning, have generally aimed at that beauty. It holds
equally in music : in the same cantata all the variety of
emotions that are within the power of music, may not
only be indulged, but, to make the greatest figure,
ought to be contrasted. In gardening, there is an ad¬
ditional reason for the rule : the emotions raised by
that art, are at best so faint, that every artifice should
be employed to give them their utmost vigour : a field
may be laid out in grand, sweet, gay, neat, wild, me¬
lancholy scenes *, and when these are viewed in succes¬
sion, grandeur ought to be contrasted with neatness,-
regularity with wildness, and gaiety with melancholy,
so as that each emotion may succeed its opposite :
nay, it is an improvement to intermix in the succession
rude uncultivated spots as well as unbounded views,
which in themselves are disagreeable, but in succession
heighten the feeling of the agreeable object j and we
have nature for our guide, which in her most beautiful
landscapes often intermixes rugged rocks, dirty marshes,
and barren stony heaths. The greatest masters of mu¬
sic have the same view in their compositions : the second
part of an Italian song seldom conveys any sentiment :
and, by its harshness, seems purposely contrived to give
a greater relish for the interesting part of the composi-
tion.
A small garden, comprehended under a single view,
affords little opportunity for that embellishment. Dis¬
similar emotions require different tones of mind j and
therefore in conjunction can never be pleasant: gai¬
ety and sweetness may be combined, or wildness and
gloominess j but a composition of gaiety and gloomi¬
ness is distasteful. T he rude uncultivated compartment
of furze and broom in Richmond garden, hath a good
effect in the succession of objects *, but a spot of that
nature would be insufferable in the midst of a polished
parterre or flower-plot. A garden, therefore, it not of
great extent, admits not dissimilar emotions; and in
ornamenting a small garden, the safest course is to con¬
fine it to a single expression. For the same reason, a
landscape ought also to be confined to a single expres¬
sion ; and accordingly it is a rule in painting, that if
the subject be gay, every figure ought to contribute to
that emotion.
It follows from the foregoing train of reasoning, that
a garden near a great city ought to have an air of soli¬
tude. The solitariness, again, of a waste country ought
to be contrasted in forming a garden ; no temples, no
obscure walks; hut jets d'eau, cascades, objects active,
gay, and splendid. Nay, such a garden should in some
measure, avoid imitating nature, by taking on an ex¬
traordinary
RES
Etc id,
ib. v.
Iliad,
jiiin. S75,
tfaordinary appearance of regularity and art, to show
the busy hand of man, which in a waste country has a
fine effect by contrast.
it and 1 idicule make not an agreeable mixture
with grandeur. Dissimilar emotions have a fine effect
m a slow succession £ but in a rapid succession, which
approaches to co-existence, they will not be relished.
In the midst of a laboured and elevated description of
battle, Virgil introduces a ludicrous image, which is
certainly out of its place :
Obvius ambustum torrem ChorinEeus ab ara
Corripit, et venienti Ebuso plagamque ferenti
Occupat os flammis: illi ingens barba reluxit,
Nidoremcjue ambusta dedit. JEn. xii. 298.
E qua! tauro ferito, il suo dolore
Verso mugghiando e sospirando fuore.
Giemsal. cant. iv. st. 1.
It would however be too austere to banish altoge¬
ther ludicrous images from an epic poem. This poem
doth not always soar above the clouds : it admits great
variety ; and upon occasion can descend even to the
ground without sinking. In its mere familiar tones, a
ludicrous scene may be introduced without improprie¬
ty. This is done by Virgil * in a foot-race : the cir¬
cumstances of which, not excepting the ludicrous part,
are copied from Homert. After a fit of merriment,
we arc, it is true, the less disposed to the serious and
sublime : but then, a ludicrous scene, by unbending
the mind from severe application to more interesting
subjects, mny prevent fatigue, and preserve our relish
entire.
RESEN, (Moses) •, a town on the Tigris, built by
Nimrod 5 thought to be the Larissa of Xenophon 5
which see. Rut as Larissa is a name in imitation of a
Greek city j and as there were no Greek cities, con¬
sequently no Larissa, in Assyria, before Alexander the
Great j it is probable that the Greeks asking of what
city those were the ruins they saw, the Assyrians might
answer, Luresen, “ 01' lie senwhich word Xeno¬
phon expressed by Larissa, a more familiar sounif to a
Greek ear, (Wells).
RESENTMENT, means a strong perception of
good or ill, generally a deep sense of injury, and may be
distinguished into anger and revenge. “ By anger (says
Archdeacon Raley), I mean the pain we suffer upon the
receipt of an injury or affront, with the usual eflects of
that pain upon ourselves. By revenge, the inflicting
of pain upon the person who has injured or offended us,
farther than the just ends of punishment or reparation
require. Anger prompts to revenge; but it is possible
to suspend the effect when we cannot altogether quell
the principle. We are bound also to endeavour to qua¬
lify and correct the principle itself. So that our duty
requires two different applications of the mind : and lor
that reason anger and revenge should be considered se¬
parately.” See Revenge.
RESERVAT ION, in Law, an action or clause
whereby something is reserved, or secured to one’s sell.
Mental Reservation, a proposition which, strictly
taken, and according to the natural import of the terms,
is false *, but, if qualified by something concealed in the
mind, becomes tnie.
Vol. XVII. Part II. t
t 729 1
RES
Mental reservations are the great refuge of religious Reservet-
hypocrites, who use them to accommodate their con¬
sciences with their interests : the Jesuits are zealous
advocates for mental reservations ; yet are they real
lies, as including an intention to deceive.
RESERVE, in Law, the same with reservation.
See Reservation.
Body of Reserve, or Corps de Reserve, in military
affairs, the third or last line of an army, drawn up for
battle ; so called because they are reserved to sustain
the rest as occasion requires, and not to engage but in
case of necessity.
RESERVOIR, a place where water is collected and
reserved, in order to be conveyed to distant places
through pipes, or supply a fountain or jet d’eau.
RESET, in Laiv, the receiving or harbouring an
outlawed person. See Outlawry.
Reset of Theft, in Scots Law. See Law, N° clxxxvi.
29-
RESIDENCE, in the Canon and Common Law, the
abode of a person or incumbent upon his benefice 3 and
his assiduity in attending on the same.
RESIDENT, a public minister, who manages the
affairs of a kingdom or state, at a foreign court.
They are a class of public ministers, inferior to am¬
bassadors or envoys ; but, like them, are under the pro¬
tection of the law of nations.
RESIDUAL analysis, a calculus invented by Mr
Landen, and proposed as a substitute for the method of
fluxions. The design of it was to avoid introducing the
idea of motion, and of quantities infinitely small, into
mathematical investigation. The residual analysis ac¬
cordingly proceeds, by taking the difference of the same
function of a variable quantity in two different states of
that quantity, and denoting the relation of this differ¬
ence to the difference between the two states of the said
variable quantity. This relation being first generally
expressed, is next considered in the case when the dif¬
ference of the two states of the variable quantity is
=0 3 and by that means it is obvious, that the same
thing is done as when the function of a variable quan¬
tity is assigned by the ordinary methods.
The evolutions of the functions, considered in this
very general view, requires the aid of a new theorem,
discovered by Mr Landen, and remarkable for its sim¬
plicity and great extent. It is, that
if K and v are any two variable quantities
v
1 —1_
X
+ ZF-! (”0
I+© +© +(*) •
where m and n are any integer numbers.
(«)
This'theorem is the basis of the calculus, and front
the expressions xn—vn , and ,v—v having the form of
what algebraists denominate residuals, the inventor
gave to his method the name of the residual analysis.
Mr Landen published the first account of this method
in 1758, which he denominated A Discourse concerning
4 Z the
tion
Residual
Jlcsiilual
n
llesin.
RES [ 73° ] RES
the Residual Analysis. The first book of the analysis
appeared in 1764, which contained an explanation of
the principles of the new calculus, with its application
to problems of the direct method of fluxions, and the se¬
cond book solved several problems of the inverse me¬
thod, but it was never published.
If we estimate the value of this analysis by its prac¬
tical utility, it may be said to possess no great merit.
Its principles are much less easily apprehended than the
fluxionary' calculus \ they are not so luminous, and less
direct in their application, as well as inferior to it for
enlarging the boundaries of mathematical science.
Residual Figure in Geometry, the figure remaining
after the subtraction of the less from the greater.
Residual Root, is a root composed of two members
only connected by the sign — or minus. 1 bus, a b,
or "5—3, is a residual root ; and is so called, because its
true value is no more than the residue, or difference be¬
tween the parts a and b or 5 and 3, which in this case
is 2.
RESIDUE, the remainder or balance of an account,
deb t or obligation.
RESIGNATION, in general, signifies the implicit
submission of ourselves, or of something w-e possess, to
the will of another. In a religious sense it signifies a
perfect submission, without discontent, to the will of
God. See Moral Philosophy, N° 119.
RESIN, in Natural History, a viscid juice oozing
either spontaneously, or by incision, from several trees,
as the pine, fir, &c.—A premium for several years has
been offered by the London Society for Encouraging
Arts, &c. for discovering a method of reducing the in¬
flammable quality of resin, so as to adapt it to the pur¬
poses of making candles j but no such discovery has yet
been made.
Elastic Resin. See Caoutchouc, Chemistry TWe.r. Rc$ia
Gum Resin, a mixture of gum and resin. See Che- |i
mistry and Materia Medica Index. lt?Mstance.
Red Gum Resin, is procured from the red gum tree, ^ v' '
or eucalyptus resinitera j a tree so large and lofty as to
exceed in size the English oak. To obtain the juice
from this tree, incisions are made in the trunk of it,
and sometimes upwards of 60 gallons of red resinous Wtdtei
juice have been obtained from one of them. “ When
this juice is dried, it becomes a very powerful astnn-AlJPendix-
gent gum-resin, of a red colour, much resembling that
known in the shops by the name of kino, and, for all
medical purposes, fully as efficacious. Mr White ad¬
ministered it to a great number of patients in the dy¬
sentery, which prevailed much soon after the landing
of the convicts, and in no one instance found it to fail.
Yellow Gum Resin, is procured from the yellow re¬
sin tree, which is as large as the English walnut tree
The properties of this resin are equal to those of the
most fragrant balsams. It exudes from the bark spon¬
taneously, but more readily if incisions are made. The
colour of it is yellow, and at first it is fluid j but after
being inspissated in the sun, it becomes solid. When
burnt on hot coals, it smells like a mixture of balsam
of Tolu and benzoin, approaching somewhat to storax. llhite't
“ It is perfectly soluble in spirit of wine, but not in wa- Voyage,
ter, nor even in essential oil of turpentine, unless it l;e/1W,rarf,r-
digested in a strong heat. The varnish which it makes
with either is very weak. With respect to its medi¬
cinal qualities, Mr White has found it, in many cases,
a good pectoral medicine, and very balsamic.”
RESINOUS ELECTRICITY, is that kind of electri¬
city which is produced by exciting bodies of the resin¬
ous kind, and which is generally negative. See Elec¬
tricity passim.
si'!'
A*
3
r
u»i!
,,*!
iiiA
4
Sri.
#
utib
;S-
si
2Ml
lit
RESISTANCE OF FLUIDS.
RESISTANCE, or Resisting Force, in Philosophy,
denotes, in general, any power which acts in an
opposite direction to another, so as to destroy or dimi¬
nish its effect. See Mechanics, Hydrodynamics,
and Pneumatics.
Importance Of all the resistances of bodies to each, there is un-
of the sub- doubtedly none of greater importance than the re
jcct< sistance or reaction of fluids. It is here that we must
look for a theory of naval architecture, for the impulse
of the air is our moving power, and this must be modi¬
fied so as to produce eveiy motion we want by the form
and disposition of our sails j and it is the resistance of
the water which must be overcome, that the ship may
proceed in her course •, and this must also be modified
to our purpose, that the ship may not drive like a log to
leeward, but on the contrary may ply to windward,
that she may answer her helm briskly, and that she may
he easy in all her motions on the surfaced the troubled
ocean. The impulse of wind and water makes them
ready and indefatigable servants in a thousand shapes
for driving our machines ; and we should lose much of
their service did we remain ignorant of the laws of
their action : they would sometimes become terrible
masters, if we did not fall upon methods of eluding or
softening their attacks. *
We cannot refuse the ancients a considerable know-The an-
ledge of this subject. It was equally interesting to them cients were
as to us ; and we cannot read the accounts of the naval lo:l;fa *
exertions of Phoenicia, Carthage, and of Rome, exertions
which have not been surpassed by any thing of modern iu
date, without believing that they possessed much prac¬
tical and experimental knowledge of this subject. It
was not, perhaps, possessed by them in a strict and
systematic form, as it is now taught by our mathema¬
ticians •, but the master-builders, in their dockyards,
did undoubtedly exercise their genius in comparing the
forms of their finest ships, and in marking those cir¬
cumstances of form and dimension which were in fact
accompanied with the desirable properties of a ship,
and thus framing to themselves maxims cf naval archi¬
tecture in the same manner as we do now. For we
believe that our naval architects are not disposed to
grant -
Resistance
o' F ui l<.
Bill even
soiv it is
not perfect¬
ly unler-
itood.
Sir f. New¬
ton first ap¬
plied ma¬
thematics
to it.
S
Difficulties
he met with
ia it.
C
He propo¬
sed a
heory,
n°t) how-
"ver, agree
^ith expe-
riment.
RESISTANCE
grant tliat lliey have profited much by all the labours
of the mathematicians. Hut the ancients hail not made
any great progress in the physicomathematical sciences,
which consist chiefly in the application of calculus to
the phenomena of nature. In this branch they could
make none, because they had not the means of investi¬
gation. A knowledge of the motions and actions of
fluids is accessible only to those who are familiarly ac¬
quainted with the fluxionary mathematics ; and without
this key there is no admittance. Even when possessed
of this guide, our progress has been very slow, hesita¬
ting, and devious j and we have not yet been able to
establish any set of doctrines which are susceptible of an
easy and confident application to the arts of life. If we
have advanced farther than the ancients, it is because
we have come after them, and have profited by their
labours, and even by their mistakes.
Sir Isaac Newton was the first (as far as we can re¬
collect) who attempted to make the motions and ac¬
tions of fluids tlie subject of mathematical discussion.
He had invented the method of fluxions long before
lie engaged in bis physical researches •, and he proceed¬
ed in these ana mathesifacemprcrfcrentc. Yet even with
tliis guide h e was often obliged to grope Ins way, and
to try various bye-paths, in the hopes of obtaining a
legitimate theory. Having exerted all his powers
in establishing a theory of the lunar motions, he was
obliged to rest contented with an approximation in¬
stead of a perfect solution of the problem which ascer¬
tains the motions of three bodies mutually acting on
each other. This convinced him that it was in vain
to expect an accurate investigation of the motions and
actions of fluids, where millions of unseen particles
combine their influence. He therefore cast about to
find some particular case of the problem which would
admit of an accurate determination, and at the same
time furnish circumstances of analogy or resemblance
sufficiently numerous for giving limiting cases, which
should include between them those other cases that did
not admit of this accurate investigation. And thus,
by knowing the limit to which the case proposed did
approximate, and the circumstance which regulated the
approximation, many useful propositions might be de¬
duced for directing us in the application of these doc¬
trines to the arts of life.
He therefore figured to himself a hypothetical col¬
lection of matter which possessed the characteristic pro¬
perty of fluidity, viz. the quaqudverswn propagation
of pressure, and the most perfect intermobility (pardon
the uncouth term) of parts, and which formed a phy¬
sical whole or aggregate, whose parts were connected
by mechanical forces, determined both in degree and
in direction, and such as rendered the determination of
certain important circumstances of their motion suscep¬
tible of precise investigation. And he concluded, that
the laws which he should discover in these motions must
have a great analogy with the laws of the motions of
real fluids : And from this hypothesis he deduced a se¬
ries of propositions, which form the basis of almost all
the theories of the impulse and resistance of fluids which
have been offered to the public since his time.
It must be acknowledged, that the results of this
theory agree but ill with experiment, and that, m the
way in which it has been ’zealously prosecuted by subse'
OF ELUiES. y3t
qvent mathematicians, it proceeds on principles or as-Resistance
sumptions which are not only gratuitous, hut even false, of Fluids.
But it affords such a beautiful application of geometry '*
and calc-ilus, that mathematicians have been as it were
fascinated by it, and have published systems .so elegant
and so extensively applicable, that one cannot help la¬
menting that the foundation is so flimsy. John Ber¬
noulli’s theory, in his dissertation on the communica¬
tion of motion, and Bouguer’s in his Traite du Navire}
and in his Theorie du Manoeuvre et de la Mature des
l aisseaux, must ever be considered as among the finest
specimens of physicomathematical science which the world
has seen. And, with all its imperfections, this theory Bul ^ uli,
still furnishes (as was expected by its illustrious author) ijty L still
many propositions of immense practical use, they be-very consi-
ing the limits to which the real phenomena of the im- de cable,
pulse and resistance of fluids really approximate. So
that when the law by which the phenomena deviate
from the theory is once determined by a well chosen,
series of experiments, this hypothetical theory becomes
almost as valuable as a true one. And we may add^
that although Mr d’Alembert, bv treading warily in
the steps of Sir Isaac Newton in another route, has
discovered a genuine and unexceptionable theory, the
process of investigation is so intricate, requiring every
finesse of the most abstruse analysis, and the final equa¬
tions are so complicated, that even their most expert
author has not been able to deduce more than one
simple proposition (which too was discovered by Daniel
Bernoulli by a more simple process) which can he ap¬
plied to any use. The hypothetical theory of Newton,
therefore, continues to be the groundwork of all our
practical knowledge of the subject.
We shall therefore lay before our readers a very short
view of the theory, and the manner of applying it. We
shall then show its defects (all of which were pointed
out by its great author), and give a historical account
of the many attempts which have been made to amend
it or to substitute another ; in all which we think it our
duty to show, that Sir Isaac Newton took the lead, and
pointed out every path which others have taken, if we
except Daniel Bernoulli and D’Alembert; and we shall
give an account of the chief sets of experiments which
have been made on this important subject, in the hopes
of establishing an empirical theory, which may be em¬
ployed with confidence in the arts of life.
We know by experience that force must be applied The term
to a body in order that it may move through a fluid, resistance,
such as air or water ; and that a body projected with as here ap-
any velocity is gradually retarded in its motion, and p!|e.d’
generally brought to rest. The analogy of natureP
makes us imagine that there is a force acting in the
opposite direction, or opposing the motion, and that
this force resides in, or is exerted by, the fluid. And
the phenomena resemble those which accompany the
known resistance ofactive beings, such as animals. There¬
fore we give to this supposed force the metaphorical
name of Resistance. We also know that a fluid in
motion will huny a solid body along with the stream,
and that it requires force to maintain it in its place.
A similar analogy makes us suppose that the fluid exerts
force, in the same manner as when an active being im¬
pels the body before him ; therefore we call this the
Impulsion of a Fluid. And as our knowledge of na-
4 Z, 2 ture
732
Resistance
of Fluids.
Sir Isaac
Newton
supposes
two systems
similar in
their parts,
and each
part ha¬
ving a -con¬
stant ratio
to each.
Effect of
the similar
parts being
put in mo¬
tion.
RESIST AN CE
ture informs us that the mutual actions of bodies are in
every case equal and opposite, and that the observed
change of motion is the only indication, characteristic,
and measure of the changing force, the forces are the
same (whether we call them impulsions or resistances)
when the relative motions are the same, and therefore
depend entirely on these relative motions. The force,
therefore, which is necessary for keeping a body im¬
moveable in a stream of water, flowing with a certain
velocity, is the same with what is required for moving
this body with this velocity through stagnant water.
To any one who admits the motion of the earth round
the sun, it is evident that we can neither observe nor
reason from a case of a body moving through still water,
nor of a stream of water pressing upon or impelling a
quiescent body.
A body in motion appears to be resisted by a stag¬
nant fluid, because it is a law of mechanical nature that
force must be employed in order to put any body in mo¬
tion. Now the body cannot move forward without put¬
ting the contiguous fluid in motion, and force must be
employed for producing this motion. In like manner,
a quiescent body is impelled by a stream of fluid, be¬
cause the motion of the contiguous fluid is diminished
by this solid obstacle *, the resistance, therefore, or im¬
pulse, no way differs from the ordinary communications
of motion among solid bodies.
Sir Isaac Newton, therefore, begins his theory of the
resistance and impulse of fluids, by selecting a case
where, although he cannot pretend to ascertain the mo¬
tions themselves which are produced in the particles of
a contiguous fluid, he can tell precisely their mutual ra¬
tios.
He supposes two systems of bodies such, that each
body of the first is similar to a corresponding body of
the second, and that each is to each in a constant ratio
He al so supposes them to be similarly situated, that is,
at the angles of similar figures, and that the homologous
lines of these figures are in the same ratio with the dia¬
meters of the bodies. He farther supposes, that they
attract or repel each other in similar directions, and
that the accelerating connecting forces are also propor¬
tional ; that is, the forces in the one system are to the
corresponding forces in the other system in a constant
ratio, and that, in each system taken apart, the forces
pre as the squares of the velocities directly, and as the
diameters of the corresponding bodies, or their distances,
inversely.
This being the case, it legitimately follows, that if
similar parts of the two systems are put into similar mo¬
tions, in any given instant, they will continue to move
similarly, each correspondent body describing similar
curves, with proportional velocities : For the bodies be¬
ing similarly situated, the forces which act on a body in
one system, arising from the combination of any number
of adjoining particles, will have the same direction with
the force acting on the corresponding body in the other
system, arising from the combined action of the similar
and similarly directed forces of the adjoining correspon¬
dent bodies of the other system j and these compound
forces will have the same ratio with the simple forces
which constitute them, and will be as the squares of
the velocities directly, and as the distances, or any ho¬
mologous lines inversely; and therefore the chords of
OF FLUIDS.
curvature, having the direction of the centripetal or Resistanet
centrifugal forces, and similarly inclined to the tangents ol’Fluids,
of the curves described by the corresponding bodies, 1
will have the same ratio with the distances of the par¬
ticles. The curves described bj the corresponding bodies
will therefore be similar, the velocities will be propor¬
tional, and the bodies will be similarly situated at the
end of the first moment, and exposed to the action of
similar and similarly situated centripetal or centrifugal
forces j and this will again produce similar motions du¬
ring the next moment, and so on for ever. All this is
evident to any person acquainted with the elementary
doctrines of curvilineal motions, as delivered in the
theory of physical astronomy.
From this fundamental proposition, it clearly follows, Conse-
that if two similar bodies, having their homologous lines ff11611™ de¬
proportional to those of the two systems, be similarly ^uced from
projected among the bodies of those two systems with any
velocities, they will produce similar motions in the two
systems, and will themselves continue to move similarly 5
and therefore will, ineverysubsequent moment, suffer si-
milardiminutions or retardations. If the initial velocities
of projection be the same, but the densities of the two
systems, that is, the quantities of matter contained in an
equal bulk or extent, be different, it is evident that the
quantities of motion produced in the two systems in the
same time will be proportional to the densities j and if
the densities are the same, and uniform in each system,
the quantities of motion produced will be as the squares
of the velocities, because the motion communicated to
each corresponding body will be proportional to the ve¬
locity communicated, that is, to the velocity of the im¬
pelling body j and the number of similarly situated par¬
ticles which will be agitated will also be proportional to
this velocity. Therefore, the whole quantities of mo¬
tion produced in the same moment of time will be pro¬
portional to the squares of the velocities. And lastly, if
the densities of the two systems are uniform, or the same
through the whole extent of the systems, the number of
particles impelled by similar bodies will be as the sur¬
faces of these bodies.
Now the diminutions of the motions of the projected
bodies are (by Newton’s third law of motion) equal to
the motions produced in the systems ; and these diminu¬
tions are the measures of w hat are called the resistances
opposed to the motions of the projected bodies. There¬
fore, combining all these circumstances, the resistances
are proportional to the similar surfaces of the moving bo¬
dies, to the densities of the systems through which the
motions are performed, and to the squares of the veloci¬
ties, jointly. 13
We cannot form to ourselves any distinct notion of a A fluid con-
fluid, otherwise than as a system of small bodies, or as^ere^
collection of particles, similarly or symetrically arran-
ged, the centres of each being situated in the angles ofdjeg simi.
regular solids. We must form this notion of it, whetherlarly ar-
we suppose, with the vulgar, that the particles are little ranged,
globules in mutual contact, or, with the partisans of cor¬
puscular attractions and repulsions, we suppose the parti¬
cles kept at a distance from each other by means of these
attractions and repulsions mutually balancing each other.
In this last case, no other arrangement is consistent with
a quiescent equilibrium 3 and in this case, it is evident,
from the theory of curvilineal motions, that the agi¬
tations
^■stance
► f Fluids-
14
rst law oi
a resi*t-
I IC«, &C.
fluids.
asticity
I water.
RESISTANCE
tations of the particles will always be such, that the con-
necting forces, in actual exertion, will be proportional
to the squares of the velocities directly,and to the chords
of the curvature having the direction of the forces in¬
versely.
■ Prop. I. The resistances, and (by the third law of mo¬
tion), the impulsions of fluids on similar bodies, are
proportional to the surfaces of the solid bodies, to the
densities of the fluids, and to the squares of the velo¬
cities, jointly.
We must now observe, that when we suppose the par¬
ticles of the fluid to be in mutual contact, we may either
suppose them elastic or unelastic. The motion commu¬
nicated to the collection of elastic particles must be double
of what the same body, moving in the same manner,
would communicate to the particles of an elastic fluid.
The impulse and resistance of elastic flu ids must therefore
be double of those of unelastic fluids.—But we must
caution our readers not to judge of the elasticity of fluids
by their sensible compressibility. A diamond is incom¬
parably more elastic than the finest foot ball, though not
compressible in any sensible degree.—It remains to be
decided, by well chosen experiments, whether water be
not as elastic as air. If we suppose, with Boscovich, the
particles of perfect fluids to be at a distance fiom each
other, we shall find it difficult to conceive a fluid void
of elasticity. We hope that the theory ef their impulse
and resistance will suggest experiments which will decide
this question, by pointing out what ought to be the ab¬
solute impulse or resistance in either case. And thus the
fundamental proposition of the impulse and resistance of
fluids, taken in its proper meaning, is susceptible of a ri¬
gid demonstration, relative to the only distinct notion
that we can form of the internal constitution of a fluid.
We say, taken in its pi'oper meaning ; namely, that the
impulse or resistance of fluids is a pressure, opposed and
measured by another pressure, such as a pound weight,
the force of a spring, the pressure of the atmosphere,
and the like. And we apprehend that it would be very
difficult to find any legitimate demonstration of this
leading proposition different from this, which we have
now borrowed from Sir Isaac Newton, Px’op. 23. B. II.
Princip. We acknowledge that it is prolix and even
circuitous: but in all the attempts made by his com¬
mentators and their copyists to simplify it, we see great
defects of logical argument, or assumption of principles,
which are not only gratuitous, but inadmissible. We
shall have occasion, as we proceed, to point out some of
these defects ; and doubt not but the illustrious author
of this demonstration had exercised his uncommon pa¬
tience and sagacity in similar attempts, and was dis¬
satisfied with them all.
Before we proceed farther, it will be proper to make
a general remark, which will save a great deal of discus¬
sion. Since it is a matter of universal experience, that
every action of a body on others is accompanied by an
equal and contrary re-action ; and since all that we can
demonstrate concerning the resistance of bodies during
their motions through fluids proceeds on this supposition
(the resistance of the body being assumed as equal and
opposite to the sum of motions communicated to the par¬
ticles of the fluid, estimated in the direction of the bodies
OF FLUIDS. 733
motion), we are intitled to proceed in the contrary order, Resista&ce
and to consider the impulsionswhich each of the particles ^ luids-
of fluid exerts on the body at rest, as equal and opposite v
to the motion which the body would communicate to that
particle if the fluid were at rest, and the body were
moving equally swift in the opposite direction. And
therefore the whole impulsion of the fluid must be con¬
ceived as the measure of the whole motion which the
body would thus communicate to the fluid. It must there¬
fore be also considered as the measure of the resistance
which the body, moving witli the same velocity, would
sustain from the fluid. When, therefore, we shall de¬
monstrate any thing concerning the impulsion of a fluid,
estimated in the direction of its motion, we must con¬
sider it as demonstrated concerning the resistance of a
quiescent fluid to the motion of that body, having the
same velocity in the opposite direction. The determi¬
nation of these impulsions being much easier than the
determination of the motions communicated by the body
to the particles of the fluid, this method will be follow¬
ed in most of the subsequent discussions.
The general proposition already delivered is by no
meanssufficientfor explaining the various important phe-
nomenaobserved in the mutual actions of solidsandfluids.
In particular, it gives us no assistance in ascertaining the
modifications of this resistance or impulse, which depend
on the shape of the body and the inclination of its impel¬
led or resisted surface to the direction of the motion. Sir
Isaac Newton found another hypothesis necessary 5 name¬
ly, that the fluid should be so extremely rare that the
distance of the particles may be incomparably greater
than their diameters. This additional condition is neces¬
sary for considering their actions as so many separate
collisions or impulsions on a solid body. Each particle
must be supposed to have abundant room to rebound, or
otherwise escape, after having made its stroke, without
sensibly affecting the situations and motions of the par¬
ticles which have not yet made their stroke : and the
motion must be so swift as not to give time for the sen¬
sible exertion of their mutual forces of attractions and
repulsions.
Keeping these conditions in mind, we may proceed to
determine the impulsions made by a fluid on surfaces of
every kind : And the most convenient method to pur¬
sue in this determination, is to compare them all either
with the impulse which the same surface would receive
from the fluid impinging on it perpendicularly, or with
the impulse which the same stream of fluid would make
when coming perpendicularly on a surface of such ex¬
tent as to occupy the whole stream.
It will greatly abbreviate language, if we make use Terms ex.-
of a few terms in an appropriate sense. plained.
By a stream, we shall mean a quantity of fluid moving
in one direction, that is, each particle moving in parallel
lines ; and the breadth of the stream is a line perpendi¬
cular to all these parallels.
A filament means a portion of this stream of very
small breadth, and it consists of an indefinite number of
particles following one another in the same direction,
and successively impinging on, or gliding along, the sur¬
face of the solid body.
The base of any surface exposed to a stream of fluid,
is that portion of a plane perpendicular to the stream,
which is covered or protected from the action of th#
stream
734
Resistance stream by tbe surface exposed to its impulse. Thus the
of Fluids, base of a sphere exposed to a stream of fluid is its great
circle, whose plane is perpendicular to the stream. .It
Plate _ n l. ^ ..i  ,.,,..1’..™ tr> flip action
rrrri%r (tig. I.) he a plane surface exposed to the action
li,,. j/ 'of a stream of fluid, moving in the direction DC, then
13 R, or SE, perpendicular to DC, is its base.
Direct impulse shall express the energy or action of
the particle or filament, or stream of fluid, when meet¬
ing the surface perpendicularly, or when the surtace is
perpendicular to the direction ot the stream.
Absolute impulse means the actual pressure on the im
pelled surface, arising from the action of the fluid, whe¬
ther striking the surface perpendicularly or obliquely •, or
it is the force impressed on the surtace, or tendency to
motion which it acquires, and which must be opposed
by an equal force in tbe opposite direction, in order that
the surface may be maintained in its place. It is ot im¬
portance to keep in mind, that this pressure is always
perpendicular to the surface. It is a proposition found¬
ed on universal and uncontradicted experience, that the
mutual actions of bodies on each other are always ex¬
erted in a direction perpendicular to the touching sur¬
faces. Thus, it is observed, that when a billiard hall
A is struck by another B, moving in any direction what¬
ever, the ball A always moves oft’ in the direction per¬
pendicular to the plane which touches the two balls in
the point of mutual contact, or point of impulse. 'I his
inductive proposition is supported by every argument
which can be drawn from what we know concerning
the forces which connect the particles ot matter toge¬
ther, and are the immediate causes ot the communica¬
tion of motion. It would employ much time and room
to state them here ; and we apprehend that it is unne¬
cessary : for no reason can be assigned why the pressure
should be in any particular oblique direction. It any
one should say that the impulse will be in the direction
of the stream, wre have only to desire him to take no¬
tice of the effect of the rudder of a ship. I his shows
that the impulse is not in the direction of the stream, and
is therefore in some direction transverse to the stream.—
He will also find, that when a plane surface is impelled
obliquely by a fluid, there is no direction in which it
can be supported but the direction perpendicular to it¬
self. It is quite safe, in the mean time, to take it as
an experimental truth. We may, perhaps, in some
other part of this work, give what will be received as
a rigorous demonstration.
Helative or effective impulse means the pressure on the
surface estimated in some particular direction. Thus
BC (fig. i.) may represent the sail of a ship, impelled
by the wind blowing in the direction DC. GO may
be the direction of the ship’s keel, or the line ot her
course. The wind strikes the sail in the direction GH
parallel to DC j the sail is urged or pressed in the di¬
rection GI, perpendicular to BC. But we are interest¬
ed to know what tendency this will give the ship to
move in the direction GO. This is the effective or re¬
lative impulse. Or BC may be the transverse section of
the sail of a common wind-mill. This, by the construc¬
tion of the machine, can move only in the direction GP,
perpendicular to the direction ot the wind j and it is on¬
ly in this direction that the impulse produces the desired
effect. Or BC may be half of the prow of a punt or
lighter, riding at anchor by means of the cable DC, at¬
tached to the prow C. In this case, GQ, parallel to
resistance of fluids.
DC, is that part of the absolute impulse which is eill- pe,p.{aB,
ploved in straining the cable. of Fliiit*
The angle oj incidence is the angle TOC contained be-
tween the direction of the stream I1 G and the plane BC.
The angle of obliquity is the angle OGC contained
between the plane and the direction GO, in which we
wish to estimate the impulse.
Prop. 11. The direct impulse of a fluid on a plane sur-gec0jJj
face, is to its absolute oblique impulse on the same sur-of resist
face, as the square of the radius to the square of thence,
sine ot the angle of incidence.
Let a stream of fluid, moving in the direction DC,
(fig. i.), act on the plane BC. With the radius CBFig-u
describe the quadrant ABE} draw CA perpendicular
to CE, and draw MNBS parallel to CE. Let the par¬
ticle F, moving in the direction EG, meet the plane in
G, and in EG produced take GH to represent the mag¬
nitude of the direct impulse, or the impulse which the
particle would exert on the plane AC, by meeting it in
V. Draw GI and MK perpendicular to BC, and HI
perpendicular to GI. Also draw BR perpendicular to
DC.
The force GH is equivalent to the two forces GI
and GK } and GK being in the direction of the plane
has no share in the impulse. 1 he absolute impulse,
therefore, is represented by GT ; the angle GUI is
equal to FGC, the angle of incidence } and therefore
GH is to GI as radius to the sine of the angle of inci¬
dence. Therefore the direct impulse of each particle
or filament is to its absolute oblique impulse as radius to
the sine of tbe angle of incidence. But further, the
number of particles or filaments which strike tbe surface
AC, is to the number of those which strike the surface
BC as AC to NC : for all the filaments between LA
and MB go past the oblique surface BC without strik¬
ing it. But BC : NCrrrad. : sin. NBC,mad. : sin.
FGC, = rad. : sin. incidence. Now tbe whole impulse
is as the impulse of each filament, and as the number of
filaments exerting equal impulses jointly } therefore the
whole direct impulse on AC is to the whole absolute
impulse on BC, as the square of radius to the square ol
the sine of the angle of incidence.
Let S express the extent of the surface, i the angle
of incidence, o the angle of obliquity, v the velocity of
the fluid, and d its density. Let F represent the direct
impulse,/the absolute oblique impulse, and <p thn re¬
lative or effective impulse : And let the tabular sines
and cosines lie considered as decimal Iractions of the ra¬
dius unity.
This proposition gives us F :/—R* : Sin.1 z, rr I •
Sin.1?’, and therefore/^: F X Sin.1 z. Also, because
impulses are in the proportion of the extent of surface
similarly impelled, we have, in general, y = I S X
Sin.1, z.
The first who published this theorem was Pardies, in
his Oeuvres de Mathematique, in 1763. We know that
Newton had investigated the chief propositions of the
Principia before 1670.
Prop. III. The direct impulse on any surface is to the-phirdla
effective oblique impulse on the same surface, as the
cube of radius to the solid, which has for its base the
square of the sine of incidence, and the sine of obli¬
quity for its height.
!
Forj
resistance of fluids.
distance Tor, when GH represents the direct impulse of a par-
Fiuids. tide, GI is the absolute oblique impulse, and GO is the
>-v effective impulse in the direction GO : Now GI is to
GO as radius to the sine of GIO, and GIO is the com¬
plement of IGO, and is therefore equal to CGO, the
angle of obliquity.
Therefore f: <p=H : Sin. O.
But F : /iirB1 : Sin.V
Therefore F : <p=Pd : Sin.VxSin. O. and
F X Sin.*/ X Sin. O.
.portion Cot\—The direct impulse on any surface is to the ef-
tbe di- fective oblique impulse in the direction of the stream, as
dm- the cube of radius to the cube of the sine of incidence.
•dive1 C ^'or ^raw ant* perpendicular to GH, and IP
ique im- perpendicular to GP j then the absolute impulse GI is
se. equivalent to the impulse GQ in the direction of the
stream, and GP, which may be called the transverse im¬
pulse. The angle GIQ is evidently equal to the angle
GHI, or FGC, the angle of incidence.
Therefore f \ (p—
But F :/=
Therefore F : <p —
And p = F X Sin3/.
GQ, = R
R2
R3
: Sin. /.
Sin.V.
Sin.3/.
ubc on Before we proceed further, Ave shall consider the im-
irfacein pUlse on a surface which is also in motion. This is evi-
J!m- dently a frequent and an important case. It is perhaps
the most frequent and important: It is the case of a ship
under sail, and of a wind or water-mill at work.
Therefore, let a stream of fluid, moving with the di-
i. rection and velocity DE, meet a plane BC, (fig. 2.)
which is moving parallel to itself in the direction and
with the velocity DF: It is required to determine the
impulse ?
Nothing is more easy : The mutual actions of bodies
depend on their relative motions only. The motion,
DE of the fluid relative to BC, which is also in motion,
is compounded of the real motion of the fluid and the
opposite to the real motion of the body, t herefore pro¬
duce FD till Dy=DF, and complete the parallelogram
Dfe E, and draw the diagonal D e. The impulse on
the plane is the same as if the plane Were at rest, and
every particle of the fluid impelled it in the direction
and with the velocity D e; and may therefore be de¬
termined by the foregoing proposition. This proposition
applies to everv possible case ; and we shall not bestow
more time on it, but reserve the important modification
of the general proposition for the cases which shall oc¬
cur in the practical applications of the whole doctrine
of the impulse and resistance of fluids.
Prop. IV. The direct impulse of a stream of fluid,
whose breadth is given, is to its oblique effective im¬
pulse in the direction of the stream, as the square of
radius to the square of the sine of the angle of inci¬
dence.
uju uc For the number of filaments which occupy the ob-
ilse in lique plane BC, would occupy the portion NC of a
ame perpendicular plane, and therefore we have only to
l'0^• compare the perpendicular impulse on any point ^ with
the effective impulse made by the same filament FV on
the oblique plane at G. Now GH represents the im¬
pulse which this filament would make at ^ $ and GQ
s the effective impulse of the same filament at G, esti¬
51
iortion
is di-
im-
: of
re 11
m to
fiec-
oblique
mated in the direction GH of the stream; and GH is
to GQ as GIF to GI*, that is, as rad.* to sin.* i.
Cor. r. The effective impulse in the direction of the
stream on any plane surface BC, is to the direct impulse
on its base BR or SE, as the square of the sine of the
angle ot incidence to the square of the radius.
2. If an isosceles wedge ACB (fig. 3.) be exposed to
a stream of fluid moving in the direction of its height
CD, the impulse on the sides is to the direct impulse on
the base as the square of half the base AD to the square
of the side AC, or as the square of the sine of half the
angle of the wedge to the square of the radius. For it
is evident, that in this case the two transverse impulses,
such as GP in fig. 1. balance each other, and the only
impulse which can be observed is the sum of the two
impulses, such as GQ of fig. i« which are to be compar¬
ed with the impulses on the two halves AD, DB of the
base. Now AC : AB = rad. : sin. ACD, and ACT)
is equal to the angle of incidence.
Therefore, if the angle ACB is a right angle, and
ACD is half a right angle, the square of AC is twice
the square of AD, and the impulse on the sides of a
rectangular wedge is half the impulse on its base.
Also, if a cube ACBF (fig. 4.) be exposed to a
stream moving in a direction perpendicular to one of its
sides, and then to a stream moving in a direction per¬
pendicular to one of its diagonal planes, the impulse in
the first case will he to the impulse in the second as 2
to 1. Call the perpendicular impulse on a side F, and
the perpendicular impulse on its diagonal plane J\ and
the effective oblique impulse on its sides <p ;—we have
■ 3*
/= AC
(p = AC2
<? =
AB = 1 :
AD*=r 2
j^/2, and
I. Therefore
= a/2
or very nearly as 10 to 7.
The same reasoning wall apply to a pyramid whose
base is a regular polygon, and whose axis is perpendicu¬
lar to the base. If such a pyramid is exposed to a
stream of fluid moving in the direction of the axis, the
direct impulse on the base is to the effective impulse on
the pyramid, as the square of the radius to the square of
the sine of the angle which the axis makes with the
sides of the py ramid.
And, in like manner, the direct impulsion on the base
of a right cone is to the effective impulsion on the coni¬
cal surface, as the square of the radius to the square of
the sine of half the angle at the vertex of the cone.
This is demonstrated, by supposing the cone to be a py¬
ramid of an infinite number of sides.
We may in this manner compare the impulse on any
polygonal surface with the impulse on its base, by com¬
paring apart the impulses on each plane with those in
their corresponding bases, and taking their sum.
And we may compare the impulse on a curved surface
with that on its base, by resolving the curved surface
into elementary planes, each of which is impelled by an
elementary filament of the stream.
The following beautiful proposition, given by Le
Sueur and Jaquier, in their Commentary on the second
book of Newton’s Principia, with a few examples of its
application, will suffice for any further account of this
theory.
Prop, -
736
Resistance
• of Fluids.
aa
The im-
j)ulse on a
curved sur¬
face com¬
pared with
that on its
base.
Fig. s-
Fig. C.
RESISTANCE
Prop. V. Let ADB (fig. 5.) be the section of a sur¬
face of simple curvature, such as is the surface of a
cylinder. Let this he exposed to the action ol a fluid
moving in the direction AC. Let BC he the section
of the plane (which we have called its base), perpen¬
dicular to the direction of the stream- In AC pro¬
duced, take any length CG and on CG describe the
semicircle CHG, and complete the rectangle BCGO.
Through any point D of the curve draw ED paral¬
lel to AC, and meeting BC and OG in Q and P.
Let DF touch the curve in D, and draw the chord
GH parallel to DF, and HKM perpendicular to
v CG, meeting ED in M. Suppose this to he done
for every point of the curve ADB, and let LMN he
the curve which passes through all the points of in¬
tersection of the parallels EDP and the correspond¬
ing perpendiculars HKM.
The effective impulse on the curve surface ADB in
the direction of the stream, is to its direct impulse on
the base BC as the area BCNL is to the rectangle
BCGO.
Draw e d q 7?ip parallel to FP and extremely near it.
The arch D d of the curve may be conceived as the
section of an elementary plane, having the position of
the tangent DF. The angle EDF is the angle of in¬
cidence of the filament FD d e. This is equal to CGH,
because ED, DF, are parallel to CG, GH ; and (be¬
cause CHG is a semicircle) CH is perpendicular to
GH. Also CG : CH=CH : CK, and CG : CK=
CG2 : CH*, = rad.* : sin.*, CGH, = rad.* : sin.* in¬
ch!. Therefore if CG, or its equal DP, represent the
direct impulse on the point Q of the base, CK, or its
equal QM, will represent the effective impulse on the
point D of the curve. And thus, Q ^^ P will repre¬
sent the direct impulse of the filament on the element
Qjp of the base, and Q q m M will represent the ef¬
fective impulse of the same filament on the element D d
of the curve. And, as this is true of the whole curve
ADB, the effective impulse on the whole curve will he
represented by the area BCNML •, and the direct im¬
pulse on the base will be represented by the rectangle
BCGO ; and therefore the impulse on the curve-surface
is to the impulse on the base as the area BLMNC is to
the rectangle BOGC.
It is plain, from the construction, that if the tangent
to the curve at A is perpendicular to AC, the point N
will coincide with G. Also, if the tangent to the
curve at B is parallel to AC, the point L will coincide
with B.
Whenever, therefore, the curve ADB is such that an
equation can he had to exhibit the general relation be¬
tween the abscissa AK and the ordinate DK, we shall
deduce an equation which exhibits the relation between
the absciss CK and the ordinate KM of the curve
LMN ; and this will give us the ratio of BLNC to
BOGC.
Thus, if the surface is that of a cylinder, so that the
curve BDA6 (fig. 6.), which receives the impulse of
the fluid, is a semicircle, make CG equal to AC, and
construct the figure as before. The curve BMG is a
parabola, whose axis is CG, whose vertex is G, and
whose parameter is equal to CG. For it is plain, that
CG-DC, and GH = CQ, = MK. And CG x GK
= GH2=:KM2. That is, the curve is such, that the
3
OF FLUIDS.
square of the ordinate KM is equal to the rectangle of Resista,iw
the abscissa GK and a constant line GC •, and it is of Fluids,|
therefore a parabola whose vertex is G. Now, it is
well known, that the parabolic area BMGC is two
thirds of the parallelogram BCGO. Therefore the im¬
pulse on the quadrant ADB is two thirds of the impulse
on the base BC. The same may be said of the quad- ^
rant A d b and its base c b. Therefore, The impulse on The im. ,
a cylinder or half cylinder is two thirds of the direct pulse on ai
impulse on its transverse plane through the axis ; or it vyUnder,
is two thirds of the direct impulse on one side of a pa¬
rallelepiped of the same breadth and height.
Prop. VI. If the body be a solid generated by the re¬
volution of the figure BDAC (fig. 5.) round the axis
AC 5 and if it be exposed to the action of a stream of
fluid moving in the direction of the axis AC ; then
the effective impulse in the direction of the stream is
to the direct impulse on its base, as the solid generat¬
ed by the revolution of the figure BLMNC round
• the axis CN to the cylinder generated by the revolu¬
tion of the rectangle BOGC.
This scarcely needs a demonstration. The figure
ADBLMNA is a section of these solids by a plane
passing through the axis ; and what has been demon¬
strated of this section is true of every other, because
thev are all equal and similar. It is therefore true of
the Whole solids, and (their base) the circle generated
by the revolution of BC round the axis AC.
Hence we easily deduce, that The impulse on conasphen
sphere is one half of the direct impulse on its great cir- and
t ie, or 071 the base of a cylinder of equal diameter.
For in this case the curve BMN (fig. 6.) which ge¬
nerates the solid expressing the impulse on the sphere
is a parabola, and the solid is a parabolic conoid. Now
this conoid is to the cylinder generated by the revolution
of the rectangle BOGC round the axis CG, as the sum
of all the circles generated by the revolution of ordinates
to the parabola such as KM, to the sum of as many
circles generated by the ordinates to the rectangle such
as KT • or as the sum of all the squares described on
the ordinates KM to the sum of as many squares de¬
scribed on the ordinatesKT. Draw BGcutting MKinS.
The square on MK is to the square on BC or TK as
the abscissa GK to the abscissa GC (by the nature of
the parabola), or as SK to BC j because SK and BC
are respectively equal to GK and GC. I herefore the
sum of all the squares on ordinates, such as MK, is to the
sum of as many squares on ordinates, such as IK, as the
sum of all the lines SK to the sum of as many lines KT ;
that is, as the triangle BGC to the rectangle BOGC j
that is, as one to two: and therefore the impulse on the
sphere is one half of the direct impulseoh its great circle. 2S
From the same construction we may very easily de-onthe.
duce a very curious and seemingly useful truth, that of iru'-iura 0
all conical bodies having the circle whose diameter isa COHe’
AB (fig. 3.) for its base, and FD for its height, the
one which sustains the smallest impulse or meets with
the smallest resistance is the frustum AGHB of a cone
ACB so constiucted, that Ft being taken equal to FD,
FA is equal to EG. This frustum, though more ca¬
pacious than the cone AFB of the same height, will be
less resisted. _
Also, if the solid generated by the revolution of
BDAC (fig. 5-) have its anterior part covered with a
frustum
:6
’ttci
itic
illi1
■sure
fiti.
esistance
if Fluids.
26
)ifferent
npulsions
Dmpared
'ith the
ressurc of
ravity.
HESISTANC
frustum of a cdne generated by the lines Da, a A,
forming the angle at a of 135 degrees j this solid,
though more capacious than the included solid, will be
less resisted.
And, from the same principles, Sir Isaac Newton de¬
termined the form of the curve ADB, which would
generate the solid which, of all others of the same
length and base, should have the least resistance.
These are curious and important deductions, but are
not introduced here, for reasons which will soon ap¬
pear.
The reader cannot fail to observe, that all that we
have hitherto delivered on this subject, relates to the
comparison of difterent impulses or resistances. We
have always compared the oblique impulsions with the
direct, and by their intervention we compare the ob¬
lique impulsions with each other. But it remains to
give absolute measures of some individual impulsion j to
which, as to an unit, we may refer every other. And
as it is by their pressure that they become useful or hurt¬
ful, and they must be opposed by other pressures, it be¬
comes extremely convenient to compare them all with
that pressure with which we are most familiarly ac¬
quainted, the pressure of gravity.
The manner in which the comparison is made, is this.
When a body advances in a fluid with a known velocity,
it puts a known quantity of the fluid into motion (as is
supposed) with this velocity; and this is done in a knovVn
time. We have only to examine what weight will put
this quantity of fluid into the same motion, by acting on
it during the same time. This weight is conceived as
equal to the resistance. Thus, let us suppose that a
stream of water, moving at the rate of eight feet per se¬
cond, is perpendicularly obstructed by a square loot of
solid surface held fast in its place. Conceiving water to
act in the manner of the hypothetical fluid now describ¬
ed, and to be without elasticity, the whole eifect is the
gradual annihilation of the motion of eight cubic feet ol
water moving eight feet in a second. And this is done
in a second of time. It is equivalent to the gradually
putting eight cubic feet ot water into motion with this
velocity ; and doing this by acting uniformly during a
second. What weight is able to produce this effect ?
The weight of eight feet of water, acting during a se¬
cond on it, will, as is well known, give it the velocity
of thiry-two feet per second; that is, four times greater.
Therefore, the weight of the fourth part ol eight cubic
feet, that is, the weight of two cubic feet, acting dur¬
ing a second, rvill do the same thing, or the weight of
a column of water whose base is a square loot, and
whose height is two feet. I his will not only produce
this eftect in the same time with the impulsion ot the
solid body, but it will also do it by the same degrees, as
any one will clearly perceive, by attending to the gra¬
dual acceleration of the mass of water urged by one-
fourth of its weight, and comparing this with the gra¬
dual production or extinction ol motion in the fluid by
the progress of the resisted surface.
Now it is well known that eight cubic feet of water,
by falling one foot, which it will do in one fourth of
a second, will acquire the velocity of eight feet per se¬
cond by its weight; therefore the force which produ¬
ces the same effect in a whole second is one-fourth of
this. This force is therefore equal to the weight of ,a
column of water, whose base is a square foot, ani whose
Vol. XVII. Part II. t
E OF FLUIDS.
737
height is two feet; that is, twice the height necessary Resistance
for acquiring the velocity of the motion by gravity, of Fluid'.
The conclusion is the same whatever be the surface v
that is resisted, whatever be the fluid that resists, and
whatever be the velocity of the motion. In this induc¬
tive and familiar manner tve learn, that the direct im¬
pulse or resistance of an unelastic fluid on any plane
surface, is equal to the weight of a column of the fluid
having the surface for its base, and twice the fall ne¬
cessary for acquiring the velocity of the motion for its
height: and if the fluid is considered as elastic, the im¬
pulse or resistance is twice as great. See Newt. Pi in-
cip. B. II. prop. 35. and 38. ^
It now remains to compare this theory with experi-Tins theory
ment. Many have been made, both by Sir Isaac New- tried by dif-
ton and by subsequent writers. It is much to be la- kn)nt ex~
mented, that in a matter of such importance, both iKlimc11 s'
the philosopher and to the artist, there is such a disa¬
greement in the results with each other. We shall
mention the experiments which seem to have been made
with the greatest judgment and care. Those of Sir
Isaac Newton were chiefly made by the oscillations of
pendulums in water, and by the descent of balls both in
water and in air. Many have been made by Mariotte
( TraitSde Mouvement desEauxf Gravesande has pub¬
lished, in his System of Natural Philosophy, experiments
made on the resistance or impulsions on solids in the
midst of a pipe or canal. They are extremely well con¬
trived, but are on so small a scale that they are of very
little use. Daniel Bernoulli, and his pupil Professor
Krafft, have published iti the Comment. Acad. Petropol.
experiments on the impulse of a stream or vein of water
from an orifice or tube : These are of great value. The
Abbe Bossut has published others of the same kind in
his Hydrodynamique. Mr Bob ins has published, in his
New Principles of Gunnery, man y valuable experiments
on the impulse and resistance of air. The Chev. de
Borda, in the Mem. Acad. Paris, 1763 and 1767, has
given experiments on the resistance of air and also of
water, which are very interesting. The most complete
collection of experiments on the resistance of water are
those made at the public expence by a committee of the
academy of sciences, consisting of the marquis de Con-
dorcet, Mr d’Alembert, Abbe Bossut, and others. The
Chev. de Buat, in his PLydraulique, has published some
most curious and valuable experiments, where many im¬
portant circumstances are taken notice of, which had
never been attended to before, and which give a view
of the subject totally difl’erent from what is usually ta¬
ken of it. Don George d’Ulloa, in his Examine Ma¬
ritime, has also given some important experiments, simi¬
lar to those adduced by Bouguer in his Manoeuvre des
Vaisseaux but leading to very different conclusions. All
these should be consulted by such as would acquire a
practical knowledge of this subject. We must content
ourselves with giving their most general and steady re¬
sults. Such as,
I. It is very consonant to experiment that the resist¬
ances are proportional to the squares of the velocities.
When the velocities of water do not exceed a few feet
per second, no sensible deviation is observed. In very
small velocities the resistances are sensibly greater than
in this proportion, and this excess is plainly owing to
the viscidity or imperfect fluidity of water. Sir Isaac
Newton has shown that the resistance arising from this
5 A cause
733
Resir tam e
of h luids.
RESISTANCE OF FLUIDS.
or gorging up of the water on their anterior surface, Resintan;
and its depression behind them. Were the gravity ot oftlnidw
2 S
Causes of
its disagree
in*nt vvitix
lliem.
cause is constant, or the same in every velocity 5 and
when he lias taken o(V a certain part of the total resist¬
ance, he found the remainder was very exactly propor¬
tionable to the square of the velocity. His experiments
to this purpose were made with balls a very little hea¬
vier than water, so as to descend very slowly •, and they
were made with his usual care and accuracy, and may
be depended on. ,
In the experiments made with bodies floating on the
'surface of water, there is an addition to the resistance
arising from the inertia of the water. The water heaps
up a little on the anterior surface of the floating body,
and is depressed behind it. Hence arises a hydrostatical
pressure, acting in concert with the true resistance. *
similar thing is observed in the resistance of air, which
is condensed before the body and rarefied behind it, and
thus an additional resistance is produced by the unba¬
lanced elasticity of the air •, and also because the air,
which is actually displaced, is denser than common air.
These circumstances cause the resistances to increase
faster than the squares of the velocities : but, even in¬
dependent of this, there is an additional resistance ari¬
sing from the tendency to rarefaction behind a very
swift body ; because the pressure of the surrounding
fluid can only make the fluid fill the space left with a
determined velocity.
We have had occasion to speak of this circumstance
more particularly under Gunnery and Pneumatics,
when considering very rapid motions. Mr llobins had
remarked that the velocity at which the observed re¬
sistance of the air began to increase so prodigiously, was
that of about 1100 or 1200 feet per second, and that
this was the velocity with which air would rush into a
void. He concluded, that when the velocity was great¬
er than this, the hall was exposed to the additional re¬
sistance arising from the unbalanced statical pressure of
the air, and that this constant quantity behoved to be
added to the resistance arising from the air’s inertia in
all greater velocities. This is very reasonable : But he
imagined that in smaller velocities there was no such
unbalanced pressure. But this cannot he the case: for
although in smaller velocities the air will still fill up the
space behind the body, it will not fid it up v.uh air of
the same density. This would be to suppose the mo¬
tion of the air into the deserted place to be instantane¬
ous. There must therefore be a rarefaction behind the
body, and a pressure backward •, arising from unbalan¬
ced elasticity, independent of the condensation on the
anterior part. The condensation and rarefaction are
caused by the same thing, viz. the limited elasticity of
the air. Were this infinitely great, the smallest conden¬
sation before the body would be instantly diffused over
the whole air, and so would the rarefaction, so that uo
pressure of unbalanced elasticity would be observed-,
but the elasticity is such as to propagate the condensa¬
tion with the velocity of sound only, i. e. the \e]ocity
of 1142 feet pei second. Therefore this additional re¬
sistance does not commence precisely at this velocity,
but is sensible in all smaller velocities, as is very justly
observed by I uler But we are not yet able to at‘\.-
tain the law of its increase, although it is a problem
which seems susceptible of a tolerably accurate solu¬
tion.
Precisely similar to this is the resistance to the mo¬
tion of floating bodies, arising from the accumulation
.......... -r-—  -  gravity
the water infinite, while its inertia remains the same,
the wave raised up at the prow of a ship would he in¬
stantly diffused over the whole ocean, and it would
therefore be infinitely small, as also the depression be¬
hind the poop. But this wave requires time for its
diffusion 5 and while it is not diffused, it acts by hydro-
statical pressure. We are equally unable to ascertain the
law of variation of this part of the resistance, the me¬
chanism of waves being but very imperfectly under¬
stood. The height of the wave in the experiments of
the French academy could not be measured with suffi¬
cient precision (being only observed en passant) for as¬
certaining its relation to the velocity. 1 he Chev. Buat
attempted it in hisexperiments, hut without success. Ibis
must evidently make a part of the resistance in all velo¬
cities: and it still remains an undecided question, ‘What
relation it bears to the velocities?” W hen the solid bo¬
dy is wholly buried in the fluid, this accumulation does
not take place, or at least not in the same way : It
may, however, be observed. Every person may recol¬
lect, that in a very swift running stream a large stone
at the bottom will produce a small swell above it 5 un¬
less it lies very deep, a nice eye may still observe it.
The water, on arriving at the obstacle, glides past it in
every direction, and is deflected on all hands } and there¬
fore what passes over it is also deflected upwards, ami
causes the water over it to rise above its level. The
nearer that the body is to the surface, the greater will
he the perpendicular rise of the water, but it will be
less diffused j and it is uncertain whether the whole ele¬
vation will he greater or less. By the whole elevation
we mean the area of a perpendicular section of the ele¬
vation by a plane perpendicular to the direction of the
stream. We are rather disposed to think, that this area
will be greatest when the body is near the surface.
DTJlloa has attempted to consider this subject scienti¬
fically -, and is of a very different opinion, which he
confirms by the single experiment to be mentioned by
and by. Mean tunc, it is evident, that if the water,
which glides past the body cannot fall in behind it wittv
sufficient velocity for filling up the space behind, there
must be a void there } and thus a hydrostatical pressure
must be superadded to the resistance arising from the
inertia of the water. All must have observed, that if
the end of a stick held in the hand be drawn slowly
through the water, the water will fill the place left by
the stick, and there will he no curled wave : but if the
motion be very rapid, a hollow trough or gutter is left
behind, and is not filled up till at some distance from
the stick, and the wave which forms its sides is very
much broken and curled. The writer of this article
has often looked into the water from the poop of a
second rate man of war when she was sailing 11 miles
per hour, >7111011 is a velocity of 16 feet per second
nearly ; and be not only observed that the back of the
rudder was naked for about two feet below the load
water-line, but also that the trough or wake made by the
ship was filled up with water which was broken and
foaming to a considerable depth, and to a considerable
distance from the vessel: Fhere must t; ■ o.T' hmiebeen
a void. He never saw the wake per cily transparent
(and therefore completely filled with water) when the
velocity exceeded 9 or 10 feet per second. While this
broken
RESISTANCE
broken water is observed, there can he no doubt that
there is a void and an additional resistance. But even
when the space left by the body, or the space behind a
still body exposed to a stream, is completely filled, it
may not be filled sufficiently fast, and there may be
(and certainly is, as we shall see afterwards) a quantity
of water behind the body, which is moving more slow*
ly away than the rest, and therefore hangs in some
shape by the body, and is dragged by it, increasing the
resistance. The quantity of this must depend partly on
the velocity of the body or stream, and partly on the
rapidity with which the surrounding water comes in
behind. This last must depend on the pressure of the
surrounding water. It would appear, that when this
adjoining pressure is very great, as must happen when
the depth is great, the augmentation of resistance now
spoken of would be less. Accordingly this appears in
Newton’s experiments, wdiere the baits were less retard¬
ed as they were deeper under water.
These experiments are so simple in their nature, and
were made with such care, and by a person so able to
detect and appreciate every circumstance, that they de¬
serve great credit, and the conclusions legitima/c/y drawn
from them deserve to be considered as physical laws.
We think that the present deduction is unexception¬
able : for in the motion of balls, which hardly descend¬
ed, their preponderancy being hardly sensible, the effect
of depth must have borne a very great proportion to the
whole resistance, and must have greatly influenced their
motions; yet they were observed to fall as if the resist¬
ance had no way depended on the depth.
The same thing appears in Borda’s experiments,
where a sphere which was deeply immersed in the water
was less resisted than one that moved with the same ve¬
locity near the surface; and this was very constant and
regular in a course of experiments. D’Ulloa, however,
affirms the contrary : He says that the resistance of a
board, which was a foot broad, immersed one foot in a
stream moving two feet per second,"was 154 lbs. and the
resistance to the same board, when immersed 2 feet in a
stream moving feet per second (in which case the
surface was 2 feet), was 26^ pounds (a).
We are very sorry that we cannot give a proper ac¬
count of this theory of resistance by Don George Juan
D’Ulloa, an author of great mathematical reputation,
and the inspector of the marine academies in Spain. We
have not been able to procure either the original Or the
French translation, and judge of it only by an extract
by Mr Prony in his Architecture Hydraulique, § 868,
&c. The theory is enveloped (according to Mr Peo¬
ny’s custom) in the most complicated expressions, so that
the physical principles are kept almost out of sight.
When accommodated to the simplest possible case, it is
nearly as follows.
Let 0 be an elementary orifice or portion of the sur¬
face of the side of a vessel filled with a heavy fluid, and
let h be its depth under the horizontal surface of the
fluid. Let 5 be the density of the fluid, and (p the ac¬
celerative power of gravity, = 3 2 feet velocity acquired
in a second.
OF FLUIDS. 739
It is known, says he, that the water Would flow out I'm stance
at this hole with the velocity 2 Q h, and t/1—2(p h , ot 1
and h— ■
2$
It is also known that the pressure/; on
the orifice 0 is 0 £ rr 0 £ —, — l 0 u*.
2
Now, let this little surface 0 be supposed to move
with the velocity v. The fluid would meet it with the
velocity u or —-i’, according as it moved in the
opposite or in the same direction with the efflux. In
the equation pi=. 0 «2, substitute u2±=.v for and
1 1 ^ a ^ i_ ^ *
wre have the pressure on 0 — p ) ,zz-
(^7 2 7z±zu'),
This pressure is a weight, that is, a mass ot matter
m actuated by gravity cp, or p — <p and m rrz'h »
v V
This elementary surface being immersed in k stag¬
nant fluid, and moved with the velocity r, will sustain
on one side a pressure 5 0 ( \/hA— ) , and on the
1 \ 1 2 <p/ ’
other side a pressure ^ 0 (*/h   ) ; and the sen-
\ s/ 2 <P/
sible resistance will be the difference of these two pres-
V V
sures, which is ^ 0 4 y' h— , or £ 0 4 y" h-^, that is,
y 2 <p o
$ 0 h v — 0
 , because 2 <p=zo ;
a quantity which is in
the subduplicate ratio of the depth under the surface of
the fluid, and the simple ratio of the velocity of the
resisted surface jointly.
There is nothing in experimental philosophy more
certain than that the resistances are very nearly in the
duplicate ratio of the velocities ; and wre cannot con¬
ceive by what experiments the ingenious author has sup¬
ported this conclusion. 3c
Bu^there is, besides, w hat appears to us to be an Defect in
essential defect in this investigation. The equation eX-.“ivesti-
hibits no resistance in the case of a fluid without weight.*»aUoa'
Now a theory of the resistance of fluids should exhibit
the retardation arising from inertia alone, and should di¬
stinguish it from that arising from any other cause: and
moreover, while it assigjis an ultimate sensible resistance
proportional (ccetensparibus) to the simple velocity, it
assumes asafirst principle that the pressure/lisasfc^try1.
It also gives a false measure of the statical pressures: for
these (in the case of bodies immersed in our waters at
least) are made up of the pressure of the incumbent
water, which is measured by h, and the pressure of the
atmosphere, a constant quantity.
Whatever reason can be given for setting out with
the principle that the pressure on the little surface 0,
moving with the velocity v, is equal to £ 0 (;/=tw)E,
makes it indispensably necessary to take for the velocity
u, not that with which water would issue from a hole
whose depth under the surface is h, hut the velocity
5 A 2 with
(a) There Is something very unaccountable in these experiments. The resistances are much greater than any
other author has observed.
RESISTANCE
with which it will issue from a hole whose depth
js /j _|_ 33 feet. Because the pressure of the atmo¬
sphere is equal to that of a column of water 33 feet
high : for this is the acknowledged velocity with which
it'would rush in to the void left by the body. It
therefore this velocity (which does not exist) has any
share in the effort, we must have for the fluxion of
pressure not ^ hut SUlpAl- Thiswouhl not
V/2<P V 2<P
only give pressure or resistances many times exceeding
those that have been observed in our experiments, but
would also totally change the proportions which this
theory determines. It was at any rate improper to em¬
barrass an investigation, already very intricate, with the
pressure of gravity, and with two motions of efflux,
which do not exist, and are necessary for making the
pressures in the ratio of w-j-f* and u—v .
Mr Prony has been at no pains to inform his readers
of his reasons for adopting this theory of resistance, so
contrary to all received opinions, and to the most dis¬
tinct experiments. Those of the French academy, made
under greater pressures, gave a much smaller resistance j
and the very experiments adduced in support of this
theory are extremely deficient, wanting fully one-third
of what the theory requires. The resistances by experi¬
ment were 15$ and 26-5-, and the theory required 20-§-
and 39. The equation, however, deduced from the
theory is greatly deficient in the expression of the pres¬
sures caused by the accumulation and depression, stating
the heights of them as = They can never be so
high, because the heaped-up water flows off at the
sides, and it also comes m behind by the sides ^ so that
the pressure is much less than half the weight of a co-
lumn whose height is —•, both because the accumula-
0 2J>
tion and depression are less at the sides than in the mid¬
dle, and because, when the body is wholly immersed,
the accumulation is greatly diminished. Indeed in this
case, the final equation does not include their effects,
though as real in this case as when part of the body is
above water.
Upon the whole, we are somewhat surprised that an
author of D’Ulloa’s eminence should have adopted a
theory so unnecessarily and so improperly embarrassed
with foreign circumstances j and that Mr Prony should
have inserted it with the explanation by which he was
to abide, in a work destined for practical use.
This point, on the effect of deep immersion, is still
much contested ; and it is a received opinion, by many
not accustomed to mathematical researches, that the re¬
sistance is greater in greater depths. This is assumed as
an important principle by Mr Gordon author of a T/ieo-
rtj of Naval Architecture ; but on very vague and slight
grounds : and the author seems unacquainted with the
manner of reasoning on such subjects. It shall be con¬
sidered afterwards.
With these corrections it may be asserted that theory
and experiment agree very well in this respect, and that
the resistance may be asserted to be in the duplicate ra¬
tio of the velocity.
We have been more minute on this subject, because
it is the leading proposition in the theory of the action
OF FLUIDS.
of fluids. Newton’s demonstration of it takes no notice
of the manner in which the various particles of the fluid of Fluids,
are put in motion, or the motion which each in particu-^
lar acquires. He only shows, that if there be nothing
concerned in the communication hut pure inertia, the
sum total of the motions of the particles, estimated in
the direction of the bodies motion, or that of the stream,
will be in the duplicate ratio of the velocity. It was
therefore of importance to show that this part of the
theory was just. To do this, we had to consider the ef¬
fect of every circumstance which could be combined
with the inertia of the fluid. All these had been fore¬
seen by that great man, and are most briefly, though
perspicuously, mentioned in the last scholium to prop.
36. B. II. 3,
2. It appears from a comparison of all the experi-impnig, >
ments, that the impulses and resistances are very near-and »esisi-
ly in the proportion of the surfaces. They appear, how-®n<;e9 near
ever, to increase somewhat faster than the surfaces. The Ltimurf
chevalier Borda found that the resistance, with the same the sur-
velocity, to a surface of faces.
ilW
,!fto
9 inches
16
36
81
{ was J 'I'Hsl
r ) 42,750 r
J Lio4>737 J
instead of-
The deviation in these experiments from the theory
increases with the surface, and is probably much great¬
er in the extensive surfaces of the sails of ships and wind¬
mills, and the hulls of ships.
3. The resistances do by no means vary in the du¬
plicate ratio of the sines of the angles of incidence.
As this is the most interesting circumstance, having
a chief influence on all the particular modifications of
the resistance of fluids, and as on this depends the whole
theory of the construction and working of ships, and the
action of water on our most important machines, and
seems most immediately connected with the mechanism
of fluids, it merits a very particular consideration. We
cannot do a greater service than by rendering more ge¬
nerally known the excellent experiments of the French
academy. 33
Fifteen boxes or vessels were constructed, which wereExpeii-
two feet wide, two feet deep, and four feet long. Onenientsof
of them was a parallelepiped of these dimensions j the t^ie Jrenc^
others had prows of a wedge-form, the angle ACBaca
(fig. 8.) varying by 12° degrees from 1 2* to 180°; so Fig. 8.
that the angle of incidence increased by 6° from one to
another. These boxes were dragged across a very large
bason of smooth water (in which they were immersed
two feet) by means of a line passing over a wheel con¬
nected with a cylinder, from which the actuating weight ^
was suspended. The motion became perfectly uniform iiiotl
after a very little way j and the time of passing over 96
French feet with this uniform motion wras very careful¬
ly noted. The resistance was measured by the weight
employed, after deducting a certain quantity (properly
estimated) for friction, and for the accumulation of the
water against the anterior surface. The results of the
many experiments are given in the following table *,
where column 1st contains the angle of the prow, co¬
lumn 2d contains the resistance as given by the preced¬
ing theory, column 3d contains the resistance exhibited
in the experiments, and column 4th, contains the devia¬
tion of the experiment from the theory.
RESISTANCE OF FLUIDS.
741
distance
i.f Fluids.
I. II. III.
180 IOOOO 10000
168 9890 9893
156 9568 9578
144 9045 9084
132 8346 8446
120 75OO 7710
I08 6545 692c
96 5523 6148
84 4478 5433
72 3455 ' 48°o
60 2500 4404
48 1654 4240
36 955 4M2
24 432 4063
12 109 3999
IV.
+3
-f-10
+ 39
+ 100
4-210
+ 38a
+ 625
+955
+ r345
+ 1904
+ 2386
+ 3i87
+363i
+3890
The resistance to 1 square foot, French measure, mo¬
ving with the velocity of 2,56 feet per second, was very
nearly 7,625 pounds French.
Reducing these to English measures, we have the sur¬
face = 1,1363 feet, the velocity of the motion equal
to 2,7263 feet per second, and the resistance equal to
8,234 pounds avoirdupois. The weight of a column
of fresh water of this base, and having for its height
the fall necessary for communicating this velocity, is
8,264 pounds avoirdupois. The resistances to other
velocities were accurately proportional to the squares of
the velocities.
There is great diversity in the value which different
authors have deduced for the absolute resistance of wa¬
ter from their experiments. In the value now given
nothing is taken into account but the inertia of the wa¬
ter. The accumulation against the forepart of the box
was carefully noted, and the statical pressure backwards,
arising from this cause, was subtracted from the whole
resistance to the drag. There had not been a sufficient
variety of experiments for discovering the share which
tenacity and friction produced ; so that the number of
pounds set down here may be considered as somewhat
superior to the mere effects of the inertia of the water.
We think, upon the whole, that it is the most accurate
determination yet given of the resistance to a body in
motion : but we shall afterwards see reason for believing,
that the impulse of a running stream having the same
velocity is somewhat greater 5 and this is the form in
which most of the experiments have been made.
Also observe, that the resistance here given is that
to a vessel two feet broad and deep and four feet long.
The resistance to a plane of two feet broad and deep
would probably have exceeded this in the proportion of
34 15,22 to 14,54, for reasons we shall see afterwards.
4 other*. From the experiments of Chevalier Buat, it appears
that a body of one foot square, French measure, and
two feet long, having its centre 15 inches under water,
moving three French feet per second, sustained a pres¬
sure of 1454 French pounds, or 15,63 English. This
reduced in the proportion of 3* to 2,56* gives 11,43
pounds, considerably exceeding the 8,24.
Mr Bouguer, in his Manoeuvre des Vaisseaux, says,
that he found the resistance of sea-water to a velocity
of one foot to be 23 ounces poids de Marc.
The chevalier Borda found the resistance of sea-water
to the face of a cubic foot, moving against the water
one foot per second, to be 21 ounces nearly. But this
experiment is complicated : the wave was not deducted } Resistance
and it was not a plane, but a cube. of Fluids.
Eon George d’Ulloa found the impulse of a stream of 1 v""1 ,,J
sea-water, running two feet per second, on a foot square,
to be 15^ pounds English measure. This greatly ex¬
ceeds all the values given by others.
From these experiments we learn, in the first place, Consetpen-
that the direct resistance to a motion of a plane surfaceces from
through water, is very nearly equal to the weight of
column of water having that surface for its base, and
for its height the fall producing the velocity of the mo¬
tion. This is but one half of the resistance determined
by the preceding theory. It agrees, however, very well
with the best experiments made by other philosophers
on bodies totally immersed or surrounded by the fluid 5
and sufficiently shows, that there must be some fallacy
in the principles or reasoning by which this result of
the theory is supposed to be deduced. We shall have
occasion to return to this again.
But we see that the effects of the obliquity of inci¬
dence deviate enormously from the theory, and that this
deviation increases rapidly as the acuteness of the prow
increases. In the prow of 6o° the deviation is nearly
equal to the whole resistance pointed out by the theory,
and in the prow of 12° it is nearly 40 times greater than
the theoretical resistance.
The resistance of the prow of 90° should be one-half
the resistance of the base. We have not such a prow j
but the medium between the resistance of the prow of
96 and 84 is 5790, instead of 500.
These experiments are very conform to those of other
authors on plane surfaces. Mr Robins found the resist¬
ance of the air to a pyramid of 450, with its apex fore¬
most, was to that of its base as 1000 to 1411, instead
of one to two. Chevalier Borda found the resistance of
a cube, moving in water in the direction of the side,
was to the oblique resistance, when it was moved in the
direction of the diagonal, in the proportion of 5^ to 7 j
whereas it should have been that of v/ 2 to I, or of io
to 7 nearly. He also found, that a wedge whose angle
was 90°, moving in air, gave for the proportion of the
resistances of the edge and base 7281 : iooco, instead
of 5000 : 10000. Also, when the angle of the wedge
was 6o°, the resistances of the edge and base were 52
and 100, instead of 25 and IOC.
In short, in all the cases of oblique plane surfaces, the
resistances were greater than those which are assigned
by the theory. The theoretical law agrees tolerably
with observation in large angles of incidence, that is,
in incidences not diflering very far from the perpendi¬
cular j but in more acute prows the resistances are more
nearly proportional to the sines of incidence than to
their squares.
The academicians deduced from these experiments
an expression of the general value of the resistance,
which corresponds tolerably well with observation. Thus
let x be the complement of the half angle of the prow,
and let P be the direct pressure or resistance, with an
incidence of 90°, and p the effective oblique pressure :
then/?—P X cosine* .v-f-3,153 ^7-5 This gives
for a prow of 12° an error in defect about and in
larger angles it is much nearer the truth $ and this is
exact enough for any practice.
This is an abundantly simple formula 5 but if we in¬
troduce
•742 RESISTANC
Resistance troduce it ill oil!'calculations of the resistances ol cutt i*
of Fluids, lineal prows, it rentiers them so complicated as to In al-
'   1 most useless-, and what is worse, when the calculation
is completed for a curviliueal prow, the resistance which
results is found to differ widely from experiment. '1 lus
shows that the motion of the fluid is so modified by the
action of the most prominent part of the prow, that its
impulse on what succeeds is greatly affected, so that we
are not allowed to consider the prow as composed of a
number of parts, each ol winch is aflected as if it wtie
detached from all the rest.
As the very nature of naval architecture seems tore-
quire curvilineal forms, in order to give the necessaiy
strength, it seemed of importance to examine more pai-
ticulai^y the deviations of the resistances of such prows
from the resistances assigned by the theory. Ihe aca¬
demicians therefore made Vessels with prows of a cylin¬
drical shape j one ot these was a halt cylinder, and the
other was one-third of a cylinder, both having the same
breadth, viz. two feet, the same depth, also two ieet,
and the same length, lour feet. Ihe resistance of the
half cylinder was to the resistance of the perpendicular
prow in the. proportion of 13 to 25, instead of being as
13 to 19.5. The chevalier Borda found nearly the
same ratio of the resistances of the half cylinder, and its
diametrical plane when moved in air. He also compa¬
red the resistances of two prisms or wedges, ol the same
breadth and height. Ihe first had its sides plane, in¬
clined to the base in angles of 6o°: the second had its
sides portions of cylinders, of which the planes were the
chords, that is, their sections were arches of circles of
6o°. Their resistances were as 133 to 100, instead ot
being as 133 to 220, as required by the theory ; and as
the resistance of the first was greater in proportion to
that of the base than the theory allows, the resistance of
the last was less.
Mr Robins found the resistance of a sphere moving
in air to be to the resistance of its great circle as 1 to
2.27 5 whereas theory requires them to be as 1 to 2.
He found, at the same time, that the absolute resistance
was greater than the weight of a cylinder of air of the
same diameter, and having the height necessary tor ac¬
quiring the velocity. It was greater in the proportion
of 49 to 40 nearly.
Borda found the resistance of the sphere moving in
water to be to that of its great circle as loco to 2508,
and it was one-ninth greater than the weight ol the co¬
lumn of water whose height was that necessary for pro-
ducing the velocity. He also found the resistance of air
to the sphere was to its resistance to its great circle as 1
to 2.45.
'The3! o- It appears, on the whole, that the theory gives the
cjves ^nj\, resistance of oblique plane surfaces too small, and that
resistances of curved surfaces too greatand that it is quite unfit
too small for ascertaining the modifications of resistance arising
from the figure of the body. The most prominent part
of the prow changes the action of the fluid on the suc¬
ceeding parts, rendering it totally different from what it
would he were that part detached from the rest, and ex¬
posed to the stream with the same obliquity. It is of no
consequence, therefore, to deduce any formula from the
valuable experiments of the French academy. The ex¬
periments themselves are of great importance, because
they give us the impulses on plane surfaces with every
obliquity. They therefore put it in our power to select
5
and others
too great.
E OF FLUIDS.
the most proper obliquity in a thousand important Cases. Resistance
By appealing to them, we can tell what is the proper Fluids
angle ol ihe sail for producing the greatest impulse in the v~'^’
direction of the ship’s course j or the best inclination of
the sail of a wind-mill, or the best inclination of the
float of a water-wheel, &cc. &c. These deductions will
he made in their proper places in the course of this
work. We see also, that the deviation from the simple
theory is not very considerable till the obliquity is
great j and that, in the inclinations which other cir¬
cumstances would induce us to give to the floats of wa¬
ter-wheels, the sails of wind-mills, and the like, the
results of the theory are sufficiently agreeable to experi¬
ment, for rendering this theory of very great use in the
construction of machines. Its great defect is in the im¬
pulsions on curved surfaces, which puts a stop to our
improvement of the science of naval architecture, and
the working of ships.
But it is not enough to detect the faults of the theo¬
ry: we should try to amend it, or to substitute an¬
other. It is a pity that so much ingenuity should have.
been thrown away in the application of a theory so de¬
fective. Mathematicians were seduced, as has been al¬
ready observed, by the opportunity which it gave for
exercising their calculus, which was anew thing at the
time of publishing this theory. Newton saw clearly
the defects of it, and makes no use of any part of it
in his subsequent discussions, and plainly has used it
merely as an introduction, in order to give some gene¬
ral notions in a subject quite new, and to give a demon¬
stration of one leading truth, viz. the proportionality of
the impulsions to the squares of the velocities. M bile we
profess the highest respect for the talents and labours
of the great mathematicians who have followed New¬
ton in this most difficult research, we cannot help being
sorry that some of the greatest of them continued to
attach themselves to a theory which he neglected, mere¬
ly because it afforded an opportunity of displaying their
profound knowledge of the new calculus, ot which they
were willing to ascribe the discovery to Leibnitz. It
has been in a great measure owing to this that we have
been so late in discovering our ignorance of the sub- 37
ject. Newton had himself pointed out all the defects Fts defects
of this theory; and he set himself to work to discover P01^^
another which should he more conformable to the na-Jn< e"'
ture of tilings, retaining only such deductions from the
other as Ins great sagacity assured him would stand the
test of experiment. Even in this he seems to have been
mistaken by his followers. He retained the propor¬
tionality of the resistance to the square of the velocity.
This they have endeavoured to demonstrate in a man¬
ner conformable to Newton’s determination of the
oblique impulses of fluids; and under the cover of the
agreement of this proposition with experiment, they in¬
troduced into mechanics a mode of expression, and even
of conception, which is inconsistent with all accurate
notions of these subjects. Newton’s proposition was,
that the motions communicated to the fluid, and there¬
fore the motions lost by the body, in equal times, were
as the squares of the velocities; and he conceived these
as proper measures of the resistances. It is a matter of
experience, that the forces or pressures by which a hotly
must be supported in opposition to the impulses of
fluids, are in this very proportion. In determining the
proportion of the direct and oblique resistances of plane
surfaces,
H
.N
dtdi
RESISTANCE
suiidCCa, lie considers tne resistances to arise from mu*
,of Fluids, tual collisions of the surface and fluid, repeated at inter-
 v ' vals of time too small to be perceived. But in making
this comparison, he has no occasion whatever to consi¬
der this repetition; and when he assigns the proportion
between the resistance of a cone and of its base, he, in
fact, assigns the proportion between two simultaneous
and instantaneous impulses. But the mathematicians
who followed him have considered this repetition as
equivalent to an augmentation of the initial or first im¬
pulse \ and in this way have attempted to demonstrate
that the resistances are as the squares of the velocities.
When the velocity is double, each impulse is double,
and the number in a given time is double ; therefore,
say they, the resistance, and the force which will with¬
stand it, is quadruple ; and observation confirms their
deduction : yet nothing is more gratuitous and illogi¬
cal. It is very true that the resistance, conceived as
Newton conceives it, the loss of motion sustained by a
body moving in the fluid, is quadruple j but the instan¬
taneous impulse, and the force which can withstand it,
is, by all the laws of mechanics, only double. What is
the force which can withstand a double impulse ? No-
STo compa- thing but a double impulse. Nothing but impulse can
rison be- be opposed to impulse j and it is a gross misconception
iweeii im- t0 think of stating any kind of comparison between im¬
pulse and pUise amj pressure. It is this which has given rise to
much jargon and false reasoning about the force of
percussion. This is stated as infinitely greater than
any pressure, and as equivalent to a pressure infinitely
repeated. It forced the abettors of these doctrines at
last to deny the existence of all pressure whatever, and
to assert that all motion, and tendency to motion, was
the result of impulse. The celebrated Euler, perhaps
the first mathematician, and the lowest philosopher, of
this century, says, “since motion and impulse are seen
to exist, and since we see that by means of motion pres¬
sure may be produced, as when a body in motion strikes
another, or as when a body moved in a curved channel
presses upon it, merely in consequence of its curvilineal
motion, and the exertion of a centrifugal force; and since
Nature is most wisely economical in all her operations;
it is absurd to suppose that pressure, or tendency to mo¬
tion, has any other origin ; and it is the business of a
philosopher to discover by what motion any observed
pressure is produced.” Whenever any pressure is ob¬
served, such as the pressure of gravity, of magnetism,
of electricity, condensed air, nay, of a spring, and of
elasticity and cohesion themselves, however disparate,
nay, opposite, the philosopher must immediately cast
about, and contrive a set of motions (creatingpro re
nata the movers) which will produce a pressure like
the one observed. Having pleased his fancy with this,
he cries out iv^iex “ this wHl produce the pressure;”
et frustra jit per plura quod jieri potest per pandora,
“ therefore in this way the pressure is produced.”
Thus the vortices of Descartes are brought hack in
triumph, and have produced vortices without number,
which fill the universe with motion and pressure.
Such bold attempts to overturn long-received doc¬
trines in mechanics, could not be received without much
criticism and opposition ; and many able dissertations
appeared from time to time in defence of the common
doctrines. In consequence of the many objections to
the comparison of pure pressure with pure percussion
OF FLUIDS. 743
or impulse, John Bernoulli and others were at last obli- Resistance
ged to assert that there were no perfectly hard bodies of Fluids,
in nature, nor could be, but that all bodies were elastic ; v *
and that in the communication of motion by percussion,
the velocities of both bodies were gradual/t/ changed by
their mutual elasticity acting during the finite but im¬
perceptible time of the collision. This was, in fact, gi¬
ving up the whole argument, and banishing percussion,
while their aim was to get rid of pressure. For what is
elasticity but a pressure? and how shall it be produced?
To act in this instance, must it arise from a still small¬
er impulse ? But this will require another elasticity,
and so on without end.
These are all legitimate consequences of this attempt
to state a comparison between percussion and pressure.
Numberless experiments have been made to confirm the
statement ; and there is hardly an itinerant lecturing
showman who does not exhibit among his apparatus
Gravesande’s machine (Vol. I. plate xxxv. fig. 4.).
But nothing affords so specious an argument as the ex¬
perimented proportionality of the impulse of fluids to
the square of the velocity. Here is every appearance
of the accumulation of an infinity of minute impulses,
in the known ratio of the velocity, each to each, pro¬
ducing pressures which are in the ratio of the squares of
the velocities.
The pressures are observed; hut the impulses or per¬
cussions, whose accumulation produces these pressures,
are only supposed. The rare fluid, introduced by New¬
ton for the purpose already mentioned, either does not
exist in nature, or does not act in the manner we have
said, the particles making their impulse, and then esca¬
ping through among the rest without affecting their mo¬
tion. We cannot indeed say what may be the proportion
between the diameter and the distance of the particles.
The first maybe incomparably smaller than the second,
even in mercury, the densest fluid which we are famili¬
arly acquainted with : hut although they do not touch,
each other, they act nearly as if they did, in conse¬
quence of their mutual attractions and repulsions. We
have seen air a thousand times rarer in some experi¬
ments than in others, and therefore the distance of the
particles at least ten times greater than their diameters;
and yet, in this rare state, it propagates all pressures or
impulses made on any part of it to a great distance, al¬
most in an instant. It cannot be, therefore, that fluids
act on bodies by impulse. It is very possible to con¬
ceive a fluid advancing with a flat surface against the
flat surface of a solid. The very first and superficial par¬
ticles rnay make an impulse ; and if they were annihi¬
lated, the next might do the same : and if the velocity
W'ere double, these impulses would he double, and would
be withstood by a double force, and not a quadruple,
as is observed : and this very circumstance that a qua¬
druple force is necessary, should have made us conclude
that it was not to impulse that this force was opposed.
The first particles having made their stroke, and not ,9
being annihilated, must escape laterally. In their es-But a verp
caping they effectually prevent every farther impulse,'■inall part
because they come in the way of those filaments which
would have struck the body. The whole process seems any jnil)Ujse
to he somewhat as follows : on a sur-
When the flat surface of the fluid has come into con-face,
tact with the plane surface AD (fig. 7.) perpendicular Fig 7,
to tire direction DC of their motion, they must deflect
to *
744
Resistance
of Fluids.
RESISTANCE OF FLUIDS.
.4° ,
NoimpHlse
on the
edge of a
prism.
Fig. S.
. 41 •
The ordi¬
nary theo¬
ry of no
use in na-
Tal archi¬
tecture.
Fig. 9.
to both sides equally, and in equal portions, because no
reason can be assigned why more should go to either
side. By this means the filament EF, which would
have struck the surface in G, is deflected before it arrives
at the surface, and describes a curved path EF IHK,
continuing its rectilineal motion to I, where it is inter¬
cepted by a filament immediately adjoining to EF, on
the side of the middle filament DC. The different par¬
ticles of DC may be supposed to impinge in succession
at C, and to be deflected at right angles ; and gliding
along CB, to escape at B. F^ach filament in succession,
outwards from DC, is deflected in its turn ; and being
hindered from even touching the surface CB, it glides
ofi in a direction parallel to it; and thus EF is deflect¬
ed in I, moves parallel to CB from 1 to H, and is again
deflected at right angles, and describes HK parallel to
DC. The same thing may be supposed to happen on
the other side of DC.
A.nd thus it would appear, that except two filaments
immediately adjoining to the line DC, which bisects
the surface at right angles, no part of the fluid makes
any impulse on the surface AB. All the other fila¬
ments are merely pressed against it by the lateral fila¬
ments without them, which they turn aside, and pre¬
vent from striking the surface.
In like manner, when the fluid strikes the edge of a
prism or wedge ACB (fig. 8.), it cannot be said that
any real impulse is made. Nothing hinders us frotn
supposing C a mathematical angle or indivisible point,
not susceptible of any impulse, and serving merely to
divide the stream. Each filament EE is effectually pre¬
vented from impinging at G in the line of its direction,
and with the obliquity of incidence EGC, by the fila¬
ments between EF and DC, which glide along the sur¬
face CA 5 and it may be supposed to be deflected when
it comes to the line CF which bisects the angle DCA,
and again deflected and rendered parallel to DC at I.
The same thing happens on the other side of DC ; artd
we cannot in that case assert that there is any impulse.
We now see plainly how the ordinary theory must be
totally unfit for furnishing principles of naval architec¬
ture, even although a formula could be deduced from
such a series of experiments as those of the French Aca¬
demy. Although we should know precisely the impulse,
or, to speak now more cautiously, the action, of the fluid
on a surface GL (fig. 9O any obliquity, when it is
alone, detached from all others, we cannot in the small¬
est degree tell what will be the action of part of a stream
or fluid advancing towards it, with the same obliquity,
when it is preceded by an adjoining surface CG, having
a different inclination •, for the fluid will not glide along
GL in the same manner as if it made part of a more ex¬
tensive surface having the same inclination. The pre¬
vious deflections are extremely different in these twm
cases •, and the previous deflections are the only changes
which we can observe in the motions of the fluid, and
the only causes of that pressure which we observe the
body to sustain, and which we call the impulse on it.
This theory must, therefore, be quite unfit for ascer¬
taining the action on a curved surface, which may he
considered as made up of an indefinite number of suc¬
cessive planes.
We nowT see with equal evidence how it happens that
the action of fluids on solid bodies may and must be op¬
posed by pressures, and may be compared with and mea-
3
sured by the pressure of gravity. We are not compa- Resistance
ring forces of different kinds, percussions with pres- of Fluids,
sures, but pressures with each other. Let us see whe-'“’“■■"v'—'*
ther this view of the subject will afford us any method
of comparison or absolute measurement.
When a filament of fluid, that is, a row of corpuscles,
are turned out of their course F.F (fig. 7.), and forced Fig. 7.
to take another course IH, force is required to produce
this change of direction. The filament is prevented
from proceeding by other filaments which lie between it
and the body, and which deflect it in the same manner
as if it were contained in a bended tube, and it will
press on the concave filament next to it as it would press
on the concave side of the tube. Suppose such a bended
tube ABE (fig. 10.), and that a ball A is projected Ic.
along it with any velocity, and moves in it without fric¬
tion : it is demonstrated, in elementary mechanics, that
the ball will move with undiminished velocity, and will
press on every point, such as B, of the concave side of
the tube, in a direction BF perpendicular to the plane
CBD, which touches the tube in the point B. This
pressure on the adjoining filament, on the concave side
of its path, must be withstood by that filament which
deflects it •, and it must be propagated across that fila¬
ment to the next, and thus augment the pressure upon
that next filament already pressed by the deflection of
the intermediate filament •, and thus there is a pressure
towards the middle filament, and towards the body, ari¬
sing from the deflection of all the outer filaments; and
their accumulated sum must be conceived as immediate¬
ly exerted on the middle filaments and on the body, be¬
cause a perfect fluid transmits every pressure undimi¬
nished.
The pressure BF is equivalent to the two BH, BG, pressure
one of which is perpendicular, and the other parallel, the actioft
to the direction of the original motion. By the first of fluids,
taken in any point of the curvilineal motion of any fi¬
lament), the two halves of the stream are pressed toge¬
ther *, and in the case of fig. 7. and 8. exactly balance
each other. But the pressures, such as BG, must be
ultimately withstood by the surface ACB 5 and it is by
these accumulated pressures that the solid body is urged
down the stream ; and it is these accumulated pressures
which we observe and measure in our experiments. We
shall anticipate a little, and say that it is most easily de¬
monstrated, that when a ball A (fig. 10.) moves with
undiminished velocity in a tube so incurvated that its
axis at E is at right angles to its axis at A, the accu¬
mulated action of the pressures, such as BG, taken for
every point of the path, is precisely equal to the force
which would produce or extinguish the original motion.
This being the case, it follows most obviously, that if
the two motions of the filaments are such as we have de¬
scribed and represented by fig. 7. the whole pressure in
the direction of the stream, that is, the whole pressure
which can be observed on the surface, is equal to the
weight of a column of fluid having the surface for its tiiey be
base, and twice the fall productive of the velocity for elastic 01
its height, precisely as Newton deduced it from other not*
considerations *, and it seems to make no odds whether
the fluid be elastic or Unelastic, if the deflections and
velocities are the same. Now it is a fact, that no dif¬
ference in this respect can be observed in the actions ol
air and water •, and this had always appeared a great
defect in Newton’s theory : but it was only a defect of
the
44
nportant
kperi-
;ents by
’tesistance ^ie theory stiiibuted to lum. But it is also true, that
uf Fluids, the observed action is but one-half of what is just now
deduced from this improved view of the subject. Whence
arises this difference ? The reason is this : We have gi¬
ven a very erroneous account of the motions of the fila¬
ments. A. filament does not move as represented in
fig. 7. with two rectangular inflections at I and at H,
and a path IH between them parallel to CB. The pro¬
cess of nature is more like what is represented in fig. 11.
It in observed, that at the anterior part of the body AB,
there remains a quantity of fluid ADB, almost, if not
altogether stagnant, of a singular shape, having two cur¬
ved concave sides Aa D, B 6 D, along which the mid¬
dle filaments glide. This fluid is very slowly changed.—
The late Sir Charles Knowles, an officer of the British
navy, equally eminent for his scientific professional
ir'cliaides know|e(,ge and. for military talents, made many
.nowles. beautiful experiments for ascertaining the paths of the
filaments of water. At a distance up the stream, he
allowed small jets of a coloured fluid, which did not
mix with water, to make part of the stream ; and the
experiments were made in troughs with sides and bottom
of plate-glass. A small taper was placed at a consider¬
able height above, by which the shadows of the colour¬
ed filaments were most distinctly projected on a white
plane held below the trough, so that they were accu¬
rately drawn with a pencil. A few important particu¬
lars may be here mentioned.
The still water ADC, fig. 11. lasted for a long while
before it was renewed ; and it seemed to be gradually
wasted by abrasion, by the adhesion of the surrounding
water, which gradually licked away the outer parts from
D to A and B and it seemed to renew itself in the di¬
rection CD, opposite to the motion of the stream. There
was, however, a considerable intricacy and eddy in this
motion. Some (seemingly superficial) water was conti¬
nually, but slowly, flowing outward from the line DC,
while other water was seen within and below it, coming
inwards and going backwards.
The coloured lateral filaments were most constant in
their form, while the body was the same, although the
velocity was in some cases quadrupled. Any change
which this produced seemed confined to the superficial
filaments.
As the filaments were deflected, they were also con¬
stipated, that is, the curved parts of the filaments were
nearer each other than the parallel straight filaments up
the stream j and this constipation was more considerable
as the prow was more obtuse and the deflexion greater.
The inner filaments were ultimately more deflected
than those without them ; that is, if a line be drawn
touching the curve EFIH in the point H of contrary
flexure, where the concavity begins to be on the side
next the body, the angle HKC, contained between
the axis and the tangent line, is so much the greater as
the filament is nearer the axis.
When the body exposed to the stream was a box of
npright sides, flat bottom, and angular prow, like a
wedge, having its edge also upright, the filaments were
not all deflected laterally, as theory would make us ex¬
pect ; but the filaments near the bottom were also de¬
flected downwards as well as laterally, and glided along
at some distance under the bottom, forming lines of
flouble curvature.
The breadth of the stream that was deflected was much
Vol. XVII. Part II. f
RESISTANCE OF FLUIDS.
745
greater than that of the body ; and the sensible deflec- Resistance
tion began at a considerable distance up the stream, es- of Fluids,
pecially in the outer filaments. v'
Lastly, the form of the curves was greatly influenced
by the proportion between the width of the trough amT
that of the body. The curvature was always less when
the trough was very wide in proportion to the body.
Great varieties were also observed in the motion or
velocity of the filaments. In general, the filaments
increased in velocity outwards from the body to a cer¬
tain small distance, which was nearly the >ame in all
cases, and then diminished all the way outward. This
was observed by inequalities in the colour of the fila¬
ments, by which one could he observed to outstrip an¬
other. The retardation of those next the body seemed
to proceed from friction •, and it was imagined that
without this the velocity there would always have been
greatest. 45
These observations give ns considerable information With infe-
respecting the mechanism of these motions, and the ac-’®nces ^om
tion of fluids upon solids. The pressure in the duplicate
ratio of the velocities comes here again into view. We
found, that although the velocities were very different,
the curves were precisely the same. Now the observed
pressures arise from the transverse forces by which each
particle of a filament is retained in its curvilinea! path j
and we know that the force by which a body is retain¬
ed in any curve is directly as the square of the velocity,
and inversely as the radius of curvature. The curvature,
therefore, remaining the same, the transverse forces, and
consequently the pressure on the body, must be as the
square of the velocity : and, on the other hand, we can
see pretty clearly (indeed it is rigorously demonstrated
by D’Alembert), that whatever be the velocities, the
curves will be the same. For it is known in hydraulics,
that it requires a fourfold or ninefold pressure to pro¬
duce a double or triple velocity. And as all pressures
are propagated through a perfect fluid without diminu¬
tion, this fourfold pressure, while it produces a double
velocity, produces also fourfold transverse pressures,
which will retain the particles, moving twice as fast, in
the same curvilineal paths. And thus we see that the
impulses, as they are called, and resistances of fluids,
have a certain relation to the yveight of a column of
fluid, whose height is the height necessary for producing
the velocity. How it happens that a plane surface, im¬
mersed in an extended fluid, sustains just half the pres¬
sure which it would have sustained had the motions been
such as are sketched in fig. 7th, is a matter of more
curious and difficult investigation. But we see evidently
that the pressure must be less than what is there assign¬
ed $ for the stagnant water a-head of the body greatly
diminishes the ultimate deflections of the filaments :
And it may be demonstrated, that when the part BE of
the canal, fig. 10. is inclined to the part AB in an
angle less than 90°, the pressures BG along the whole
can^l are as the versed sine of the ultimate angle of de¬
flection, or the versed sine of the angle which the part
BE makes with the part AB. Therefore, since the
deflections resemble more the sketch given in fig. 11.
the accumulated sum of all these forces BG of fig. 10.
must be less than the similar sum corresponding to
fig. 7. that is, less than the weight of the column of
fluid, having twice the productive height for its height.
How it is just one half, shall be our next inquiry.
5 B And
746
Resistance
of Fluids.
46
Investiga¬
tions of
Newton
47
liable to
great ob¬
jections,
RESISTANCE OF FLUIDS.
Ami here we must return to the labours of Sir Isaac
Newton. After many beautiful observations on the na¬
ture anti mechanism of continued fluids, he says, tliat
the resistance which they occasion is but one halt of that
occasioned by the rare fluid which had been the subject
of his former proposition '7 “ which truth,” (says he,
with his usual caution and modesty), “ I shall endeavour
to show.” ^
He then enters into another, as novel and as difficult
an investigation, viz. the laws of hydraulics, and endea¬
vours to ascertain the motion of fluids through orifices
when urged by pressures of any kind. He endeavours
to ascertain the velocity with which a fluid escapes
through a horizontal orifice in the bottom of a vessel,
by the action of its weight, and the pressure which this
vein of fluid will exert on a little circle which occupies
part of the orifice. To obtain tins, he employs a kind
of approximation and trial, of which it would be ex¬
tremely difficult to give an extract; and then, by in¬
creasing the diameter of the vessel and of the hole to in¬
finity, he accommodates his reasoning to the case of a
plane surface exposed to an indefinitely extended stieam
of fluid ; and, lastly, giving to the little circular surface
the motion which he had before ascribed to the fluid, he
says, that the resistance to a plane surface moving
through an unelastic continuous fluid, is equal to the
weight of a column of the fluid whose height is one-half
of that necessary for acquiring tne velocity' 5 and he
says, that the resistance of a globe is, in this case, the
same with that of a cylinder of the same diameter. I he
resistance, therefore, of the cylinder or circle is four
times less, and that of the globe is twice less than their
resistance on a rare elastic medium.
But this determination, though founded on princi¬
ples or assumptions, which are much nearer to the real
state of things, is liable to great objections. It de¬
pends on his" method for ascertaining the velocity of
the issuing fluid •, a method extremely ingenious, but
defective. The cataract, which he supposes, cannot
exist as he supposes, descending by the full action of
gravity, and surrounded by a funnel of stagnant fluid.
For, in such circumstances, there is nothing to balance
the hydrostatical pressure of this surrounding fluid ; be¬
cause the whole pressure ol the central cataract is em¬
ployed in producing its own descent. In the next
place, the pressure which he determines is beyond all
doubt one half of what is observed on a plane surface
in all our experiments. And, in the third place, it is
repugnant to all our experience, that the resistance of
a globe or of a pointed body is as great as that of its
circular base. His reasons are by no means convincing.
He supposes them placed in a tube or canal j and since
they are supposed of the same diameter, and therefore
leave equal spaces at their sides, he concludes, that be¬
cause the water escapes by their sides with the same ve¬
locity, they will have the same resistance. But this is
by no means a necessary consequence. Even if the
water should be allowed to exert equal pressures on
them, the pressures being perpendicular to their sur¬
faces, and these surfaces being inclined to the axis,
while in the case of the base of a cylinder, it is in
the direction of the axis, there must be a difference in
the accumulated or compound pressure in the direction
of the axis. He indeed says, that in the case of the
cylinder or the circle obstructing the canal, a quantity
of water remains stagnant on its upper surface 5 viz. Resistant!
all the water whose motion would not contribute to of Fluids,
the most ready passage of the fluid between the cy- v—y—
Under and the sides of the canal or tube j and that
this water may be considered as frozen. If this be
the case, it is indifferent what is the form of the body
that is covered with this mass of frozen or stagnant wa¬
ter. It may be a hemisphere or a cone } the resistance
will be the same.—But Newton by no means, assigns,
either with precision or with distinct evidence, the form
and magnitude of this stagnant water, so as to give con¬
fidence in the results. He contents himself with say¬
ing, that it is that water whose motion is not necessary
or cannot contribute to the most easy passage of the
water. _ . 48
There remains, therefore, many imperfections in this though
theory. But notwithstanding these defects, we cannot displaying
but admire the efforts and sagacity of this great phi-gfeatsagi.-
losopher, who, after having discovered so many sublime Clty’
truths of mechanical nature, ventured to trace out a
path for the solution of a problem which no person had
yet attempted to bring within the range of mathemati¬
cal investigation. And his solution, though inaccurate,
shines throughout with that inventive genius and that
fertility of resource, which no man ever possessed in so
eminent a degree.
Those who have attacked the solution of Sir Isaac
Newton have not been more successful. Most of them,
instead of principles, have given a great deal of calcu¬
lus ; and the chief merit which any of them can claim,
is that of having deduced some single proposition which
happens to quadrate with some single case of experiment,
while their general theories are either inapplicable,
from difficulty and obscurity, or are discordant with
more general observation.
We must, however, except from this number Daniel
Bernoulli, who was not only a great geometer, but
one of the first philosophers of the age. He possessed
all the talents, and was free from the faults ol that
celebrated family ; and while he was the mathemati¬
cian of Europe who penetrated farthest in the investi¬
gation of this great problem, he was the only person
who felt, or at least w'ho acknowledged, its great dif¬
ficulty.
In the 2d volume of the Comment. Petropol. 1727, he Bernoulli-:
fliiJ
Mill
ICtio
'tdi:
*1
49
proposes a formula for the resistance of fluids, deduced general fb
1 r - - - -   - ■ 1 • > mula foun
from considerations quite different from those on which
Newton founded his solution. But he delivers it withp0t]iesjs
modest diffidence } because he found that it gave a resis¬
tance four times greater than experiment. In the same
dissertation he determines the resistance of a sphere to be
one half of that of its great circle. But in his subsequent
theory of Hydrodynamics (a work which must ever rank
among the first productions of the age, and is equally
eminent for refined and elegant mathematics, and inge¬
nious and original thoughts in dynamics), he calls this
determination in question. It is indeed founded on the
same hypothetical principles which have been unskil¬
fully detached from the rest of Newton’s physics, and
made the groundwork of all the subsequent theories on
this subject.
5°
In 1741, Mr Daniel Bernoulli published another dis-*1® ^jec
sertation (in the 8 th volume of the Corn. Petropol.') a pa,ti.
on the action and resistance of fluids, limited to a verycular case
particular case 3 namely, to the impulse of a vein oJwRhgeat
csistatvcc
if Fluids.
Resistance of fluids.
I fa"VnS PcfP'n,1,lc"lial'ly on an inGnitely extended pressed in opposite directions,
plane sui race. llusne demonstrates to be equal to the
d
weight of a column of the fluid whose base is the area
of the vein, and whose height is twice the fall producing
the velocity. This demonstration is drawn from the true
principles of mechanics and the acknowledged laws of
hydraulics, and may be received as a strict physical de¬
monstration. As it is the only proposition in the whole
theory that has as yet received a demonstration accessi¬
ble to readers not versant in all the refinements of modern
analysis ; and as the principles on which it proceeds will
undoubtedly lead to a solution of every problem which
can be proposed, once that our mathematical knowledge
shall enable us to apply them——we think it our duty to
give it in this place, although we must acknowledgej
that this problem is so very limited, that it will hardly
bear an application to any case that differs but a little
from the express conditions of the problem. There do
occur cases however in practice, where it may be appli*
ed to very great advantage.
Daniel Bernoulli gives two demonstrations; one of
which may be called a popular one, and the other is
more scientific and introductory to further investigation,
r! We shall give both.
etermines Bernoulli first determines the whole action, exerted
e action in the efflux of the vein of fluid. Suppose the velocity
e'efflux'of e®ux v ^lat which would be acquired by falling
vein of through the height h. It is well known that a body
moving during the time of this fall with the velocity v
would describe a space 2 h. The effect, therefore, of
the hydraulic action is, that in the time t of the fall h,
there issues a cylinder or prism of water whose base is
the cross section s or area of the vein, and whose length
is 2h. And this quantity of matter is now moving
with the velocity v. The quantity of motion, therefore,
which is thus produced is 2shv; and this quantity of
motion is produced in the time t. And this is the ac¬
cumulated effect of all the expelling forces, estimated
in the direction of the efflux. Now, to compare this
with the exertion of some pressing power with which
we are familiarly acquainted, let us suppose this pillar
2 s h to be frozen, and, being held in the hand, to be
dropped. It is well known, that in the time t it will
fall th rough the height //, and will acquire the velocity
and now possesses the quantity of motion 2shv—
and all this is the effect of its weight. The weight,
therefore, of the pillar 2 5//produces the same effect,
and in the same time, and (as may easily be seen) in the
same gradual manner, with the expelling forces of the
fluid in the vessel, which expelling forces arise from the
pressure of all the fluid in the vessel. Therefore the
accumulated hydraulic pressure, by which a vein of a
heavy fluid is forced out through an orifice in the bot¬
tom or side of a vessel, is equal (when estimated in the
direction of the efflux) to the weight of a column of the
fluid, having for its base the section of the vein, and
twice the fall productive of the velocity of efflux for its
height.
Now let ADBC (fig. 12.) be a quadrangular vessel
with upright plane sides, in one of which is an orifice
EF. From every point of the circumference ot this
orifice, suppose horizontal lines E c, Yf &c. which will
mark a similar surface on the opposite side of the vessel.
Suppose the orifice EF to he shut. There can be no
doubt but that the surfaces EF and ef will be equally
747
-- . Now Open the orifice Resistance
EF j the water will rush out, and the pressure on EF of Fluids.
is now removed. There will therefore be a tendency' 
in the vessel to move back in the direction E e. And
this tendency must be precisely equal and opposite to the
whole effort of the expelling forces. This is a conclu¬
sion as evident as any proposition in mechanics. It is
thus that a gun recoils and a rocket rises in the air ; and
on this is founded the operation of Mr Parents or Dr
Barker’s mill, described in all treatises of mechanics,
and most learnedly treated by Euler in the Berlin Me¬
moirs.
Now, let this stream of water be received on a cir¬
cular plane MN, perpendicular to its axis, and let this
circular plane be of such extent* that the vein escapes
from its sides in an infinitely thin sheet, the water flow¬
ing off in a direction parallel to the plane. The vein by
this means will expand into a trumpet-like shape, havin'1,
curved sides, EKG, 1 LH, fig. 13. We abstract at pre-1 13,
sent the action of gravity which would cause the vein to
bend downwards, and occasion a greater velocity at H
than at G j and we suppose the velocity equal in every
point of the circumference. It is plain, that if the ac¬
tion of gravity be neglected after the water has issued
through the orifice EF, the velocity in every point of
the circumference of the plane MN will be that of the
efflux through EF.
Now, because EKG is the natural shape assumed by
the vein, it is plain, that if the whole vein were covered
by a tube or mouth-piece, fitted to its shape, and per¬
fectly polished, so that the water shall glide along it,
without any friction (a thing which we may always sup¬
pose), the water will exert no pressure whatever on this
trumpet mouth-piece. Lastly, let us suppose that the
plane MN is attached to the mouth-piece by some bits
of wire, so as to allow the water to escape all round by
the narrow chink between the mouth piece and the plane:
We have now a vessel consisting of the upright part
ABDC, the trumpet GKEFLH, and the plane MN ;
and the water is escaping from every point of the cir¬
cumference of the chink GHNM with the velocity v.
If any part of this chink were shut up, there would be a
pressure on that part equivalent to the force of efflux from
the opposite part. Therefore, when all is open, these
efforts of efflux balance each other all round. There is
not therefore any tendency in this compound vessel to
move to any side. But take away the plane MN, and
there would immediately arise a pressure in the direction
E e equal to the weight of the column 2sh. This is
therefore balanced by the pressure on the circular plane
MN, which is therefore equal to this weight, and the
proposition is demonstrated.
A number of experiments were made by Professor
Kraft at St Petersburgh, by receiving the vein on a plane
MN (fig. 12.) which was fastened to the arm of a ba¬
lance OPQ, having a scale II hanging on the opposite
arm. The resistance or pressure on the plane was mea¬
sured by weights put into the scale II *, and the velocity
of the jet was measured by means of the distance KH,
to which it spouted on a horizontal plane. 52
The results of these experiments were as conformable Difference
to the theory as could be wished. The resistance rvas |^'Uv<jen
always a little less than what the theory required, but.^
greatly exceeded its half j the result of the generally re-meats tjC-
ceived theories. This defect should be expected 5 for counted
5 B 2 thefor*
7+§ RESISTANCE
Kesisiance Hie demonstration supposes tbe plane MN to tje i.ifi-
of Fiui<is nitely extended, so tliat the film of water winch issues
v v ' through the chink may be accurately parallel to the
plane. This never can be completely eftected. ^‘s() lt
was supposed, that the velocity was justly measured by
the amplitude of the parabola EGK. But it is well
known that the very putting the plane MN in the way
of the jet, though at the distance of an inch horn the
orifice, will diminish the velocity of the efflux through
this orifice. This is easily verified by experiment. Ob¬
serve the time in which the vessel will be emptied when
there is no plane in the way. Repeat the experiment
with the plane in its place •, and more time will he ne¬
cessary. The following is a note of a course of expe¬
riments,, taken as they stand, without any selection.
OF FLUIDS.
of the impulses increase. The deflection becomes ulti- Reslstancn
mately continuous, and the motion curvilineal, and the of fluids,
proposition is demonstrated. *
We see that the initial velocity and its subsequent
changes do not all’ect the conclusion, which depends en¬
tirely on the final quantity of motion.
2. The accumulated effect of the accelerating forces,
when estimated in the direction AK of the original mo¬
tion, or in the opposite direction, is equal to the difter-
ence between the initial quantity of motion and the pro'
duct of the final quantity of motion by the cosine oi the
change of direction.
For C mrrC / — m /, —B\I—/q
BM=B L—M L - A K —FG
AK=AO—OK,=AO—FN.
N° 1 2 3 4 5 6
Resist, bv theory 1701 t?20 ^S1 1601 I52S ,c72
Resist by experiment 1403 M63 T lS6 ,4'x 1021
Difference 29s 2 57 l05 201 125 51
In order to demonstrate this proposition in such a man¬
ner as to furnish the means of investigating the whole
mechanism and action of moving fluids, it is necessary to
premise an elementary theorem of curvilineal nionons.
If a particle of matter describes a curve line ABLE
Fig. 14. (fig. 14.) by the continual action ol deflecting forces,
which vary in any manner, both with respect to inten¬
sity and direction, and*il the action of these foices, in
every point of the curve, be resolved into two direc¬
tions, perpendicular and parallel to the initial direction
AK •, then, , „ . „
1. The accumulated effect of the deflecting forces,
estimated in a direction AD perpendicular to AK, is
to the final quantity of motion as the sine ot the final
5^ change of direction is to radius.
His propo- Ld us first suppose that the accelerating forces act
•iiion lie- ^ start8> at equal intervals of time, when the body, is in
monstrated.^ p()i1)ts A, B, C, E. And let AN be the deflecting
force, which, acting at A, changes the original direc¬
tion AKtoAB. Produce AB till BH = AB, and
complete the parallelogram BFCH. Then IB is the
force which, by acting at B, changed the motion Ml
(the continuation ol AB) to BC. In like manner
make C A (in BC produced) equal to BC, and complete
the parallelogram C /"E h. C/is the deflecting force
at C. &e. Draw BO parallel to AN, and GBK per¬
pendicular to AK. Also draw lines through C and E
perpendicular to AK, and draw through B and C lines
parallel to AK. Draw also HL, hi perpendicular,
and FG, HI, hi, parallel to AK.
It is plain that BK is BO or AN estimated in the
direction perpendicular to AK, and that BG is BF
estimated in the same way. And since BH=AB,
HL or IM is equal to BK. Also Cl is equal to BG.
Therefore CM is equal to AP-f-BG. By similar rea¬
soning it appears that E m~)L i-\-h l, zzC^ -f-CM, =
C g + BG, +AP.
Therefore if CE be taken for the measure of the
final velocity or quantity of motion, E m will he the
accumulated effect of the deflecting forces estimated in
the direction AD perpendicular to AK. But Era is
to CE as the sine of in CE is to radius *, and the angle
wCE is the angle contained between the initial and final
directions, because C m is parallel to AK. Now let the
intervals of time diminish continually and the frequency
Therefore PN-f-FG-fi/Q (the accumulated impulse
in the direction OA)~AO—CM,= AO—CL X co¬
sine of ecM-
Cor. 1. The same action, in the direction opposite
to that of the original motion, is necessary lor causing
a body to move at right angles to its former direction
as for stopping its motion. For in this case, the co¬
sine of the change of direction is = 0, and AO—CE
x cosine ECM=AO—0, = AO, = the original mo-
tion.
Cor. 2. If the initial and final velocities are the
same, the accumulated action of the accelerating forces,
estimated in the direction OA, is equal to the product
of the original quantity of motion by the versed sine of
the change of direction.
The application of these theorems, particularly the
second, to our present purpose is very obv ous. All the
filaments of the jet were originally moving in die direc¬
tion of its axis, and they are finally moving along the
resisting plane, or perpendicular to their former motion.
Therefore their transverse foices in the direction ot the
axis are {in cutnulo) equal to the force which would
stop the motion. For the aggregate of the simulta¬
neous forces of every particle in the whole filament is
the same with that of the successive forces of one particle,
as it arrives at different points of its curvilineal path.
All the tranverse forces, estimated in a direction per¬
pendicular to the axis of the vein, precisely balance and
sustain each other ; and the only forces which can pro¬
duce a sensible effect are those in a direction parallel
to the axis. By these all the inner filaments are pres¬
sed towards the plane MN, and must be withstood by it.
It is highly probable, nay certain, diat there is a quanti¬
ty of stagnant water in the middle ot the vein which sus¬
tains the pressures of the moving filaments without it,
and transmits it to the solid plane. But this does not
alter the case. And, fortunately, it is of no consequence
what changes happen in the velocities ol the particles
while each is describing its own curve. And it is trom
this circumstance, peculiar to this particular case of per*
pendicular impulse, that we are able to draw the con¬
clusion. It is by no means difficult to demonstrate that
the velocity of the external surface of this jet is con¬
stant, and indeed of every jet which is not acted on by
external forces after it has quitted the orifice : but this
discussion is quite unnecessary here. It is however ex¬
tremely difficult to ascertain, even in this most simple
case, what is the velocity of the internal filaments m
the different points of their progress.
RESISTANCE
lUcsibtance Sue]) is tlie <]c ill OR Strati on which Ivlr Bernoulli has
of Fluids, given of this proposition. Limited as it is, it is highly
v 1 valuable, because derived from the true principles of
hydraulics.
He hoped to render it more extensive and applicable
to oblique impulses, when the axis AC of the vein
!F'g- *S* (fig. 15.) is inclined to the plane in an angle ACN.
But here all the simplicity of the case is gone, and we
54 are now obliged to ascertain the motion of each fila-
I’His theol7 ment. It might not perhaps be impossible to deter-
attempu-d mjne w|,at must happen in the plane of the fiinire,
Ibe nndc-r- that is, in a plane passing through the axis of the vein,
ed general, and perpendicular to the plane MN. But even in this
case it would be extremely difficult to determine how
much of the fluid will go in the direction EKG, and
what will go in the path FLH, and to ascertain the
form of each filament, and the velocity in its different
pomts. But in the real state of the case, the water
will dissipate from the centre C on every side 5 and we
cannot tell in what proportions. Let us however con¬
sider a little what happens in the plane of the figure,
and suppose that all the water goes either in the course
EKG or in the course FLH. Let the quantities of
water which take these two courses have the propor¬
tions of p and IT. Let 2 a be the velocity at A,
nj2 ^ be the velocity at G, and 2 /3 be the velocity
at H. ACG and ACH are the two changes of di¬
rection, of which let c and —c be the cosines. Then,
adopting the former reasoning, we have the pressure of
the watery plate GKEACM on the plane in the di-
rection AC= X 2 a—2 c b. and the pressure of the
P-tn
plate HLFACN — X 2 a 4- 2 c /3, and their sum
^ /> + n
/>X2ff—2c£-fnx 20-f 2r/3 • n- r 1
— ^ ^ j which being multiplied
by the sine of ACM, or ^/i—c*, gives the pressure
... . , ,,fX7 py.2a—2c/i-fnx2a
perpe nchcular tothe plane MIN ~ p-\~n 
-1- 2 $
v' 1
But there remains a pressure in the direction perpen¬
dicular to the axis of the vein, which is not balanced,
as in the former case, by the equality on opposite sides
of the axis. The pressure ari-ing from the water
which escapes at G has an effect opposite to that pro¬
duced by the water which escapes at H. When this
is taken into account,, we shall find that their joint e£-
j-i J"J
forts perpendicular to AC are^^'n X 2a V 1—c*, which,
being multiplied by the cosine of ACM, gives the ac¬
tion perpendicular to MN y, lac's/1—c*.
The sum or joint effort of all these pressures is
X 2 a—2 c 6 + n X v 2 „ c
P+n P+n
Thus, from this case, which is much simpler than
can happen in nature, seeing that there will always be
a lateral efflux, the determination of the impulse is as
OF F L U I D S. 749
uncertain and vague as it was sure and precise in the Resistance
former case. of Fluids.
It is therefore without proper authority that the » '1
absolute impulse of a vein of fluid on a plane which re¬
ceives it wholly, is asserted to be proportional to the
sine of incidence. If indeed we suppose the velocity
in G and H are equal to that at A, then bz=/3, =:a, and
the whole impulse is 2 —ca, as is commonly sup¬
posed. But this cannot he. Both the velocity and
quantity at H are less than those at G. Nay, frequent¬
ly there is no efflux on the side H when the obliquity
is very great. We may conclude in general, that the
oblique impulse will always bear to the direct impulse
a greater proportion than that of the sine of incidence
to radius. If the whole water escapes at G, and none
goes off laterally, the pressure will be 2«-f 2ac^2^o<
\/1—c*. The experiments of the Abbe Bossut show
in the plainest manner that the pressure of a vein, strik¬
ing obliquely on a plane which receives it wholly, di¬
minishes faster than in the ratio of the square of the
sine of incidence ; whereas, when the oblique plane is
wholly immersed in the stream, the impulse is much
greater than in this proportion, and in great obliquities
is nearly as the sine.
Nor will this proposition determine the impulse of a
fluid on a plane wholly immersed in it, even when the
impulse is perpendicular to the plane. The circum¬
stance is now wanting on which we can establish a cal¬
culation, namely, the angle of final deflection. Could
this be ascertained for each filament, and the vtlocity
of the filament, the principles are completely adequate
to an accurate solution of the problem. In the expe¬
riments which we mentioned to have been made under
the inspection of Sir Charles Knowles, a cylinder of
six inches diameter was exposed to the action of a
stream moving precisely one foot per second ; and when
certain deductions were made for the water which was
held adhering to the posterior base (as will be noticed
afterwards), the impulse was found equal to 3^ ounces
avoirdupois. There were 36 coloured filaments distri¬
buted on the stream, in such situations as to give the
most useful indications of their curvature. It was found
necessary to have some which passed under the body and
some above it j for the form of these filaments, at the
same distance from the axis of the cylinder, was consider¬
ably different: and those filaments which were situated
in planes neither horizontal nor vertical took a double
curvature. In short, the curves were all traced with
great care, and the deflecting forces were computed for
each, and reduced to the direction of the axis; and
they were summed up in such a manner as to give the
impulse of the whole stream. The deflections were
marked as far a head of the cylinder as they could be
assuredly observed. By this method the impulse was
computed to be 2^1 ounces, differing from observation
of an ounce, or about ^ of the whole ; a difference
which may most reasonably be ascribed to the adhesion
of the water, which must be most sensible in such sn.all
velocities. These experiments may therefore be consi¬
dered as giving all the confirmation that can he desired
of the justness of the principles. This indeed hardly ad¬
mits of a doubt: but, alas ! it gives but small assist¬
ance ; for all this is empirical, in as far as it leaves us in
every case the task of observing the form of the curves
aqd
75°
Resistance
of Fluids.
RESISTANCE OF FLUIDS.
55
A method
recommen
ded for ob
taining a
general
theory.
and the velocities in their different points. To derive
service from this most judicious method of Daniel Ber¬
noulli, we must discover some method of determining,
a priori, what will be the motion of the fluid wh*?se
course is obstructed by a body of any form. And
here we cannot omit taking notice of the casual ob¬
servations of Sir Isaac Newton when attempting to de¬
termine the resistance of the plane surface or cylinder,
or sphere exposed to a stream moving in a canal, lie
says, that the form of the resisting surface is ofless con¬
sequence, because there is always a quantity of water
stagnant upon it, and which may therefore be consider¬
ed as frozen j and he therefore considers that water
only whose motion is necessary for the most expedi¬
tious discharge of the water in the vessel. He endea¬
vours to discriminate that water from the rest j and
although it must be acknowledged that the principle
which he assumes for this purpose is very gratuitous,
because it only shows, that if certain portions of the wa¬
ter, which he determines very ingeniously, were really
frozen, the rest will issue, as he says, and will exert the
pressure which he assigns-, still we must admire his fer¬
tility of resource, and his sagacity in thus foreseeing
what subsequent observation has completely confirmed.
We are even disposed to think, that in this casual ob¬
servation Sir Isaac Newton has pointed out the only
method of arriving at a solution of the problem ; and
.that, if we could discover ivhat motions are not nccessarxj
for the most expeditious passage of the water, and could
thus determine the form and magnitude of the stagnant
Avater Avhich adheres to the body, rve should much more
easily ascertain the real motions which occasion the ob¬
served resistance. We are here disposed to have recourse
to the economy of nature, the improper use of Avhich we
have sometimes taken the liberty of reprehending. Mr
Maupertuis published as a great discovery his principle
of smallest action, where he showed that in all the mu¬
tual actions of bodies the quantity of action rvas a mi¬
nimum $ and he applied this to the solution of many dif¬
ficult problems Avitli great success, imagining that he was
really reasoning from a contingent law of nature, select¬
ed by its infinitely wise Author, viz. that on all occa¬
sions there is the smallest possible exertion of natural
powers. Mr D’Alembert has, however, shown (vid.
Encyclopedia Frarifoise, Action) that this rvas but a
Avhim, and that the minimum observed by Mauper¬
tuis is merely a minimum of calculus, peculiar to a
formula Avhich happens to express a combination of ma¬
thematical quantities Avhich frequently occurs in our
Avay of considering the phenomena of nature, but which
is no natural measure of action.
But the chevalier D’Arcy has shown, that in the
- trains of natural operations Avhich terminate in the pro¬
duction of motion in a particular direction, the interme¬
diate communications of motion are such that the small¬
est possible quantity of motion is produced. We seem
obliged to conclude, that this law will be observed in
the present instance *, and it seems a problem not above
our reach to determine the motions which result from
it. We would recommend the problem to the eminent
mathematicians in some simple case, such as the propo¬
sition already demonstrated by Daniel Bernoulli, or the
perpendicular impulse on a cylinder included in a tubu¬
lar canal; and if they succeed in this, great things may
be expected. We think that experience gives great
encouragement. We see that the resistance to a plane Rtsistsnce
surface is a very small matter greater than the weight of Fluids,
of a column of the fluid having the fall productive of
the velocity for its height, and the small excess is most
probably owing to adhesion, and the measure of the real
resistance is probably precisely this Aveight. The velo¬
city of a spouting fluid was found, in fact, to be that ac¬
quired by falling from the surface of the fluid ; and it
Avas by looking at this, as at a pole star, that Newton,
Bernoulli, and others, have with great sagacity and in¬
genuity discovered much of the laws of hydraulics, by
searching for principles which Avould givre this result.
We may hope for similar success.
In the mean time, Ave may receive this as a physical
truth, that the perpendicular impulse or resistance of a
plane surface, wholly immersed in the fluid, is equal
to the Aveight of the column having the surface for
its base, and the fall producing the velocity for its
height.
This is the medium result of all experiments made in
these precise circumstances. And it is confirmed by a
set of experiments of a kind wholly difl’erent, and which
seem to point it out more certainly as an immediate con¬
sequence of hydraulic principles. s6
if Mr Pitot’s tube be exposed to a stream of fluid Expert-
issuing from a reservoir or vessel, as represented jn ment by
fig. 16. Avith the open mouth I pointed directly against s
this stream, the fluid is observed to stand at K in the up- fjg( ^
right tube, precisely on a level with the fluid AB in the
reservoir. Here is a most unexceptionable experiment,
in Avhich the impulse of the stream is actually opposed
to the hydrostatical pressure ot the fluid on the tube.
Pressure is in this case opposed to pressure, because the
issuing fluid is deflected by Avhat stays in the mouth of
the tube, in the same way in which it Avould be deflect¬
ed by a firm surface. We shall have occasion by and
by to mention some most valuable and instructive expe¬
riments made Avith this tube.
It was this which suggested to the great matbema-
tician Euler another theory of the impulse and resist-theory,
anee of fluids, Avhich must not be omitted, as it is ap¬
plied in his elaborate performance On the Theory of
the Construction and Working ot Ships, in two vo¬
lumes qto, Avhich was afterwards abridged and used as a
text book in some marine academies. He supposes a
stream of fluid ABCD (fig. 17.), moving Avith any ve- Fig. 17.
locity, to strike the plane BD perpendicularly, and that
part of it goes through a hole EF, forming a jet
EGHF. Mr Euler says, that the velocity of this jet
will be the same Avith the velocity ot the stream. Now
compare this with an equal stream issuing from a hole
in the side of a vessel with the same velocity. 'I he one
stream is urged out by the pressure occasioned by the
impulse of the fluid j the other is urged out by the
pressure of gravity. The effects are equal, and the mo¬
difying circumstances are the same. The causes are
therefore equal, and the pressure occasioned by the im¬
pulse of a stream of fluid, moving with any velocity, is
equal to the Aveight of a column of fluid Avhose height is
productive of this velocity, &c. He then determines
the oblique impulse by the resolution of motion, and de¬
duces the common rules of resistance, &c.
But all this is Avithout just grounds. This gentle¬
man Avas ahvays satisfied Avitli the slightest analogies
Avhich Avould give him an opportunity of exhibiting his
great
resistance of fluids.
tesistancc gicat nexteuty in atge!)iaic analysis, and was not after* the consequences, but the causes
of Fluids, wards startled by any discordancy with observation
—-v ' Analyst magisjidendum is a frequent assertion with hi
58
/Vithcmt
 im.
I hough he wrote a large volume, containing a theory
of light and colours totally opposite to Newton’s, he
lias published many dissertations on optical phenomena
on the Newtonian principles, expressly because his own
principles non idea facile ansam prccbcbat analysi in-
struendce.
Not a shadow of argument is given for the leading
oundation. principle in this theory, viz. that the velocity of the jet
is the same with the velocity of the stream. None can
be given, but saying, that the pressure is equivalent to
its production ; and this is assuming the very thing he
labours to prove. The matter of fact is, that the velo¬
city of the jet is greater than that of the stream, and
may be greater almost in any proportion. Which cu¬
rious circumstance was discovered and ingeniously ex¬
plained long ago by Daniel Bernoulli in his Hydi'odyna-
mica. It is evident that the velocity must be greater.
Were a stream of sand to come against the plane, what
goes through would indeed preserve its velocity un¬
changed : but when areal fluid strikes the plane, all that
does not pass through is deflected on all sides ; and by
these deflections forces are excited, by which the fila¬
ments which surround the cylinder immediately fronting
the hole are made to press this cylinder on all sides, and
as it were squeeze it between them : and thus the par¬
ticles at the hole must of necessity be accelerated, and
the velocity of the jet must be greater than that of the
stream. We are disposed to think that, in a fluid per¬
fectly incompressible, the velocity will be double, or at
lest increased in the proportion of 1 to If the
fluid is in the smallest degree compressible, even in the
very small degree that water is, the velocity at the first
impulse may be much greater. 1). Bernoulli found that
a column of water moving 5 feet per second, in a tube
some hundred feet long, produced a velocity of 136 feet
per second in the first moment.
There being this radical defect in the theory of Mr
Euler, it is needless to take notice of its total insuffici¬
ency for explaining oblique impulses and the resistance
of curvilineal prows.
5.9 We are extremely sorry that our readers are deriving
Nation of 80 advantage from all that we have said ; and that
’Alem- having taken them by the hand, we are thus obliged to
ert grope about, with only a few scattered rays of light to
direct our steps. Let us see what assistance we can get
from Mr d’Alembert, who has attempted a solution of
that problem in a method entirely new and extremely
ingenious. He saw clearly, that all the followers of
Newton had forsaken the path which he had marked
out for them in the second part of his investigation, and
had merely amused themselves with the mathematical
discussion with which his introductory hypothesis gave
them an opportunity of occupying themselves. He
paid the deserved tribute of applause to Daniel Ber¬
noulli for having introduced the notion of pure pressure
as the chief agent in this business ; and he saw that he
was in the right road, and that it was from hydrostati-
cal principles alone that we had any chance ot explain¬
ing the phenomena of hydraulics. Bernoulli had only
considered the pressures which were excited in conse¬
quence of the curvilineal motions of the particles. Mr
d’Alembert even thought that these pressures were not
751
of these curvilineal Resistance
motions. No internal motion can happen in a fluid of Fluids,
but in consequence of an unbalanced pressure; and every v~" v—
such motion will produce an inequality of pressure,
which will determine the succeeding motions. He there¬
fore endeavoured to reduce all to the discovery of those
disturbing pressures, and thus to the laws of hydrosta¬
tics. He had long before this hit on a very refined
and ingenious view of the action of bodies on each
other, which had enabled him to solve many of the most
difficult problems concerning the motions of bodies, such
as the centre of oscillation, of spontaneous conversion,
the precession of the equinoxes, &c. &c. with great fa¬
cility and elegance. He saw that the same principle
would apply to the action of fluid bodies. The princi¬
ple is this.
“ In whatever manner any number of bodies are sup¬
posed to act on each other, and by these actions come to
change their present motions, if we conceive that the mo¬
tion which each body would have in the following in¬
stant (if it became free), is resolved into two other
motions; one of which is the motion which it really
takes in the following instant; the other will be such,
that if each body had no other motion but this second,
the whole bodies would have remained in equilibria.'n
M e here observe, “ that the motion which each body
would have in the following instant, if it became free,”
is a continuation of the motion which it has in the first
instant. It may therefore perhaps be better expressed
thus :
If the motions of bodies, anyhow acting on each other,
be considered in two consecutive instants, and if we con¬
ceive the motion which it has in the first instant as com¬
pounded of two others, one of which is the motion which
it actually takes in the second instant, the other is such,
that if each body had only those second motions, the
whole system would have remained in equilibria.
The proposition itself is evident. For if these second
motions be not such as that an equilibrium of the whole
system would result from them, the other component
motions would not be those which the bodies really have
after the change j for they would necessarily be altered
by these unbalanced motions. See D’Alembert Essai de
Dynamiquc.
Assisted by this incontestable principle, M. d’Alem¬
bert demonstrates, in a manner equally new and simple,
those propositions which Newton had so cautiously de¬
duced from his hypothetical fluid, showing that they
were not limited to this hypothesis, viz. that the mo¬
tions prodaced by similar bodies, similarly projected in
them, would be similar ; that whatever were the pres¬
sures, the curves described by the particles would be the
same; and that the resistances would be proportional to
the squares of the velocities. He then comes to consider
the fluid as having its motions constx-ained by the form
of the canal or by solid obstacles interposed.
We shall here give a summary account of his funda¬
mental proposition.
It is evident, that if the body ADCE (fig. 18.) did Summary
not form an obstruction to the motion of the water, the account of
particles would describe parallel lines TF, OK, PS, &c.llis
But while yet at a distance from the body in F, K, S, position^0"
they gradually change their directions, and describe the Fig. 18.
curves FM, K»z, S«, so much more incurvated as they
are nearer to the body. At a certain distance ZY this
curvature.
l
52 RESIST A NC
Resistance curvature will l>e insensible, and the fluid included in
j of Fluids, tbe space ZYIIQ will move uniformly as if the .solid
T body were not there. The motions on the other side
of the axis AC will be the same ; and we need only
attend to one half, and W'e shall consider these as in a
state of permanency.
No body changes either its direction or velocity other¬
wise than by insensible degrees: therefore the particle
which is moving in the axis will not reach the vertex
A of the body, where it behoved to deflect instantane¬
ously at right angles. It will therefore begin to be de¬
flected at some point F a-head of the body, and will de-
scribe a curve FM, touching the axis in F, and the bo¬
dy in M; and then, gliding along the body, will quit
it at some point L, describing a tangent curve, which
will join the axis again (touching it) in 11 *, and thus
there will be a quantity of stagnant water FAM before
or a head of the body, and another FCR behind or
astern of it.
JLet a be the velocity of a p rticle of the fluid in
any instant, and a! its velocity in the next instant. The
velocity o may be considered as compounded of a' and
ci*. If the particles tended to move with the velocities
a" onlv, the whole fluid would be in equilibrio (general
principle), and the pressure of the fluid would be the
same as if all wTere stagnant, and each particle were
a"
urged by a force—, t’ expressing an indefinitely small
moment of time. (N. B. —is the proper expression of
the accelerating force, which, by acting during the mo¬
ment would generate the velocity d'; and a" is sup¬
posed an indeterminate quantity, diflerent perhaps for
each particle). Now let a he supposed constant, or
a~d. In this case a"~o. That is to say, no pressure
whatever will be exerted on the solid body unless there
happen changes in the velocities or directions of the
particles.
Let a and d then be tbe motions of the particles in
two consecutive instants. They would be in equilibrio
d<
if urged only by the forces—-. Therefore if y be the
point where the particles which describe the curve FM
begin to change their velocity, the pressure in D would
be equal to the pressure which the fluid contained in the
canal y FMD would exert, if each particle were solic ited
d'
by its force —. The question is therefore reduced to
the finding the curvature in the canal y FMD, and the
d' . .
accelerating forces — in its diflerent parts.
It appears, in the first place, that no pressure is ex¬
erted by any of the particles along the curve FM: for
in suppose that the particle a (fig. 19. describes the in¬
definitely small straight line a b in the first instant, and
&c in the second instant j produce a b till bd=abt and
joining c/c, the motion ab or bd may be considered as
composed of be, which the particle really takes in the
next instant, and a motion dc which should be destroy¬
ed. Draw iz"parallel to dc, and ie perpendicular to be.
It is plain that the particle b, solicited by the forces
be, ei (^equivalent to dc) should be in equilibrio. This
being established, be must be —0, that is, there will be
no accelerating or retarding force at b; for if there
I
E OF FLUIDS.
be, draw bm (fig. 20.) perpendicular to bl, and the Rcsfitanre
parallel nq infinitely near it. The part bn ol the fluid of Fiuijs,
contained in the canal bnqm would sustain some pres- ^ ^
sure from b towards n, or from n towards b. Iherefore
since the fluid in this stagnant canal should be in equili¬
brio, there must also be some action, at least in one of
the parts bm, m q, qn, to counterbalance the action on
the. part bn. But the fluid is stagnant in the space
FAM (in consequence of the law of continuity).
Therefore there is no force which can act on b m, m q,
qn; and the pressure in the canal in the direction bn
or n b is nothing, or the force b e~o, and the force ie
is perpendicular to the canal *, and there is therefore no
pressure in the canal FM, except what proceeds from
the part y F, or from the force ei; which last being
perpendicular to the canal, there can be no force exert¬
ed on tbe point M, but what is propagated from the
part y F.
The velocity therefore in the canal FM is constant
if finite, or infinitely small if variable : for, in the first
case, the force be would be absolutely nothing 5 and in
the second case, it would be an infinitesimal of the se¬
cond order, and may be considered as nothing in com¬
parison with the velocity, which is of the first order.
Me shall see by and by that tbe last is the real state of
tbe case. Therefore the fluid, before it begins to
change its direction in F, begins to change its velocity
in some point y a head ol F, and by tbe time that it
reaches F its velocity is as it were annihilated.
Cor. I. Therefore the pressure in any point D arises
both from the retardations in the part y I, &od from
the particles which are in the canal MD : as these last
move along the surface of the body, the force —, de¬
stroyed in every particle, is compounded of two others,
one in the direction of the surface, and the other per¬
pendicular to it ; call these p and /. The point D is
pressed perpendicularly to the surface MD 1st, by all
the forces p in the curve MD 2d, by the force p' act¬
ing on the single point D. This may be neglected in
comparison of the indefinite number of the others:
therefore taking in the arch MD, an infinitely small
portion N m, = /, the pressure on D, perpendicular to
the surface of the body, will be —^J*ps; and this flu¬
ent must be so taken as to be —0 in the point M.
Cor. 2. Therefore, to find the pressure on D, we
must find the force p on any point N. Let u be the
velocity of the particle N, in the direction N m in any
instant, andw + w its velocity in the following instant;
we must have P=-~T‘ Therefore the whole question
is reduced to finding the velocity u in every point N,
in the direction N w. < . . , . , tt. /r.
And this is the aim of a series of propositions which His final
follow, in which the author displays the most act urate eq»‘“”u
and precise conception of the subject, and great address ^ ^
and elegance in His mathematical analysis. He at length bleni)but,
brings out an equation which expresses the pressure on
the body in the most general and unexceptionable man¬
ner. We cannot give an abstract, because the tram of
reasoning is aheadv concise in the extreme: nor can we
even exhibit the final equation ; for it is conceived in
the
I
-iistaiicc
.f FluiJ-
1». 18.
^3
[athema-
cians
lould ap-
!y to
imple
ases;
RESISTANCE
Hio most refined and abstruse form of indeterminate
functions, in cider to embrace every possible circum¬
stance. But we can assure our readers, that it truly
expresses the solution of the problem. But, alas ! it is of
no use. So imperfect is our mathematical knowledge,
that even Mr d’Alembert has not been able to exem¬
plify the application of the equation to the simplest case
which can he proposed, such as the direct impulse on a
plane surface wholly immersed in the fluid. All that he
is enabled to do, is to apply it (by some modifications
and substitutions which take it out of its state of ex¬
treme generality) to the direct impulse of a vein of fluid
on a plane which defl cts it wholly, and thus to show its
conformity to the solution given by Daniel Bernoulli,
and to observation and experience. He shows, that
this impulse (independent of the deficiency arising from
the plane’s not being of infinite extent) is somewhat
less than the weight of a column whose base is the sec¬
tion of the vein, and whose height is twice the fall ne¬
cessary for communicating the velocity. This great
philosopher and geometer concludes by saying, that he
does not believe that any method can he found for solv¬
ing this problem that is more direct and simple ; and
imagines, that if the deductions from it shall be found
not to agree with experiment, we must give up all hopes
of determining the resistance of fluids by theory and
analytical calculus. He says analytical calculus ; for
all the physical principles on which the calculus pro¬
ceeds are rigorously demonstrated, and will not admit
of a doubt. There is only one hypothesis introduced
in this investigation, and this is not a physical hypothe¬
sis, but a hypothesis of calculation. It is, that the
quantities which determine the ratios of the second flu¬
xions of the velocities, estimated in the directions pa¬
rallel and perpendicular to the axis AC (fig. 18.) are
functions of the abscissa AP, and ordinate PM of the
curve. Any person, in the least acquainted with ma¬
thematical analysis, will see, that without this supposi¬
tion no analysis or calculus whatever can be instituted.
But let us see what is the physical meaning of this hy¬
pothesis. It is simply this, that the motion of the par¬
ticle M depends on its situation only, ft appears im¬
possible to form any other opinion \ and if we could
form such an opinion, it is as clear as day light that the
case is desperate, and that we must renounce all hopes.
We are sorry to bring our labours to this conclusion ;
but we are of opinion, that the only thing that remains
is, for mathematicians to attach themselves with firm¬
ness and vigour to some simple cases j and, without
aiming at generality, to apply M. d’Alembert’s or Ber¬
noulli’s mode of procedure to the particular circum¬
stances of the case. It is not improbable but that, in
the solutions which may be obtained of these particular
cases, circumstances may occur which are of a more ge¬
neral nature. These will be so many laws of hydrau¬
lics to be added to our present very scanty stock ; and
these may have points of resemblance, which will give
birth to laws of still greater generality. And we re¬
peat our expression of hopes of some success, by endea¬
vouring to determine, in some simple cases, the tmnimutn
possibile of motion. The attempts of the Jesuit com¬
mentators on the Pnncipia to ascertain this on the
Newtonian hypothesis do them honour, and have really
given us great assistance in the particular ease which
came through their hands.
Vol. XVII. Part II. f
OF FLUIDS.
75,
And we should multiply experiments on the resist- Resistance
ance of bodies. Those of the French academy are un- of fluids,
donbtediy of inestimable value, and will always be ap-'—‘ v 1
pealed to. But there are circumstances in those experi- . U.-
, , . . , , .. 1 1 • and n;u!U-
ments winch render them more complicated than is expert
proper for a general theory, and which therefore limit ment-*
tile conclusions which we wish to draw from them. The
bodies were floating on the surface. This greatly mo¬
difies the deflections of the filaments of water, causing
some to deflect laterally, which would otherwise have
remained in one vertical plane $ and this circumstance
also necessarily produced what the academicians called
the remou, or accumulation on the anterior part of the
body, and depression behind it. This produced an ad¬
ditional resistance, which was measured with great diffi¬
culty ami uncertainty. The effect of adhesion must
also have been very considerable, and very difi’erent in
the different cases j and it is of difficult calculation. It
cannot perhaps he totally removed in any experiment,
and it is necessary to consider it as making part of the
resistance in the most important practical cases, viz.
the motion of ships. Here we see that its effect is very
great. Every seaman knows that the speed, even of a
copper-sheathed ship, is greatly increased by greasing
her bottom. The difference is too remarkable to admit
of a doubt : nor should we be surprised at this, when we
attend to the diminution of the motion of water in long
pipes. A smooth pipe four and a half inches diameter,
and 500 yards long, yields but one-fifth of the quantity
which it ought to do independent of friction. But ad¬
hesion does a great deal which cannot he compared with
friction. We see that water flowing through a hole
in a thin plate will be increased in quantity fully
one-third, by adding a little tube whose length is
about twice the diameter of the hole. The adhesion
therefore Avill greatly modify the action of the fila¬
ments both on the solid body and on each other, and
will change both the forms of the curves and the velo¬
cities in different points 5 and this is a sort of objection
to the only hypothesis introduced by d’Alembert. Yet-
it is only a sort of objection j for the effect of this ad¬
hesion, too, must undoubtedly depend on the situation
of the particle. 65
The form of these experiments of the academy is ill- The expe-
suited to the examination of the resistance of bodies riraents of
wholly immersed in the fluid. The form of experi- <uu
ment adopted by Jvohins tor the resistance ot air, and C(.i)tibie 0f
afterwards by the chevalier Borda for water, is free consider-
from these inconveniences, and is susceptible of equal able accn-
accuracy. The great advantage of both is the exact racy‘
knowledge which they give us of the velocity of the
motion *, a circumstance essentially necessary, and hut
imperfectly known in the experiments of Mariotte and
others, who examined quiescent bodies exposed to the
action of a stream. It is extremely difficult to measure
the velocity of a stream. It is very different in its dif¬
ferent parts. It is swiftest of all in the middle superfi¬
cial filament, and diminishes as we recede from this to¬
wards the sides or bottom, and the rate of diminution
is not precisely known. Could this be ascertained with
the necessary precision, we should recommend the fol¬
lowing form of experiment as the most simple, easy,
economical, and accurate.
Let a, b, c, d, (fig, 21.) he four hooks placed in a Fig at.
horizontal plane at the corners of a rectangular parai-
5 C lelogram,
754
66
Simple ex¬
periment
for measur.
inj the ve¬
locity of a
stream.
Yh
Fig. n.
resistance
Iclofn am, tlio sides a c d Wing parallel to the direc¬
tion^ tlie stream ABCD, and tlie sides « b c d being
perpendicular to it. Let the body G be fastened to
an axis e /'of stiff-tempered steel-wire, so that the sur¬
face* on which the fluid is to act maybe inclined to
the stream in the precise angle we desire, ^et this
axis have hooks at its extremities, which are hitched
into the loops of four equal threads suspended from the
hooks u b r, d; and let H e be a fifth thread, suspend¬
ed from the middle of the line joining the points of
suspension a, b. Let HIK be a graduated arch, whose
centre is H, and whose plane >s m the direction of tlie
stream It is evident that the impulse on the body G
will' be measured (by a process well known to every
mathematician) by the deviation of the thread H c from
the vertical line HI*, and tins will be done without any
intricacy of calculation, or any attention to the centres
of gravity, of oscillation, or of percussion. 1 hese must
be accurately ascertained with respect to that form in
which the pendulum has always been employed for
measuring the impulse or velocity of a stream. Ihese
advantages arise from the circumstance, that the axis
f/remains always parallel to the horizon. 'We may
be allowed to observe, by the bye, that this would have
been a «reat improvement of the beautiful experiments
of Mr Robins and Dr Hutton on the velocities of can¬
non-shot, and would have saved much intricate calcu¬
lation, and been attended with many important advan-
13 The great difficulty is, as we have observed, to mea¬
sure the velocity of the stream. Even this may he done
in this way with some precision. Let two floating bo¬
dies he dragged along the surface, as in the experiments
of the academy, at some distance from each other late¬
rally so that the water between them may not be sen¬
sibly disturbed. Let a horizontal bar he attached to
them, transverse to the direction of their motion at a
proper height above the surface, and let a spherical pen¬
dulum be suspended from this, or let it be suspended
from four'points, as here described. IS ow let the de¬
viation of this pendulum be noted in a variety oi velo¬
cities. This will give us the law of relation between
the velocity and the deviation of the pendulum. Now,
in making experiments on the resistance of bodies, let
the velocity of the stream, in the very filament in which
the resistance is measured, he determined by the devia¬
tion of this pendulum.
It were greatly to be wished that some more palpable
argument could lie found for the existence of a quantity
of^stagnant fluid at the anterior and posterior parts of
the body. The one already given, derived from the
consideration that no motion changes either its velocity
or direction by finite quantities in an instant, is unex¬
ceptionable. Rut it gives us little information. The
smallest conceivable extent of the curve I M in fig. 18.
will answer this condition, provided only that it touches
the axis in some point I, and the body in some point
M, so as not to make-a finite angle with either. Rut
surely there are circumstances which rigorously deter¬
mine the extent of this stagnant fluid. And it appears
without doubt, that if there were no cohesion or fric¬
tion, this space will have a determined ratio to the size
of the body (the figures of the bodies being supposed
similar). Suppose a plane surface AR, as in fig. n.
there can be no doubt but that the figure Aa D b B
4
OF FLUIDS.
will in every case be similar. But if we suppose an Resi*tane«
adhesion or tenacity which is constant, this may make of Fluids,
a change both in its extent and its form : for its con-1 — v"-—1
stancy of form depends on the disturbing forces being
always as the squares of the velocity and this ratio of
the disturbing forces is preserved, while the inertia of
the fluid is the only agent and patient in the process.
But when we add to this the constant (that is, invaria¬
ble) disturbing force of tenacity, a change of form and
dimensions must happen. In like manner, the friction,
or something analogous to friction, which produces an
effect proportional to the velocity, must alter this ne¬
cessary ratio of the whole disturbing forces. W e may
conclude, that the effect of both these circumstances
will be to diminish the quantity of this stagnant fluid,
by licking it away externally *, and to this we must
ascribe the fact, that the part FAM is never perfectly
stagnant, but is generally disturbed with a whirling mo¬
tion. We may also conclude, that this stagnant fluid
will be more incurvated between F and M than it would
have been, independent of tenacity and fitction , and
that the arch LR will, on the contrary, he less incur¬
vated. And, lastly, we may conclude, that there will
be something opposite to pressure, or something which
we may call abstraction, exerted on the posterior part of
the body which moves in a tenacious fluid, or is expos¬
ed to the stream of such a fluid ; for the stagnant
fluid LCR adheres to the surface LC, and the passing
fluid tends to draw it away both by its tenacity and by
its friction. This must augment the apparent impulse
of the stream on such a body j and it must greatly
augment the resistance, that is, the motion lost by tins
body in its progress through the tenacious fluid : for the
body must drag along with it this stagnant fluid, and
drag it in opposition to the tenacity and friction of the
surrounding fluid. Tfhe effect of this is most remark¬
ably seen in the resistances to the motion ol pendulums j
and the chevalier Buat, in his examination of Newton’s
experiments, clearly shows that this constitutes the
greatest part of the resistance.
This most ingenious writer has paid great attention
to this part of the process of nature, and has laid the
foundation of a theory of resistance entirely different
from all the preceding. We cannot abridge it; and it
is too imperfect in its present condition to he offered as
a body of doctrine : hut we hope that the ingenious
author will prosecute the subject.
<>7
We cannot conclude this dissertation (which we ae-Account of
knowledge to be very unsatisfactory and imperfect) the cheva-
better, than by giving an account of some experiments^*^
of the chevalier Buat, which seem of immense conse- n,ePnts>
quence, and tend to give us very new views of the sub¬
ject. Mr Buat observed the motion of water issuing
from a glass cylinder through a narrow ring formed by
a bottom of smaller diameter; that is, the cylinder was
open at both ends, and there was placed at its lower
end a circle of smaller diameter, by way of bottom,
which left a ring all around. He threw some powder¬
ed sealing wax into the water, and observed with great
attention the motion of its small particles. He saw
those which happened to he in the very axis of the cy¬
linder descend along the axis with a motion pretty
uniform.
,:e*istance
• f Fluids.
68
id of the
strument
;; contri-
j id for exa
i ining his
eory.
ig. 2 2.
ig. 23-
REvSISTANCE
uniform, till they came very near the bottom ; from
this they continued to descend very slowly, till they were
almost in contact with the bottom ; they then devia¬
ted from the centre, and approached the orifice in
straight lines and with an accelerated motion, and at
last darted into the orifice with great rapidity. He
had observed a thing similar to this in a horizontal ca¬
nal, in which he had set up a small board like a dam or
bar, over which the water flowed. He had thrown a
gooseberry into the water, in order to measure the velo¬
city at the bottom, the gooseberry being a small matter
heavier than water. It approached the dam uniform¬
ly till about three inches from it. Here it almost stood
still, but it continued to advance till almost in contact.
It then rose from the bottom along the inside of the
dam with an accelerated motion, and quickly escaped
oyer the top.
Hence he concluded, that the water which covers
the anterior part of the body exposed to the stream is
not perfectly stagnant, and that the filaments recede
from the axis in curves, which converge to the surface
of the body as different hyperbolas converge to the
same assymptote, and that they move with a velocity
continually increasing till they escape round the sides of
the body.
He had established (by a pretty reasonable theory,
confirmed by experiment) a proposition concerning the
pressure which water in motion exerts on the surface
along which it glides, viz. that the pressure is equal to
that which it would exert if at rest minus the weight of
the column whose height would produce the velocity of the
passing stream. Consequently the pressure which the
stream exerts on the surface perpendicularly exposed to
it will depend on the velocity with which it glides along
it, and will diminish from the centre to the circumfe¬
rence. This, says he, may be the reason why the im¬
pulse on a plane wholly immersed is but one hall of that
on a plane which deflects the whole stream.
He contrived a very ingenious instrument for exa¬
mining this theory. A square brass plate ABGF (fig.
22. ) was pierced with a great number of holes, and fixed
in the front of a shallow box represented edgewise in fig.
23. The back of this box was pierced with a hole c,
in which was inserted the tube of glass CDF, bent
square at D. This instrument was exposed to a stream
of water, which beat on the brass plate. I he water
having filled the box through the holes, stood at an
equal height in the glass tube when the surrounding
water was stagnant ; but when it was in motion, it al¬
ways stood in the tube above the level of the smooth
water without, and thus indicated the pressure occasioned
bv the action of the stream.
' When the instrument w-as not wholly immersed, there
was alwrays a considerable accumulation against the front
of the box, and a depression behind it. The water before
it was by no means stagnant: indeed it should not be,
as Mr Boat observes; for it consists of the water which
was escaping on all sides, and therefore upwards from
the axis of the stream, which meets the plate perpendi-
eularly in c considerably under the surface. It escapes
upwards ; and if the body were sufficiently immersed,
it would escape in this direction almost as easily as
laterally. But in the present circumstances, it heaps
up, till the elevation occasions it to fall oil sidewise as
fast as it is renewed. When the instrument was immer-
OF FLUIDS. 755
sed more than its semidiameter Under the surface, the Resistance
wafer still rose above the level, and there was a great of Fluids,
depression immediately behind this elevation. In con- v ^
sequence of this difficulty of escaping upwards, the wa¬
ter flows off laterally ; and if the horizontal dimensions
of the surface is great, this lateral efilux becomes more
difficult, and requires a greater accumulation. From
this it happens, that the resistance of broad surfaces
equally immersed is greater than in the proportion of
the breadth. A plane of two feet wide and one foot
deep, when it is not completely immersed, will be more
resisted than a plane two feet deep and one foot wide ;
for there will be an accumulation against both : and
even if these were equal in height, the additional sur¬
face will be greatest in the widest body ; and the ele¬
vation will be greater, because the lateral escape is more
difficult. • Cg
The circumstances chiefly to be attended to are these. Circum-
The pressure on the centre was much greater than to- stances
wards the border, and, in general, the height of the wa-
ter in the tube DE was more than ^ of the height ne-C(j to in
cessary for producing the velocity when only the cen- using this
tral hole tvas open. When various holes were opened instrument,
at different distances from the centre, the height ol the
water in DH continually diminished as the hole was
nearer the bolder. At a certain distance from the bor¬
der the water at E was level with the surrounding wa-
ter, so that no pressure wras exerted on that hole. But Remark-
the most unexpected and remarkable circumstance was, a'^e cir"
that, in great velocities, the holes at the -very border,cumst<mce'
and even to a small distance from it, not only sustained
no pressure, but even gave out water; for the water in
the tube was lower than the surrounding rvater. Mr
Buat calls this a non-pression. In a case in which the
velocity of the stream was three feet, and the pressure on
the central hole caused the water in the vertical tube to
stand 33 lines or of an inch above the level ol the
surrounding smooth water, the action on a hole at the
lower corner of the square caused it to stand 12 lines
lower than the surrounding water. Now the velocity
of the stream in this experiment was 36 inches per se¬
cond. This requires 21F lines for its productive fall ;
whereas the pressure on the central hole was 33. This
approaches to the pressure on a surface which deflects
it wholly. The intermediate holes gave every variation
of pressure, and the diminution was more rapid as the
holes were nearer the edge ; but the law ot diminu¬
tion could not be observed. yr
This is quite a new and most unexpected cirenm-not incon-
stance in the action of fluids on solid bodies, and ren-
tiers the subject more intricate than ever ; yet it is by j,]eS of hyi
no means inconsistent with the genuine principles ofdrostatics
hydrostatics or hydraulics. In as far as M. Boat’s or hydrau-
proposition concerning the pressure of moving fluidslics*
is true, it is very reasonable to say, that when the
lateral velocity with which the fluid tends to escape
exceeds the velocity of percussion, the height necessa¬
ry for producing this velocity must exceed that which
would produce the other, and a non pression must be
observed. And if we consider the forms of the la¬
teral filaments near the edge of the body, we see that
the concavity of the curve is turned towards the bo¬
dy, and that the centrifugal forces tend to diminish
tlieir pressure on the body. If the middle alone were
struck with a considerable velocity, the water might
5 C 2 ’ even
Resistance
of Fluids.
7a
Substance
of Boat's
theory.
73
Kxperi-
ments by
wlrch it is
f uuluined.
RESISTANCE
even rebountl, as if frequently observed. This actual
rebounding is here prevented by the surrounding water,
which is moving with the same velocity: but the pres¬
sure may be almost annihilated by the tendency to re¬
bound of the inner filaments.
Fart (and perhaps a considerable part) o( this appa¬
rent non pression is undoubtedly produced by the tena¬
city of the water, which licks oil with it the water ly¬
ing in the hole. But at any rate, this is an important
fact, and gives great value to these experiments. It
gives a key to many curious phenomena in the resist¬
ance of fluids j and the theory of M. Buat deserves a
very serious con->ideration. It is all contained in the
two following propositions.
1. “ ]f\ by any cause whatever, a column of fluid, whe¬
ther making part of an indefinite flu id,or contained in so¬
lid canals, come to move with a given velocity, the pres¬
sure which it exerted laterally before its motion, either on
the ad joining fluid or on the sides of the canal, is dimi¬
nished bij the weight of a column having the height ne¬
cessary for communicating the velocity oj the motion.
2. “ The pressure on the centre of a plane surface per¬
pendicular to the stream, and wholly immersed in it, is \
of the weight of a column having the height necessaryjor
communicating the velocity. Tor 33 is oj 2I7/.11
He attempted to ascertain the medium pressure on
the whole surface, by opening 625 holes dispersed all
over it. With the same velocity of current, he found
the height in the tube to be 29 lines, or 7^ more than
tbe height necessary for producing the velocity. But
he justly concluded this to be too great a measure, be¬
cause the boles were ^ of an inch from the edge : had
there been holes at the very edge, they would have sus¬
tained a non-pression, which would have diminished the
height in the tube very considerably. He exposed to
the same stream a conical funnel, which raised the wa¬
ter to 34 lines. But this could not he considered as
a measure of the pressure on a plane solid surface j for
the central water was undoubtedly scooped out, as it
were, and the filaments much more deflected than they
would have been by a plane surface. Perhaps something
of this happened even in every small hole in the for¬
mer experiments. And this suggests some doubt as to
the accuracy of the measurement of the pressure and of
the velocity of a current by Mr Pitot’s tube. It surely
renders some corrections absolutely necessary. It is
a fact, that when exposed to a vein of fluid coming
through a short passage, the water in the tube stands on
a level with that in the reservoir. Now we know that
the velocity of this stream does not exceed what would
be produced by a fall equal to x8^- of the head of wa¬
ter in the reservoir. Mr Buat made many valuable
observations and improvements on this roost useful in¬
strument, which will be taken notice of in the articles
Riv ERS and irATER-JTcRKS.
Mr Buat, by a scrupulous attention to all the circum¬
stances, concludes that the medium of pressure on the
2 r. c
whole surface is equal to -AA 0f the weight of a co-
21-5
lumn, having the surface for its base, and the produc¬
tive fall for its height. But we think that there is an
uncertainty in this conclusion j because the height of the
water in the vertical tube was undoubtedly augmented
by an hydrostatical pressure arising from the accumula-
OF FLUIDS.
tion of water above the body which was exposed to theReg;stlir,,
stream. of Fluid';
Since the pressures are as the squares of the veloci- ' 
ties, or as the heights h which produce the velocities,
we may express this pressure by the symbol —- h, or
1.186//, or m h, the value of m being 1.186. This
exceeds considerably the result of the experiments of
the French academy. In these it does not appear that
m sensibly exceeds unity. Note, that in these experi¬
ments the body was moved through still water j here
it is exposed to a stream. These are generally suppo¬
sed to be equivalent, on the authority of the third law
of motion, which makes every action depend on the
relative motions. We shall by and by see some causes
of diflerence.
Tbe writers on this subject seem to think their task^beacti
completed when they have considered the action of the"11 l*ie M
fluid on the anterior part of the body, or that part oki body^rl
it which is before the broadest section, and have paid ship equtli
little or no attention to the hinder part. Yet those whoiniportani
are most interested in the subject, the naval architects, Wltb t*lat
7-f
seem convinced that it is of no less importance to at
on the for
part.
tend to the form of the hinder part of a ship. And
the universal practice of all nations has been to make
the hinder part more acute than the fore-part. This
has undoubtedly been deduced from experience •, for it
is in direct opposition to any notions which a person
would naturally form on this subject. Mr Buat there¬
fore thought it very necessary to examine the action of
the water on the hinder part of the body by the same ^
method. And, previous to this examination, in order to Experi-
acquire some scientific notions of the subject, he made n:?nt 0I?
the following very curious and instructive experiment, byjjua^l
Two little conical pipes AB (fig. 24.) were inserted fig. 24
7<>
into the upright side of a prismatic vessel. They were
an inch long, and their diameters at the inner and outer
ends were five and four lines. A was 57 lines under
the surface, and B w'as 73. A glass syphon was made
of the shape represented in the figure, and its internal
diameter was lines. It Avas placed with its mouth
in the axis, and even with the base of the conical pipe.
The pipes being shut, the vessel was filled with water,
and it was made to stand on a level in tbe two legs of
the syphon, the upper part being full of air. When
this syphon was applied to the pipe A, and the water
running freely, it rose 32 lines in the short leg, and
sunk as much in the other. When it was applied to
the pipe B, the water rose 41 lines in the one leg of
the syphon, and sunk as much in the other.
He reasons in this manner from the experiment. Thear.dhisre:
ring comprehended between the end of the syphon and?onin£l,Pc
the sides ot the conical tube being the narrowest part1**
ot the orifice, the water issued with the velocity cor¬
responding to the height of the water in the vessel
above the orifice, diminished for the contraction. If
therefore the cylinder of water immediately before the
mouth of the syphon issued with the same velocity, the
tube would be emptied through a height equal to this
HEAD OF water {charge). If, on the contrary, this
cylinder oi water, immediately before the mouth of the
syphon, were stagnant, the water in it would exert its
full pressure on the mouth of the syphon, and the water
in the syphon would be level with the water in the vessel.
Between
RESISTANCE OF FLUIDS.
distance Between these extremes we must find the real state of
II Fluids, the case, and we must measure the force of non-pressure
—'V—-' by the rise of the water in the syphon.
We see that in both experiments it bears an accurate
proportion to the depth under the surface. For 57 :
73=32 : 41 very nearly. He therefore estimates the
non-pressure to be vVV of the height of the water above
I ^ the orifice.
Mmingly We are disposed to think that the ingenious author
|1 accurate. l)as not reasoned accurately from the experiment. In
the first place, the force indicated by the experiment,
whatever be its origin, is certainly double of what he
supposes •, for it must be measured by the sum of the
rise of the water in one leg, and its depression in the
other, the weight of the air in the bend of the syphon
being neglected. It is precisely analogous to the force
acting on the water oscillating in a syphon, which is
acknowledged to be the sum of the elevation and de¬
pression. The force indicated by the experiment there¬
fore is of the height of the water above the ori¬
fice. The force exhibited in this experiment bears a
still greater proportion to the productive height j for
it is certain that the water did not issue with the velo¬
city acquired by the fall from the surface, and pro¬
bably did not exceed \ of it. The effect of contraction
must have been considerable and uncertain. The velo¬
city should have been measured both by the amplitude
of the jet and by the quantity of water discharged. In
the next place, we apprehend that much of the effect
is produced by the tenacity of the water, which drags
along with it the water which would have slowly issued
from the syphon, had the other end not dipped into
the water of the vessel. We know, that if the hori¬
zontal part of the syphon had been continued far
enough, and if no retardation were occasioned by fric¬
tion, the column of water in the upright leg w'ould have
accelerated like any heavy body; and when the last of
it had arrived at the bottom of that leg, the whole in
the horizontal part would be moving with the velocity
acquired by falling from the surface. The water of the
vessel which issues through the surrounding ring very
quickly acquires a much greater velocity than what the
water descending in the syphon would acquirg”in the
same time, and it drags this last water along with it both
by tenacity and friction, and it drags it out till its action
is opposed by the want of equilibrium produced in the
syphon, by the elevation in the one leg and the depres¬
sion in the other. We imagine that little ean be con¬
cluded from the experiment with respect to the real non¬
pressure. Nay, if the sides of the syphon be supposed in¬
finitely thin, so that there would be no curvature ol the
filaments of the surrounding water at the mouth of the
syphon, we do not very distinctly see any source of non¬
pressure : For we are not altogether satisfied with the
proof which Mr Buat offers for this measure of the
pressure of a stream of fluid gliding along a surface, and
obstructed by friction or any other cause. We imagine
that passing water in the present experiment would be a
little retarded by accelerating continually the water de¬
scending in the syphon, and renewed a-top, supposing
the upper end open ; because this water would not of it¬
self acquire more than half this velocity. It however
drags it out, till it not only resists with a force equal to
the weight of the whole vertical column, but even ex¬
ceeds it by tW This it is able to do, because the
757
whole pressure by which the water issues from an orifice Resistanc
has been shown (by Daniel Bernoulli) to be equal to of Fluids,
twice this weight. W e therefore consider this beanti- 1 "' v——J
ful experiment as chiefly valuable, by giving i;s a mea¬
sure ol the tenacity of the water ; and we wish that it
were repeated in a variety of depths, in order to disco¬
ver what relation the lorce exerted bears to the depth.
It would seem that the tenacity, being a certain deter¬
minate thing, the proportion of 100 to 11 2 would not
be constant ; and that the observed ratio would be made
up of two parts, one of them constant, and the Other
proportional to the depth under the surface.
But still this experiment is intimately connected with
the matter in hand ; and this apparent non-pressure
on the hinder part of a body exposed to a stream, from
whatever causes it proceeds, does operate in the action
of water on this hinder part, and must be taken into the
account.
We must therefore follow the chevalier de Buat in Further
bis discussions on this subject. A prismatic body, ha- discussions
ving its prow and poop equal and parallel surfaces, and of^)e Kuat*
plunged horizontally into a fluid, will require a force
to keep it firm in the direction of its axis precisely equal
to the difference between the real pressures exerted on
its prow and poop. If the fluid is at rest, this differ¬
ence will he nothing, because the opposite dead pres¬
sures of the fluid will be equal : but in a stream, there
is superadded to the dead pressure on the prow the ac¬
tive pressure arising from the deflections of the filaments
of this fluid.
If the dead pressure on the poop remained in its full
intensity by the perfect stagnation of the water behind
it, the whole sensible pressure on the body would be the
active pressure only on the prow, renresented by m h.
If, on the other hand, we could suppose that the water
behind the body moved continually away from it (being
renewed laterally) with the velocity cf the stream, the
dead pressure would be entirely removed from its poop,
and the whole sensible pressure, or what must be op¬
posed by some external force, would \>e mh-\-h. Neither
of these can happen ; and the real state of the case must
be between these extremes. ^
The following experiments were tried: The perfo-Experi-
rated box with its vertical tube was exposed to the meats..
stream, the brass plate being turned down the stream.
The velocity was again 36 inches per second.
The central bole A alone being opened, gave a non¬
pressure of - - 13 lines.
A hole B, ^ of an inch from the edge,
gave - - - 15
A hole C, near the surface - 15.7
A hole D, at the lower angle - 15.3
Here it appears that there is a very considerable
non-pressure, increasing from the centre to the border.
This increase undoubtedly proceeds from the greater la¬
teral velocity with which the water is gliding in from
the sides. 'The water behind was by no means stag¬
nant, although moving off with a much smaller velocity
than that of the passing stream, and it was visibly re¬
moved from the sides, and gradually licked away at its
further extremity.
Another box, having a great number of holes, all
open, indicated a medium of non-pressure equal to ij.-g-
lines. .
Another* .
*
758
Resistance
of Fluids.
RESISTANCE
Another of larger dimensions, but having fewer holes,
indicated a non-pressure ot i 2^.
But the most remarkable, and the most important
phenomena were the following.
The first box was fixed to the side of another box, so
that, when all was made smooth, it made a perfect
cube, of which the perforated brass plate made the
poop.
The apparatus being now exposed on the stream,
with the perforated plate looking down the stream,
The hole A indicated a non-pression
B . . . .
C - - -
=7.2
8
6
Here was a great diminution of the non-pressions
produced by the distance between the prow and the
poop.
Tills box was then fitted in the same manner, so as
to make the poop of a box three feet long. In this
situation the non-pressures were as follows:
Hole A M
B 3‘2
The non-pressions were still farther diminished by
this increase of length.
The box was then exposed with all the holes open,
in three different situations :
1 st, Single, giving a non-pressure - - I3-1
2d, Making the poop of a cube - - 5*3
3d, Making the poop of a box three feet long 3.0
Another larger box:
1st, Single ------ I2-2
2d, Poop of a cube - - - * 5*
3d, Poop of the long box - - - 3-2
<2reiU uti- Those are most valuable experiments. They plainly
lity of them s]1(m j10W important it is to consider the action on the
;nSP- hinder part of the body. For the whole impulse or re-
juuding. sJgtance^ w|licll must [)C withstood or overcome by the
external force, is the sum of the active pressure on the
fore-part, and of the non-pressure on the hinder-part 5
and they show that this does not depend solely on the
form of the prow and poop, but also, and perhaps chief¬
ly, on the length of the body. We see that the non-
pressure on the hinder-part was prodigiously diminished
(reduced to one-fourth) by making the length of the
body triple of the breadth. And hence it appears, that
merely lengthening a ship, without making any change
in the form either of her prow or her poop, will greatly
diminish the resistance to her motion through the vyater ;
and this increase of length may be made by continuing
the form of the midship frame in several timbers along
the keel, by which the capacity of the ship, and her
power of carrying sail, will be greatly increased, and
her other qualities improved, while her speed is aug-
81 mented.
Physical ft Js surely of importance to consider a little the phy-
canse of it gjcal cause 0f change. The motions are extremely
explained. cnmp]jcate(|5 ana we must be contented if we can but
perceive a few leading circumstances.
The water is turned aside by the anterior part of the
body, and the velocity of the filaments is increased, and
they acquire a divergent motion, by which they also push
aside the surrounding water. On each side ot the body,
therefore, they are moving in a divergent direction, and
OF FLUIDS.
with an increased velocity. But as they are on all sides Resistance
pressed by the fluid without them, their motions gra- [ot Fluids,
dually approach parallelism, and their velocities to an J
equality with the stream. The progressive velocity, or
that in the direction of the stream, is checked, at least
at first. But since we observe the filaments constipated
round the body, and that they are not deflected at right
angles to their former direction, it is plain that the real
velocity of a filament in its oblique path is augmented.
We always observe, that a stone lying in the sand, and
exposed to the wash of the sea, is laid bare at the bottom,
and the sand is generally washed away to some distance
all round. This is owing to the increased velocity of
the water which comes into contact with the stone. It
takes up more sand than it can keep floating, and it de¬
posits it at a little distance all around, forming a little
bank, which surrounds the stone at a small distance*
When the filaments of water have passed the body, they
are pressed by the ambient fluid into the place which it
has quitted, and they glide round its stern, and fill up
the space behind. The more divergent and the more
rapid they are, when about to fall in behind, the mo?e
of the circumambient pressure must be employed to turn
them into the trough behind the body, and less of it will
remain to press them to the body itself. The extreme
of this must obtain when the stream is obstructed by a
thin plane only. But when there is some distance be¬
tween the prow and the poop, the divergency of the fila¬
ments which had been turned aside by the prow, is di-
minished by the time that they have come abreast of the
stern, and should turn in behind it. They are therefore
more readily made to converge behind the body, and a
more considerable part of the surrounding pressure re¬
mains unexpended, and therefore presses the water
against the stern ; and it is evident that this advantage
must be so much the greater as the bodv is longer. But
the advantage will soon be susceptible of no very consi¬
derable increase : for the lateral and divergent, and ac¬
celerated filaments, will soon become so nearly parallel
and equally rapid with the rest of the stream, that a
great increase of length will not make any considerable
change in these particulars j and it must be accompa¬
nied with an increase of friction.
These are very obvious reflections. And if we attend
minutely to the way in which the almost stagnant fluid
behind the body is expended and renewed, we shall see
all these effects confirmed and augmented. But as we
cannot say any thing on this subject that is precise, or
that can be made the subject of computation, it is need¬
less to enter into a more minute discussion. The diminu¬
tion of the non-pressure towards the centre most probably
arises from the smaller force which is necessary to be ex¬
pended in the inflection of the lateral filaments, already
inflected in sonic degree, and having their velocity dimi¬
nished. But it is a subject highly deserving the attention
of the mathematicians j and we presume to invite them
to the study of the motions of these lateral filaments,
passing the. body, and pressed into its wake by forces
which are susceptible of no difficult investigation. It
seems highly probable, that if a prismatic box, with a
square stern, were fitted with an addition precisely shaped
like the water which would (abstracting tenacity and
friction) have been stagnant behind it, the quantity of
non-pression would be the smallest possible. The ma¬
thematician would surely discover circumstances which
would
82
uat’s de
laclions
•om his
otperi-
jeuts.
RESIST ANC
Resistance wonld furnish some maxims of construction for thehin-
^F‘ulds' der part as well as for the prow. And as his specula¬
tions on this last have not been wholly fruitless, we may
expect advantages from his attention to this part, so
much neglected.
Tn the mean time, let us attend to the deductions
which Mr de Buat has made from his few experiments.
When the velocity is three feet per second, requiring
the productive height 21.5 lines, the heights correspon¬
ding to the non-pressure on the poop of a thin plane is
14.41 lines (taking in several circumstances of judicious
correction, which we have not mentioned), that of a
foot cube is 5.83, and that of a box of triple length is
3-31-
Let q express the variable ratio of these to the height
producing the velocity, so that q h may express the non¬
pressure in every case j we have,
For a thin plane - - q—o.6q
a cube - - - 0.271
a box =r 3 cubes - - - 0.153
It is evident that the value of q has a dependence on
the proportion of the length, and the transverse section
of the body. A series of experiments on prismatic bo¬
dies showed Mr de Buat that the deviation of the fila¬
ments was similar in similar bodies, and that this ob¬
tained even in dissimilar prisms, when the lengths were
as the square-roots of the transverse sections. Although
therefore the experiments were not sufficiently nume¬
rous for deducing the precise law7, it seemed not impos¬
sible to derive from them a very useful approximation.
By a dexterous comparison he found, that if/expresses
the length of the prism, and s the area of the transverse
section, and L expresses the common logarithm of the
quantity to which it is prefixed, we shall express the
non-pressure pretty accurately by the formula - =
L
Hence arises an important remark, that when the
height corresponding to the non-pression is greater than
\/s, and the body is little immersed in the fluid, there
will be a void behind it. Thus a surface of a square
inch, just immersed in a current of three feet per se¬
cond, will have a void behind it. A foot square will
be in a similar condition when the velocity is 12 feet.
We must be careful to distinguish this non-pressure
from the other causes of resistance, which are always
necessarily combined with it. It is superadditive to
the active impression on the prow, to the statical pres¬
sure of the accumulation a-head of the body, the statical
pressure arising from the depression behind it, the eflects
of friction, and the effects of tenacity. It is indeed next
to impossible to estimate them separately, and many of
them are actually combined in the measures now given.
Nothing can determine the pure non-pressmes till we
can ascertain the motions of the filaments.
M. de Buat here takes occasion to controvert the
aim uni uaiversally adopted maxim, that the pressure occasioned
sally by a stream of fluid on a fixed body is the same with
that on a body moving with equal velocity in a quies¬
cent fluid. He repeated all these experiments with the
perforated box in still water’. I he general distinction
was, that both the pressures and the non-pressure in this
case were less, and that the odds were chiefly to be ob^
I 83
5 contro-
rts a
ipted,
E OF FLUIDS. 759
served near the edges of the surface. The general fac- Resistance
tor of the pressure of a stream on the anterior surface of Fluids,
was m — 1.186 5 but that on a moving body through *—v—i
a still fluid is only m z= 1. He observed no non-pressure
even at the very edge of the prow, but even a sensible
pressure. The pressure, therefore, or resistance is more
equably diffused over the surface of the prow than the
impulse is.—He also found that the resistances diminish¬
ed in a less ratio than the squares of the velocities, espe¬
cially in small velocities.
The non-pressures increased in a greater ratio than the
squares of the velocities. The ratio of the velocities to a
small velocity of 2^ inches per second increased geome¬
trically, the value of 7 increased arithmetically and we
may determine q for any velocity Y by this proportion
Y
That
let
T 55 TV , L2.2
L — : L—= o. c : o, and q— -•
2.2 22 1 2.8
the common logarithm of the velocity, divided by
be considered as a common number ; divide this com¬
mon number by 2-^, the quotient is q, which must be
multiplied by the productive height. The product is
the pressure.
When Pitot’s tube was exposed to the stream, we had
772= i ; but when it is carried through still water, ?/i is
— 1.22. When it was turned from the stream, we had
9'=ro.i57 5 but when carried through still water, q is rr
0.138. A remarkable experiment. <^,
When the tube was moved laterally through the wa- and sup-
ter, so that the motion was in the direction of the plane P°fts. b”
of its mouth, the non-pressure was ~ 1. This is one
opinion by
a remark-
of his chief arguments for his theory of hon-pressio-n, a|,[e WXpC.
He does not give the detail of the experiment, and only riment.
inserts the result in his table.
As a body exposed to a stream deflects the fluid,
heaps it up, and increases its velocity j so a body moved
through a still fluid turns it aside, causes it to swell up
before it, and gives it a real motion alongside of it in
the opposite direction. And as the body exposed to a
stream has a quantity of fluid almost stagnant both be¬
fore and behind j so a body moved through a still fluid
carries before it and drags after it a quantity of fluid,
which accompanies it with nearly an equal velocity.
This addition to the quantity of matter in a motion must
make a diminution of its velocity j and this forms a very
considerable part of the observed resistance. g.
We cannot, however, help remarking that it would The objec-
require very distinct and strong proof indeed to over-bon not
turn the common opinion, which is founded on our most *oun^-
certain and simple conceptions of motion, ami on a law
of nature to which we have never observed an excep¬
tion. M. de Beat’s experiments, though most judi¬
ciously contrived, and executed with scrupulous care,
are by no means of this kind. They were, of absolute
necessity, very complicated ; and many circumstances,
impossible to avoid or to appreciate, rendered the obser¬
vation, or at least the comparison, of the velocities, very
uncertain. 55
We can see but two circumstances which do not ad-Remarks
mit of an easy or immediate comparison in the twoan^ expe-
states of the problem. When a body is exposed to aljmcntS 011
. 1 . , . 1/1 • 1 the motion
stream m our experiments, in order to have an impulse 0f bodies
made on it, there is a force tending to move the body in running
backwards, independent of the real impulse or pressure or still wa-
occasioned, by the deflection of the stream. We cannottcr-
have <
-6o
RESISTANCE OF FLUIDS.
Hcsibtance
of i mills.
87
Mr Buat’s
-calculation
resist¬
ance.
have n s tec am except in consequence of a sloping sur¬
face. Suppose a boilv floating on tins stream, it 'vili
not only sail down a/oiip; with the strewn, but it wii! sail
down the stream, and will therefore go faster along the
canal than the stream does : tor it is floating on an in¬
clined plane ; and if we examine it by the laws ot by*
drostatics, we shall find, that besides its own tendency
to slide down this inclined plane, there is an odds ot
liydrostatical pressure, which pushes it down tbi^ plane.
It will therefore go along the canal faster than the
stream. For this acceleration depends on the dnle-
rence of pressure at the two ends, and will be more re¬
markable as the body is larger, and especially as it is
longer. This may be distinctly observed. All floating
bodies go into the stream of the river, because there
thev find the smallest obstruction to the acquisition ol
this motion along the inclined plane 5 and when a num¬
ber of bodies are thus floating down the stream, the lar¬
gest and longest outstrip the rest. A logoi wood float-
nig down in this manner may be observed to make its
way very fast among the chips and saw-dust which float
alongside ol it. . ,
Now when, in the course of our experiments, a body
is supported against the action of the stream, and the im¬
pulse is measured by the force employed to support it,
it is plain that part of this force is employed to act
ao-ainst that tendency which the body has to outstrip
the stream. This does not appear in our experiment,
when we move a body with the velocity of this stream
through still water having a horizontal surface.
The other distinguishing circumstance is, that the re¬
tardations of a stream arising from friction are found
to he nearly as the velocities. AVhen, therefore, a
stream moving in a limited canal is checked by a body
put in its way, the diminution of velocity occasioned by
the friction of the stream having already produced its
effect, the impulse is not affected by it ; hut when the
body puts the still water in motion, the friction ot the
bottom produces some eficct, by retarding the recess
of the water. This, however, must be next to no¬
thing. . . . ,
The chief difference will arise from its being almost
impossible to make an exact comparison of the veloci¬
ties : for when a body is moved against the stream, the
relative velocity is the same in all the filaments. But
when we expose a body to a stream, the velocity of the
different filaments is not the same ; because it decreases
from the middle of the stream to the sides.
M. Buat found the total sensible resistance of a plate
12 inches square, and measured, not by the height of
water in the tube of the perforated b<5x, but by weights
acting on the arm of a balance, having its centre 15
inches under the surface of a stream moving three feet
per second, to be 19.46 pounds j that ot a cube of
the same dimensions was 15.22-, and that of a prism
three feet long was 13.87 that of a prism six feet long
was 14.27. The three first agree extremely well with
the determination of rn and q, by the experiments with
the perforated box. 1 he total resistance of the last was
undoubtedly much increased by friction, and by the re¬
trograde force of so long a prism floating in an inclined
stream. This last by computation is 0.223 pounds,
this added to h (w-f-7), which is 13.39, S‘ves
leaving 0.46 for the effect of friction.
If the same resistances be computed on the supposi-
5
lion that the body moves in still water, in which caseResistanee
we have m~ 1, and 7 for a thin plate —0.433 } and of Maids,
if 7 be computed for the lengths of the other two bo-' v ^
dies by the formula - — L 1.42-)—-j—>* we shall get for
J 7 V*
the resistances 14.945 12.22*, and 11.49. SB
Hence M. Buat concludes, that the resistances in and^ot; the
these two states are nearly in the ratio of 13 to
I0> quantity of
This, he thinks, will account for the dtilerence observed a
in the experiments of different authors. _ i ody mo-
M. Boat next endeavours to ascertain the quantity vmg iu still
of water which is made to adhere in some degree to avvater> &e
body which is carried along through still water, or which
remains nearly stagnant in the midst of a stream. He
takes the sum of the motions in the direction of the
stream, viz. the sum of the actual motions ol all those
particles which have lost part of their motion, and he
divides this sum by the general velocity of the stream.
The quotient is equivalent'to a certain quantity of wa¬
ter perfectly stagnant round the body. Without being
able to determine this with precision, he observes, that
it augments as the resistance diminishes 5 for in the case
of a longer body, the filaments are observed to con¬
verge to a greater distance behind the body. I he
stagnant mass a-head of the body is more constant 5 for
the deflection and resistance at the prow are observed
not to be affected at the length of the body. M. Buat,
by a very nice analysis of many circumstances, comes
to this conclusion, * that the whole quantity of fluid,
which in this manner accompanies the solid body, re¬
mains the same, whatever is the velocity. He might
have deduced it at once, from the consideration that the
curves described by the filaments are the same in all
velocities.
He then relates a number of experiments made to as¬
certain the absolute quantity thus made to accompany
the body. These were made by causing pendulums to
oscillate in fluids. Newton had determined the re¬
sistances to such oscillation by the diminution of the
arches of vibration. M. Buat determines the quantity
of dragged fluid by the increase of their duiation, for
the stagnation or dragging is in fact adding a quanti¬
ty of matter to be moved, without any addition to the
moving force. It was ingeniously observed by Newton,
that the time of oscillation was not sensibly affected by
the resistance of the fluid : a compensation, almost com¬
plete, being made by the diminution of the arches of
vibration 5 and experiment confirmed this. If, there¬
fore, a great augmentation of the time of vibration be
observed, it must be ascribed to the additional quantity
of matter which is thus dragged into motion, and it may
he employed for its measurement. Thus, let a be the
length of a pendulum swinging seconds in vacuo, and
l the length of a second’s pendulum swinging in a flunk
Let p be the weight of the body in the fluid, and 1
the weight of the body displaced by it 5 B+/? 'Vl1^ ex*
P -\-p
press its weight in vacuo, and ——— will be
of these weights. We shall therefore ha\e
the ratio
P
Let n express the sum of the fluid displaced, and
the fluid dragged along, n being a greater number than
unity,
PLATE CCCCLXI
RESISTANCE
OF FLUIDS.
,ffl“
'lie
%
S\M
RESISTANCE OF FLUIBS.
'tesisUncc unity, to be (ietermined by experiment. The mass in
of Fluids^ motion is no longer P +but P + np, while its
* weight in the fluid is still p. Therefore we must have
aP « . p ( a \
and'’=M--ij-
761
/=
n P -\-p— n P
+ 1
we could say nothing sufficiently precise on the Subject. Resistance
Persons not accustomed to the discussions in the physico- of Fluids,
mathematical sciences, are apt to entertain doubts or ' v 1 1
false notions connected with this circumstance, which
we shall attempt to remove 5 and with this we shall con¬
clude this dissertation.
A prodigious number of experiments made by M.
Buat on spheres vibrating in water gave values of «,
which were very constant, namely, from 1.5 to 1.7 j
and by considering the circumstances which accompa¬
nied the variations of n (which he found to arise chiefly
from the curvature of the path described by the ball),
he states the mean value of the number ?i at 1.583.
So that a sphere in motion drags along with it about
tV of its own bulk of fluid with a velocity equal to its
own.
He made similar experiments with prisms, pyramids,
and other bodies, and found a complete confirmation of
his assertion, that prisms of equal lengths and sections,
though dissimilar, dragged equal quantities of fluid ;
that similar prisms and prisms not similar, but whose
lengths were as the square root of their sections, drag¬
ged quantities proportional to their bulks.
lie found a general value of n for prismatic bodies,
which alone may be considered as a valuable truth j
11 \/s
namely, that w—o.yoj -f-1.13.
From all these circumstances, we see an intimate con¬
nection between the pressures, non-pressures, and the
fluid dragged along with the body. Indeed this is im¬
mediately deducible from the first principles ; for what
Mr Buat calls the dragged fluid is in fact a certain por¬
tion of the whole change of motion produced in the di¬
rection of the bodies motion.
It was found, that with respect to thin planes, spheres,
and pyramidal bodies of equal bases, the resistances were
inversely as the quantities of fluid dragged along.
The intelligent reader will readily observe, that these
views of the Chevalier Buat are not so much discoveries
of new principles as they are classifications of conse¬
quences, which may all be deduced from thegeneral prin¬
ciples employed by D’Alembert and other mathemati¬
cians. But they greatly assist us in forming notions of
different parts of the procedure of nature in the mutual
action of fluids and solids on each other. This must be
very acceptable in a subject which it is by no means
probable that we shall be able to investigate with ma¬
thematical precision. We have given an account of
these last observations, that wTe may omit nothing of
consequence that has been written on the subject ; and
we take this opportunity of recommending the Hijdrau-
iique of Mr Buat as a most ingenious work, containing
more original, ingenious, and practically useful thoughts,
than all the performances we have met with. His doc¬
trine of the principle of uniform motion of fluids in pipes
and open canals, will he of immense service to all engi¬
neers, and enable them to determine with sufficient pre¬
cision the most important questions in their profession ;
questions which at present they are hardly able to guess
at. See Rivers and WATER-Works.
The only circumstance which we have not noticed in
detail, is the change of resistance produced by the void,
the void or tendency to a void, which obtains behind the body ;
;hind a and we omitted a particular discussion, merely because
,d^ .Vol. XVII. Part II. f
89
hange of
■sistance
reduced
If a fluid were perfectly incompressible, and were Explained,
contained in a vessel incapable of extension, it is im¬
possible that any void could be formed behind the body;
and in this case it is not very easy to see how motion
could be performed in it. A sphere moved in such a
medium could not advance the smallest distance, unless
some particles of the fluid, in filling up the space left
by it, moved with a velocity next to infinite. Some
degree of compressibility, however small, seems neces¬
sary. If this be insensible, it may be rigidly demon¬
strated, that an external force of compression will make
no sensible change in the internal motions, or in the re¬
sistances. This indeed is not obvious, but is an imme¬
diate consequence of the quaqu aver sum pressureof fluids.
As much as the pressure is augmented by the external
compressions in one side of a body, so much is it aug¬
mented on the other side j and the same must be said of
every particle. Nothing more is necessary for securing
the same motions bythesame partial and internal forces;
and this is fully verified by experiment. Water re¬
mains equally fluid under any compressions. In some
of Sir Isaac Newton’s experiments balls of four inches
diameter were made so light as to preponderate in rva-
ter only three grains. These balls descended in the
same manner as they would have descended in a fluid
where the resistance was equal in every part; yet, when
they were near the bottom of a vessel nine feet deep,
the compression round them was at least 2400 times the
moving force ; whereas, when near the top of the vessel,
it was not above 50 or 60 times.
But in a fluid sensibly'compressible, or which is not
confined, a void may be left behind the body. Its mo¬
tion may be so swift that the surrounding pressure may
not suffice for filling up the deserted space ; and, in
this case, a statical pressure will be added to the resist¬
ance. This may be the case in a vessel or pond of wa¬
ter having an open surface exposed to the finite or limi¬
ted pressure ®f the atmosphere. The question now is,
whether the resistance will be increased by an increase of
external pressure P Supposing a sphere moving near the
surface of water, and another moving equally fast at
four times the depth. If the motion be so swift that a
void is formed in both cases, there is no doubt but that
the sphere which moves at the greatest depth is most
resisted by the pressure of the water. If there is no
void in either case, then, because the quadruple depth
would cause the water to flow in with only a double ve¬
locity, it would seem that the resistance would be
greater; and indeed the water flowing in laterally with
a double velocity produces a quadruple non-pressure.-—
But, on the other hand, the pressure at a small depth
may be insufficient for preventing a void, while that
below effectually prevents it ; and this was observed in
some experiments of Chevalier de Borda. The effect,
therefore, of greater immersion, or of greater compres¬
sion, in an elastic fluid, does not follow a precise ratio
of ihe pressure, but depends partly on absolute quanti¬
ties. It cannot, therefore, be stated by any very simple
formula what increase or diminution of resistance will
5 D result
762 RESISTANCE
Resistance result from a greater depth j and it is chiefly on this
of Fluids, account that experiments made with models ol ships and
mills are not conclusive with respect to the pertormance
of a large machine of the same proportions, without cor¬
rections, sometimes pretty intricate. Yv e assert, how¬
ever, with great confidence, that this is of all methods
the most exact, and infinitely more certain than any
thing that can be deduced from the most elaborate cal¬
culation from theory. If the resistances at all depths be
equal, the proportionality of the total resistance to the
body is exact, and perfectly’conformable to observation.
It is only in great velocities where the depth has any
material influence, and the influence is not near so con¬
siderable as we should, at first sight, suppose ; for, in
estimating the eflect of immersion, which has a relation
to the difference of pressure, we must always take in
the pressure of the atmosphere j and thus the pressuie
at feet deep is not 33 times the pressure at one loot
deep, but only double, or twice as great. The atmo¬
spheric pressure is omitted onlyivhen the resisted plane
is at the very surface. D’Ulloa, in his Examino Mari¬
time), has introduced an equation expressing this rela-
lion *, but, except with very limited conditions, it will
mislead us prodigiously. To give a general notion of
Fig- 25- its foundation, let AB (fig. 25.) be the section of a
plane moving through a fluid in the direction CD, with
a known velocity. T-he fluid will be heaped up belore
it above its natural level Cl), because the water will not
he pushed before it like a solid body, but will be push¬
ed aside. And it cannot acquire a lateral motion any
other way than by an accumulation, which will diffuse
itself in all directions by the law of undulatory mo¬
tion. The water will also be left lower behind the
plane, because time must elapse before the pressure of
the water behind can make it fill the space. We may
acquire some notion of the extent of both the accumu¬
lation and depression in this way. There is a certain
depth CF (=—, where v is the velocity, and the
r 2<p
accelerating power of gravity) under the surface, such
that water would flow through a hole at F with the ve¬
locity of the plane’s motion. Draw a horizontal line FG.
The water will certainly touch the plane in G, and we
may suppose that it touches it no higher up. Therefore
there will be a hollow, such as CGE. The elevation
HE will be regulated by considerations nearly similar.
ED must be equal to the velocity of the plane, and HE
must be its productive height. Thus, it the velocity
of the plane be one foot per second, HE and EG will
he Tt_ of an inch. This is sufficient (though not exact)
for giving us a notion of the thing. We see that from
this must arise a pressure in the direction DC, viz. the
pressure of the whole column HG.
Something of the same kind will happen although the
plane AB be wholly immerged, and this even to some
depth. We see such elevations in a swift running stream,
where there are large stones at the bottom.—This occa¬
sions an excess of pressure in the direction opposite to the
plane’s motion j and we see that there must, in every
case, be a relation between the velocity and this excess
of pressure. This D’Ulloa expresses by an equation.
But it is very exceptionable, not taking properly into
the account the comparative facility with which the wa¬
ter can heap up and diffuse itself. It must always heap
up till it acquires a sufficient head of water to produce a
3-
OF FLUIDS.
lateral and progressive diffusion sufficient for the purpose. Resistant*
It is evident, that a smaller elevation will suffice when of Fluids
the body is more immersed, because the check or im-'—■“■v——>
pulse given by the body below is propagated, not verti¬
cally only, but in every direction ; and therefore the
elevation is not confined to that part of the surface
which is immediately above the moving body, but ex¬
tends so much further laterally as the centre of agitation
is deeper : Thus, the elevation necessary for the passage
of the body is so much smaller j and it is the height only
of this accumulation or wave which determines the back¬
ward pressure on the body. D’Ulloa’s equation may
happen to quadrate with two experiments at different
depths, without being nearly just ; for any two points
may be in a curve, without exhibiting its equation.
Three points will do it with some approach to preci¬
sion ; but four, at least, are necessary for giving any
notion of its nature. D’Ulloa has only given two ex¬
periments, which we mentioned in another place.
We may here observe, that it is this circumstance
which immediately produces the great resistance to the
motion of a body through a fluid in a narrow canal.—
The fluid cannot pass the body, unless the area of the
section be sufficiently extensive. A narrow canal pre¬
vents the extension sidewise. The water must therefore
heap up, till the section and velocity of diffusion are
sufficiently enlarged, and thus a great backward pressure
is produced. (See the second series of Experiments by
the French Academicians $ see also Franklin’s Essays).
It is important, and will be considered in another place.
Thus have we attempted to give our readers some
account of one of the most interesting problems in the
whole of mechanical philosophy. We are sorry that so
little advantage can be derived from the united efforts
of the first mathematicians of Europe, and that there
is so little hope of greatly improving our scientific know¬
ledge of the subject. What we have delivered will,
however, enable our readers to peruse the writings of
those who have applied the theories to practical pur¬
poses. Such, for instance, are the treatises of John
Bernoulli, of Bouguer, and of Euler, on the construc¬
tion and working of ships, and the occasional disserta- pI
tions of different authors on water-mills. In this last impulse of
application the ordinary theory is not without its value, water on
for the impulses are nearly perpendicular; in whichv,atel nu **
case they do not materially deviate from the duplicate
proportion of the sign of incidence. But even here this
theory, applied as it commonly is, misleads us exceed¬
ingly. The impulse on one float may be accurately
enough stated by it; but the authors have not been at¬
tentive to the motion of the water after it has made its
impulse ; and the impulse on the next float is stated the
same as if the parallel filaments of water, which were
not stopped by the preceding float, did impinge on the
opposite part of the second, in the same manner, aad
with the same obliquity and energy, as if it were de¬
tached from the rest. But this does not in the least
resemble the real process of nature.
Suppose the floats B, C, D, H (fig. 26.) of a wheel Fig. rf-
immersed in a stream whose surface moves in the direc¬
tion AK, and that this surface meets the float B in E.
The part BE alone is supposed to be impelled ; whereas
the water, checked by the float, heaps up on it to e.-
Then drawing the horizontal line BF, the part CF of
the
RESISTANC
Resistance the next float is supposed to be all that is impelled by the
of Fluids, parallel filaments of the stream j whereas the water bends
' ' round the lower edge of the float B by the surrounding
pressure, and rises on the float c all the way to f. In
like manner, the float D, instead of receiving an impulse
on the very small portion DG, is impelled all the way
from D to g, not much below the surface of the stream.
The surfaces impelled at once, therefore, greatly exceed
what this slovenly application of the theory supposes,
and the whole impulse is much greater j but this is a fault
E OF FLUIDS. 763
in the application, and notin the theory. It will not be Resistance
a very difficult thing to acquire a knowledge of the mo- of Fluids,
tion of the water which has passed the preceding float,v"""—'
which, though not accurate, will yet approximate con¬
siderably to the truth ; and then the ordinary theory
will furnish maxims of construction which will be very
serviceable. This will be attempted in its proper
place ; and we shall endeavour, in our treatment of all
the practical questions, to derive useful information
from all that has been delivered on the present occasion.
Respira¬
tion.
RES
Resolution RESOLUTION of Ideas. See Logic, Part I.
chap. iii.
Resolution, in Music. To resolve a discoid or dis-
, sonance, says Rousseau, is to carry it according to rule
into a consonance in the subsequent chord. There is
for that purpose a procedure prescribed, both for the
fundamental bass of the dissonant chord, and for the
part by which the dissonance is formed.
There is no possible manner of resolving a dissonance
which is not derived from an operation of cadence : it
is then by the kind of cadence which we wish to form,
that the motion of the fundamental bass is determined,
(see Cadence). With respect to the part by which
the dissonance is formed, it ought neither to continue in
its place, nor to move by disjointed gradations j but to
rise or descend diatonically, according to the nature of
the dissonance. Theorists say, that major dissonances
ought to rise, and minor to descend ; which is not how¬
ever without exception, since in particular chords of
harmony, a seventh, although major, ought not to rise
but to descend, unless in that chord, which is, very in¬
correctly, called the chord of the seventh redundant.
It is better then to say, that the seventh and all its de¬
rivative dissonances ought to descend ; and that the
sixth superadded, and all its derivative dissonances,
should rise. This is a rule truly general, and without
any exception. It is the same case with the rule of re¬
solving dissonances. There are some dissonances which
cannot be prepared j but there is by no means one
which ought not to be resolved.
With respect to the sensible note improperly called
a major dissonance, if it ought to ascend, this is less on
account of the rule for resolving dissonances, than on
account of that which prescribes a diatonic procedure,
and prefers the shortest road ; and in reality, there are
cases, as that of the interrupted cadence, in which this
sensible note does not ascend.
Resolution, in Chemistry, the reduction of a mixed
body into its component parts or first principles, as far
as can be done by a proper analysis.
Resolution, in Medicine, the disappearing of any
tumor without coming to suppuration or forming an
abscess.
RESOLVENTS, in Medicine, such as are proper
for dissipating tumors, without allowing them to come
to suppuration. . .
RESONANCE, Resounding, in Music, &c. a
sound returned by the air inclosed in the bodies of
stringed instruments, such as lutes, &c. or even in the
bodies of wind-instruments, as flutes, &c.
RESPIRATION, the act of respiring or breathing
RES
the air. See Anatomy, N° 118. Blood, N° 29-
Medicine, N° 104. and Physiology.
Respiration of Fishes. See Ichthyology.
RESPITE, in Late, signifies a delay, forbearance,
or prolongation of time, granted to any one for the pay¬
ment of a debt or the like. See Reprieve.
RESPONDENT, in the schools, one who maintains
a thesis in any art or science j who is thus called from
his being to answer all the objections proposed by the
opponent.
RESPONDENTIA. See Bottomry.
RESPONSE, an answer or reply. A word chiefly
used in speaking of the answers made by the people to
the priest, in the litany, the psalms, &c.
RESORT, a French word, sometimes used by En¬
glish authors to signify the jurisdiction of a court, and
particularly one from which there is no appeal.—Thus
it is said, that the house of lords judge en dernier i'es-
sort, or in the last ressort.
REST, the continuance of a body in the same place,
or its continual application or contiguity to the same
parts of the ambient or contiguous bodies j and
therefore is opposed to motion. See the article Mo¬
tion.
Rest, in Poetry, is a short pause of the voice in
reading, being the same with the csesura, which, in
Alexandrine verses, falls on the sixth syllable ; but in
verses of 10 or 11 syllables, on the fourth. See PoE-
TRY, Part III.
REST-HARROW, or Cammock, the Ononis Ar-
vensis. A decoction of this plant has been much re¬
commended to horses labouring under a stoppage of
urine. It is the pest of some corn-fields; but in its
younger state, before the plant has acquired its thorns,
it is a most acceptable food to sheep.
RESTAURATTON, the act of re-establishing or
setting a thing or person in its former good state.
RESTIO, a genus of plants belonging to the dioecia
class. See Botany Index.
RESTITUTION, in a moral and legal sense, is re¬
storing a person to his right, or returning something un¬
justly taken or detained from him.
Restitution of Medals, or Restituted Medals, is a
term used by antiquaries for such medals as were struck
by the emperors, to retrieve the memory of their pre¬
decessors.
Hence, in several medals, we find the letters REST.
This practice was first begun by Claudius, by his strik¬
ing afresh several medals of Augustus. Nero did the
same ; and Titus, after his father’s example, struck re¬
stitutions of most of his predecessors. Gallienus struck
5 D a a
RES [764
Restitution a general restitution of all the preceding emperors on
two medals ; the one bearing an altar, the other an
eagle without the REST.
, RESTIVE, or Resty, in the menege, a stubborn,
unruly, ill-broken horse, that stops, or runs back, in¬
stead of advancing forward.
RESTORATION, the same with restauration. See
Restauration.
In England, the return of King Charles li. in 1660,
is, by way of eminence, called the Restoration; and the
2Qth of May is kept as an anniversary festival, in com¬
memoration of that event, by which the legal and epis¬
copal government was restored.
RESTORATIVE, in Medicine, a remedy proper
for restoring and retrieving the strength and vigour both
of the body and animal spirits.
All under this class, says Quincy, are rather nutn-
mental than medicinal } and are more administered to
repair the wastes of the constitution, than to alter and
rectify its disorders. . , .
RESTRICTION, among logicians, is limiting a
term, so as to make it signify less than it usually does.
RESTRINGENT, in Medicine, the same with a-
stringent. See Astringents.
RESULT, what is gathered from a conference, in¬
quiry, meditation, or the like } or the conclusion and
effects thereof.
RESURRECTION, in Theology, is a rising again
from the state Oi the dead ; and is that event, the be¬
lief of which constitutes one of the principal articles in
a the Christian creed. . .
Plan of the Jn treating of this object of our faith, it has been
artide. usua| to mention, first, the resurrection of our Blessed
Lord, with the character of the witnesses, and the au¬
thenticity of the gospel history by which it has been
proved, and from which, as a consequence, ours is in¬
ferred. But as most of the arguments for this resurrec¬
tion are contained in the gospels, and as merely to re¬
peat them would afford, we hope, but little informa¬
tion to most of our readers, we mean here to take a
view of the several grounds on which the belief of a
future existence is supposed to he founded ; to collect
together some of the sentiments of authors and nations
concerning the place where departed spirits reside ; con¬
cerning the nature of their present state; concerning
the kinds of their future destination •, that we may af¬
terwards see how far their notions differ and agree with
what we consider as the doctrines of Scripture.
The notion Of a future state, there have sometimes been found a
of a future few wandering and obscure tribes who seemed to enter-
state un- tertain no notion at all ; though it should be remarked,
that some of these were likewise observed in so low a
]
RES
Definition.
velation. They suppose that the first parent of man- Resurree-
kind, as a moral agent accountable for his conduct, was tion.
informed by his Maker of every thing which it was of
importance for him to know 5 that he must have been^,]ie 5 . .
acquainted with this doctrine of a future state in parti- 0f t],js
cular
known to
scuretribes, degree of savage barbarity as not to be acquainted with
the use of the bow, the dart, or the sling, and as not
knowing how to wield a club, or to throw a stone, as a
* See Ro- -weapon of defence *.
bertson's Wherever the human mind has been cultivated, or,
Mn{a. properly speaking, begun to be cultivated, the opinion
4 has likewise generally prevailed that human existence
Has been is not confined to the present scene j nay, so very ge-
almost uni-nerai iias this notion been found among mankind, that
versal. many are puzzled how to account for what they suppose
to be almost next to its universality.
To explain the phenomenon, some have imagined
that it is a notion derived by tradition from primeval re-
2
   - ^ uu-
and that he could hardly fail to communicate ationderiy-
matter so interesting to his posterity. They suppose, ^ by some
too, that the history of the translation of Enoch must P"“e'
have made a great noise in the world, and that the re-tjon
membrance of it must have been long retained and
widely diffused j and they find in the book of Job plain
intimations of a resurrection from the dead, which, trom
the manner in which they are introduced, they think
that very ancient patriarch must have received through
this channel. <?
It is not thought to be any objection to these suppo-The usual
sitions, that the Most High, when delivering his laws o^jeetions
from the top of Mount Sinai, did not enforce them by
the awful sanctions of a future state. The intelligent {oi.ce
reader of the Scriptures knows that the sanctions of a
future state belong to a different and more universal dis¬
pensation than was that of Moses •, that the primeval
revelation related to that dispensation ; and that the
Jewish law, with its temporal sanctions, was introduced
only to preserve the knowledge and worship of the true
God among a people too gross in their conceptions to
have been properly influenced by the view of future re¬
wards and punishments, of such a nature as eye hath
not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into
the heart of man to conceive. He sees at the same time,
everywhere scattered through the Old Testament, plain
indications of the Mosaic economy being no more than
preparatory to the bringing in of a better hope 5 and
he thinks it evident, that such Jews as understood any
thing of the nature of that better hope, must have been
convinced, that, however the ceremonial rites of thtir
religion might be sufficiently guarded by temporal sanc¬
tions, t\\c fundamental principles oi all religion and vir¬
tue are supported by rewards and punishments to be
dispensed in a state beyond the grave. See Prophecy
and Theology.
That the progenitors of the human race must have Reasons
been inspired by their Creator with the knowledge of support of
their immortality, and of every thing necessary to their the opinion
everlasting welfare, cannot, we should think, be ques¬
tioned by any one who believes that the world had a
beginning, and that it is under the government of good¬
ness and justice. The progress from sense to science is
so slow, that however capable we may suppose the ear¬
liest inhabitants of this earth to have been of making
philosophical discoveries, we cannot believe that the Fa¬
ther of mercies left his helpless creature to discover for
himself his future existence. Death, when first pre¬
sented to him, must have been a ghastly object j and
had he been left without any hope of redemption from
it, he would undoubtedly have sunk into listless despon¬
dency.
But a prospect of immortality is so pleasing to the
human mind, that if it was communicated to the first
man, it would of course be cherished by his posterity;
and there is no difficulty in conceiving how it might
be handed down by tradition to very remote ages, a-
mong such of his descendants as were not scattered
over the face of the earth in small and savage tribes.—
In the course of its progress, it would frequently be
new-
H E S [ 76
surrec- new-modelled by the ever active imagination; and at
tion. last many absurd and fantastic circumstances would
"v doubtless be combined with the original truth, that
death puts not an end to human existence.
But though we are firmly convinced that the first
principles of useful knowledge, and among them the
doctrine of a future state, were communicated to man
by his Maker *, and though this doctrine, in large and
permanent societies, might certainly be conveyed more
or less pure to late posterity through the channel of tra¬
dition—we are far from attributing so much to tradition
as some writers are disposed to do, or thinking it the
only source from which mankind could derive the belief
of their existence beyond the grave. In small tribes of
savages such a tradition could hardly be preserved 5 and
yet some indistinct notions of a future state have been
found among tribes who are said to have lost all tradi-
s tionary notions even of the being of a God.
Others, therefore, are inclined to believe that, in¬
dependent of any traditions, mankind might be led by
certain phenomena to form some conjectures of a future
state. They observe, that although a few individuals
iruiatu- perhaps may, yet it seldom happens that the whole in-
pheno- dividuals of any nation are exempted from dreaming :
i hers im-
ie the
1 tion
jht be
ijectured
9
from
aming,
1
] RES
And softer curs, that lie and sleep at home,
Do often rouse, and walk about the room,
And bark, as if they saw some strangers come.
And birds will start, and seek the woods, by night,
Whene’er the fancy’d hawk appears in sight.
Whene’er they see his wing or hear him fight.
Creech
1
They observe, too, and this observation is founded on
experience, that the images of the dead are from the
remaining impressions of memory frequently summoned
up in the fancy : and that it appears from all the lan¬
guages of rude nations, who pay the greatest attention
to their dreams, and who speak of seeing the dead in
their visions, that these images (a) have always been
taken by them for realities ; nay, some of the learned,
and the celebrated Baxter is of the number, are dispo¬
sed to doubt whether these appearances be not some¬
thing more than illusions of the brain : But whether
they really be so or not, one thing is certain, that all
nations in all countries, in the darkest ages and the ru-
dest periods, are accustomed to dream 5 and whether
sleeping or waking, in the stillness of the night, in the
gloom of solitude, in the fondness of friendship, in the
rovings of love, the delirium of fever, and the anguish
of remorse, to see and converse with the shades of the
lucret. departed j and Lucretius* has remarked, that even the
• inferior animals are not exempted from such illusions of
a restless fancy.
For often sleeping racers pant and sweat,
Breathe short, as if they ran their second heat j
As if the barrier down with eager pace
They stretch’d, as when contending for the race.
And often hounds, when sleep hath clos’d their eyes,
They toss, and tumble, and attempt to rise j
They open often, often snuff the air,
As if they prest the footsteps of the deer j
And sometimes wak’d, pursue their fancy’d prey,
The fancy’d deer, that seem to run away,
Till quite awak’d, the follow’d shapes decay.
These powers of fancy extend wide over animal crea¬
tion *, and it is on this general principle that necro¬
mancers and dreamers have in all ages established their
trade, that the stories of goblins have at all times so
very easily procured belief, and that
The village matron, round the blazing hearth,
Suspends the infant audience with her tales,
Breathing astonishment ! Of witching rhymes
And evil spirits ; of the deathbed call
Of him who robb’d the widow and devour’d
The orphan’s portion ; of unquiet souls
Ris’n from the grave to ease the heavy guilt
Of deeds in life conceal’d j of shapes that walk
At dead of night, and clank their chains and wave
The torch of hell around the murderer’s head.
Aikenside.
Mankind in general would willingly dispense with
these troublesome visits of the dead. To prevent the
return of the zumbi or the ghost, some nations of Afri¬
ca use many superstitious rites *5 and Kolben tells ust*y0^ao-et0
that the frightened Hottentots leave in the hut where a Congo and
person has died all the utensils and furniture, lest the
angry ghost, incensed at their avarice, should haunt Churchill e
them in their dreams, and infest them in the night.
Divines and moralists have laboured to show that these
are merely imaginary terrors : but God and nature seem
to have determined that they shall produce the same
effects upon certain minds as if they were real j and
that while there is any sensibility in the heart, while
there is any remembrance of the past, and any conjuring
power in the fancy 5 the ignorant, the benighted, the
timid, shall often meet with the goblins of darkness, the
spectres of the tomb, the apparitions that hover round
the grave, and the forms of the dead in the middle
dream. See Spectre.
From these phenomena, which have been so common
in all countries and in all ages, what would mankind inference*
naturally infer P Would they not infer, that there is from
something in the nature of man that survives death, and*11'6*1111^^
that there is a future state of existence beyond the
grave ? Are not still many specimens of this reasoning
preserved in the ancient poets P and is it not thus that
Achillesf reasons after imagining that he saw the ghost
of his friend Patroclus ?
’Tis true, ’tis certain, man, though dead, retains
Part of himself j th’ immortal mind remains :
The form subsists without the body’s aid,
Aerial semblance, and an empty shade.
lib. xxiii.
1. 103.
This
(a) These images were called by the Greeks E,W* Occvoilw, and among the Romans they had various names,
as umbra;, lemures, manes, larvce, and were sometimes called occursacula noctium, bustorum formidamina, se-
pulchrorum terriculamenta, animee errantes, which are all comprehended under the species mortuorum.
Resurrec¬
tion.
* Lib. iii.
ii
Folly of al¬
lowing too
much to
tradition.
RES [ 766 ]
RES
This night my friend, so late in "battle lost,
Stood at my side a pensive plaintive ghost
Ev’n now familiar as in life he came,
Alas! how diff’rent, yet how like the same. Pope.
Lucretius *, a studious observer of nature, though no
friend to the soul’s immortality, acknowledges frankly
that these phantoms often terrify the mind, haunt us in
our sleep, and meet us while awake. He confesses, too,
that by such appearances mankind have been led to be¬
lieve the future existence of the soul j but aware of the
consequence,
-Ne forte animas Achcrunte reamur
Effugere, aut znnbras inter vivos volitare,
he endeavours to explain these curious phenomena on
some of the odd and fantastic principles of the Epicu¬
reans. In doing this, however, he pretends not to de¬
ny that these images appear to be real; but candidly
acknowledges that
 — They strike and shake
The airy soul, as when we are awake,
"With stroke so lively, that we think we view
The absent dead, and think the image true.
Creech.
We here see how the belief of the soul’s immortality
came to be general among mankind. But for this in¬
formation we are much more indebted to the poets, who
have given us faithful transcripts of nature, than to the
philosophers who have wished to entertain us with their
own theories, or to those laborious men of erudition,
who have dreaded as much to examine the source of an
ancient report as the friends of Ulysses to approach the
. coast of Cimmerian darkness. With them tradition is
the ultimate boundary of research: and as gorgons,
chimeras, and hydras, have come down to us by tradi¬
tion ; so they, with great sagacity, suspect that tradi¬
tion must likewise be at the bottom of the soul’s immor¬
tality, and occasion the visions and phantoms of the
dead.
To tradition we have allowed all that it can justly
claim j but we cannot allow it to be the only source of
this opinion: and we have felt the highest indignation
upon hearing men of learning and genius affirm, from
a false zeal for the honour of revelation, that mankind,
without this instruction, could never have acquired the
art of building huts to screen them from the cold, or
have learned the method of propagating their species !
The reader must not here suppose that we allude to
Polydore Virgil (b). We have in our eye persons now
alive, with whom we have conversed on the subject, and
who (terrified at the length to which some philosophers
have carried the doctrine of instincts, and others the rea¬
soning powers of the mind) have contended, with the
utmost earnestness, that we know nothing—not even the Resurrcc-
functions of our animal nature—but by tradition or writ- tisn.
ten revelation.
Having now seen the source of the opinion concern-0
ing the future existence of the soul, and pointed out the phi'95^ 0i
natural phenomena by which mankind were led to em-pherg.
brace it, we come next to review the arguments by which
the philosophers attempted to confirm it. Mi
Pythagoras believed, with the rest of his country, that Pythago-
annilhlation was never the end, and that nonentity was ras’s notion;
never the beginning of any thing that is. His general oft‘an,n" |
doctrine upon this subject was shortly expressed in very® ’ !
few words, Omnia mutu?itur, nihilinterit. He afterwards
learned from Egyptian priests that the soul migrates in¬
to new bodies j and being, it seems, a person of a most
extraordinary and astonishing memory, he found there
wras some truth in the story •, for after musing, he began
to remember that he was Euphorbus, the sou of Pan-
theus, that was slain by Menelaus in the Trojan war;
and upon a jaunt to Peloponnesus, recollected the shield
which he had worn at the time of the siege, in one of
the temples of Juno at Argos ! That none might ques¬
tion the truth of his assertion, his followers presently re¬
moved all doubts by the famous argument, the IPSE
dixit of Egyptian origin.
As Pythagoras taught that human souls are frequent- pjato^sdw i
ly thrust into brute shapes, and, as some imagined, by trine of
way of punishment; it occurred to Plato, that all bo-Pre-exist-
dies, even the human, are a sort of prisons ; and that, inence*
consequence of this confinement, the soul was subjected
to the rage of desire, appetite, and passion, and to all
the wretched miseries of a jail. To explain this my¬
stery, he supposed that desires and appetites belong to
a soul that is purely animal residing in the body. But
he was perplexed with another difficulty ; for as he
thought highly of the goodness of Deity, he could not
imagine how he should imprison us without a crime.
He supposed, therefore, that prior to its union with the
present body the soul had existed in one of ether, which
it still retains ; but that even in this etherial body it had
felt something of impure desire; and happening to in¬
dulge the v icious appetite, had contracted some stains of
pollution, for which it was confined in its present body
as a house of correction to do penance and improve its
morals. 15
To prove this ideal pre-existence of the soul, Plato And mode
availed himself of an opinion that was general in his of P10V,nS
time, that coincided with the doctrines of Pythagoras,lt'
and that was partly founded on a sort of reasoning and
observation. He thought that matter and intelligence
are coeternal (see Platonism) ; that there are various
orders of souls ; that those of both the man and the
brute are parts or emanations (c) of the anima mundi,
or soul of the world ; that all are ultimately parts or
emanations of Deity itself; and that all their faculties
Ml Oft
Aties,
(b) This writer allots part of a chapter to show, “ Quis primum instituerit artem meretriciam,” as being in his
opinion a traditionary practice. See Lib. iii. cap. 17. De Rerum Inventonbus.
(c) The Deity was conceived by the ancients sometimes as a solid, when inferior souls were called uTrorKcicrfAcP.x,
i. e. fragments or parts broken off from him ; and sometimes as a fluid, when they were considered as etyrc^oixt or,
emanations : but from none of these hypotheses did they reason consequentially. Their xTrec-Trxr/xeilx were often
after death reunited to the Deity ; and their wro^oicu often remained separate and distinct for a long while, with¬
out flowing back as they ought to have done, and mingling with the great ocean of spirit.
RES [ 767 ] RES
enure©- are more or less restricted and confined, according to
tion. those organised systems with which they are connected.
' Know first (says one delivering his doctrines).
Know first, that heav’n and earth’s compacted frame,
And flowing waters, and the starry flame,
And both the radiant lights, one common soul
Inspires, and feeds, and animates the whole.
This active mind, infus’d through all the space,
Unites and mingles with the mighty mass:
Hence men and beasts the breath of life obtain,
And birds of air, and monsters of the main j
The ethereal vigour is in all the same,
And every soul is fill’d with equal flame ;
As much as earthy limbs, and gross allay T
Of mortal members, subject to decay, L
Blunt not the beams of heav’n and edge of day (d). J
Hryden.
Besides this hypothesis, that in some measure was
common to others, Plato had an argument peculiarly
his own. Happening to peep into the region of me¬
taphysics, he was somewhat surprised on observing the
ideas which we derive from reflection and consciousness5
and supposing that they could not have entered by the
senses, he naturally, though not very justly, concluded
that we must have received them in some state of prior
existence.
As, according to him, the soul was eternal, as well
as the matter which composed the body, and as their
union was only temporary and accidental, he might
have been satisfied that the death of the soul was not to
be the consequence of their separation, But, some how
or other, satisfied he was not. He had recourse to a
new argument. As the soul, be said, was an active
principle, and a self-moving, it did not depend for its
life on another \ and therefore would always continue
to exist, though the body were reduced to the general
mass out of which it was formed. See Metaphysics,
lC Part III. chap. iv.
lie opi- Whether Plato had borrowed any of his doctrines
on* of the from the eastern magi, we pretend not to say. We on-
aostics. jy observe a striking similarity, in some respects, between
his and theirs. In Plato’s philosophy, the sun, moon,
and stars, were animated beings, and a sort of divinities
that originally had sprung from the great fountain of i4esuire«-
heat and light, and our earthly bodies a sort of dun- tion.
geons in which our miserable souls are benighted and ’' v-"" '■l
debased by desires, appetites, and passions. In the ma-
gian philosophy, the Supreme Being was called Oromas-
des; was the god of light, or was light itself, and re¬
presented by Mithras, a subordinate divinity, and the
same with the sun. Another deity of very great power
was Arimanes, the god of darkness, who presided over
matter, and was the origin of all evil (see Polytheism).
The ancient Gnostics, who derived their tenets from
this source, believed, with Pythagoras and Plato, in a
great number of subordinate genii j and said, that De-
miurgus, the god of matter and the soul or spirit of this
world, had contrived the bodies of men and brutes $ and
in the former particularly, as in so many prisons, had
confined a number of celestial spirits, that by exposing
them to the low desires of appetite and passion, he might
seduce them from their allegiance to the God of light,
and render them more submissive to himself. Prom
these prisons the Supreme Being was continually making
attempts to rescue them ; and in the mean time was
frequently sending divine messengers to enlighten and
instruct them, and to render them capable of returning
to the regions of life and happiness, to which they had
belonged (e).
The Stoics attempted to simplify this system, which
appears anciently to have pervaded Egypt and the east,
and which would seem to be no more than variously
modified by Orpheus, Pythagoras, Plato, and others of
the more northerly and western nations. None of them
allowed a creation out of nothing; and the shaping and
modelling of matter into forms was variously explained,
according as they happened to be most addicted to su¬
perstition, to morals, or to physics. Some ascribed these
operations to ancient Time, Chaos, and Darkness, and
explained the future changes in nature by the genealo¬
gies of these deities ; some observing attraction and
repulsion, or at least a sort of agreement and discor¬
dance among bodies, were inclined to ascribe them to
Friendship and Hatred, or Love and Antipathy; some
observing, that while one body rose another descended,
made Levity and Gravity primary agents ; and some
taking notice that living bodies sprung from corruption,
were
(d) The general doctrine, as delivered here in these verses of Virgil, is the same with that not only of Pytha¬
goras, but of the Stoics.
(e) Plato made the stars the native residence of inferior souls ; and when these were thoroughly purified below,
returned them home again : and therefore, says \ irgil, alluding to his doctrine,
    -Some have taught
That bees have portions of ethereal thought.
Endu’d with particles of heav’nly fires ;
For God the whole created mass inspires :
Thro’ heav’n and earth, and ocean’s depth, he throws
His influence round, and kindles as he goes.
Hence flocks, and herds, and men, and beasts, and fowls,
With breath are quicken’d, and attract their souls :
Hence take the forms his prescience did ordain,
And into him at length resolve again.
No room is left for death, they mount the sky,
and to their own congenial planets fly. Hidden.
RES
[ 768 ]
RES
Resurrec- were disposed to confer the same powers on Moisture
tion. and Heat.
‘ v——' The physical hypotheses were what had most charms
fifth7 St for the Stoics. From their system immaterial beings
ics. C ° were openly excluded j all things were regulated by
physical laws or inexorable fate 5 and all things otigi-
nated in the To ’Ev or the F/rst One, which was probably
suggested by the Mov«5 of Pythagoras,. Ibis To £» ap¬
pears to have been a materia prww devoid ol all the
qualities of body. In their language it was an or
first principle, not subject to change. W hen it was in¬
vested with the properties of body, it then became
a x1oi%eiov or an e/ement ; and then, so far as respected
its qualities, especially its forms,it was subject to changes
almost perpetual. The gods themselves and the souls
of men were in this system only modifications ol matter
Man vvas composed of their four elements, lire,
Air', Water, and Earth ; and upon dissolution, every
part returned to the element from which it had come,
as the water of a vessel swimming in the sea unites with
the ocean when the vessel is broken. This system, it
is plain, cannot possibly admit of any separate conscious¬
ness of existence (g). The same may be said of the
systems of Democritus and Epicurus, and all those Avho
undertook to explain things upon physical principles (h).
The chief merit of the physical systems appears to be
this : Absurd as they were, it would seem from the
whimsical and the almost childish reasoning of Lucre¬
tius, that they had a tendency to lead mankind from
extravagant hypotheses to something that was similar
18 to observation.
Of Aristo- What Aristotle thought of the separate existence ot
tle‘ the soul after death is not very certain. The soul he
calls anEvlsAs^ew} and if the reader can divine the mean¬
ing of the word, he perhaps can divine the meaning of
the Stagi/rite, and will then be a better diviner than we.
At other times he says, that the soul is something di¬
vine ; that it resembles the element ol the stars j that it
is something of a fiery nature j that it is the vicegerent
of God in the body ; and that the acuteness of the senses,
the powers of the intellect, with the various kinds of
appetites and passions, depend entirely on the qualities
19 of the blood (1).
Of Critias Another opinion of very old date was that 01 the late
and others. jngenjoug Mr Hunter. According to him, the living
principle resides in the blood. This opinion, which is
mentioned by Moses, was adopted by Critias and others
of the ancients. Harvey likewise embraced it. But Mr
Hunter, who always wished to be thought an original,
inclines to stand at the head of the opinion, and sup¬
ports it by experiments similar to those ol the lamed
Taliacotius in mending noses. Should any oi our readers
wish to extract the soul’s immortality from such an opi- R,esmuc„
nion, we must refer them to the many resources ol in- tion.
genuity, sophistry, and logic. J
Among the Jews, the belief of a future and separate^
existence for a long time was deemed no essential article jcWS
of their creed. Some thought that the soul was a spark
in the moving of the heart 5 some imagined that it was
the breath, and that upon the dissolution of the body
it naturally vanished into soft air. The Sadducees de¬
nied the existence of either angel or spirit. Many be¬
lieved the doctrine of ghosts, and were accustomed to
invoke them at the grave. It is hence that we hear
the prophets complaining that they were seeking
from the living God unto dead men. Some imagined
that there was a pre-existence of souls; and, in the case
of a blind man, asked our Saviour, whether the man or
his parents had sinned that he was born blind ? Others
inclined to a revolution of soul and body, and thought
that our Saviour was either Elias or one of the old
prophets returned; and a great many new-modelled
their opinion of the soul’s immortality according to cer¬
tain passages in Scripture. The inspired mother of Sa¬
muel had said, “ The Lord killeth and maketh alive :
he bringeth down to the grave, and bringeth up.
Isaiah had exclaimed, “ Thy dead shall live ; together
with my dead body shall they arise : Awake, and sing,
ye that (Iwoll 111 tfie dust; for thy dew is as the dew ol
herbs, and the earth shall cast out the dead.” Daniel
had declared, that many of them that sleep in the dust of
the earth shall awake to everlasting life, and some to
shame and everlasting contempt. In the vision ot the
valley of dry bones, Ezekiel had seen that “ at the word
of the Lord” the bones came together, bone to his bone,
the sinews and the flesh came upon them, and the skin
covered them above, and the breath came into the oo¬
dles, and they lived and stood upon their feet. And a
passage of Job led them to suppose, that at some dis¬
tant and future period a particular time, which was cal¬
led t/ie last or the latter clay, was appointed by heaven
for the general resurrection of all those who are sleep¬
ing in their graves. “ 1 know (says Job) my Redeemer
liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon
the earth ; and though after my skin worms destroy this
body, yet in my flesh shall I see God.
Whether these passages were fairly interpreted agree¬
ably to their true and original meaning, it is not here
our business to inquire. It is sufficient for us to ob¬
serve, that from them many of the Jews inferred the
reality of a general resurrection (k). In this persua¬
sion, Martha, speaking of her brother Lazarus, says to
our Lord, “ I know that he shall rise again in the re¬
surrection at the last day.” This resurrection appears
to
(f) The Aey/t of the Stoics appears to be the same with the Li of the Chinese. _
(g) Yet without regarding the inconsistency, many of the Stoics believed, that the soul continued separate long
after death ; though all in general seemed to deny a future state of rewards and punishments.
(h) In his Physical Cosmogony, Plato differed but little from the Stoics ; but he had another sort of cosmo¬
gony, in which all things appear to have sprung from, and to be almost wholly composed of metaphysical entities*
as ideas of forms, numbers, and mathematical figures. These kinds of notions were common both to him and V-
thagoras ; and were originally borrowed from Egypt, where calculation and geometry were half deihed. &ee
Platonism. , . . _ n
(1) The immortal Harvey has collected these different opinions of the Stagynte in Exercit. 52. L)e teener
tione Animalium. . # f . .
(k) At present some are for allowing only those of their own nation to share in the benefits ot this resl1^^ _
B E S [
RcMirrec- to have been a general opinion among the Pharisees ;
tion. for although it was a notion of the sect of the Saddu-
^ cees that there was no resurrection, neither angel nor
spirit, yet the Pharisees, we are told, confessed both.
And this assertion is plainly confirmed by St Paul him¬
self when his countrymen accused him before Felix. “I
confess unto thee (says this eminent apostle), that after
the way which they call heresy, so worship I the God
of my fathers, believing all things which are written in
the law and in the prophets, and having hope toward
God, which they themselves also allow, that there shall
be a resurrection of the dead, both of the just and un¬
just.”
This resurrection of the dead to judgment, though
not perhaps in the same sense in which the old Phari¬
sees conceived it, is now generally and almost univer-
sally (l.) maintained by Christians (m). Yet the Chri¬
stians difier considerably with respect to the nature of the
human soul. Some imagine that this spirit is naturally
mortal, and that it is propagated along with the body
from the loins of the parent. In support of this opinion,
it has been observed that a great number of insects and
plants transfer their lives to their posterity, and die soon
after the act of propagation *, that after this act the
vital principle is in the most vigorous of plants and
animals always found to be much exhausted ; and that
Tertullian a father of the church, in attempting some
experiments of the kind, became subject to a momentary
blindness, and felt a portion of his soul going out of
him (n).
These imagine that immortality was only condition-
]
RES
21
3f the
Christians.
ally promised to man j that Adam forfeited this immor¬
tality by his disobedience; and that Christ has restored
us to the hopes of it again by his sufferings and death :
for as in Adam we have all died, so in Christ, they
say, we shall all be made alive j and that now the sting
is taken from death, and the victory over our souls from Resurree-
the grave. tion.
Others have conceived the human soul as naturally v“—^ '
immortal, and as setting death and the grave at de¬
fiance. Adam, they say, died only in a figure 5 and
only from the consequences of this figure, which means
sin, has our Lord saved us. In this sense Adam died
on the very day in which he had sinned ; or he died li¬
terally in 1000 years, which with the Lord are as one
day. To these arguments their opponents reply, What
then is the victory over death and the grave ? You must
still have recourse to a new figure, and betake yourselves
to the second death ; though, after all, where is your
grave ? To this it is answered, that the soul of itself is
naturally immortal, and that it depends not either for
its existence or the exercise of its faculties upon the
body 5 that the properties of matter, as figure, magni¬
tude, and motion, can produce nothing that is like to
perception, memory, and consciousness. This is true,
rejoin their opponents •, but besides these few properties
of matter, which are only the objects of that philosophy
which has lately and properly been termed mechanical,
the chemical philosophy has discovered other properties
of matter ; has found that matter is of various kinds j
that it very often does not act mechanically } that it
acquires many new properties by combination ; and that
no man, till farther experiment and observation, should
venture to assert how far the soul is or is not dependent
on its present organised system. The others, proceeding
on their hypothesis, maintain that the soul, as being im¬
material, is not divisible ; and though the body of a frog
may live without the head for a whole day ; though
the body of a tortoise may live without the head for a
whole month : though a human limb may for some mi¬
nutes after amputation continue to perform a vital mo¬
tion, independent of a brain, a stomach, or a heart ;
and
tion; and some are not even for allowing them, except they be men of piety and virtue. To render this re¬
surrection probable, the rabbins say, with some ot the ^Mahometans, that there is a certain bone in the body
'See PAa-which resists putrefaction, and serves as a seed for the next body *. ^ hat that bone is, is of no great moment,
any bone, we believe, in the skeleton will answer the purpose equally well. Yi ith icspect to the manner ot
this resurrection, the learned Uody has quoted several opinions of the Jews, and among others, that of the Chal¬
dee paraphrast of the Canticles, asserting that the prophet Solomon had said, “ W hen the dead shall revive,
it shall come to pass that the Mount of Olives shall be cleft, and all the dead of Israel shall come out from thence ;
and the just too that died in captivity shall come through the way of the caverns under the earth, and shall
come forth out of the Mount of Olives.” He has likewise quoted Saunderson’s Voyage to the Holy Land, in
which, we are told that many of the Jews, by their own account, are to rise up in the valley of Jehoshaphat;
and that in the rowling or devolution of the caverns, those at a distance must scrape their way thither with their
nails.
(l) The sect of the Quakers explain it figuratively. , r rr ,7 '
Kodv I'm) The last quoted author + {Resurrection of the same Body, asserted from the traditions of the Heathens,
the ancient Jews, and the primitive Church) has cdeavoarp.l to show that lists doctrine, m the same sense as we
understand it, has been asserted by the ancient Magi, and by the present heathen Gaurs o 1 ersia, the relics ot
the ancient Magi ; liy some of the ancient Arabians ; by some of the Banians ol India; by the present inhabi¬
tants of the island of Ceylon, of Java, of Pegu, of Trans,ana; by some amongst the Chinese; by the Arder.ans
in Guinea ; and by the ancient Prussians. The proofs which he brings, tt must be confessed are not however
always verf satisfactory. It appears, even from his own account, that some of these had denved their not,ons from
eerSn Christians Mahometan!,, or Jews. But the reader may judge of the great accuracy of Ins tdeas from ns
bringing old Pythlgoras and the Stoics, and even Democritus and Eptcurus, m support oi the same or a s.mtlar
0pioiTin illo ipso voluptatis ultima testn quo genitale virus expellitur, .tonne aliqnid de anima qnoqne sentimus
exire, utque adeo marcescimus et devigescimus cum lucis detnmento.
Vol. XVII. Part II. + 1
>
RES t 77° ] RES
1 i <1 „ nf -I nlant R uolvne or a worm, dency of the fancy to work and to summon up spectres Rcsurrcc-
RcHirree- !UU 'ou? 1 “ t- !uui’become living wholes*, when the world around us is involved in darkness, it tion.
•* See Po- ‘   ”
/ypus and
Jlcprcduc-
tion.
the vital principles of plants and animals, nor ought to
he divided on reasons so slender as those of analogy.
Even granting, they say, that the soul were not natu¬
rally immortal of itself j yet the justice of God, which
is not remarkable for its equal distribution of rewards
and punishments in the present world, is bound to make
some amends in the next. And to this again their op¬
ponents answer, as to the equal distribution of justice
in a future world, of that we are assured on much bet¬
ter grounds than any of yonr’s : our Lord has declared
it in express terms j and whether the soul be immortal
or not, we can easily believe what he said is true, as
we know him whom we have trusted.
These, with Plato, suppose, that the soul is here as m
prison •, though how or at what time it should first have
come into this dungeon they have not determined. They
have only agreed, that upon its enlargement all its
faculties are to receive an increase of power ; and “ ha¬
ving already equipped it so exquisitely with conscious¬
ness, activity, and perception in and of itself, and put
it into so complete a capacity for happiness and misery
in a separate state,'” their hypothesis does not require
them to admit the least occasion for a resurrection •,
which accordingly is said to have been an article of
Baxter’s creed (o).
A third opinion, which extends likewise to every spe¬
cies of plant and animal, is, that all souls were created at
once with bodies of ether ; that these bodies, occupy ing
only a very small space, were packed up in their lust
progenitors, and there left to be afterwards evolved and
clothed with matter of a grosser kind by acts of gene¬
ration ami consequent nutrition. For the proof ol this
theory Ave are referred to the small animals seen through
the microscope, and likewise to those which are suppo¬
sed to escape even microscopic observation ; but, above
all, to the eggs of insects, which, though scarcely per¬
ceptible, yet contain in embryo a future caterpillar
and all its coats, and within these a future butteifly with
its legs and wings. These philosophers can perhaps ac¬
count for the general taint of original sin in some other
way than has hitherto been done. We have only to
add, that on their scheme the resurrection is not a mat¬
ter that seems to be indifferent.
Place^of ^lie next tl,at t0 1,6 considered is the place
the dead of the dead. From a natural enough association of
near to the ideas, an opinion had very early prevailed, that the spi-
grave. continued near to the body j and the oflerings there¬
fore intended for the dead were by most nations pre¬
sented at the grave ; and that on which the departed
spirit is supposed to rest is always placed near the grave
23 in China.
In daik- From the dreams of the night and the natural ten-
ncss.
night and shadow of death (p), or have been prohibited
from enjoying the exhilarating beams of day. And
hence we are told,
That in the dismal regions of the dead
Th’ infernal king once rais’d his horrid head •,
Leap’d from his throne, lest Neptune’s arm should lay
His dark dominions open to the day,
And pour in light.
The nations, therefore, who have fancied a general
receptacle for the dead, have thus been induced to place
it in the west (Q.), where the night begins and the dav
ends. That part of the world which, in the division of
hxs father’s dominions, fell to Pluto the infernal god,
and where, according to Lactantius, Satan holds the
empire of darkness, the Friendly Islanders have placed In the
to the westward of a certain island which they call Te- west-
jee ,* some tribes of American Indians, in a country be¬
yond the western mountains j and Homer, somewhere
to the westward of Greece at the boundaries of the
ocean,
Where in a lonely land and gloomy cells
The dusky nation of Cimmeria dwells j
The sun ne’er views th’ uncomfortable seats
When radiant he advances nor retreats.
Unhappy race ! whom endless night invades,
Clouds the dull air, and wraps them round in shades.
25
Another opinion entertained by the Greeks and some Under the
other nations was, that the place of departed spirits is earth,
under the earth. This opinion is frequently mentioned
in Homer, in Virgil, and alluded to by the Jewish pro¬
phets. As for the prophets, we know the circumstance
from which they borrowed it : it was borrowed from
those subterraneous vaults where their chiefs were bu¬
ried, and which have been described by modern travel¬
lers. In the sides of these caverns there is ranged a
great number of cells ; and in these cells the mighty lay
in a sort of state, with their weapons of Avar and their
swords at their head. To these kinds of Fgyptian ce¬
meteries Ezekiel alludes, Avhen he says, “ that they shall
not lie with the mighty that are fallen of the uncircuni-
cised, Avho are gone down to hell with their Aveapons of
Avar, and they have laid their swords under their head.”
And Isaiah, Avhen thus speaking of the prince of Baby¬
lon, “ Thou shalt be brought doAvn to hell, to the side?
of the pit. Hell from beneath is moved for thee, to
meet thee at thy coming ; it stirreth up the dead for
thee, even all the chief ones of the earth ; it hath raised
up from their thrones all the kings of the nations. All
the kings of the nations, even all of them, lie in glory,
eveiy one in his own house.”
Many
(o) An Historical View of the Conti'oversy concerning an Intermediate State, and the Separate Existence of
the Soul.
(p) Some Turkish ghosts are an exception, Avho use lamps or candles in their tombs, when their friends choose
to supply them with these luxuries.
(ft) The west and darkness are synonymous in Homer. Pi tptXoi, cv yxq t’ id/wr inn £o<po!, 07m na>(. {Odys.)
“ O nn friends ! which is the west, or which is the east, the place of darkness, or that of the morning, avc can¬
not learn.”
26
In hidden
receptacles
27 _
In the air.
28
In new bo¬
dies.
2P
State of
the dead
according
to some
rude na¬
tions.
3°.
According
to the E-
gyptiaus.
B L S [ yyj
iVlnnv of tlio nncicnt fathers of the church asserted
only, that the dead are now in abditis receptaculis, or
in certain hidden and concealed places.
Orpheus, Origen, and some others of the fathers,
with the ancient Caledonian bard Ossian, and the learn¬
ed Dodwell among the moderns, imagined that the soul,
when it left the body, went into tbe air, and resided
somewhere between the surface of the earth and the
moon.
'Ihose who believed in a transmigration caused the
soul at death only to enter a new body, and kept the
departed always with the living. This creed has been
found in India, in Egypt, in Mexico, and in all those
countries where picture-writing has been much used.
In this species of writing, the same picture is on fancied
analogy transferred by metaphor to signify either a god
or a man, a brure or a plant; and in those countries
where it was practised, men had usually their names
from animals, and were represented by their figure in
writing (r). From this last stage of the process, a
transmigration was easily supposed : and hence we hear
of the gods of Egypt wandering about like so many va¬
grants in brute shapes, and of princes being translated
into stars, because a star was their emblem in hierogly¬
phic, or stood for their name in figurative language.
And, in like manner, we see, from the specimen of this
character which is still preserved on celestial globes,
how the heavens at first came to be filled with bears,
scorpions, and dragons, and with a variety of other ani¬
mals.
The opinions concerning the state of the dead are
still more numerous than those concerning the place
where they reside. Rude nations have generally thought
that the future state is similar to the present 5 that
plants, animals, and inanimate things there, have their
shades: and that these contribute as much to the plea¬
sures and conveniences of the dead as their realities do
to the living j that husbands have their wives (s),
lovers their mistresses, warriors their battles, huntsmen
their sport j and that all their passions, amusements,
and business, are the same as formerly. For this rea¬
son, that the dead may not appear unprovided in the
next world, like the ancient Gauls, some tribes of In¬
dia, America, and Africa, bury with them in the same
grave their wives, their arms, their favourite animals,
and their necessary utensils.
The ancient Egyptians, who believed in transmigra¬
tion, supposed that the soul was after death obliged to
animate every species of bird and quadruped, of reptile
and insect and was not to return to a human form till
after a period of 3500 years. Others have confined
their transmigrations to particular animals, as the soul
of man to the human form, and the soul of the brute to
the bodies of the species to which it belonged. Some
have changed the brute into man, and man into the
]
RES
brute, that man might suffer injuries similar to what he Resurreo-
had inflicted, and the brute retaliate what he had suf- tiqu.
tered. Others have confined the human soul in plants ~y~~—
and in stones; and Bell of Antermony mentions an
Indian, who supposed that his ancestors might he in
fishes.
'1 he notions of Homer were probably those of many of According
his time. But these notions were dismal indeed. A\hento Homer,
his hero Ulysses visited the shades, many of the ghosts
seemed to retain the mangled and ghastly appearance
which they had at death ; and, what is worse, seemed
to be all starving with hunger, innumerable multitudes,
with loud shrieks, flocking to the steams of his slain vic¬
tim as to a most sumptuous and delicious banquet.
For scarcely had the purple torrent flow’d,
And all the caverns smok’d with streaming blood,
When, lo ! appear’d along the dusky coasts
Thin airy shoals of visionary ghosts j
lair pensive youths, and soft enamour’d maids,
And wither’d elders, pale and wrinkl’d shades.
Ghastly with wounds, the forms of warriors slain,
Stalk’d with majestic port, a martial train.
These, and a thousand more, swarm’d o’er the ground,
And all the dire assembly shriek’d around.
Ulysses saw, as ghost by ghost arose,
All wailing with unutterable woes.
Alone, apart, in discontented mood,
A gloomy shade, the sullen Ajax stood ;
For ever sad, with proud disdain he pin’d,
And the lost arms for ever stung his mind.
Upon Ulysses saying to Achilles,
Alive, we hail’d thee with our guardian gods j
And, dead, thou rul’st a king in these abodes ;
The shade replied:
Talk not of ruling in tins dol’rous gloom,
Nor think vain words (he cry’d) can ease my doom ;
Rather I choose laboriously to bear
A weight of woes, and breathe the vital air,
A SLAVE TO SOME POOR HIND THAT TOILS FOR BREAD,
Than live a scepter’d monarch of the dead.
In this gloomy region no one is rewarded for his vir¬
tue, nor is punished for his crimes, unless committed,
like those of Sisyphus, Tantalus, and Ixion, against the
gods. All indeed are classed into groups, from a cer¬
tain analogy of age, sex, fate, and disposition j but all
appear to he equally unhappy, having their whole heart
and affections concentrated in a world to which they are
fated never to return.
The Elysium of Homer is alloted only for the rela¬
tions and descendants of the gods 5 and Menelaus goes
to this country of perpetual spring (t), not as a person
of
(r) A military gentleman who resided at Penobscot during the late American war, assured us that the In¬
dians, when desired to subscribe a written agreement, drew always the picture of the object or animal whose
name they bore. But for fuller information on this subject, see Clavigero’s History of Mexico.
(s) The question which the Sadducecs put to our Saviour about the wife of the seven brothers, is a proof that
the Pharisees thought there was a marriage and giving in marriage in the future state, and that it was some¬
what similar to the present. . TT , • re- 1 . , xr , .
(t) Homer sends the ghost of Hercules to, the shades, while Hercules himself is quaffing nectar with Hebe in
v y & 5 E a in
RES
[ 772 1
32
Becomes a
place of re
wards and
punish¬
ments.
33
These at
physical
distinc
lions;
Kesmrec- of superior merit, but because he had married the daugh-
tion. ter of Jove.
  > Even long after a future state had become the scene
of rewards and punishments, these for the most part
were distributed, not according to moral, but pbysica
distinctions. With the Greeks and Romans, the soul
was condemned to many calamities for a number ot
years, if the body was not honoured with funeral rites.
Amon"- the Scandinavians, a natural death was attend¬
ed with infamy, while a violent death, particularly m
battle, gave a title to sit in the halls ot Odm, and to
quaff beer from the skulls of enemies. Among the
Tlascalans, it was only the great that were permitted
to animate birds and the nobler quadrupeds j the lower
ranks were transformed into weasels, into paultry
These at beetles, and such mean animals. Among the Mexicans,
first distri- those who were drowned, who died ot a dropsy, tu-
buted ac- mors, or wounds, or such like diseases, went along u it 1
cording to t|ie cb;idren that had been sacrificed to the god of wa-
ter, and in a cool and delightful place were allowed to
induh/e in delicious repasts and varieties ol pleasures ,
those who died of other diseases, were sent to the north
or centre of the earth, and were under the dominion ol
the gods of darkness. “ The soldiers, who died in
battle, or in captivity among their enemies, and the
women who died in labour, went to the bouse of the
sun, who was considered as the prince of glory. In ins
mansions they led a life of endless delight. Every day
the soldiers, on the first appearance of his rays, bailed
his birth with rejoicings and with dancings, and the
music of instruments and voices. At his meridian they
met with the women, and in like festivity accompanied
* Clav^e- llim t0 hls setting. After four years of this glorious life,
ro's Hut. o/thev went to animate clouds, and birds of beautiful tea-
Mexico, thers and of sweet song j but always at libeity to use
again, if they pleased," to heaven, or descend to the
earth, to warble their songs, and to suck flowers .”
These sentiments of a future state, conceived in a sa¬
vage and a rude period, could not long prevail among
an enlightened and civilized people. When the times
of rapine and violence therefore began to cease j when
societies regulated by certain laws began to be establish¬
ed *, when martial protvess was less requisite, and the
qualities of the heart had begun to give an importance
to the character, the future state was also modelled on
a different plan. In the iEneid of Virgil, an author
of a highly cultivated mind, and ol polished manners,
it becomes a place of the most impartial and uneinng
justice ; every one now receives a sentence suited to the
actions of his' past life, and a god is made to preside in
judgment;
vol. vi.
P- 136-
34
and after¬
wards ac¬
cording to
moral di¬
stinctions.
Who hears and judges each committed crime,
Inquires into the manner, place and time.
RES
The conscious wretch must all his acts reveal,
Loth to confess, unable to conceal,
From the first moment ot his vital breath,
To the last hour of unrepenting death.
The spirits of the dead no longer mingle together as
in the less enlightened period ot Homer ; the vicious
ars dismissed to a place of torments, the virtuous sent to
regions of bliss : indifferent characters are confined to a
limbus**, and those who are too virtuous for hell, hut
too much polluted with the stains of vice to enter hea¬
ven without preparation, are for some time detained in a
purgatory.
For there are various penances enjoin’d,
And some are hung to bleach upon the wind j
Some plung’d in waters, others purg’d in fires,
Till all the dregs are drain’d, and rust expires j
Till nothing’s left of their habitual stains,
But the pure ether of the soul remains.
When thus purified, they become fitted to receive
the rewards ot toeir past vntues, and now enter into
those regions of happiness and joy.
Bcsorrec-
tion.
jjisrrc
lion
* Or para,
disc of fool,.
35
Virgil’s
purgatory.
With ether vested, and a purple sky,
The blissful seats of happy souls below,
Stars of their own, and their own suns they know ;
Where patriots live, who, for their country’s good,
In fighting fields were prodigal of blood.
Priests of unblemish’d lives here make abode,
And poets worthy their inspiring god j
And searching wits, of more mechanic parts,
Who grac’d their age with new-invented arts :
Those" who to worth their bounty did extend ;
And those who knew that bounty to commend.
.
His hea¬
ven.
39
festal
itkde
1 Scrip-
These good men are engaged in various amusements,
according to the taste and genius of each. Orpheus is
still playing on his harp, and the warriors are still de¬
lighted with their chariots, their horses, and their
arms.
The place of torment is at some distance.
I P
1 leiati
ueave
A gaping gulf, which to the centre lies,
And twice as deep as earth is distant from the skies j
From hence are heard the groans of ghosts, the pams
Of sounding lashes, and of dragging chains.
Here, those who brother’s better claim disown,
Expel their parents, and usurp the throne
Defraud their clients, and, to lucre sold,
Sit brooding on unprofitable gold.
Who dare not give, and even refuse to lend,
To their poor kindred, or a wanting friend. .
Vast is the throng of these ; nor less the train
Of lustful youths for foul adult’ry slain.
J Hosts
37
His hell
in the skies. One soul of the hero is therefore repining with the ghosts of mortals in reg»ons
the other is enjoying all the happiness of the gods above. (See Odyssey, hook 11. ne Stable soufs to
since have improved on this hint of the poet j and men have now got rational, and'ep J t0
which sometimes a fourth one is added, as properly belonging to matter in general Homer msi^a^es, that Me^
nelaus was to be translated to Elysium without tasting death. I bis Elysium 1S 1 , , Odi/ss. vi,
of ghosts, and is described as being similar to the seat of the gods. Compare • • • J 3- J
1. 43. in the Greek.
ilosurrec-
tion.
38
]ig i>ara-
ise of
irols.
39
he state
I:the dead
11 revealed
: Scrip-
re.
40
; he nature
< heaven.
^4I
fbdl.
RES
Hosts of deserters, who their honour sold,
And basely broke their faith for bribes of gold :
All these within the dungeon’s depth remain,
Despairing pardon, and expecting pain.
[ 773 I
RES
The souls ot babes, of unhappy lovers, and some
others, seem to be placed in a paradise of fools residing
in a quarter distinct from Elysium, Tartarus, and Pur¬
gatory.
It is curious to observe, how much these ideas of a
future state differ from the vague and simple conjectures
od rude nations ; and yet from their simple and rude con¬
jectures, we can easily trace the successive changes in
the writings of Homer, Plato, and Virgil 5 and may ea¬
sily show, that those laws which different nations have
prescribed for their dead, have always borne the strong¬
est analogy to their state of improvement, their system
of opinions, and their moral attainments. Some na¬
tions, as those of India, have fancied a number of hea¬
vens and hells, corresponding to some of the principal
shades in virtue and vice j and have filled each of these
places respectively with all the scenes of happiness and
misery, which friendship and hatred, admiration, con¬
tempt, or rancour, could suggest. But having already
observed the progress of the human mind in forming the
grand and leading ideas of a future state, we mean not
to descend to the modifications which may have occurred
to particular nations, sects, or individuals.
The belief of Christians respecting futurity demands
our attention, as being founded on a different principle,
namely, on express revelations from heaven. From
many express declarations in Scripture, all Christians
seem to be agreed, that there is a heaven appointed for
the good and a hell for the wicked. In this heaven
the saints dwell in the presence of God and the uninter¬
rupted splendours of day. Those who have been wise
shine as the firmament, and those who have converted
many to righteousness as the stars. Their bodies are
glorious, immortal, incorruptible, not subject to disease,
to pain, or to death. Their minds are strangers to sor¬
row, to crying, to disappointment 5 all their desires are
presently satisfied •, while they are calling, they are an¬
swered j while they are speaking, they are heard. Their
mental faculties are also enlarged 5 they no more see
things obscurely, aud as through a cloud, but continual¬
ly beholding new wonder's and beauties in creation, are
constantly exclaiming, “ Holy, holy, holy ! is the Lord
of hosts ; worthy is he to receive glory, and honour, and
thanksgiving; and to him be ascribed wisdom, and
power, and might j for great and marvellous are his
works, and the whole universe is filled with his glory.”
Their notions of hell differ considerably. Some un¬
derstanding the Scriptures literally, have plunged the
wicked into an abyss without any bottom j have made
this gulf darker than night y have filled it with ranco¬
rous and malignant spirits, that are worse than furies ;
and have described it as full of sulphur, burning for
ever. This frightful gulf has by some been placed in
the bowels of the earth j by some in the sun j by some
in the moon ; and by some in a comet: but as the Scrip¬
tures have determined nothing on the subject, all such
conjectures are idle and groundless.
Others imagine, that the fire and sulphur are here to
be taken in a figurative sense. These suppose the tor¬
ments of hell to be troubles of mind and remorses of
conscience ; and support their opinion by observing, that Resume-
matter cannot act upon spirit ; forgetting, perhaps, that tioir.
at the resurrection the spirit is to be clothed with a bo- ' ¥
dy, and, at any rate, that it is not for man vainly to
prescribe bounds to Omnipotence.
What seems to have tortured the genius of divines Of the mid-
much more than heaven or hell, is a middle state. On die state,
this subject there being little revealed in Scripture,ani^
many have thought it incumbent upon them to supply njomi
the defect ; which they seem to have done in different it.
ways. From the Scriptures speaking frequently of tlie
dead as sleeping in their graves, those who imagine that
the powers of the mind are dependent on the body, sup¬
pose that they sleep till the resurrection, when they are
to be awakened by the trump of God, reunited to their
bodies, have their faculties restored, and their sentence
awarded.
Ibis opinion they support by what St Peter says in
the Acts, that David is not ascended into heaven } and
that this patriarch could not possibly be speaking of
himself when he said, “ Thou will not leave my soul in
hell, i. e. the place of the dead.” They observe, ?too, According
that the victory of Christ over death and the gravet0 somc a
seems to imply, that our souls are subject to their power j s,tate
and accordingly the Scripture speaks frequently of the* 15
soul’s drawing near to, of its being redeemed from, and
of its descending into, the grave j that the Psalmist,
however, declares, plainly, that when the breath of man
goeth forth, he returneth to his earth, and that very
day his thoughts perish. And should any one choose tu
consult Ecclesiastes, he will find, that the living know
that they shall die, but that the dead know not any
thing : that their love, and their hatred, and their en¬
vy, are perished j and that there is no work, nor de¬
vice, nor wisdom, nor knowledge, in the grave, whither
they are gone. ^
1 hose who believe that the soul is not for the exercise According
of its faculties dependent on the body, are upon its se-t0 otllcr*’ a
paration at death obliged to dispose of it some other way. conscious
In establishing this theory, they usually begin with at-existence,
tempting to prove, from Scripture or tradition, both its
active and separate existence j but with proofs from tra¬
dition we intend not to middle. Their arguments from
Scripture being of more value, deserve our serious con¬
sideration ; and are nearly as follow.
Abraham, they say, Isaac, and Jacob, are still living,
because Jehovah is their God, and lie, it is allowed, is
not the God of the dead, but of the living. But their
opponents reply, That this is the argument which our
Saviour brought from the writings of Moses to prove a
future resurrection of the dead ; and that any person,
who looks into the context, will see it was not meant of
a middle state. From the dead living unto God, our
Saviour infers nothing more than that they shall live at
the resurrection ; and that these gentlemen would do
well in future to make a distinction between simply liv¬
ing and living unto God : For though Abraham, Isaac,
and Jacob, be living unto God, our Saviour has assured
us that Abraham is dead, and the prophets dead.
A second argument is that glimpse which St Paul
had of Paradise about 14 years before he had written
his Second Epistle to the Corinthians. To this argu¬
ment their opponents reply, That as St Paul could not
tell whether, on that occasion, he was out of the body
or in the body, it is more than probable that the whole
was
RES [ 774 T RES
Efsun'ee- was a vision j and, at any rate, it is no prool ot a se-
tior. parate existence.
  A third argument is, St Paul’s wishing to he absent
from the body, and present with the Lord. But, say
their opponents, St Paul desired not to he unclothed, but
to be clothed upon : and as some of those who maintain
a separate existence, bring Scripture to prove that the
* Shorter body * continues united to Christ till the resurrection j
Catechism, in that case, St Paul, if he wished to be present with
the Lord, should have rather remained with his body
than left it.
A fourth argument is, the appearance of Moses and
Elias upon the mount of transfiguration. To which
their opponents reply, that these saints appeared in their
bodies *, that Elias was never divested of his body *, and
that the account which we have ol the burial ot Moses,
has led some of the ablest critics and soundest divines to
conclude, that he was likewise translated to heaven with¬
out tasting death. At any rate, say they, he might
have been raised from the dead for the very purpose of
being present at the transfiguration, as the bodies of
other saints certainly were, to bear testimony to our
Lord’s resurrection and victory over the grave.
A fifth argument is, what our Saviour said to the
thief, “ Verily I say unto thee, to-day thou shalt be
with me in paradise.” rlhe objection usually made here
is, that the expression is evidently ambiguous, and that
the sense depends entirely on the punctuation j for if the
point he placed after to-day, the meaning will be “ Ve¬
rily, even now, I tell thee, thou shalt be with me in
paradise.” But the import of paradise in this place, say
the opponents, is likewise doubtful. We learn from St
Peter’s explanation of the 16th Psalm, that our Saviour’s
soul was not to be left in hell } and we know that on
the day of his crucifixion he went not to heaven : for
after he had risen from the place of the dead, he forbade
one of the women to touch him, as he had not yet as-
• cended to the Father. Llell, therefore, and paradise,
continue they, seem to be in this passage the very same
thing, the place of the dead ; and our Saviour’s inten¬
tion,, they add, was not to go to heaven at that time,
but to show his victory over death and the grave, to
whose power all mankind had become subject by the
disobedience of their first parents.
The soul is Without pretending to enter into the merits of this
by some dispute, the ingenious Burnet, in his Theory of the
supposed to £art|,, endeavours to prove, upon the authority of the
feside in nc;ent fathers, that paradise lies between the earth and
tne air till f , i i i n i
the resur- the moon; and the learned IJodwell, on the same au-
rection. thority, has made it the common receptacle of souls till
the resurrection ; but has not told us whether or not
they are to be accountable for the actions of this sepa¬
rate existence at the latter day, or are only to be
judged according to the deeds that were done in their
46 ; bodies.
The church This notion of a common receptacle has displeased
of Rome many. The state of purgation, obscurely hinted in the
supposes a 0f Pythagoras, and openly avowed by Plato
pm^aton. Yirgil, has been adopted by the Romish divines,
who support their opinion on certain obscure passages of Resurree.
Scripture, which are always of a yielding and a waxen tiun.
nature, may easily be twisted to any hypothesis, and ' ~v J
like general lovers espouse rather from interest than
merit. 47
It has displeased others, because they are anxious that Others sup.
the righteous should have a fore-taste of their joys, and
the wicked of their torments, immediately after death, ler deatjia'
which they infer to he certainly the case from the pa-el,ters a
rable of the rich man and Lazarus (u). But to this it state oi're-
is objected, that the rich man is supposed to be in hell, an<l
the place of torments, and that this punishment °ught ^"rltsb a
not to take place on their own hypothesis till after the ct.rtajn
sentence at the resurrection. degree.
Another argument used for the intermediate state is
the vision of St John in the Apocalypse. In this vi¬
sion the Evangelist saw under the altar the souls of those
that were slain for the word of God and for the testimo¬
ny which they held. Their opponents doubt whether
these visible souls were immaterial, as St John heard
them cry with a loud voice, and saw white robes given
unto every one of them. If they had bodies, that cir-
cumstance might chance to prove a resurrection imme¬
diately after death, and so supersede the general resur¬
rection at the last day.
While such conclusions as are here drawn from the
parable and vision, say the opposers of an intermediate
conscious existence, imply that the dead are already
raised, and are now receiving the respective rewards of
their virtues and their crimes ; those who maintain an
intermediate separate existence, who speak of the body
as a prison, and of the soul as receiving an increase of
power when freed from the body, are certainly not more
than consistent with themselves, when they think that
this soul would derive an advantage from its after union
with either a new system of matter or the old one,
however much altered. Baxter, they say, who saw
the inconsistency, was dispesed to reason somewhat like
./Eneas,
O, Father ! can it be that souls sublime
Return to visit our terrestrial clime ?
Or, that the gen’rous mind, releas’d at death,
Should covet lazy limbs and mortal breath ?
In no one instance, they continue, have Christians
perhaps more apparently than in this argument wrested
the Scriptures to their own hurt; by thus rashly attempt¬
ing to accommodate the sacred doctrines of religion to a
preconceived philosophical hypothesis, they have laid
themselves open to the ridicule of deists, and have been
obliged, for the sake of consistency, either to deny or
to speak slightingly of the resurrection ; which is cer¬
tainly the surest foundation of their hope, seeing St Paul
hath assured us, that if there be no resurrection of the
dead, then they which are fallen asleep in Christ are
perished, and those who survive may eat and drink, and
act as they please, for to-morrow they die; and die, too,
never to live again.
Though this reproof may be rather severe, we are
sorry
(u) Whitby shows that this parable was conformable to the notions of the Jews at that time ; and even the
Mahometans, who believe in the resurrection of the dead, suppose likewise a state of rewards and punishments in
the grave. 1
r
B, E S
Hesurrec- s?rry to observe tliat there seems to have been some-
tiou. times too much reason for it. A certain divinef, uhose
"rwi^T "^S em‘nent» an(* whose memory we respect, ha-
Dr Watts. ving written “ An Essay towards the proof of a sepa¬
rate ^tate oi Souls between Death and the Resurrec¬
tion, and the Commencement of the Reward* of Vir¬
tue and Vice immediately after death,” has taken this
motto, Because sentence against an evil work, is not
executed speedily, therefore the heart of the sons of men
is fully set in them to do evil ” “The doctrine, he
says, of the icsurrection of the body and the consequent
states of heaven and of hell, is a guard and motive of
divine force, but it is renounced by the enemies of our
holy Christianity j and should we give up the recom¬
penses of separate souls, while the deist denies the re¬
surrection of the body, I fear, between both we should
sadly enfeeble and expose the cause of virtue, and leave
it too naked and defenceless.”
This author, who wishes much that the punishment
of crimes should follow immediately after itAVth, is of
opinion, that if heaven intended to check vice and im¬
piety in the world, it has acted unwisely, if it really has
deferred the punishment of the wicked to so late a pe¬
riod as the resurrection. “ For such, he observes, is the
weakness and folly of our natures, that men will not
be so much influenced and alarmed by distant prospects,
-aor so solicitous to prepare for an event which they
suppose to be so very far off, as they would for the same
event, if it commences as soon as ever this mortal life
expires. The vicious man will indulge his sensualities,
and lie down to sleep in death with this comfort, I
shall take my rest here for 100 or icoo years, and per¬
haps in all that space my offences may;be forgotten 5 or
let the worst come that can come, I shall have a long
sweet nap before my sorrows begin : and thus the force
of divine terrors is greatly enervated by this delay of
punishment.”
Thus far our author, who thinks that his hypothesis,
if not true, is at least expedient, and that from motives
of expediency it ought to he inculcated as a doctrine
of Scripture: but how far his reasons can he here
justified we mean not to determine ; we shall leave that
to he settled by others, reminding them only that the
distance of future rewards and puni-hments is not great¬
er on the supposition of the sleep of the soul than on
the contrary hypothesis. Every man who has but dipt
into the science of metaphysics knows, and no man
ever knew better than he who is believed to have been
the author of the work before us, that time unperceived
passes away as if in an instant; and that if the soul be
in a state void of consciousness between death and the
resurrection, the man who has lain in his grave a thou¬
sand years will appear to himself to have died in one
moment and been raised in the next. We would like¬
wise recommend to those who may henceforth be incli¬
ned to inculcate any thing as a doctrine of scripture
•75 ] a e s
merely on account of its supposed expediertey, always Rcsnijec-
to it member that Eod is above, that they are below', lion.
that he is omniscient, that they are of yesterday and ’   1
know little, that their words therefore should be wary
and few, and that they should always speak with re¬
spect of whatever concerns the Sovereign of the uni¬
verse, or relates to his government either in the natural
or moral world. For wilt thou, says the Highest, dis¬
annul my judgment j Wilt thou condemn me that thou
mayest be righteous? Shall he that contendeth with
the Almighty instruct him? He that reproveth God
let him answer it.
Il, in stating these opposite opinions, we may seem to
have favoured what lias been called the sleep of the soul,
it is not from any conviction of its truth, for there are
pai ticular texts of Scripture which appear to us to mili¬
tate against it. We are satisfied, however, that it is a
very harmless opinion, neither injurious to the rest of the
articles of the Christian faith nor to virtuous practice j
and that those who have poured forth torrents of obloquy
upon such as may have held it in simplicity and godly
sincerity, have either mistaken the doctrine which they
condemned, or been possessed by a spirit less mild than
that of the gospel (x). g
Whatever be the fate of the middle state, the resur-The resur¬
rection stands on a different basis. It is repeatedly as-rect*on re"
serted in Scripture j and those grounds on which we .
heve it are authenticated facts, which the affectation,^' ^'1
the ingenuity, and the hatred ol sceptics, have number¬
less times attempted in vain to disprove. These facts
we are now to consider, referring our readers for the
character of the witnesses, the authenticity of the gospel-
history, and the possibility of miracles, to the parts of
this work where these subjects are treated (see Miracle,
Metaphysics, Part I. chap. vii. and Religion) j or,
should more particular information be required, to the
writings of Ditton, Sherlock, and West.
Our Lord, after proving his divine mission by the
miracles which he wrought, and by the completion of
ancient predictions in which he was described, declared
that the doctrine of a resurrection was one of those
truths which lie came to announce. To show that such The poLibi-
an event was possible, he restored to life the daughter ofof ^ "
Jairus, a ruler of the synagogue, a young man of Nain s^°'vn by
who was carried out on his bier to be buried, and his°“r f>a~. •
friend Lazarus, whose body at the time was thought to sTngVeveral
have become the prey of corruption. Though the two persons
first of these miracles weie wrought in the presence of,rom t^ie
a number of witnesses, yet the last, owing to particular dead;
circumstances, produced a much greater noise amono-
the Jews. It was performed on a person seemingly of
some note, in the village of Bethany, not far from Je¬
rusalem, and in the presence of a great many persons
who from the metropolis had come to condole with
Mary and Martha. No doubts were entertained of the
reality of Lazarus’s death. Our Lord was at a distance
when
(x) Perhaps no man lias been more culpable in this respect than the celebrated Warburton, who seems at first
to have himself denied an intermediate state of conscious existence. He afterwards imagined that such a state is
supposed, though not expressly asserted, in Scripture 5 and at last lie maintained it with all the zeal and warmth
of a proselyte. To prove the sincerity of his conversion, he treated his adversaries with scurrilous nicknames,
banter, and abuse j a species of reasoning which seldom succeeds in recommending a bad cause, and which never
confers credit on one that is good.
RES
C 776 ]
RES
Rcsuitcc- tvhen lie expired, ami his body had already been lying
tion. for some days in the grave. When he came forth at
' v  the voice of our Lord, all were astonished. Those from
Jerusalem, on returning home, are impatient to relate
what they had seen *, those who heard of so memorable
an event cannot conceal it; the report reaches the ears
of the Tharisees and chief priests. They are soon made
acquainted with every circumstance •, and dreading the
issue, they think it necessary to call a council upon the
occasion, and concert the measures that ought to be
pursued in a matter which was likely to be attended
with so many and important consequences. In tins
council, it seems to be agreed, that our Lord had per¬
formed, and was still continuing to perform, many mi¬
racles : that this last miracle, as being of an extraor¬
dinary kind, would make many converts •, and that if
measures were not speedily taken to prevent these un¬
common displays of his powers, all would believe on
him ; the jealousy of the Romans would be excited, the
rulers deposed, and the nation of the Jews deprived ot
its few remaining privileges. Yet notwithstanding these
private concessions made in the council, the members
who dreaded to let their sentiments be known to the
people, affect in public to treat our Saviour as an im¬
postor. But he who had already demonstrated the ab¬
surdity of their opinions, who supposed that his miracles
were wrought by Beelzebub prince of the devils, is again
ready to confute the ridiculous assertion of those who
pretended to say that they were a deception. His friend
Lazarus was still living at the distance of only a few
miles, and many of the Jews who had gone to see him
were ready to attest the truth of the report. If the ru¬
lers, apprehending the consequences of the truth, be a-
fraid to know it, and if they are unwilling to go to Be¬
thany, or to send for Lazarus and those who were pre¬
sent at his resurrection, our Lord gives them a fair op¬
portunity of detecting his fraud, if there was any such to
be found in him. To preserve their power, and remove
the jealous suspicions of the Romans, it had been already
determined in council to put him to death*, and our Lord
foretels that the third day after his death he shall rise
from the grave. Here no place was reserved for decep¬
tion. The sect of the Pharisees and the chief priests are
openly warned and put upon their guard j and very for¬
tunately for the cause of Christianity, this singular pre¬
diction was not heard with scorn, or indeed, if with scorn,
it was only affected. We know from the sentiments ex¬
pressed in the council, that our Lord was secretly dread¬
ed by the rulers *, and that his predictions, in their pri¬
vate opinion, were not to be slighted. The means ac¬
cordingly which they employed to prevent, even in the
verv appearance, the completion of his prophecy, were
admirably calculated to remove the scruples of the most
wary and sceptical inquirers, if their object was only to
search after truth. At the next festival of the passover,
when the scheme of Caiaphas was put in execution, and
when it was deemed expedient by the council that he
should die, to save the nation from the jealousy of the
Romans ; as a proof of their steady loyalty to Rome he
was apprehended, was tried as an enemy to her govern¬
ment, was at last condemned upon false evidence, and
suspended on a cross until they were fully satisfied of his
death. Even after his death, the spear of a soldier was
thrust into his side : and the water that gushed out with
the blood is a proof to those who are acquainted with the
4
structure and economy of living bodies, that he must Resurrcd'
have been some time dead. tion.
After he was taken down from the cross, a seal was
put on the door of the sepulchre in which he was laid, ^n(j ^ov
as the best chi ck against secret fraud *, and a guard ol au ^
soldiers was stationed around it, as the best security own resar-
against open violence. In spite, however, of all these action,
precautions, the prediction was accomplished *, the an¬
gel of Cod, descending from heaven with a counte¬
nance like lightning, and with raiment white as snow *,
the watch shake, and become as dead men $ the earth
quakes ; the stone is rolled from the mouth of the se¬
pulchre ; the angel sits on it, and our Lord comes
forth.
It was in vain for the Jews to allege that his disciples
came in the night, and stole him away, while the watch
were asleep. One must smile at these puerile assertions.
How came the disciples to know that the watch were
asleep j or what excuse had the watch for sleeping, and
incurrin^li punishment which they knew to be capital in
the Roman law *, and how came they, in the name of
wonder, to be brought as an evidence for those transac¬
tions that happened at the time when they were asleep ?
Whatever credit mav be given by modern infidels to
this ill-framed story, it is past dispute that it had none
among the Jewish rulers at the time that it was current.
Not long after our Saviour’s resurrection, the apostles
were called before the council, and threatened with death
for teaching in the name of Jesus. Their boldness upon
that occasion was so provoking to the rulers, that the
threat would have been instantly put in execution, had not
Gamaliel, a doctor of the law, of high reputation, put
them in mind of other impostors who had perishe d in their
attempts to mislead the people ; and concluded a very
sensible speech with these remarkable words : “ And
now, I say unto you, refrain from those men, and let
them alone j for if this counsel, or this work, be. of men,
it will come to nought 5 but if it be of God, ye cannot
overthrow it, lest haply ye be found even to fight against
God.” This advice the council followed. But is it
possible that Gamaliel could have given it, or the coun¬
cil paid the least regard to it, had the story of the dis¬
ciples stealing the body been then credited ? Surely some
among them would have observed, that a work or coun¬
sel, founded on imposture and fraud, could not be suppo¬
sed to be of God, and they would unquestionably have
slain the apostles.
The story of stealing the body is indeed one ot the
most senseless fictions that ever was invented in suppert
of a bad cause. Our Lord was on the earth 40 days atter
he arose. He appeared frequently to his disciples. He
ate and drank in their presence *, and when some of them
doubted, he bade them handle him and see that he was
not a spectre, showed the mark of the spear in his side,
and the prints ol the nails in his teet and hands. Besides
thus appearing to his disciples, he was seen by more than
500 brethren at one time j all of whom, as well as his
disciples, must necessarily have known him previous to
his suffering, and could therefore attest that he was the
person who was once dead, but was then alive. A et for
strangers in general, who had not seen him previous to
his death, and could not therefore identify his person af¬
ter he arose, our Lord reserved many other proofs that
were equally convincing. Before his ascension, be bade
his disciples wait till they received power, by the Holy
Ghost
RES
Rcsurrec- Ghost descending upon them : That then they should be
tion. witnesses with him, both in Jerusalem, and in all Judea,
— * “ and in Samaria, and unto the uttermost ends of the earth;
in order that the people of all these nations, observing
the miracles wrought in his name, might themselves
become ocular witnesses that those who preached his
resurrection were warranted to do so by his authority ;
* and that this authority, on which so numerous miracles
ji attended, must be divine.
Minute ob- We intend not here to examine the minute objections
ecjioa-* and cavils that have been advanced respecting the truth
'avils™ t'l*s important fact. The kinds, however, we shall
mention in general. Some have doubted of our Lord’s
resurrection, as being an event which is not confirmed
by general experience, because they imagine that what
happens once should happen again, and even repeatedly,
in order to be true. Some, taking their own to be pre*
ferable schemes, have objected to the way in which it
happened, and to the manner in which it is narrated.—
Some have imagined, that possibly the gospel history
may be false j that possibly the disciples were very ig¬
norant, and might he deceived j that possibly, too, they
were deep politicians, and a set of impostors *, and that
possibly the writings which detected their falsehoods may
have been destroyed. It is difficult to reason, and worse
to convince, against this evidence of possibilities : but
we flatter ourselves, that to the candid reader it will
appear sufficiently overturned in our article Miracle;
where it is shown that neither clowns nor politicians
could have acted the part that was acted by the apostles,
had not the resurrection been an undoubted fact.
Some of the objectors to it have also maintained, that
possibly there is nothing material without us, that there
is nothing mental within us, and that possibly the whole
world is ideas. This mode of arguing we pretend not to
explain ; it is thought by some to proceed entirely from
a perverseness of mind or disposition, while in books of
medicine it is always considered as a symptom of disease,
and the patient recommended to be treated in the hos-
-2 pital, and not in the academy,
mportance By his raising others, and particularly by rising him-
l the doo- se]f? from the dead, our Saviour demonstrated that a re¬
surrection from the dead is possible. And on that au¬
thority, which by his miracles he proved to be divine,
he declared to his followers, that there is to be a gene¬
ral resurrection both of the just and of the unjust, in¬
structing his disciples to propagate this doctrine through
all nations ; St Paul confessing, that if there be no re¬
surrection of the dead, preaching is vain, and our faith
is vain.
As to the order of succession ill which the dead are to
be raised, the Scriptures are almost silent. St Paul says,
ead arc eve,T man r‘se *n his own order, and that the
e raised. ° dead in Christ are to rise first: and St John observed in
his vision, that the souls of them which were beheaded
for the witness of Jesus, and for the word ol God, and
■which had not worshipped the beast, neither his image,
[ 777 ]
RES
rine of a
esurrec-
ion.
)f the or-
er in
diieh the
neither had received his mark upon their foreheads, or Resnrrcc-
in their hands, lived and reigned with Christ a thousand tion.
years ; but the rest of the dead lived not again until the v y--—'
thousand years (y) were finished.
A question that has much oftener agitated the minds withlvhat
of men is, with what sort of bodies are the dead to be bodies they
raised? St Paul has answered, with incorruptible and hball rise,
immortal bodies (z). And to silence the disputatious
caviller ol his day, he illustrated his doctrine by the
growth of grain. “ Thou fool (said he), that which thou
sowest, thou sowest not that body that shall be, but bare
grain, it may chance of wheat or of some other grain.”
To us it appears very surprising, that any one who reads
this passage with the slightest attention, should perplex
himself, or disturb the church with idle attempts to
prove the identity of the bodies with which we shall die
and rise again at the last day. The apostle expressly
affirms, that “ flesh and blood cannot inherit the king¬
dom of God ; that we shall all be changed, in a moment,
in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump ; that there
are celestial bodies and bodies terrestrial; and that the
glory of the celestial is one, and the glory of the terres¬
trial another.”
That this implies a total change of qualities, will ad¬
mit of no dispute ; but still it has been considered as an
article of the Christian faith, that we are to rise with the
same bodies in respect of substance. What is meant by
the identity of substance, with qualities wholly different,
it is not very easy to conceive. Perhaps the meaning
may be, that our incorruptible bodies shall consist of the
same material particles with our mortal bodies, though
these particles will be differently arranged to produce
the different qualities. But as the particles of our pre¬
sent bodies are constantly changing, and as different par¬
ticles compose the body at different times, a question has
been put, With what set of particles shall we rise ? Here
a singular variety of opinions have been held. Some* * Leibnitz*
contend, that we shall rise with the original stamina of
our bodies derived from our parents ; some are for rising
with that set of particles which they had at birth ; some
with the set which they are to have at death ; and some
with the particles which remain after maceration in wa¬
ter f ; though, God knows, that if this maceration he t Uody.
continued long, these may arise with few or no particles
at all. Another query has given much alarm. What
if any of these particles should enter a vegetable, com¬
pose its fruit, and be eaten by a man, woman, or a child ?
Will not a dispute, similar to that apprehended by the
Sadduceesabout thewifeof the seven brothers, necessarily
follow, whose particles are they to be at the resurrection?
Against this confusion, they trust that the goodness and
wisdom of heaven will take all the proper and necessary
measures ; and they even venture to point out a way in
which that may be done. A foot deep of earth, they
observe, in two or three of the counties of England, sup¬
posing each person to weigh on an average about seven
stones and a few pounds, would amply supply with ma¬
terial
(Y) These thousand years formed the happy millenium so often mentioned in the ancient fathers ; and the learn¬
ed Burnet, in his Theory of the Earth, has endeavoured to prove, that a similar notion prevailed amopg the
Jews. See Millenium. ... . *i *
(z) Our Saviour rose with the same body, both as to substance and qualities ; because it was necessary that
his person should be known and identified after his resurrection.
"^Vol. XVII. Part II. f - J F
n e s
Res- ircc- tonal bodies 600,000,000 of souls for no less a space
tion than 20,000 years*; and therefore tliere seems to be
v—v ' n0 necessity for the vamping up of their old materials
Ju's'ne'ur to lodge and accommodate new souls. .
rectum of But unluckily here, the question is not about the
the mme possibility of keeping the particles of different bodies se-
hodif assert parate and distinct. The question is rather, What have
eri- the Scriptures determined on the subject ? Now the
Scriptures say, that the spirit returns unto God who
gave it. And should it be asked, in what place does he
reserve it till the resurrection ? the Scriptures reply, in
the place of the dead ; because the soul descends into
the pit, is redeemed from the grave ; and the sting of
death, the last enemy that is to be destroyed, shall be
taken away when the trumpet of God shall sound: at
which time the dead that sleep in their graves shall
awake, shall hear the voice, and shall come forth.
There is not here so much as a word concerning the
body ; and therefore it was asked with what bodies
are the dead to be raised ? To which it was answered,
the vile body is to be changed. The body which is, is
not the body which shall be ; for the incorruptible must
pit on incorruption, and that which is mortal, put on
immortality.
This curious discovery of the sentiments of Scripture
we owe to a layman, the celebrated Locke ; who, in
one of his controversies with the bishop of AN orcester,
came to understand what he knew not before, namely,
that nowhere have the Scriptures spoken of the resur¬
rection ol the same body in the sense in which it is usu¬
ally conceived. The resurrection of the same person is
Indeed promised; and how that promise may be fulfilled,
notwithstanding the constant change of the particles of
the body, has been showm in another place. See ME¬
TAPHYSICS, Part III. Chap. iii.
The advocates, therefore, for the resurrection of the
mortal body, have again been obliged to betake them¬
selves to the shifts of reasoning. It is proper, say they,
that the same bodies which have been accomplices in
our vices and virtues, should also share in our rewards
and punishments. Now, granting they will, shall one
set of particles be bound for the crimes, or he entitled
to receive the rewards, of the animal system, from its first
commencement to its dissolution ? or shall every particle
rise up successively, and receive its dividend of rewards
and punishments for the vices and virtues that belonged
to the system during the time that they were in union
with the sentient principle P and is the hand that fell in
defending a father to be (as is supposed in some of the
eastern countries) rewarded in heaven; while the other
that struck him when the son became vicious, is dis¬
missed into torments;
Finding this hypothesis supported by neither Scrip¬
ture nor reason, they next appeal to the ancient fathers.
And they, it is confessed, are for the resurrection of
the very same flesh. But this notion is directly con¬
trary to the Scriptures, which have said, that flesh and
blood are not to inherit the kingdom of God.
State after But whatever be the bodies with which the dead are
the resur- to be raised at the general resurrection, all mankind must
rection. appear in judgment, and receive sentence according to
the deeds done in the body, without regard, so far as we
know, to their actions and conduct in the middle state.
After this sentence, the righteous are to enter into ce-
jtstial and eternal joys, and the wicked to suffer the pu¬
ll E T
nishments of hell. These punishments some have sup- Rcsun-f*.
posed to be everlasting; others think, that after some tion
temporary punishment, the souls of the wicked are to be ^
annihilated ; and others imagine, that after doing pur- > ‘ *
gatorial penance for a while in hell, they are to he again
received into favour ; inclining to explain the denun¬
ciation of the Almighty as a child would do the threat-
enings of his mother, or a lover the affected chidings of
his mistress.
RESUSCITATION, the same with resurrection
and revivification. See the preceding article and Re-
animation.
The term resuscitation, however, is more particular¬
ly used by chemists for the reproducing a mixed body
from its ashes ; an art to which many have pretended,
as to reproduce plants, &c. from their ashes.
RETAIL, in Commerce, is the selling of goods in
small parcels, in opposition to wholesale. See COM¬
MERCE.
RETAINER, a servant who does not continually
dwell in the house of his master, hut only attends upon
special occasions.
RETAINING FEE, the first fee given to a serjeant
or counsellor at law, in order to make him sure, and
prevent his pleading on the contrary side.
RETALIATION, among civilians, the act of re¬
turning like for like.
RETARDATION, in Physics, the act of diminish¬
ing the velocity of a moving body. See GUNNERY,
Mechanics, Pneumatics, and Projectiles.
RETE MIRABILE, in Anatomy, a small plexus or
network of vessels in the brain, surrounding the pitui¬
tary gland.
RETENTION is defined by Mr Locke to he, a fa¬
culty of the mind, whereby it keeps or retains those sim¬
ple ideas it has once received, by sensation or reflection.
See Metaphysics, Part I. Chap. ii.
Retention, is also used, in medicine, &c. for the
state of contraction in the solids or vascular parts of
the body, which makes them hold fast their proper con¬
tents. In this sense, retention is opposed to evacua¬
tion and excretion.
RETICULA, or Reticule, in Astronomy, a con¬
trivance for measuring very nicely the quantity of eclip¬
ses, &c. This instrument, which was introduced by
the Academy of Sciences at Paris, is a little frame
composed of 13 fine silken threads, parallel to, and at
equal distances from each other, placed in the focus of
object glasses of telescopes; that is, in the place where
the image of the luminary is painted in its full extent.
The diameter of the sun or moon is of consequence thus
seen divided into 12 equal parts or digits; so that, in
order to ascertain the quantity of the eclipse, there is
nothing more to do than to number the parts that are
dark, or that are luminous.
As a square Reticule is only proper for the diameter
of the luminary, not for the circumference of it, it is
sometimes made circular, by drawing six concentric,
equidistant circles, which perfectly represents thf phases
of the eclipse.
But it is obvious that whether the Reticule be square
or circular, it should be perfectly equal to the diameter
or circumference of the sun or star, such as it appears in
the focus of the glass; otherwise the division cannot
be ust. Another imperfection in the Reticule is, that
its
r 778 i
It E T t 7
Rcllcala it4 magnitude is determined by that of the image in the
|| focus, and of course it will only fit one particular masr-
Reticuhen. nitU(le,
But a remedy for these inconveniences lias been found
out by M. de la Hire, who contrived that the same Re¬
ticule may serve for all telescopes, and all magnitudes
of the luminary in the same eclipse. Two object glasses
applied against each other, having a common focus, and
these forming an image of a certain magnitude, this
image will increase in proportion as the distance be¬
tween the two glasses is increased, as far as to a certain
limit. If therefore a Reticule betaken of such a magni¬
tude, as just to comprehend the greatest diameter the
sun or moon can ever have in the common focus of two
object glasses applied to each other, it is only necessary
to remove them from each other, as the star comes to
have a less diameter, to have the image still exactly
comprehended in the same Reticule.
As the silken threads are apt to deviate from the pa¬
rallelism, See. by the diflerent temperature of the air,
another improvement is, to make the Reticule of a thin
looking glass, by drawing lines or circles upon it with
the fine point of a diamond.
RETICULAR BODY (corpus reticulare'), in Anato¬
my, a very fine membrane, perforated, in the manner
of a net, with a multitude of foramina. It is placed
immediately under the cuticle j and when that is sepa¬
rated from the cutis, whether by art or accident, this
adheres firmly to it, and is scarce possible to he parted
from it, seeming rather to be its inner superficies than
a distinct substance. In regard to this, we are to ob¬
serve, first, the places in which it is found, being all
those in which the sense of feeling is most acute, as in
the palm of the hands, the extremities of the fingers,
and on the soles of the feet. The tongue, however, is
the part where it is most accurately to be observed: it
is more easily distinguishable there than anywhere else,
and its nature and structure are most evidently seen
there.
Its colour in the Europeans is white •, but in the ne¬
groes and other black nations it is black } in the tawney
it is yellowish j the skin itself in both is white} and the
blackness and yellowness depend altogether on the co¬
lour of this membrane.
The uses of the corpus reticulare are to preserve the
structure of the other parts of the integuments, and
keep them in their determinate form and situation. Its
apertures give passage to the hairs and sweat through
the papilla: and excretory ducts of the skin : it retains
these in a certain and determinate order, that they can¬
not be removed out of their places, and has some share
in preserving the softness of the papilla:, which renders
them fit for the sense of feeling. See Anatomy, N*
83.
RETICULUM, is a Latin word, signifying a little
or casting net. It was applied by the Romans to a par¬
ticular mode of constructing their buildings. In the
city of Salino (see Salino) are still to be seen remains
of some walls, evidently of Roman origin from the reti¬
culum. This structure consists of small pieces ot baked
earth cut lozengewise, and disposed with great regulari¬
ty on the angles, so as to exhibit to the eye the appear¬
ance of cut diamonds 5 and was called reticular, from its
resemblance to fishing-nets. 'I he Romans always con¬
cealed it under a regular coating ol other matter j and
9 ] RET
Mr Ilouel inlorms us, that this was the only specimen Rccileulum
ot it which he saw in all bis travels through Sicily, |i
Malta, and Lipari. It appears to be the remains of Ketiie-
some baths, which have been built for the convenience n‘tlil:’
of sea-bathing. H ^
RET I MO, the ancient Rhitymnia of Stephen the
geographer, and called by Ptolemy Rhitymna, is a fine
city, lying at one end of a rich and fertile plain, on the
north coast of the island of Candia. It is but a small
place, containing scarce 6000 inhabitants j but it is a
bishop’s see, and the harbour is defended by a citadel,
where a bashaw resides. It was taken by the Turks
in 1647, and has been in their hands ever since. It is
about 45 miles from Candia. E. Long. 24. 45. N. Lat.
35; ,22.
The citadel, which stands on a rock jutting out into
the sea, would be sufficient for the defence of the city,
were it not situated at the foot of a high hill, from
which it might be cannonaded with great advantage.
Ihe harbour is now almost filled with sand, and is no
longer accessible to shipping $ nor do the Turks in any
measure oppose the ravages of time, but behold with a
careless eye the most valuable works in a state of ruin.
The French had formerly a vice-consul at Retimo, to
which ships used to repair for cargoes of oil ; but they
have been long unable to get into the harbour : to re¬
pair which, however, and to revive the commerce of
Retimo, would be a most useful attempt. The plains
around the city abound in a variety of productions.
Great quantities of oil, cotton, saffron, and wax, are
produced here j and they would be produced in still
greater quantities if the inhabitants could export their
commodities. The gardens of Retimo bear the best
fruits in the island; excellent pomegranates, almonds,
pistachio nuts, and oranges. The apricot-tree, bearing
the michmich, the juice of which is so delicious, and its
flavour so exquisite, is found here. It is a kind of
early peach, but smaller and more juicy than those of
France.
RETINA, in Anatomy, the expansion of the optic
nerves over the bottom of the eye, where the sense of"
vision is first received. See Anatomy, N° 142. and
Optics (Index) at Eye and Vision.
RETINUE, the. attendants or followers of a prince
or person of quality, chiefly in a journey.
RETIRADE, in fortification, a kind of retrench¬
ment made in the body of a bastion, or other work,
which is to be disputed, inch by inch, after the defences
are dismantled. It usually consists of two faces, which
make a re-entering angle. When a breach is made in
a bastion, the enemy may also make a retirade or new
fortification behind it.
RETIREMENT, means a private way of life or a
secret habitation, “ Few (says an elegant writer) are Dr Knox.
able to bear solitude ; and though retirement is the os¬
tensible object of the greater part, yet, when they are
enabled bv success to retire, they feel themselves un¬
happy. Peculiar powers and elegance of mind are ne¬
cessary to enable us to draw all our resources from our¬
selves. In a remote and solitary village the mind must
be internally active in a great degree, or it will be mi¬
serable for want of employment. But in great and
populous cities, even while it is passive, it will be con¬
stantly amused. It is impossible to walk the streets,
without finding the attention powerfully solicited on
£ F 2 every
RET
Retire¬
ment,
lletort.
overy side. No exertion is necessary
themselves into the senses, and it would be difbcu t to
prevent their admittance. But, in retirement, there
' must be a spirit of philosophy and a store of learning,
or else the fancied scenes of bliss will vanish like the co¬
lours of the rainbow. Poor Cowley might be said to. be
melancholy mad. He languished for solitude, and wish¬
ed to hide himself in the wilds of America. But, alas,
he was not able to support the solitude of a country vi -
lage within a few miles of the metropolis.
“ With a virtuous and cheerful family, with a tew
faithful and good-humoured friends, with a well-select¬
ed collection of elegant books, and with a competency,
one may enjoy comforts even in the deserted v.l age,
which the city, with all its diversions, cannot supply.
RETORT, in Chemistry, an oblong or globular ves¬
sel of glass or porcelain, with its neck bent, proper for
distillation. . p r
In the fifth volume of the Transactions of the Con¬
don Society for the Encouragement of Arts, p. 96. we
find a paper containing a method for preventing stone
retorts from breaking •, or stopping them when crack¬
ed during any chemical operation- without losing any
of’the contained subject. “ I have always found it ne¬
cessary (says the writer) to use a previous coating for
filling up the interstices of the earth or stone, wh.ch is
made by dissolving two ounces of borax in a pint of
boiling water, and adding to the solution as much sla¬
ked lime as will make it into a thin paste *, this, with a
common painter’s brush, maybe spread over several re¬
torts, which when dry are then ready for the proper
preserving coating. The intention of this first coating
is, that the substances thus spread over, readily vitrify¬
ing in the fire, prevent any of the distilling matters from
pervading the retort, but do in nowise prevent it from
“ Whenever I want to use any of the above coated
retorts j after I have charged them with the substance
to be distilled, I prepare a thin paste, made with com¬
mon linseed oil and slaked lime well mixed, and perfect¬
ly plastic, that it may be easily spread : with this let
the retorts be covered all over except that part of the
neck which is to be inserted into the receiver ; this is
readily done with a painter’s brush : the coating will
be sufficiently dry in a day or two, and they will then
be fit for use. With this coating I have for several
years worked my stone retorts, without any danger of
their breaking, and have frequently used the same re¬
tort four or five times •, observing particularly to coat
it over with the last-mentioned composition every time
it is charged with fresh materials : Before I made use
of this expedient, it was an even chance, in conducting
operations in stone and earthen retorts, whether they
did not crack every time j by which means great loss
has been sustained. If at any time during the opera¬
tion the retorts should crack, spread some of the oil
composition thick on the part, and sprinkle some pow¬
der of slaked lime on it, and it immediately stops the
fissure, and prevents any of the distilling matter from
pervading •, even that subtile penetrating substance the
solid phosphorus will not penetrate through it. It may
be applied without any danger, even when the retort is
red hot *, and when it is made a little stiffer, is more
proper for luting vessels than any other I ever have
tried : because if properly mixed it will never crack,
3
[ <780 ] RET
Objects pour nor will it indurate so as to endanger the breaking the
“ ' necks of the vessels when taken off.”
RETRACTS, among horsemen, pricks in a horse’s
feet, arising from the fault of the farrier in driving nails
that are weak, or in driving them ill-pointed, or other¬
wise amiss.
RETREAT, in a military sense. An army or body
of men are said to retreat when they turn their backs
upon the enemy, or are retiring from the ground they
occupied : hence every march in withdrawing from the
enemy is called a retreat. .
That which is done in sight of an active enemy, who
pursues with a superior force, is the most impoitant part
of the subject •, and is, with reason, looked upon as the
glory of the profession. It is a manoeuvre the most de¬
licate, and the properest to display the prudence, genius,
courage, and address, of an officer who commands :
the historians of all ages testify it •, and historians have
never been so lavish of eulogiums as on the subject of
the brilliant retreats of our heroes. If it is important,
it is no less difficult to regulate, on account of the va¬
riety of circumstances, each of which demands different
principles, and an almost endless detail. Hence a good
retreat is esteemed, by experienced officers, the master¬
piece of a general. He should therefore be well ac¬
quainted with the situation of the country through
which he intends to make it, and careful that nothing
is omitted to make it safe and honourable. See War.
Retreat, is also a beat of the drum, at the firing
of the evening gun ; at which the drum-major, with all
the drums of the battalion, except such as are upon du¬
ty, beats from the camp-colours on the right to those
on the left, on the parade of encampment: the drums
of all the guards beat also *, the trumpets at the same
time sounding at the head of their respective troops.
This is to warn the soldiers to forbear firing, and the
centinels to challenge, till the break of day that the
reveille is beat. The retreat is likewise called setting
the watch. .
RETRENCHMENT literally signifies something
cut off or taken from a thing •, in which sense it is the
same with subtraction, diminution, &c. .
Retrenchment, in the art of war, any kind of
work raised to cover a post, and fortify it against the
enemy, such as fascines loaded with earth, gabions,
barrels of earth, sand-bags, and generally all things that
can cover' the men and stop the enemy. See Iortifi-
cation and War.
RETRIBUTION, a handsome present, gratuity, or
acknowledgement, given instead of a formal salary or
hire, to persons employed in affairs that do not so imme¬
diately fall under estimation, nor within the ordinary
commerce in money.
RETROMINGENTS, in Natural History, a class
or division of animals, whose characteristic is, that they
stale or make water backwards, both male and fe-
^^lETURN {returna or re tor mi), in Law, is used in
divers senses. 1. Return of writs by sheriffs and bailiffs
is a certificate made by them to the. court, of what they
have done in relation to the execution of the writ di¬
rected to them. This is wrote on the back of the writ
by the officer, who thus sends the writ back to the
court from whence it issued, in order that it may be
filed. 2. Return of a commission, is a certificate or an¬
swer
RET
Return,
Retusari.
swer sent to the court from whence the commission issues,
concerning what has been done by the commissioners.
3* Returns, or days in bank, are certain days in each
term, appointed for the return of writs, &c. Thus Hil¬
lary term has four returns, viz. in the king’s-bench, on
the day next after the octave, or eighth day after Hil¬
lary day ; on the day next after the fifteenth day from
St Hillary 5 on the day after purification ; and on the
next after the octave of the purification. In the com¬
mon pleas, in eight days of St Hillary : from the day
of St Hillary, in fifteen days: on the day after the pu¬
rification : in eight days of the purification. Easter
term has five returns, viz. in the king’s bench, on the
day next after the fifteenth day from Easter: on tl day
next after the three weeks from Easter: on day
next after one month from Easter: on the day next af¬
ter five weeks from Easter : and on the day next after
the day following ascension-day. In the common pleas,
in fifteen days from the feast of Easter: in three weeks
from the feast of Easter : in one month from Easter
day : in five weeks from Easter day : on the day after
the ascension-day. Trinity term has four returns, viz.
on the day following the second day after Trinity : on
the day following the eighth day after Trinity : on the
day next after the fifteenth day from Trinity : on the
day next after three weeks from Trinity. In the com¬
mon pleas, on the day after Trinity : in eight days of
Trinity: in fifteen days from Trinity : in three weeks
from Trinity. Michaelmas term has six returns, viz.
on the day next after three weeks from St Michael : on
the day next after one month of St Michael: on the
day following the second day after All-souls : on the
day next after the second day after St Martin: on the
day following the octave of St Martin : on the day next
after fifteen days of St Martin. In the common pleas,
in three weeks from St Michael : in one month from
St Michael: on the day after All-souls: on the day af¬
ter St Martin : on the octave of St Martin : in fifteen
days from St Martin. It is to be observed, that, as in
the king’s-bench, all returns are to be made on some
particular day of the week in each term, care must be
taken not to make the writs out of that court returnable
on a non-judicial day ‘7 such as Sunday, and All-saints,
in Michaelmas term, the purification in Hillary, the as-
’ cension in Easter, and Midsummer-day, except it should
fail on the first day of Trinity term.
Returns, in a military sense, are of various sorts,
but all tending to explain the state of the army, regi¬
ment, or company j namely, how many capable of do¬
ing duty, on duty, sick in quarters, barracks, infirmary,
or hospital 5 prisoners, absent with or without leave 7
total effective $ wanting to complete the establishment,
&c.
RETUSARI, an island in Russia, is a long slip of
n-esIVa-tand, or rather sand, through the middle of which runs
'k into a ridge of granite. It is 20 miles from Petersburg by
water, four from the shore of Ingria, and nine from the
coast of Carelia. It is about 10 miles in circumference,
and was overspread with firs and pines when Petei fiist
conquered it from the Swedes. It contains at present
about 30,000 inhabitants, including the sailors and gai-
rison, the former of whom amount to about 12,000,
the latter to 1500 men. The island aflords a small
quantity of pasture, produces vegetables, and a few
t 781 ]
REV
fruits, such as apples, currants, gooseberries, and straw- Hetusari
berries, which thrive in this northern climate. !l
RETZ, Cardinal de. See Gondi. Rcve‘ation;
RETZIA, a genus of plants belonging to the pent-
andria class, and to the 29th natural order, Campana-
ccce. See Botany Index.
RETULINGEN, a handsome, and formerly a free
and imperial town of Germany, in the kingdom of
Wirtemberg ; seated in a plain on the river Eschez,
near the Neckar, adorned with handsome public build¬
ings, and has a well frequented college. E. Long. 9.
IO. N. Lat. 48. 31.
REVE, Reeve, or Greve, the bailiff of a franchise,
or manor, thus called, especially in the west of England.
Hence shire-reeve, sheriff, port-greve, &c.
REVEILLE, a beat of drum about break of day,
to give notice that it is time for the soldiers to arise, and
that the sentries are to forbear challenging.
REVEL, a port town of Livonia, situated at the
south entrance of the gulf of Finland, partly in a plain
and partly on a mountain ; 133 miles south-west of
Petersburg. It is a place of great trade, and holds
two fairs yearly, which are visited by merchants from
all countries, but particularly by those of England and
Holland. It is a strong place, with a capital harbour,
and had 10,600 inhabitants about 1796. It is sur¬
rounded with high walls and deep ditches, and defend¬
ed by a castle. It was confirmed to the Swedes at
the peace of Oliva, conquered by Peter the Great in
1710, and ceded to Russia in 1721. The conquest
of it was again attempted by the Swedes in 1790.
The duke of Sudermania, with the Swedish fleet, at¬
tempted to can-y the harbour } but after an obstinate
engagement with the Russian fleet, he was obliged
to give it up 7 but it was but for a very short while.
He retired about 10 leagues from the harbour, to re¬
pair the damage his fleet had sustained, and to pre¬
pare for a second attack before any relief could be af¬
forded to the Russian fleet. As soon as he had refitted,
he sailed for the harbour, at a league distant from
which the Russian fleet was discovered, ready to dispute
with the Swedes the entrance. Upon a council being
held by the duke, it was resolved to attack the Rus¬
sians *, and the signals being given, the fleet bore down
for the attack, which was maintained for near six hours
with the utmost fury: at length the Swedes broke the
Russian line, which threw them into much confusion ;
when the Swedes, taking the advantage of the general
confusion into which the Russians were thrown, follow¬
ed them with their whole force into the harbour, where
the conflict and carnage were dreadful on both sides,
though the Swedes certainly bad the worst of it j but at
the same time their skill and bravery are indisputable.
This valuable place was again confirmed to Russia by
the peace. The government of Revel or Esthonia is
one of the divisions of the Russian empire, containing
five districts. 1. Revel, on the Baltic sea. 2. Baltic-
port, about 40 versts westward from Revel. 3. Habsal,
or Hapsal, a maritime town. 4. Weissenstein, on the
rivulet Saida, about 80 versts from Revel. 5. Wesen-
berg, about 100 versts from Revel, at about an equal
distance from that town and Narva.
REVELATION, the act of revealing, or making
a thing public that was before unknown } it is also used
for,
REV
t 782 ]
REV
Revelation, for the discoveries made by God to his prophets, and by
them to the world; and more particularly lor the books
of the Old and New Testament. See Bible, Chris¬
tianity, Miracle, Ueligion, and Theology.
The principal tests of the truth of any revelation, are
the tendency of its practical doctrines ; its consistency
with itself, and with the known attributes of God ; and
some satisfactory evidence that it cannot have been de¬
rived from a human source.
Before any man can receive a written book as a reve¬
lation from God, he must be convinced that God exists,
and that he is possessed of almighty power, infinite wis¬
dom, and perfect justice. Now should a book teaching
absurd or immoral doctrines (as many chapters ot the
Koran do, and as all the traditionary systems ot Pagan
dence that any traditional revelation is of divine origi-Revelation
nal, in the words we receive it, and the sense we under- jj
stand it, so clear and so certain as that of the principles , tCY<'nue,|
of reason : and, therefore) nothing that is contrary to
the clear and self-evident dictates ot reason, has a right
to be urged or assented to as a matter ot taith, wherein
reason has nothing to do.
Revelation of St Joim. See Apocalypse.
REVELS, entertainments of dancing, masking, act¬
ing comedies, farces, See. anciently very frequent in the
inns of court and in noblemen’s houses, but now much
disused. The officer who has the direction of the revels
at court is called the Master of the Revels.
REVENGE, means the return of injury for injury,
and differs materially trom that sudden resentment which
rises in the mind immediately on being injured ; which.
in.1 so i-arfrom being culpable when restained within due
farther examination than what is necessary to ^ “rT'ZM^IdS^rwt'c
that we have not misunderstood its doctrine. Should a
book claiming this high origin, enjoin in one part ot it,
and forbid in another, the same thing to be done under
the same circumstances, we may reject it with contempt
and indignation; because a being of infinite wisdom can
never act capriciously or absurdly. Still, however, as
it is impossible for us to know how far the powers of
men may reach in the investigation or discovery of use¬
ful truth, some farther evidence is necessary to prove a
doctrine of divine origin, than its mere consistency with
itself, and with the’principles of morality; and this evi¬
dence can be nothing but the power of working miracles
exhibited by him by whom it was originally revealed.
In every revelation confirmed by this evidence, many
doctrines are to be looked for which human reason can¬
not full comprehend ; and these are to be believed on
the testimony of God, and suffered to produce their prac¬
tical consequences. At this kind ol belief the shallow
infidel may smile contemptuously; but it has place in
arts and sciences as well as in religion. Whoever avails
himself of the demonstrations of Newton, Bernoulli, and
others, respecting the resistance ot fluids, and applies
their conclusions to the art of ship-building, is as impli¬
cit a believer, it he understand not the piinciples ot
tluxions, as any Christian; and yet no man will say that
his faith is not productive of important practical conse¬
quences. He believes, however, in man, while the
Christian believes in God ; and therefore he cannot
pretend that his faith rests on a surer foundation.
Mr Locke, in laying down the distinct provinces of
reason and faith, observes, l.That the same truths may
be discovered by revelation which arc discoverable to
us by reason. 2. That no revelation can be admitted
against the clear evidence of reason. 3' 1 hat there are
many things of which we have but imperfect notions, or
none at alt; and others, ot whose past, pi esent, or future
existence, by the natural use of our faculties we cannot
have the least knowledge: and these, being beyond the
discovery ot our faculties, and above reason, when ic-
vealed, become the proper object of our faith. He
then adds, that our reason is not injured or disturbed,
but assisted and improved, by new discoveries of truth
coming from the fountain of knowledge. Whatever
God has revealed is certainly true; but whether it be a
divine revelation or not, reason must judge, which can
never permit the min'd to reject a greater evidence to
-embrace what is less evident. There can be co evi-
5
U U 1111 Vi “ J 13 dUoUllt IVsi Y ^j 
venge, on the contrary, is a cool and deliberate wicked¬
ness, and is often executed years after the offence Was
given ; and the desire of it is generally the effect of
littleness, weakness, and vice ; while, to do right, and
to suffer wrong, is an argument of a great soul, that
scorns to stoop to suggested revenges.
Revenge is but a frailty incident
To craz’d and sickly minds ; the poor content
Of little souls, unable to surmount
An injury, too weak to bear affront. HrydeN.
Revenge is generally the concomitant of savage
minds, of minds implacable, and capable of the most
horrid barbarities; unable to set any limits to their dis¬
pleasure, they can confine their anger within no bounds
of reason.
Cruel revenge, which still we find
The weakest frailty of a feeble mind.
Degenerous passion, and for man too base,
It seats its empire in the savage race.
Juvenal.
The institution of law prevents the execution ot pri¬
vate revenge, and the growth ol civilization shows its
impropriety. Though in modern times a species of re¬
venge is sanctioned by what is called the law ot honour,
which evades the law of the land indeed, but which is
equally mean and disgraceful as the other kinds, and is
of consequences equally baneful. See ANGER, DUEL¬
LING, and Resentment.
REVENUE, the annual income a person receives
from the rent of his lands, houses, interest of money in
the stocks, &c.
Royal Revenue, that which the British constitution
hath vested in the royal person, in order to support his
dignity and maintain his power ; being a portion which
each subject contributes ot his property, in order to se¬
cure the remainder. This revenue is either ordinary
or extraordinary.
I. The king’s ordinary revenue is such as has either
subsisted time out ot mind in the crown ; or else has
been granted by parliament, by way ot purchase or ex¬
change for such of the king’s inherent hereditary reve¬
nues as were found inconvenient to the subject.— [n say¬
ing that it has subsisted time out ot mind in the crown,
we do not mean that the king is at present in the actual
possession of the whole of his revenue. Much (nay the
greatest
Rtvenuc.
lackrt.
mment.
n r. V [ 7g
greatest part) of it is at this day in the hands of sub¬
jects *, to whom it has been granted out from time to
time by the kings of England ; which has rendered the
crown in some measure dependent on the people for its
ordinary support and subsistence. So that we must be
obliged to recount, as part of the royal revenue, what
lords of manors and other subjects frequently look up¬
on to be their own absolute rights j because they and
their ancestors are and have been vested in them for
ages, though in reality originally derived from the
grants of our ancient princes.
1. The first of the king’s ordinary revenues, which
may be taken notice of, is of an ecclesiastical kind, (as
are also the three succeeding ones), viz. the custody of
the temporalities of bishops. See Temporalities.
2. The king is entitled to a CORODY, as the law calls
it, out of every bishopric ; that is, to send one of his
chaplains to be maintained by the bishop, or to have a
pension allowed him till the bishop promotes him to a
benefice. This is also in the nature of an acknowledge¬
ment to the king, as founder of the see, since he had
formerly the same corody or pension from every abbey
or priory of royal foundation. It is supposed to be now
fallen into total disuse j though Sir Matthew Hale says,
that it is due of common right, and that no prescription
will discharge it.
3. The king also is entitled to all the tithes arising
in extraparochial places; though perhaps it may be
doubted how far this article, as well as the last, can
be properly reckoned a part of the king’s own royal re¬
venue j since a corody supports only his chaplains, and
these extrapavochial tithes are held under an implied
trust that the king will distribute them for the good of
the clergy in general.
4. The next branch consists in the first-fruits and
tenths of all spiritual preferments in the kingdom. See
Tenths.
5. The next branch of the king’s ordinary revenue
(which, as well as the subsequent branches, is of a lay
or temporal nature) consists in the rents and profits of
the demesne lands of the crown. These demesne lauds,
terra dominicales regis, being either the share reserved
to the crown at the original distribution ol landed pro¬
perty, or such as came to it afterwards by forfeitures or
other means, were anciently very large and extensive ;
comprising divers manors, honours, and lordships ; the
tenants of which had very peculiar privileges, when we
speak of the tenure in ancient demesne. At present they
are contracted within a very narrow compass, having
been almost entirely granted away to private subjects.
This has occasioned the parliament frequently to intei-
pose; and particularly alter Kang William HI. had
greatly impoverished the crown, an act passed, whereby
all future grants or leases from the crown lor any 'onger
term than 31 years or three lives, are declared to be void;
except with regard to houses, which may be granted tor
50 years. And no reversionary lease can be made, so
as to exceed, together with the estate in being, the same
term of three lives or 3 I years; that is, when there is a
subsisting lease, of which there are 20 years still to come,
the king cannot grant a future interest, to commence
after the expiration of the iormer, lor any longer term
than 11 years. The tenant must also be made liable to
be punished for committing waste ; and the usual rent
must be reserved, or, where there has usually been no
3 ]
REV
rent, one-third of the clear yearly value. The nilsfor- Revenue,
tune is, that this act was made too late, after almost •—v———
every valuable possession of the crown had been grant¬
ed away for ever, or else upon very long leases ; but
may be of benefit to posterity, when those leases come
to expire.
6. Hither might have been referred the advantages
which were used to arise to the king from the profits of
his military tenures, to which most lands in the kingdom
were subject, till the statute i2Car. 11. c. 24. which in
great measure abolished them all. Hither also might
have been referred the profitable prerogative of purvey¬
ance and pre-emption : which was a right enjoyed by the
crown of buying up provisions and other necessaries, by
the intervention of the king’s purveyors, for the use of
his royal household, at an apprised valuation, in prefe¬
rence to all others, and even without consent of the
owner: and also of forcibly impressing the carriages and
horses of the subject, to do the king’s business on the
public roads, in the conveyance of timber, baggage, and
the like, however inconvenient to the proprietor, upon-
paying him a settled price. A prerogative which pre¬
vailed pretty generally throughout Europe during the
scarcity of gold and silver, and the high valuation of
money consequential thereupon. In those early times,
the king’s household (as ivell as those inferior lords)
were supported by specific renders of corn, and other
victuals, from the tenants of the respective demesnes ;
and there was also a continual market kept at the pa¬
lace-gate to furnish viands for the royal use. And this
answered all purposes, in those ages of simplicity, so
long as the king’s court continued in any certain place.
But when it removed from one part of the kingdom to
another (as was formerly very frequently done), it was-
found necessary to send purveyors before hand, to get
together a sufficient quantity of provisions and other ne¬
cessaries for the household : and, lest the unusual de¬
mand should raise them to an exorbitant price, the
powers before-mentioned were vested in these purveyors;
who in process of time very greatly abused their autho¬
rity, and became a great oppression to the subject though
of little advantage to the crown ; ready money in open
market (when the royal residence was more permanent,^
and specie began to be plenty) being found upon expe¬
rience to be the best proveditor of any. Wherefore,
by degrees, the powers of purveyance have declined,
in foreign countries as well as our own ; and particu¬
larly were abolished in Sweden by Gustavus Adolphus,
towards the beginning of the last century. And, with
us in England, having fallen into disuse during the sus¬
pension of monarchy, King Charles, at his restoration,
consented, by the same statute, to resign entirely those
branches of his revenue and power: and the parlia¬
ment, in part of recompense, fettled on him ; his heirs,
and successors, for ever, the hereditary excise of I5d.
per barrel on all beer and ale sold in the kingdom, and
a proportionable sum for certaia other liquors. So that
this hereditary excise now forms the sixth branch of
his majesty’s ordinary revenue.
7. A seventh branch might also he computed to have
arisen from wine licences; or the rents payable to the
crown by such persons as are licensed to sell wine by
retail throughout Britain, except in a few privileged
places. These were first settled on the crown by the
statute 12 Car. II. c. 25. and, together with the here¬
ditary
Revenue.
REV [78
ditary exercise, made up the equivalent In value for the
loss sustained by the prerogative in the abolition ot the
military tenures, and the right of pre-emption and pur¬
veyance : but this revenue was abolished by the statute
aoGeo. II. c. 19. and an annual sum of upwards ot
7000I. per annum, issuing out of the new stamp duties
imposed on wine-licences, was settled on the crown in
its stead.
8. An eighth branch of the ting’s ordinary revenue is
usually reckoned to consist in the profits arising from his
forests. See Forest. These consist principally in the
amercements or fines levied for otfences ag»in.st tlie
forest-laws. But as few, if any, courts of this kind tor
levying amercements have been held since 1632, o
Char. I. and as, from the accounts given of the proceed¬
ings in that court by our histories and law-books, no¬
body would wish to see them again revived, it is need¬
less to pursue this inquiry any farther.
0. The profits arising from the king’s ordinary courts
of justice make a ninth branch of his revenue. And
these consist not only in fines imposed upon offenders,
forfeitures of recognizances, and amercements levied
upon defaulters j but also in certain fees due to the
crown in a variety of legal matters, as, for setting t ic
great seal to charters, original writs, and other forensic
proceedings, and for permitting fines to be levied ot
lands in order to bar entails, or otherwise to insure
their^itle. As none of these can be done without the
immediate intervention of the king, by himself or his
officers, the law allows him certain perquisites and pro¬
fits, as a recompense for the trouble he undertakes for
the public. These, in process of time, have been al¬
most all granted out to private persons, or else appro¬
priated to certain particular uses : so that though our
law proceedings are still loaded with their payment,
very little of them is is now returned into the king’s
exchequer : for a part of whose royal maintenance
they were originally intended. All future grants of
them, however, by the statute 1 Ann. stat. 2. c. 7* aie
to endure for no longer time than the prince’s life who
grants them.
10. A tenth branch of the king’s ordinary revenue,
said to be grounded on the consideration of his guard¬
ing and protecting the seas from pirates and robbers, is
the. right to royal fish, which are whale and sturgeon :
and these, when either thrown ashore, or caught near
the coasts, are the property of the king, on account ot
their superior excellence. Indeed, our ancestors seem
to have entertained a very high notion of the importance
of this right j it being the prerogative of the kings of
Denmark and the dukes of Normandy j and from one
of these it was probably derived to our princes.
11. Another maritime revenue, and founded partly
upon the same reason, is that of shipwrecks. See
Wrecks
12. A twelfth branch of the royal revenue, the right
to mines, has its original from the king’s prerogative
of coinage, in order to supply him with materials ; and
therefore those mines which are properly royal, and to
which the king is entitled when found, are only those
of silver and gold. See Mine.
13. To the same original may in part be referred the
revenue of a treasure-trove. See TreasURE~Trove.
14. Waifs. See Waif.
15. Estrays. See Estray.
+ -j REV
Besides the particular reasons, given in the different ,Revcn^
articles, why the king should have the several revenues v ’
of royal fish, shipwrecks, treasure-trove, waifs, and es¬
trays, there is also one general reason which holds for
them all; and that is, because they are bona vacantia, ox
goods in which no one else can claim a property. And,
therefore, bv the law of nature, they belonged to the
first occupant or finder j and so continued under the im¬
perial law. But in settling the modern constitutions of
most of the governments in Europe, it was thought pro¬
per (to prevent that strife and contention which the
mere title of occupancy is apt to create and continue,
and to provide for the support of public authority in a
manner the least burdensome to individuals) that these
rights should be annexed to the supreme power by the
positive laws of the state. And so it came to pass, that,
as Bracton expresss it, “ hsec, quae nullius in bonis sunt,
“ et olim fuerunt inventoris de jure natural!, jam effici-
“ untur principis de jure gentium,”
16. The next branch of the king’s ordinary revenue
consists in forfeitures of lands and goods for offences j
bona confiscata, as they are called by the civilians, be¬
cause they belonged to X.'ae fiscus or imperial treasury ;
or, as our lawyers term t\\ova,fioris facta, that is, such
whereof the property is gone away or departed fiom the
owner. The true reason and only substantial ground
of any forfeiture for crimes, consist in this j that all pro¬
perty is derived from society, being one of those civil
rights which are conferred upon individuals, in exchange
for that degree of natural freedom which every man
must sacrifice when he enters into social communities.
If therefore, a member of any national community vio¬
lates the fundamental contract of his association, by
transgressing the municipal law, he forfeits his right to
such privileges as he claims by that contract j and the
state may very justly resume that portion of property,
or any part of it, which the laws have before assigned
him. Hence, in every offence of an atrocious kind, the
laws of England have exacted a total confiscation of the
moveables or personal estate $ and, in many cases, a per¬
petual, in others only a temporary, loss of the offender’s
immoveables or landed property, and have vested them
both in the king, who is the person supposed to be of¬
fended, being the one visible magistrate in whom the
majesty of the public resides. See Forfeiture and
Deodand. »
17. Another branch of the kings ordinary revenue
arises from escheats of lands, which happen upon the
defect of heirs to succeed to the inheritance j whereupon
they in general revert to and vest in the king, who is
esteemed, in the eye of the law, the original proprietor
of all lands in the kingdom.
18. The last branch of the king’s ordinary revenue,
consists in the custody of idiots, from whence we shall
be naturally led to consider also the custody of lunatics.
See Idiot and Lunatic.
This may suffice for a short view of the king s ordi¬
nary revenue, or the proper patrimony of the crown •,
which was very large formerly, and capable of being
increased to a magnitude truly formidable : for there
are very few estates in the kingdom that have not, at
some period or other since the Norman conquest, been
vested in the hands of the king, by forfeiture, escheat,
or otherwise. But, fortunately for the liberty of the
subject, this hereditary landed revenue, by a series of
J improvident
REV [ 7g5
Rfvenue, improvident miyiagement, is sunk almost to nothing;
and the casual profits, arising from the other branches
c£ the census regalia, are likewise almost all of them
alienated from the crown. In order to supply the de¬
ficiencies ol which, tve are now obliged to have recourse
to new methods of raising money, unknown to our early
ancestors $ which methods constitute,
II. .The King s extraordinary revenue. I or, the pub¬
lic patrimony being got into the hands of private sub¬
jects, it is but reasonable that private contributions
should supply the public service. Which, though it
may perhaps fall harder upon some individuals, whose
]
Tt E V
ancestors have had no share in the general plunder,
than upon others, yet, taking the nation throughout, it
amounts to nearly the same; provided the gain by the
extraordinary should appear to be no greater than the
lass by the ordinary revenue. And perhaps, if every
gentleman in the kingdom was to be stripped of such of
his lands as were formerly the property of the crown j
was to be again subject to the inconveniences of pur¬
veyance and pre-emption, the oppression of forest-laws,
and the slavery of feodal tenures ; and was to resign in¬
to the king’s hands all his royal franchises of Avails,
wrecks, estrays, treasure-tro\re, mines, deodands, forfei¬
tures, and tbe like*, he avouUI find himself a greater
loser than by paying his quota to such taxes as are ne¬
cessary to the support of government. The thing, there¬
fore, to be Avished and aimed at in a land of liberty, is
by no means the total abolition of taxes, Avhich Avould
draw after it very pernicious consequences, and the very
supposition of which is the height of political absurdity.
For as the true idea of government and magistracy will
be found to consist in this, that some feAV men are de¬
puted by many others to preside over public affairs, so
that individuals may the better be enabled to attend
their private concerns ; it is necessary that those indivi¬
duals should be bound to contribute a portion of their
private gains, in order to support that government, and
rcAvard that magistracy, which protects them in the en¬
joyment of their respective properties. But the things
to be aimed at are AA'isdom and moderation, not only in
granting, but also in the method of raising, the necessary
supplies ; by contriving to do botli in such a manner as
may be most conducive to the national welfare, and at
the same time most consistent Avith economy and the li¬
berty of the subject 5 Avho, Avhen properly taxed, con¬
tributes on!v, as was before observed, some part of his
property in order to enjoy the rest.
These extraordinary grants are usually called by the
synonymous names of aids, subsidies, and supplies ; and
are granted l>v the commons of Great Britain, in par¬
liament assembled. See Parliament and Iax.
The clear nett produce of the several branches of
the revenue, after all charges of collecting and ma¬
nagement paid, amounted in the year 1786 to about
I5*3975o°0l. sterling, and in 1813 they amounted to
64,972,987!. of which England furnished 55,995,123k
Scotland 4,155,199k and Ireland 4,822,264k See
National Debt and Funds,
The respective produces of the se\reral taxes AA'ere ori¬
ginally separate and distinct funds ; being securities for
the sums advanced on each seA'eral tax, and for them
only. But at last it became necessary, in order to avoid
confusion, as they multiplied yearly, to reduce tue num-
Vol. XVII. Part II.
ber of these separate funds, by uniting and blending
them together j superadding the faith of parliament for
the general security of the Avhole. So that there are
noAV only three capital funds of any account, the aggre-
gale fund, and the general fund, so called from such
union and addition } and the South-sea fund, being the
produce of the taxes appropriated to pay the interest of
fmch part of the national debt as Avas advanced by that
company and its annuitants. Whereby the separate
funds, Avbich Avere thus united, are become mutual se¬
curities for each other; and the Avhole produce of them,
thus aggregated, liable to pay such interest or annuities
as were formerly charged upon each distinct fund : the
faith of the legislature being moreover engaged to sup¬
ply any casual deficiencies.
The customs, excises and other taxes, Avhich are to
support these funds, depending on contingencies, upon
exports, imports, and consumptions, must necessarily
he of a very uncertain amount ; but they have ahvays
been considerably more than Avas sufficient to ansAver the
charge upon them. The surplusses, therefore, of the
three great national funds, the aggregate, general, ami
South -sea funds, o\rer and above the interest and an¬
nuities charged upon them, are directed by statute
3 Geo, I. c. 7. to be carried together, and to attend
tbe disposition of parliament; and are usually denomi¬
nated the sinking fund, becauseoriginally destined to sink
and loAver the national debt. To this have been since
added many other entire duties, granted in subsequent
years ; and the annual interest of the sums borrowed on
their respective credits is charged on, and payable out
of the produce of the sinking fund. HoAvever, the nett
surplusses and savings, after all deductions paid, amount
annually to a \'ery considerable sum. For as the in¬
terest on the national debt has been at several times re¬
duced (by the consent of tbe proprietors, avIio had their
option either to loAver their interest or be paid their
principal), the savings from the appropriated revenues
must needs he extremely large.
But, before any part of the aggregate fund (the sur-
plusses whereof are one of the chief ingredients that
form the sinking fund) can be applied to diminish the
principal of tbe public debt, it stands mortgaged by
parliament to raise an annual sum for the maintenance
of the king’s household and the cIaII list. For this pur¬
pose, in the late reigns, the produce of certain branches
of the excise and customs, the post-office, the duty on
Avine-licences, the revenues of the remaining crown-
lands, the profits arising from courts of justice, (Avhidi
articles include all the hereditary revenues of the crown),
and also a clear annuity of 120,000k in meuey, Avere
settled on the king for life, for the support of his ma¬
jesty’s household, and the honour and dignity of the
crown. And, as the amount of these several branches
Avas uncertain, (though in the last reign they were com¬
puted to have sometimes raised almost a million), if they
did not rise annually to 8oo,OOch the parliament en¬
gaged to make up the deficiency. But his present ma¬
jesty having, soon after his accession, spontaneously sig¬
nified his consent that his OAvn hereditary revenues might
be so disposed of as might best conduce to the utility
and satisfaction of the public, and having graciously ac¬
cepted a limited sum, the said hereditary and other re¬
venues are now carried into, and made a part of, tbe ag-
t 5 G gregate
REV
r ]
REV
-p negate fund 5 and the aggregate fund is charged with
the payment of the whole annuity to the crown. Ihe
limited annuity accepted by his present majesty was atiirst
8oo,oool. but it has been since augmented to 900,000!.
The expences themselves, being put under the same care
and management as the other branches of the public
patrimony, produce more, and are better collected t'1*111
heretofore j and the public is a gainer of upwards ot
JOOjOOol. per annum by this disinterested bounty 01 Ins
majesty. , .
The sinking fund, though long talked of as the last
resource of the nation, proved very inadequate to the
purpose for which it was established. Ministers found
pretences for diverting it into other channels 5 and the
diminution of the national debt proceeded slowly during
the intervals of peace, whilst each succeeding war in¬
creased it with great rapidity. To remedy this evil,
and restore the public credit, to which the late war had
given a considerable shock, Mr Pitt conceived a plan for
diminishing the debt by a fund, which should be tender¬
ed unalienable to any other purpose. In the session 1786,
he moved that the annual surplus of the revenue above
the expenditure should be raised, by additional taxes,
from 900,000k to one million sterling, and that ceitain^
commissioners should be vested with the full power ot
disposing of thissum in the purchase ofstock (see F unds),
for the public, in their own names. These commissioners
should receive the annual million by quarterly payments
of 250,000k to be issued out of the exchequer before
any other money, except the interest of the national
debt itself’, by these provisions, the fund would be se¬
cured, and no deficiencies in the national revenues could
affect it, but such must be separately provided for by
parliament.
The accumulated compound interest on a million
yearly, together with the annuities that would fall into
that fund, would, he said, in 28 years amount to such a
sum as would leave a surplus of lour millions annually,
to be applied, if necessary, to the exigencies of the state.
In appointing the commissioners, he should, he said, en¬
deavour to choose persons of such weight and character
as corresponded with the importance of the commission
they wrere to execute. The speaker of the house of
commons, the chancellor of the exchequer, the master
of the rolls, the governor and deputy governor of the
bank of England, and the accountant-general of the
high court of chancery, were persons who, from their
several situations, he should think highly proper to be
of the number.
To the principle of this bill no objection was made,
though several specious but ill-founded ones were urged
against the sufficiency of the mode which the chancellor
of the exchequer had adopted for the accomplishment
of so grfcat and so desirable an end. He had made it
a clause in his bill, that the accumulating million should
never be applied but to the purchase ofstock. To this
clause Mr Fox objected, and moved that the commis¬
sioners therein named should be impowered to accept so
much of any future loan as they should have cash be¬
longing to the public to pay for. This, he said, would
relieve that distress the country would otherwise be un¬
der, when, on account of a war, it might be necessary
to raise a new loan : whenever that should be the case,
his opinion was, that the minister should not only raise
taxes sufficiently productive to pay the interest of the lUvenue
loan, but also sufficient to make good to the sinking ||
fund whatsoever had been taken from it. Reversal
If, therefore, for instance, at any future period a loan
of six millions was proposed, and there was at that time
one million in the hands of the commissioners, in such
case they should take a million of the loan, and the bo¬
nus or douceur thereupon should be received by them
for the public. Thus government would only have five
millions to borrow ot six 5 and from such a mode of pro¬
ceeding, he said, it was evident great benefit would arise
to the public.
This clause was received by Mr Pitt with the strong¬
est marks of approbation, as was likewise another, mov¬
ed by Mr Pnlteney, enabling the commissioners named
in the bill to continue purchasing stock for the public
when it is above par, unless otherwise directed by par¬
liament. With these additional clauses the bill was read
a third time on the 15th of May, and passed.
The sinking fund continued to be applied to the re¬
duction of the debt till 1819, when twelve millions, out
of the fourteen to which it amounted, were applied to
the services of the year, and taxes to the amount of
three millions were imposed to make up the fund to five
millions. The establishment of the sinking fund was real¬
ly beneficial, by introducing the practice of providing a
fund for the discharge of each new loan, as it was con¬
tracted but this was the whole of its value. 'I he idea
of advantage being reaped from placing money at com¬
pound interest, instead of applying it directly to pay off
debt, has been completely explained by Hr Hamilton,
and is one of the most extraordinary delusions ever
countenanced by public men.
The clear produce of the taxes raised on the people
of this country was, in the year 1792’ veiT near
17,000,003k; and in the year ending 5th Jan. 1813, it
amounted to the enormous sum of 64,97
REVENUE, in hunting, a fleshy lump formed chiefly
by a cluster of v. lutish worms on the head of the deei,
supposed to occasion the casting of the horns by gnaw-
ing them at the root.
REVERBERATION, in P/njsics, the act of a body
repelling or reflecting another after its impingingthereon.
Reverberation, in Chemistry, denotes a kind of
circulation of the flame by means of a reverberatory
furnace.
REVERBERATORY, or Reverberating lur-
nace. See F urnace.
REVEREND, a title of respect given to eccle¬
siastics.——The religious abroad are called revet e?idJ~<i-
thers, and abbesses, prioresses, &c. reverend mothers. In
England, bishops are right reverend, and archbishops
most reverend. In France, before the Revolution, then
bishops, archbishops, and abbots, were all alike most re¬
verend. In Scotland, the clergy individually are reve¬
rend, a synod is very reverend, and the general assembly
is venerable.
REVERIE, the same with delirium, raving, or dis¬
traction. It is used also for any ridiculous, extravagant
imagination, action, or proposition, a chimera, or vision.
But the most ordinary use of the word among English
writers, is for a deep disorderly musing01 meditation.
REVERSAL of Judgement, in Law. A judge¬
ment may be falsified, reversed, or voided, in the fust
place.
Ser-T
w-r
2
H E V C 7 ^ 7
Reversal, p-iicp, wilh/jiit ci writ of error, for matters foreign to or
1 k' (Ichors the record, that is, not apparent upon the face of
it} so that they cannot be assigned for error in tiie su¬
perior court, which can only judge from what appears
in the record itself; and therefore, if the whole record
he not certified, or not truly certified, by the inferior
court, the party injured thereby (in both civil and cri¬
minal cases) may allege a diminution of the record, and
cause it to be rectified. Thus, if any judgment what¬
ever be given by persons who had no good commission
to proceed against the person condemned, it is void;
and may be falsified by shewing the special matter, with¬
out writ of error. As, where a commission issues to A
and JB, and twelve others, or any two of them, of which
A or II shall be one, to take and try indictments ; and
any of the other twelve proceed without the interposi¬
tion or presence of either A or B : in this case all pro¬
ceedings, trials, convictions, and judgments, are void
for want of a proper authority in the commissioners, and
may be falsified upon bare inspection, without the trouble
of a writ of error; it being a high misdemeanour in the
judges so proceeding, and little (if any thing) short of
murder in them all, in case the person so attainted be
executed and suffer death. So likewise if a man pur¬
chases land of another ; and afterwards the vender is,
either by outlawry, or his own confession, convicted and
attainted of treason or felony previous to the sale or alie¬
nation ; whereby such land becomes liable to forfeiture
or escheat; now, upon any trial, the purchaser is at li¬
berty, without bringing any writ of error, to falsify not
only the time of the felony or treason supposed, but the
very point of the felony or treason itself; and is not
concluded by the confession or the outlawry of the ven¬
der, though the vender himself is concluded, and not
suffered now to deny the fact, which he has by confes¬
sion or flight acknowledged. But if such attain¬
der of the vender was by verdict, on the oath of his
peers, the alienee cannot be received to falsify or
contradict the fact of the crime committed ; though
he is at liberty to prove a mistake in time, or that
the oftence was committed after the alienation, and not
before.
Secondly, a judgment may be reversed, by ivnt of
error, which lies from all inferior criminal jurisdictions
to the court of king’s bench, and from the king’s bench
to the house of peers ; and may be brought for notori¬
ous mistakes in the judgment or other parts of the
record : as where a man is found guilty ot perjury,
and receives the judgment of felony, or for other less
palpable errors; such as any irregularity, omission, or
want of form in the process of outlawry, or proclama¬
tions ; the want of a proper addition to the defendant’s
name, according to the statute of additions; for not
properly naming the sheriff or other officer of the court,
or not duly describing where his county-court was held :
for laying an offence, committed in the time of the late
king, to be done against the peace of the present ; and
for many other similar causes, which (though allowed
out of tenderness to life and liberty) are not much to
the credit or advancement of the national justice.—
These writs of error, to reverse judgments in case ot
misdemeanours, are not to be allowed of course, but on
sufficient probable cause shown to the attorney-general;
and then they are understood to he grantable of com-
] REV
mon right, and ex dihitoJnstitice. But writs of error to
reverse attainders in capital cases are only allowed ex
gratia; and not without express warrant under the
king’s sign-manual, or at least by the consent of the at¬
torney-general. These therefore can rarely be brought
by the party himself, especially where he is attainted for
an offence against the state: but they may be brought
by his heir or executor after his death, in more favour¬
able times ; which may be some consolation to his fa¬
mily. But the easier and more effectual way is,
Lastly, to reverse the attainder bv act of parliament.
This may be and hath been frequently done upon mo¬
tives of compassion, or perhaps the zeal of the times,
after a sudden revolution in the government, without
examining too closely into the truth or validity of the
errors assigned. And sometimes, though the crime be
universally acknowledged and confessed, yet the merits
ot the criminal’s family shall after his death obtain a
restitution in blood, honours, and estate, or some or one
of them, by act of parliament ; which (so far as it ex¬
tends) has all the effect of reversing the attainder, with¬
out casting any reflections upon the justice of the pre¬
ceding sentence. See Attainder.
a he effect of falsifying or reversing an outlawry is,
that the party shall be in the same plight as if he had
appeared upon the capias : and, if it be before plea
pleaded, he shall be put to plead to the indictment ; if,
after conviction, he shall receive the sentence of the law ;
for all the other proceedings, except only the process of
outlawry for his non-appearance, remain good and ef¬
fectual as before. But when judgment, pronounced
upon conviction, is falsified or reversed, all former pro¬
ceedings are absolutely set aside, and the party stands
as if he had never been at all accused ; restored in his
credit, his capacity, his blood, and his estates: with
regard to which last, though they he granted away by
the crown, yet the owner may enter upon the grantee,
with as little ceremony as he might enter upon a dissei¬
sor.—But he still remains liable to another prosecution
for the same offence : for, the first being erroneous, he
never was in jeopardy thereby.
REVERSE of a medal, coin, &c. denotes the se¬
cond or back side, in opposition to the head or princi¬
pal figure.
REVERSION, in Scots Law. See Law, N°clxix
I—3-
Reversion, in the law of England, has two signifi¬
cations ; the one of which is, an estate left, which con¬
tinues during a particular state in being ; and the other
is the returning of the land, &c. after the particular
estate is ended ; and it is further said to be an interest in
lands, when the possession of it fails, or where the estate
which was for a time parted with, returns to the grant-
ers, or their heirs. But, according to the usual defini¬
tion of a reversion, it is the residue of an estate left in
the granter, after a particular estate granted away
ceases, continuing in the granter of such an estate.
The difference between a remainder and a reversion
consists in this, that the remainder may belong to any
man except the granter ; whereas the reversion returns
to him who conveyed the lands, &c.
In order to render the doctrine of reversions easy, we
shall give the following table; which shows the present
value of one pound, to be received at the end of any
5 G 2 - number
R eVersa!
11
Reversion.
REV
[ 788 ]
REV
Reversion, number of years not exceeding 40 ; discounting at the
—-y—-—; rate of 5, 4, and 3 per cent, compound interst.
Value at
per. ct.
Value al
I per ct
•9524
.9070
.8638
.8227
•7835
.7462
•7I07
.6768
.6446
•6i39
•5847
.5568
•53°3
•5°51
.4810
16 .4581
•4363
4I55
3957
•3769
•3589
34l8
3255
,3100
2953
Value at
3 per ct.
.96x5
•9245
.8898
.8548
.8219
•79°3
•7599
•7307
.7026
.6756
•97°9
.9426
•9I5I
.8885
.8626
•8375
.8131
•7894
.7664
.7441
.6496
.6246
.6006
•5775
•5553
•5339
•5I34
•4936
.4746
•4564
.2812
2678
2551
2229
2314
•4388
.4219
•4°57
•3901
•3757
.4607
.3468
•3335
.3206
•3003
.2204
.2099
.1999
.1903
.1813
.1726
.1644
.1 c66
•I49I
.1420
,2965
,2851
■2741
.2636
•2534
7224
7014
.6809
,6611
.6419
.6232
.60 50
'5'874
■57°3
•5537
■5375
.5219
.5067
•4919
.4776
•4637
.4502
•4371
•4243
.4120
.4000
.3883
•377°
.2660
•3554
•2437
•2343
.2253
.2166
.2083
•345°
•335°
•3252
•3r58
.3066
The use of the preceding table.—To find the present
value of any sum to be received at the end of a given
term of years, discounting at the rate of 3* 4» or 5 Per
cent, compound interest. Find by the above table the
present value of il. to be received at the end of the
given term j which multiply by the number of pounds
proposed, (cutting off four figures from the product on
account of the decimals), then the result will be the va¬
lue sought: For example, the present value of io,oool.
lion.
to be received 10 years hence, and the rate of interest Reversion
5 per cent, is equal to 6139 X 10,000 rr 6l39>°°°°-' II
or 6139I. The present value of lo,oool. due in ten ^ev‘v*fica-
years, the rate of interest being 3 per cent, is .7441 X
10,000=7441. See Annuities, Supplement.
Reversion of Series, in Algebra, a kind of reversed
operation of an infinite series. See Series.
REVETEMENT, in Fortification, a strong wall
built on the outside of the rampart and parapet to sup¬
port the earth, and prevent its rolling into the ditch.
REVIVIFICATION, in Chemistry, a term general¬
ly applied to the distillation of quicksilver from cinna¬
bar.
Revivification, in Physiology, the recalling ot ani¬
mals apparently dead, to life. There are many kinds of
insects which may be revivified, after all the powers of
animation have been suspended for a considerable time.
Common flies, small beetles, spiders, moths, bugs, &c.
after being drowned in spirit of wine, and continuing
apparently dead for upwards of 15 minutes, have been
restored to life merely by being thrown among wood-
ashes slightly warm.
While Dr Franklin was in France, he received a
quantity of Madeira wine from America, which had
been bottled in Virginia. He found a few dead flies in
some of the bottles, which he exposed to the sun m the
month of July *, and in less than three hours these seem¬
ingly dead animals recovered life which had been so
long suspended. At first they appeared as if convulsed j
they then raised themselves on their legs, washed their
eyes with their fore feet, dressed their wings with those
behind, and in a short time began to fly about.
Rut the most remarkable instance of revivification we
have heard of, is the following. In the warmer parts
of France there is an insect very pernicious to the rye,
apparently beginning its operations at the foot of the
plant, and gradually proceeding towards the ear. If
the plant be thoroughly dried while the insect is in the
root or stem, the animal is irrecoverably killed but al¬
ter it has reached the grain, the case is veiy different.
There have been instances of these insects being
brought to life in 15 minutes, by a little warm water,
after the grains in which they were lodged, had been
kept dry for 30 years.
What is the metaphysician to think of these pheno¬
mena, or what conclusion is he to draw from them re¬
specting the mind ? If he be a sober man he will draw
no conclusion, for this reason, that he knows nothing of
the sentient principle ot insects, or of any animal but
man. He is conscious that it is the same individual be¬
ing which in himself, thinks, and wills, anil (eels} he
knows that part of his thought is not in one place, and
part of it in another ; and therefore he concludes that
this thinking being is not matter, while experience
teaches him that it quits the material system, when that
becomes unfit to discharge its functions, and cannot be
recalled. Experience teaches him, on the other hand,
that the sentient principle of these insects does not quit
the system when unfit for its functions} and hence he
ought to infer, that the minds of men and of insects are
very different, and that the bond which unites the ma¬
terial and immaterial parts of an insect, is certainly dif¬
ferent from that which unites the mind and body ot man.
This is the only inference which can be fairly drawn
irom
Revivifica¬
tion
» .
Revolution.
his judgment warped
is a commission some-
REV
from these phenomena $ and he
basis of materialism, must have
by some passion or prejudice.
Commission of REVIEW,
times granted, in extraordinary cases, to revise the
sentence of the court of delegates, when it is appre¬
hended they have been led into a material error. This
commission the king may grant, although the statutes
24 and 25 Hen. VIII. declare the sentence of the de¬
legates definitive : because the pope, as supreme head
by the canon law, used to grant such commission of re¬
view } and such authority as the pope heretofore exert¬
ed is now annexed to the crown by statutes 26 Hen¬
ry VIII. c. 1. and 1 Eliz. c. 1. But it is not matter
of right, which the subject may demand e<r debito justi-
tice ; but merely a matter of favour, and which there¬
fore is often denied.
Review, is the drawing out all or part of the army
in line of battle, to be viewed by the king, or a gene¬
ral, that they may know the condition of the troops.
At all reviews, the officers should be properly arm¬
ed, ready in their exercise, salute well, in good time,
and with a good air; their uniform genteel, &c. The
men should be clean and well dressed ; their accoutre¬
ments well put on ; very well sized in their ranks; the
serjeants expert in their duty, drummers perfect in their
beatings, and the lifers play correct. The manual ex¬
ercise must be performed in good time, and with life j
and the men carry their arms well ; march, wheel, and
form with exactness. All manoeuvres must be perform¬
ed with the utmost regularity, both in quick and slow
time. The firings are generally 36 rounds j viz. by
companies 5 by grand divisions $ by sub-divisions ; ob¬
liquely, advancing, retreating } by files j in the square j
street firings, advancing and retreating j and lastly, a
volley. The intention of a review is, to know the
condition of the troops, see that they are complete and
perform their exercise and evolutions well.
Review is also applied to literary journals, which
give a periodical view of the state of literature ;—as
the Monthly Review, the Critical Review, the British
Critic, &c. The number of works ot this description
in Britain has increased greatly of late years, and some
of them have a very extensive circulation.
RE-UNION ISLAND, an island in the South sea, dis¬
covered by the French on the i6rh December 1773 >
lying, according to M. de Pages, in latitude 48° 21",
and longitude 66° 47", the variation of the needle being
30° always towards north-west. The road and harbour
are extremely good, and the latter from 16 to 8 fathoms
deep at the very shore. The coast on each side is lof¬
ty, but green, with an abrupt descent, and swarms with
a species of bustards. The penguins and sea-lions which
swarmed on the sands, were nowise alarmed at the ap¬
proach of those who landed j from whence M. de Pages
concluded that the country was wholly uninhabited.
The soil produces a kind of grass about five inches long,
with a broad black leaf, and seemingly of a rich quali¬
ty; but there was no vestige of a tree or human habi¬
tation. See Travels round the // orld, by M. de I ages,
vol. iii. chaps. 8. and 9.
REVOLUTION, in politics,_ signifies a change 111
the constitution of a state •, and is a word ox dibeient
import from revolt, with which it is sometimes confound¬
ed. When a people withdraw their obedience horn
[ 789 ] REV
who makes them the their governors for any particular reason, without over-Rovoiution
turning the government, or waging an offensive war
against it, they are in a state of revolt 5 when they over-,
turn the government, and form a new one for them¬
selves, they effect a revolution.
That which is termed the revolution in Britain is the
change which, in 1688, took place in consequence of
the forced abdication ot King James II. when the Pro¬
testant succession was established, and the constitution
restored to its primitive purity. Of this important
transaction, which confirmed the rights and liberties of
Britons, we have endeavoured to give an impartial ac¬
count under another article (see Britain, N° 281, &c.)
Of the rise and progi-ess of the American revolution,
which is still fresh in the memory of some of our readers,
a large detail is given under the article America. By
the revolution which took place in Poland about the
end of the iS'.h century, that kingdom was dismember¬
ed and seized by Austria, Prussia and Russia. For an
account of this revolution, see Poland j and for the
history and progress of the French revolution, the most
extraordinary of all, whether considered with regard to
the events which accompanied, or the consequences
which followed it, see France.
Revolution, in Geometry, the motion of rotation
of a line about a fixed point or centre, or of any figure
about a fixed axis, or upon any line or surface. Thus,
the revolution of a given line about a fixed centre, ge¬
nerates a circle ; and that of a right-angled triangle a-
bout one side, as an axis, generates a cone ; and that ot
a semicircle, about its diameter, generates a sphere or
globe, &c.
Revolution, in Astronomy, is the period of a star,
planet, or comet, &c. or its course from any point of
its orbit, till it return to the same again.
REVULSION, in Medicine, turning a flux of hu¬
mours from one part to another, by bleeding, cupping,
friction, sinapisms, blisters, fomentations, bathings, is¬
sues, setons, strong purging of the bowels, &c.
REYN, Jan DE, an eminent history and portrait
painter, born at Dunkirk in 1610. He had the good
fortune to be a disciple of Vandyke, was the first per¬
former in his school, and was so attached to his maste
that he followed him to London, where it is thought he
continued as long as he lived. In these kingdoms he
is mostly known by the name of Lang Jan. He died
in 1678: and it is imagined that the scarcity of his
works is occasioned by so many of them being imputed
to Vandyke ; a circumstance which, if true, is beyond
any thing that could be said in his praise.
REYNEAU, Chearls-Rene, commonly known by
the name of FatherReyneau,a celebiated mathematician
of France, was born in the year 1656, at Brissac in the
province of Anjou. V hen 20 years of age, he connect¬
ed himself with the Oraiorians, a sort of religious order,
the members of which lived in community without bind¬
ing themselves to the observance of any vows, and turn¬
ed their chief attention to the instruction of youth. He
afterwards taught philosophy at Pezenos, and next at
Toulon, which requiring some degree of geometrical
knowledge, he became extremely fond of that science,
and cultivated and improved it to a great extent. He
was, in consequence of his knowledge, invited to fill
the mathematical chair at Angers in 1683, and he was
also elected a member of the academy, in 1694.
He
SI
Reynrau.
R E Y t 7?
Ilcyiicau, He undertook to reduce into a body, for the benefit
Reynolds, of his pupils, the chief theories which were scatteieil
'■'■—v through the works of Newton, Des Cartes, Jdeihnitz.,
Bernoulli, the Leipsic Acts, the Memoirs of the Bans
Academy, ami several other works, to which he gave
the name of Analyse Demontrce, or Analysis Demon¬
strated, which was published in 1708, in 2 vols. 410.
He gave to this work the name of Analysis Demon¬
strated, because he therein demonstrates various methods
which had not been demonstrated by their authors, or
at least not with sufficient accuracy and perspicuity.
This work of lleyneau was very much applauded, and it
became a general maxim in France, that to lollow him
was the best, if not the only way, to make any extra¬
ordinary progress in the study ol mathematics.
Such was his ambition to be useful, that in 17M ^ie
published his Science du Calcul des Grandeurs, intended
for the benefit of such as were wholly unacquainted with
the science of geometry. Of this work a very able
judge was pleased to observe, that “ though several
books had already appeared upon the same subject, such
a treatise as that before him was still wanting, as in it
every thing was handled in a manner sufficiently exten¬
sive, and at the same time with all possible exactness
and perspicuity.” Although many branches ot the ma¬
thematics had been well discussed prior to his time, no
good elements were to be met with, even of practical
geometry.
When the Royal Academy of Sciences at Paris gave
admission to other learned and eminent men,Father Rey-
ncau was received into the number. Ihe works alieady
mentioned are all he ever published, or perhaps ever
composed, with the exception of a little piece upon
logic j and materials for a second volume of his Science
du Calcul were left-behind him in manuscript. Towards
the close of life he w as too much afflicted with sickness
to give much application to study } and he died in 1728,
at 72 years of age. His many virtues and extensive eru¬
dition made this event much regretted by all who had
the pleasure of being acquainted with him. It was re¬
garded as an honour and a happiness by the first men in
France, to number him among their friends, such as the
chancellor of the kingdom and Malebranche, of the lat¬
ter of whom Reyneau was a faithful and zealous dis-
1 i ciple.
REYNOLDS, Sir Joshua, the celebrated painter,
was, on July the 16th 1723, born at Plympton, a small
town in Devonshire. His father was minister of the pa¬
rish, and also master of the grammar-shool; and being
a man of learning and philanthropy, he was beloved
and respected by all to whom he was known.—Such a
man, it will naturally be supposed, was assiduous in the
cultivation of the minds of his children, among whom
his son Joshua shone conspicuous, by displaying at a very
early period a superiority of genius, and the rudiments
of a correct taste. Unlike other boys, who generally
content themselves with giving a literal explanation of
their author, regardless of his beauties or his faults,
young Reynolds attended to both these, displaying a
happy knowledge of what he read, and entering with
ardour into the spirit of his author. He discovered like¬
wise talents for composition, and a natural propensity to
drawing, in which his friends and intimates thought him
qualified to excel. Emulation was a distinguishing
o 1 R E Y
feature in his mind, which his father perceived with fa
the delight natural to a parent •, and designing him for '—
the church, in which he hoped that his talents might
raise him to eminence, he sent him to one of the univer¬
sities.
Soon after this period he grew passionately fond of
painting ; and, by the perusal of Richardson’s theory
of that art, was determined to make it his profession
through life. At his own earnest request, therefore, he
was removed to London ; and about the year 1742 be¬
came a pupil to Mr Hudson, who, though not himself
an eminent painter, was preceptor to severals who af¬
terwards excelled in the art. One of the Jirst advices
which he gave to Mr Reynolds was to copy carefully
Guerciuo’s drawings. This was done with such skill,
that many of the copies are said to he now preserved in
the cabinets of the curious as the originals of that very
great master.
About the year 1749, Mr Reynolds went to Italy
under the auspices, and in the company, of the late
Lord (then Commodore) Keppel, who was appointed
to the command of the British squadron in the Medi¬
terranean. In this-garden of the world, this magic
seat of the arts, he failed not to visit the schools of the
great masters, to study the productions of different
ages, and to contemplate with unwearied attention the
various beauties which are characteristic of each. Hi*
labour here, as has been observed of another painter,
was “ the labour of love, not the task of the hireling
and how much he profited by it is known to all Eu¬
rope.
Having remained about two years in Italy, and stu¬
died the language as well as the arts of the country
with great success, he returned to England, improved
by travel and refined by education. On the road to
London from the port where he landed, he accidentally
found in the inn where he lodged Johnson’s life of Sa¬
vage 5 and was so taken with the charms of composi¬
tion, and the masterly delineation of character display¬
ed in that performance, that, having begun to read
it while leaning with his arm on the chimney-piece, he
continued in that attitude insensible of pain till he was
hardly able to raise his band to his head. The admira¬
tion of the work naturally led him to seek the acquain¬
tance of its author, who continued one of his sincerest
admirers and warmest friends, till I7^4> when they
were separated by the stroke of death.
The first thing that distinguished him after his return
to his native country, was a full length portrait of
Commodore Keppel ; which in the polite circles was
spoken of in terms of the highest encomium, and tes¬
tified to what a degree of eminence he had arrived in
his profession. This was followed by a portrait of
Lord Edgecombe, and a few others, which at once
introduced him to the first business in portrait paintings
and that branch of the art he cultivated with such suc¬
cess as will for ever establish his fame with all descrip¬
tions of refined society. Having painted some of the
first-rate beauties of the age, the polite world flocked
to see the graces and the charms of his pencil 5 and he
soon became the most fashionable painter, not only in
England, but in all Europe. He has indeed preserved
the resemblance of so many illustrious characters, that we
feel the less regret for his having left behind him so few
historical
R E Y [ 72
Reynolds, liistorical paintings; though what he has done in that
11 way sliows (a) him to have been qualified to excel in
both departments. Ihe only landscape, perhaps, which
he e\ei painted, except those beautiful and chaste ones
which compose the back grounds of many ol his por-
v traits, is “ A View on the Thames from Kichmond,”
which m 17^4 was exhibited by the Society for Pro¬
moting Painting and Design in Liverpool.
In 1764 Mr Reynolds had the merit of being the
first piomoter of that club, which, having long existed
without a name, became at last distinguished by the ap¬
pellation of the Literary Club. Upon the foundation
of the Royal Academy of Painting, Sculpture, and Ar¬
chitecture, he was appointed president j and his ac¬
knowledged excellence in his profession made the ap¬
pointment acceptable to all the lovers of art. To add
to the dignity of this new institution, his majesty con¬
ferred on the president the honour of knighthood ; and
Sir Joshua delivered his first discourse at the opening
of the Academy on January 2. 1769. The merit of that
discourse has been universally admitted among painters ;
but it contains some directions respecting the proper
mode of prosecuting their studies, to which every stu¬
dent of every art would do well to pay attention. “ I
would chiefly recommend (says he), that an implicit
obedience to the rules of art, as established by the prac¬
tice of the great masters, should be exacted from the
young students. That those models, which have passed
through the approbation of ages, should be considered
by them as perfect and infallible guides j as subjects
for their imitation, not their criticism. lam confident,
that this is the only efficacious method of making a
progress in the arts ; and that he who sets out with
doubting, will find life finished before he becomes master
of the rudiments. For it may be laid down as a ma¬
xim, that he who begins by presuming on his own sense,
has ended his studies as soon as he has commenced them.
Every opportunity, therefore, should be taken to dis¬
countenance that false and vulgar opinion, that rules
are the fetters of genius. They are fetters only to men
of no genius ; as that armour which, upon the strong,
[ ] KEY
becomes an ornament and a defence, upon the weak and Reynolds,
mishapen turns into a load, and cripples the body which —-v—
it was made to protect.”
Each succeeding year, on the distribution of the
prizes, Sir Joshua delivered to the students a discourse
of equal merit with this: and perhaps we do not hazard
too much when we say, that, from the whole collected;
the lover of belles lettres and the fine arts will acquire
juster notions of what is meant by taste in general, and
better rules for acquiring a correct taste, than from
multitudes of those volumes which have been professed¬
ly written on the subject.
In the autumn of 1785 he went to Brussels, where
he expended about locol. on the purchase of paint¬
ings, which, having been taken from the different mo¬
nasteries and religious houses in Flanders and Germa¬
ny, were then exposed to sale by the command of the
emperor Joseph ! Gainsborough and he had engaged to
paint each other’s portrait *, and the canvas for both be¬
ing actually stretched, Sir Joshua gave one sitting to
his distinguished rival ; but, to the regret of every ad¬
mirer of the art, the unexpected death of the latter pre¬
vented all further progress.
In 1 790 he was anxiously desirous to procure the va¬
cant professorship of perspective in the academy for Mr
Bononi, an Italian achitect; but that artist not having
been yet elected an associate, was of course no acade¬
mician, and it became necessary to raise him to those
situations, in order to qualify him for being a professor.
Mr Gilpin being his competitor for the associateship,
the numbers on the ballot proved equal, when the pre¬
sident by his casting vote decided the election in favour
of his friend, who was thereby advanced so far towards
the professorship. Soon after this, an academic seat be¬
ing vacant, Sir Joshua exerted all his influence to ob¬
tain it for Mr Bononi j but finding himself outvoted by
a majority of two to one, he quitted the chair with
great dissatisfaction, and next day sent to the secretary
of the academy a formal resignation of the office, which
for twenty-one years he had filled with honour to him¬
self and his country. His indignation, however, subsi¬
ding
(a) As the lovers of painting may wish to have a catalogue of this great master’s historical pieces, we subjoin
the following from the European Magazine, which we have good reason to believe accurate, as the editors ol that
miscellany grudge neither trouble nor expence to procure authentic information. Sir Joshua s principal histon-
cal pieces, thenfare the following : Hope nursing Love ; Venus chastising Cupid for having learned to cast ac¬
counts ; Count Ugolino in the dungeon \ the calling of Samuel j Ariadne j a Captain of banditti ; Beggar Boy £
A Lady in the character of St Agnes ; Thais j Dionysius the Areopagite 5 an infant Jupitei } Master Crewe in
the character of Henry VIII.; the death of Dido; a Child asleep; Cupid sleeping; Covent Garden Cupid;
Cupid in the Clouds ; Cupids painting ; Boy laughing ; Master Herbert in the character of Lacchus ; Hebe;
Miss Meyer in the character of Hebe; Madona, a head ; the Black-guard Mercury ; a little boy (Samuel)
praying; an old Man reading ; Love loosing the zone of Beauty ; the Children ,n tlie Wood; Cleopatra dis-
solvin-r the Pearl; Garrick in the character of Kitely ; Garrick between Iragedy and Comedy; Mrs Abingdon
in the character of Comedy ; a Child surrounded by Guardian Angels ; Miss Beauclerc in the character of Spen¬
ser’s Una; Resignation; the Duchess of Manchester in the character of Diana; Lady Blake in the character
of Juno; Mrs Sheridan in the character of St Cecilia; Edwin, from Beattie’s Mimstrel; the Nativity, lour
Cardinal Virtues, and Faith, Hope, and Charity, for the window of New College Chapel Oxford; the Studious
Boy ; a Bacchante ; a daughter of Lord W. Gordon as an Angel 5 the Holy Family ^the Cottagers^from l horn-
son
pent
fellow’; Death of Cardinal Beaufort; Macbeth, with the Caldron of the Witches.
R E Y
[ 792 ]
R H A
Reynolds.
dine, he suffered himself to be prevailed upon to return
to The chair, which within a year and a half he was
ajrain desirous to quit for a better reason.
Finding a disease of languor, occasioned by an en¬
largement of the liver, to which lie had for some time
been subject, increase upon him, and daily expecting the
total loss of sight, he wrote a letter to the academy, m-
timating his intention to resign the office of president on
account of bodily infirmities, which disabled him from
executing the duties of it to his own satisfaction. I he
academician? received this intelligence with the respect¬
ful concern due to the talents and virtues of their pre¬
sident 5 and either then did enter, or designed to enter,
into a resolution, honourable to all parties, namely, that
a deputation from the whole body of the academy should
wait upon him, and inform him of their wish, that the
authority and privileges of the office of president might
be his during his life ■ declaring Uieir willingness to per¬
mit the performance of any of its duties which might
be irksome to him by a deputy.
From this period Sir Joshua never painted more.
The last effort of his pencil was the portrait of the. Jio-
nourable Charles James Fox, which was executed in his
best style, and shows that his fancy, his imagination, and
his other great powers in the art which he professed, re¬
mained unabated to the end of his life. hen the last
touches were given to this picture,
“ The hand of Reynolds fell, to rise no more.”
On Thursday February the 23d 1792, the world was
deprived of tins amiable man and excellent artist, at the
a ire of 68 years ; a man than whom no one, according
to Johnson, had passed through hie with more observa¬
tion of men and manners. The following character of
him is said to be the production of Mr Burke.
“ His illness was long, but borne with a mild and
cheerful fortitude, without the least mixture of any
thing irritable or querulous, agreeably to the placid and
even tenor of his whole life. He had from the begin¬
ning of bis malady a distinct view of bis dissolution,
which he contemplated with that entire composure
which nothing but the innocence, integrity, and useful¬
ness of bis life, and an unaffected submission to the will
of Providence, could bestow. In this situation be had
every consolation from family tenderness, which his
tenderness to his family had always merited.
“ Sir Joshua Reynolds was, on very many accounts,
one of the most memorable men of his time : He was
the first Englishman who added the praise of the ele¬
gant arts to the other glories of his country. In taste,
in grace, in facility, in happy invention, and in the
richness and harmony of colouring, he was equal to the
great masters of the renowned ages. In portrait he
went beyond them for he communicated to that de¬
scription of the art in which English artists are the
most engaged, a variety, a fancy, and a dignity, deri¬
ved from the higher branches, which even those who
professed them in a superior manner did not always pre¬
serve when they delineated individual nature. His por¬
traits remind the spectator of the invention of history _
and the amenity of landscape, In painting portraits Ire
appears not to be raised upon that platform, but to de¬
scend to it from a higher sphere. His paintings illu¬
strate his lessons, and bis lessons seem to be derived
from bis paintings.
“ He possessed the theory as perfectly as the practice
of his art. To be such a painter, be was a profound and
penetrating philosopher.
“ In full happiness of foreign and domestic fame, ad¬
mired by the expert in art, and by the learned in sci¬
ence, courted by the great, caressed by sovereign powers,
and celebrated by distinguished poets, bis native humi¬
lity, modesty, and candour, never forsook him, even on
surprise or provocation ^ nor was the least degree of ar¬
rogance or assumption visible to the most scrutinizing
eye in any part of his conduct or discourse.
’ “ Elis talents of every kind—powerful from nature,
and not meanly cultivated in letters—his social virtues
in all the relations and all the habitudes of life, rendered
him the centre of a very great and unparalleled vari< - y
of agreeable societies, which will be dissipated by .bis
death. He bad too much merit not to excite some jea¬
lousy, too much innocence to provoke any enmity. The
loss of no man of his time can be felt with more sincere,
general, and unmixed sorrow.”
REZ AN, or Rezanskoi, an ancient town of Russia,
and capital of a duchy of the same name, with an arch¬
bishop’s see. It was formerly considerable for its extent
and riches ; but it was almost ruined by the Tartars in
1568. The country is populous, and was formerly go¬
verned by its own princes. E. Long. 42. 37. N. Eat.
54. 54.
RHABDOLOGY, or Rabdology, in arithmetic,
a name given by Napier to a method of performing
some of the more difficult operations of numbers by
means of square little rods. Upon these are inscribed
the simple numbers ; then by shifting them according to
certain rules, those operations are performed by simply
adding or subtracting the numbers as they stand upon
the rods.
RHADAMANTHUS, a severe judge, and king of
Lydia ; the poets make him one of the three judges of
he'll.
RHAGADES in Medicine, denotes chaps or clefts
in any part of the body. If seated in the anus, and
recent, the patient must sit still, and sit over the steam
of warm water. The epulotic cerate may also be ap¬
plied. If the lips of these fissures are callous, they
must be cut or otherwise treated as to become new ul¬
cerations.
RHAMA, or Rama, an incarnate deity of the first
rank, in Indian mythology. Sir William Jones believes
he was the Dionysos (a) of the Greeks, whom they
named Bromius, without knowing why} and Eugenes,
when
Reynolds
11
R hama.
(a) The learned president, whose death will he lamented by every scholar, by the orientalist and the divine
especially, imagines, that this would fully appear from comparing, together the Dionysuica ol Nonnus and tbe
Ramayun of Yalmic, the first poet of the Hindoos. He adds, that, in his opinion, Rhama was the son ot Cush,
and that he might have established the first regular government in that part of xisia, in which bis exploits are said
to have been performed.
R H A
Rharua.
Asiatic Re
searches,
vol. i.
p. 221, &c.
avhen they represented himas well as Lyaois and
''Eleuthenos the deliverer, and Tryambos or Dythyram-
bos the triumphant. “ Most of those titles (says Sir
William) were adopted by the Romans, by whom he
, was called Bruma, Tauriformis, Liber, and Triumphus;
and both nations had records or traditionary accounts of
his giving laws to men and deciding their contests, of
his improving navigation and commerce, and, what may
appear yet more observable, of his conquering India and
other countries with an army of satyrs, commanded by
no less a personage than Pan j whom Lillius Gyraldus,
on what authority I know not, asserts to have resided in
Iberia ‘ when he had returned, says the learned mytho-
logist, from the Indian war, in which he accompanied
Bacchus.'’ It were superfluous in a mere essay to run
any length in the parallel between this European god
and the sovereign of Ayodhya, whom the Hindoos be¬
lieve to have been an appearance on earth of the preser¬
ving power; to have been a conqueror of the highest
renown, and the deliverer of nations from tyrants, as
"’ell as of his consort Sita from the giant Ravan king of
Lanca } and to have commanded in chief a numerous
and intrepid race of those large monkeys, which our na¬
turalists, or some of them, have denominated Indian sa¬
tyrs : his general, the prince of satyrs, was named Ha-
numat, or “ with high cheek bones j” and, with work¬
men of such agility, he soon raised a bridge of rocks
over the sea, part of which, say the Hindoos, yet re¬
mains ; and it is probably the series of rocks to which the
Mussulmans or Portuguese have given the foolish name
of Adam's (it should be called Rama's) bridge. Might
not this army ot satyrs have been only a race of moun¬
taineers, whom Rama, if such a monarch ever existed,
had civilized P However that may be, the large breed
of Indian apes is at this moment held in high veneration
by the Hindoos, and fed with devotion by the Brah¬
mans, who seem in two or three places on the banks of
the Ganges to have a regular endowment for the support
of them : they live in tribes of three or four hundred,
are wonderfully gentle (I speak as an eye-witness), and
appear to have some kind of order and subordination in
their little sylvan polity.” The festival of Rhama is held
on the pth day of the new moon of Chaitra, on which
the Avar of Lanca is dramatically represented, eonclu-
ding with an exhibition of the fire-ordeal, by which the
victor’s wife Sita gave proof of her connubial fidelity.
Among the Hindoos there is a variety of very fine
dramas of great antiquity on the story of Rhama.
There are three Rbamas mentioned in the Indian
mythology, who, together with Crishua, the darling
god of the Indian women, are described as youths of
perfect beauty. The third Rhama is Crishna’s elder
brother, and is considered as the eighth Avatar (a), in¬
vested with an emanation of his divine radiance. Like
all the Avatars, Rhama is painted with gemmed Ethi-
f 793 ]
It H A
opian or Parthian coronets j with rays encircling his
head, jewels in bis ears, two necklaces, one straight and
one pendant on his bosom, with dropping gems; gar¬
lands of well-disposed many-coloured flowers, or collars
of pearls, hanging down below his waist; loose man¬
tles of golden tissue or dyed silk, embroidered on the
hems with flowers, elegantly thrown over one shoulder,
and folded like ribbands across the breast: with brace¬
lets, two on one arm and on each wrist: all the Avatars
are na.ked to the Waists, and uniformly with dark azure
flesh, in allusion probably to the tint of that primordial
fluid on which Narayan moved in the beginning of time}
but their skirts are bright yellow, the colour of the cu¬
rious pericarpium in the centre of the water-lily,
RHAMNUS, the Buckthorn, a genus of plants
belonging to the pentandria class } and in the natural
method ranking under the 43d order, Dumosce. See
Botany and Materia Medica Index.
I he paliurus, or thorn of Christ, a deciduous shrub or
tree, belongs to this genus, and is a native of Palestine,
Spain, Portugal, and Italy. It grows to nearly the
height of 14 feet, and is armed with sharp thorns, two
of which are at each joint, one of which is about half an
inch long, straight, and upright} the other is scarcely
Jialf that length, and bent backward ; and between them
is the bud for next year’s shoot. June is the time of
flowering, and the flotvers are succeeded by a small fruit,
surrounded by a membrane. “ This plant (says Han-
bury) is undoubtedly the sort of which the crown of
thorns for our blessed Saviour was composed. The
branches are very pliant, and the spines of it are at
every joint strong and sharp. It grows naturally about
Jerusalem, as well as in many parts oi Judaea} and there
is no doubt that the barbarous Jews would make choice
of it for their cruel purpose. But what farther confirms
the truth ol these thorns bm'ng then used, are the an¬
cient pictures of our blessed Saviour’s crucifixion. The
thorns on the crown of his head exactly answer to those
ol this tree ; and there is great reason to suppose these
were taken from the earliest paintings of the Lord of
Life : and even now' our moderate painters copy from
them, and represent the crown as composed of these
thorns. These plants, therefore, should principally have
a share in those parts of the plantation that are more
peculiarly designed for religious retirement; for they
will prove excellent monitors, and conduce to due re¬
flection on and gratitude to ‘ Him who hath loved us,
and has washed us from our sins,’ &c.
RHAMPHASTOS, a genus of birds belonging to
the order of Piece. See Ornithology Index.
RHAPIS, a genus of plants belonging to the hexan-
dria class; and in the natural method ranking under
the first order Palmce. See Botany Index.
RHAPSODI, Rhapsodists, in Antiquity, persons
who made a business of singing pieces of Homer’s
poems.
(a) Avatar means the descent of the deity in his capacity of preserver. The three first of these descents re¬
late to some stupendous convulsion of our globe from the fountains of the deep, and the fourth exhibits the mira¬
culous punishment of pride and impiety, appearing to refer to the deluge. Three of the others were ordained for
the overthrow of tyrants or giants. Of these Avatars, we have mentioned in the text that Rhama is the eighth ;
Buddha, who appears to have been a reformer of the doctrines contained in Vedas, is the ninth : the tenth Ava¬
tar, we are told, is yet to come, and is expected to appear mounted (like the crowned conqueror in the Apo¬
calypse) on a white horse, with a scimitar blazing like a comet, to mow down all incorrigible and impenitent of¬
fenders who shall then be on the earth.
Vol. XVII. Part II. 5 H
Rlmrlist
ii
Jtlia:isodi.
R H E
[ 79+ 1
R H E
Rliapsodi
w
Rhcims.
poems. It lias been said, that the Riiapsodi were
clothed in red when they sung the Iliad, and in blue
when they sung the Odyssey. They performed on the
theatres, and sometimes strove for prizes in contests of
poetry, singing, &c. After the two antagonists had
finished their parts, the two pieces or papers they were
written in were soon joined together again : whence the
name, tifizs. from ^cfrrtu, stto, and canticum : but there
seem to have been other Rhapsodi of more antiquity
than these people, who composed heroic poems or songs
in praise of heroes and great men, and sung their own
compositions from town to town lor a livelihood j of
which profession Homer himself is said to have been. See
Bard. „ .
RHAPSODOMANCY, an ancient kind of divina¬
tion performed by pitching on a passage of a poet at
hazard, and reckoning on it as a prediction of what was
to come to pass. There were various ways of practi¬
sing this rhapsodomancy. Sometimes they wrote seve¬
ral papers or sentences of a poet on so many pieces ol
wood, paper, or the like, shook them together in an urn,
and drew out one which was accounted the lot : some¬
times they cast dice on a table whereon verses were
written, and that whereon the die lodged contained the
prediction. A third manner was by opening a book,
and pitching on some verse at first sight. 1 bis method
they particularly called the sortes Pranestitue ; and af¬
terwards, according to the poet, made use of .scries Ho-
-mcric(F, sortes Virgi/iancv, &c. See SoRTES.
RHAPSODY, in Antiquity, a discourse in verse sung
or rehearsed by a rhapsodist. Others will have raphsody
to signify a collection of verses, especially those ot Ho¬
mer, which having been a long time dispersed in pieces
and fragments, ivere at length by Pidstratus’s order di¬
gested into books called rhapsodies, from g*7rr*>, suo, and
u\ canticum. Hence, among moderns, rhapsody is also
used for an assemblage of passages, thoughts, and autho¬
rities, raked together from divers authors, to compose
some new piece.
RHE, or Ree, a little island in the hay of Biscay,
near the coast of Aunis in France. It was taken during
the war with I ranee which ended in 1^63, in the expe¬
dition commanded by Hawke and Mordaunt.
RHEA AMERICANA. The American ostrich of au¬
thors has been frequently mentioned, but till ot late
■years very imperfectly known, bee ORNITHOLOGY
Index.
RHEEDIA, a genus of plants belonging to the poly-
andria class, and in the natural method rankingwith those
of which the order is doubtful. See Botany Index.
RHEGIUM, in Ancient Geography, so very ancient
a city as to be supposed to take its name from the violent
bursting of the coast of Italy from Sicily, thought to
have been formerly conjoined (Mela, ^ irgil). A city
of the Bruttii, a colony of Chalcidians from Euboea :
a strong barrier opposed to Sicily (Strabo) ", mentioned
by Luke ) surnamed Julium (Ptolemy), from a fresh
.supply of inhabitants sent hither by Augustus, after
driving Sextus Pompeius out of Sicily (Strabo) j and
thus was in part a colony, retaining still the right of a
municipium (Inscription). The city is now called Reg¬
gio, in the Farther Calabria.
RHEIMS, a city of France, in the department of
Maine, which contained 31,295 inhabitants in 1800. It
is one of the most ancient and celebrated places in the
kingdom, had aa archbishop’s see, whose archbishop was
a duke and peer of France. It is about four miles in
circumference, and contains several fine squares, well-
built houses, and magnificent churches. It had a mint,
an university, and five abbeys, the most famous of which
is that of St Remy. There are also several triumphal
arches and other monuments of the Romans. It is seat¬
ed on the river Vesie, surrounded by hills, which pro¬
duce excellent wine. E. Long. 4. 8. N. Lat. 49. 14.
RHENISH WINE, that produced on the hills about
Rheims. This wine is much used in medicine as a
solvent of iron, for which it is well calculated on ac¬
count of its acidity. Dr Percival observes, that it is
the best solvent of Peruvian bark ; in which, how¬
ever, he thinks its acidity has no share, because an ad¬
dition of vinegar to water does not augment its solvent
power.
RHETORES, amongst the Athenians, were ten in
number, elected by lot to plead public causes in the se¬
nate-house or assembly. For every cause in which they
were retained, they received a drachm out of the public
monev. They were sometimes called Swuyegej and their
fee to 2vvjjyoguooj. No man was admitted lo tins oftic&
before he was 40 years of age, though others say 30.
Valour in war, piety to their parents, prudence in their
a (lairs, frugality, and temperance, were necessary qua¬
lifications for this office, and every candidate underwent
an examination concerning the>e virtues, previous to the
election. The orators at Rome weie not unlike the
Athenian rhetores. See Orator.
RHETORIANS, a sect of heretics in Egypt, so
denominated from Rhetorius.their leader. J he distin¬
guishing tenet of this heresiarc h, as represented by Phi-
lastrius, was, that he approved of all the heresies before
him, and taught that they were all in the right.
RHETORIC, the art of speaking copiously on any
subject, with all the advantages ot beauty and torce.
See Oratory.
RHEUM, a thin serous humour, occasionally oozing
out ot the glands about the mouth and throat.
Rheum, Rhubarb i a genus ot plants ot the ennean-
dria class, and in the natural method ranking under ihe
1 2th order, Iloloracece. See Botany and Materia
Medica Index. Here, after enumerating the species,
we shall introduce what has been said ou the cultivation,
of this valuable plant. There are five species, viz. I.
The rhaponticum, or common rhubarb, ha1 a large, thick,
fleshy, branching, deeply-striking root, yellowish with¬
in j crowned by very large, roundish, heart-shaped
smooth leaves, on thick, slightly-furrowed foot-stalks 5
and an upright strong stem, two or three leet high,
adorned with leaves singly, and terminated by thick
close spikes of white flowers. It grows in I brace and
Scythia, hut has been long in the English gardens. Its
root affords a gentle purge. It is, however, ot interior
quality to some of the following sorts •, hut the plant be¬
ing astringent, its young stalks in spring, being cut and
peeled, are used for tarts. 2. ’Ihe palmatum, palma-
tcd-leaved true Chinese rhubarb, hath a thick fleshy root,
yellow within ; crowned with very large palmated leaves,
being deeply divided into acuminated segments, ex¬
panded like an open hand •, upright stems, five or six
feet high or more, terminated by large spikes of flowers.
This is now proved to he the true fireign rhubarb, the
purgative quality of which is well known. 3"
compaetum, or Tartarian ihubarb, hath a large, fleshy,
branched root, yellow within j crowned by very large,
R H £
liii earn.
lieavt-sLapeil somewhatlohated, sharply indented, smooth
Jeav?’ .af uPr,S,lt ^rge stem, live or six feet high
garnished with leaves singly, and branching above ; ha¬
ving all the brandies terminated by nodding panicles of
white flowers. This has been supposed to be the true
rhubarb 5 which, however, though of superior quality to
some sorts, is accounted inferior to the rheum palmatum.
4. ihe undulatum, undulated, or waved-leaved Chinese
rhubarb, hath a thick, branchy, deep-striking root yel¬
low within j crowned with large, oblong,' undulate,
somewhat hairy leaves, having equal foot-stalks, and
an upright firm stem, four feet high } garnished with
leaves single, and terminated by long loose spikes of
white flowers. c. The Arabian ribes, or currant rhu
bar!) ot Mount Libanus, has a thick fleshy root, very
broad leaves, full of granulated protuberances, and with
equal foot stalks, and upright firm stems, three or four
feet high, terminated by spikes of flowers, succeeded
by berry like seeds, being surrounded by a purple pulp.
All these plants are perennial in root, and the leaves
and stalks are annual. 1 he roots being thick, fleshy, ge¬
nerally divided, strike deep into the ground; of a brown¬
ish colour without and yellow within : the leaves rise
in the spring, generally come up in a large head folded
together, gradually expanding themselves, having thick
foot-stalks : and grow from one to two feet high, or
more in length and breadth, spreading all around: amidst
them rise the flower-stems, which are garnished at each
joint by one ieat, and are ot strong and expeditious
growth, attaining their full height in June, when they
flower; and are succeeded by large triangular seeds, ri¬
pening m August. Some plants of each sort merit cul¬
ture in gardens for variety ; they will efl'ect a singulari¬
ty with their luxuriant foliage, spikes, and flowers ; and
as medical plants, they demand culture both tor private
and public use.
They are generally propagated by seeds sown in au¬
tumn soon after they are ripe, or early in the spring, in
any open bed ot light deep earth ; remarking, those in¬
tended tor medical use should generally be sowed where
they are to remain, that the roots, being not disturbed
by removal, may grow large. Scatter the seeds thinly,
either by broad cast all over the surface, and raked
well in ; or in shallow drills a foot and a half distance,
severing them near an inch deep. The plants will rise
in the spring, but not flower till the second or third
year ; when they, however, are come up two or three
inches high, thin them to eight or ten inches, and clear
out all weeds; though those designed always to stand
should atterwards be hoed out to a foot and a half or
two feet distance : observing, if any are required for the
pleasure ground, &c. for variety, they should be trans¬
planted where they are to remain in autmn, when
their leaves decay, or early in spring, before they shoot:
the others remaining where sowed, must have the ground
kept clean between them ; and in autumn, when the
leaves and stalks decay, cut them down, and slightly dig
the ground between the rows of plants, repeating the
same work every year. The roots remaining, they in¬
crease in size annually : and in the second or third year
many of them will shoot up stalks, flower, and perfect
seeds ; and in three or four years the roots will be ar¬
rived to a large size ; though older roots are generally
preferable for medical use.
In Air Bell’s Travels we have an account of some
f 795 ]
K H E
curious particulars relating to the culture of rhubarb.
"V s tllUt the beSt v,mbarb g1-ows in that part
ol Kastern Tartary called Mongolia, which now serves
as a boundary between Russia and China, The mar¬
mots contribute greatly to the culture of the rhubarb.
Wherever yon see 10 or 20 plants growing, you are
sure ol finding several burrows under tire shades of their
broad-spreading leaves. Perhaps they may sometimes
eat the leaves and roots of this plant; however, it is
probable the manure they leave about the roots contri¬
butes not a little to its increase ; and their casting up
the earth, makes it shoot out young buds and mul¬
tiply. ibis plant does not run, and spread itself,
like docks and others of the same species; but grows
in tufts, at uncertain distances, as if the seeds had
been dropped with design It appears that the Mon-
gals never accounted it worth cultivating; but that
the world is obliged to the marmots for the quanti¬
ties scattered, at random, in many parts of this coun¬
try : lor whatever part of the ripe seed happens to be
blown among the thick grass, can very seldom reach
the ground, but must there wither and die ; whereas,
should it fail among the loose earth thrown up by the’
marmots, it immediately takes root and produces a new
plant.
After digging and gathering the rhubarb, the Mon-
gals cut the large roots into small pieces, in order to
make them dry more readily in the middle of every
piece they scoop a hole, through which a cord is drawn,
in order to suspend them in any convenient place. They
bang them, for the most part, about their tents, and
some-times on the horns of their sheep. This is a most
pernicious custom, as it destroys some of the best part
ot the root; for all about the hole is rotten and useless
whereas, were people rightly informed bow to dig and
dry this plant, there would not be one pound of refuse
in an hundred; which would save a great deal of trouble
and expence, that much diminish the profits on this com¬
modity At present, the dealers in this article think
these improvements not worthy of their attention, as
their gains are more considerable on this than on any
other branch of trade. Perhaps the government may
hereafter think it proper to make some regulations with
regard to this matter.
Two sorts of rhubarb are met with in the shops.
The first is imported from Turkey and Russia, in round¬
ish pieces freed from the hark, with a hole through the
middle of each ; they are externally of a yellowish co¬
lour, and on cutting appear variegated with lively red¬
dish streaks. 1 he other, which is less esteemed, comes
immediately from the East Indies in longish pieces,
harder, heavier, and more compact than the foregoing.
The first sort, unless kept very dry, is apt to grow
mouldy and worm-eaten ; the second is less subject to
these inconveniences. Some of the more industrious ar¬
tists are said to fill up the worm holes with certain mix¬
tures, and to colour the outside of the damaged pieces
with powder of the finer sorts of rhubarb, and sometimes
with cheaper materials: this is often so nicely done, as
elfectually to impose upon the buyer, unless he very care¬
fully examines each piece.
The Turkey rhubarb is, among us, universally pre¬
ferred to the East India sort, though this last is for
some purposes at least equal to the other ; it is mani¬
festly more astringent, but has somewhat less of an
5 H 2 aromatic
lUteom
R H E [ 796
aromatic flavour. Tinctures drawn from 'totli wu'1
rectified spirit Iv.ive nearly the same taste : on disti -
in^olfthc menstruum, the extract lelt trom the tinc¬
ture of the East India rhubarh proved considerably the
Khobarh has been cultivated in Britain with con¬
siderable success, and for medical purposes is iound
to equal that of foreign growth, as is proved by the
Transactions of the London Society for encouraging
Arts, Manufactures, and Commerce, who have reward¬
ed several persons both for cultivating and curing it.
l-i the Transactions for 1792, the gold medal was ad¬
judged to Sir William Fordyce, for raising from seed
m The year 1791 upwards ol 300 plants ot the true
rhubarb, or rheum pilmatum of tne London Pharma¬
copoeia 1788, which in the second and third weeks ot
October were transplanted into a deep loam, at tour
feet distance from each other, according to ru es laid
down by the society. In 1793 *t was adjudged to Mr
Thomas Jones, from whose papers we derive the follow¬
ing information. .
After wiving'an accurate account ot his experiments
and observations, he concludes, that the season tor sow¬
ing is the spring about March or April, or in autumn
about August and September ', that those plants which
a,e raised in the spring should be transplanted m autumn,
and vice versa ; that they cannot have too much room ;
that room and time are essentially necessary to their be¬
ing large, of a good appearance, and perhaps to the in¬
crease of their purgative qualities-, that to eftcct these
purposes, the soil must he light, loamy, and rich, but
not too much so, lest the roots should be too fibrous j
that their situation can scarcely be too dry, as more
evils are to be expected from a superabundancy ot moi¬
sture than any actual want of it: and lastly, we may
conclude, that in particular the injuries which they are
subject to are principally during tbeir infancy, and to
be imputed to insects and inattention to the planting
season : afterwards, from too great an exposure to frost :•
but that none can be dreaded irom beat j and that in
general they are hardy and easy of cultivation, when
arrived beyond a certain term.
The method of curing rhubarb, as proposed by Dr
Tirruogel of Stockholm, is as follows : “ No roots .-vhould
be taken up till they have been planted ten years: they
should be taken out of the ground either in winter, be¬
fore the frost set in, or in the beginning of spring, and
immediately cut into pieces, and carefully harked } let
them be spread upon a table for three or tour days, and
be frequently turned, that the juices may thicken or
condense within the roots. After that process, make
a hole in each piece, and put a thread through it ; by
which let them hang separately, either within doors,
or in some sheltered shady shed. Some persons dry
them in a different way j they inclose the roots in clay,
and make a hole in the clay, about the thickness ot a
goose-quill, and in this manner hang up each piece to
dry separately, that the moisture may not evaporate,
nor the strength of the root be weakened. But the
method which the Tartars follow is a had one : they
dig the roots out of the deserts where they grow, bark
them, and immediately string them, and hang them
round the necks of their camels, that they may dry as
they travel •, but this greatly lessens the medical virtue
®f the root.”
1
R H E
In the year 1794 the Society adjudged the gold me- Rlicum.
dal to Mr Will iam Hayward of Hanbury, Oxfordshire,1—-y—-
for propagating rhubarb by offsets taken from the
crowns of large plants, instead of seeds, for the purpose
of bringing it to perfection in a shorter time, which ful¬
ly answered his expectations. Mr Hayward was a can¬
didate in the year 1789 for the gold medal; but having
misunderstood their rules, he was not entitled to it,
though with great propriety they voted to him the silver
medal •, in consequence of which he sent them his me¬
thod of culture and cure. His method of cultivating
Turkey rhubarb from seed is thus explained in the So¬
ciety : “ I have usually sown the seed about the begin¬
ning of February, on a bed of good soil (if rather sandy
the better), exposed to an east or west aspect, in prefe¬
rence to die south j observing a full sun to be prejudi¬
cial to the vegetation of the seeds, and to the plants
whilst young. The seeds are best sown moderately thick
(broadcast), treading them regularly in, as is usual with
parsneps and other light seeds, and then inking the
ground smooth. I have sometimes, when the season has
been wet, made a bed for sowing the rhubarb seeds up¬
on, about two feet thick, with new dung from the stable,
covering it near one foot thick with good soil. The in¬
tent of this bed is not for the sake of warmth, but sole¬
ly to prevent the rising of earth-worms, which, in a
moist season, will frequently destroy the young crop.
If the seed is good, the plants often rise too thick } it
so, when they have attained six leaves they should be
taken carefully up (where too close), leaving the stand¬
ing crop eight or ten inches apart: those taken up may
be planted at the same distance, in a fresh spot of ground,
in order to furnish other plantations. When the plants
in general are grown to the size that cabbage plants are
usually set out for a standing crop, they are best planted
where they are to remain, in beds four feet wide, one
row along the middle of the bed, leaving two yards dis¬
tance betwixt the plants, allowing an alley between
the beds about a foot wide, for conveniency of weed¬
ing the plants. In the autumn, when the decayed
leaves are removed, if the shovelings of the alleys are
thrown over the crowns ot the plants, it will be found
of service.
His mode of cultivating the same plant by offsets is
thus given : “ On taking up some plants the last spring,
I slipped off several offsets from the heads of large
plants : these 1 set with a dibble about a foot apart, in
order, if I found them thrive, to remove them into other
beds. On examining them in the autumn, I was sur¬
prised to see the progress they had made, and pleased
to he able to furnish my beds with 40 plants in the most
thriving state. Though this was my first experiment
of its kind, I do not mean to arrogate the discovery to
myself, having known it recently tried by others, but
without being informed of their success. 1 have reason
to think this valuable drug will, by this method, be
brought much sooner to perfection than from seed.”
His method of curing rhubarb is thus described :
“ The plants may he taken up either early in the spring,
or in autumn, when the leaves are decayed, in dry wea¬
ther if possible, when the roots are to be cleared from
dirt (without washing) : let them be cut into pieces,
and with a sharp knife freed from the outer coat, and
exposed to the sun and air for a few days, to render the
qutside a little dry. In order to accelerate the ciuing
5 “1
Rheum
i!
Rhine.
R H I [ 7Q7
of the largest pieces, a hole may be scooped out with a
penknife : these and the smaller parts are then to be
strung on packthread, and hung up in a warm room
have always had the conveniency of such a one over a
baker’s oven), where it is to remain till perfectly dry.
Each piece may be rendered more sightly by a common
file, fixing it in a small vice during that operation : af¬
terwards rub over it a very fine powder, which the small
oots furnish in beautiful perfection, for this and every
other purpose where rhubarb is required.”
In the year 1794, too, the society adjudged the gold
medal to Mr Ball for his method of curing the true rhu¬
barb, which is as follows : “ I take the roots up when
I find the stalks withering or dying away, clean them
from the earth with a dry brush, cut them in small pieces
of about four or five inches in breadth, and about two in
depth, taking away all the bark, and make a hole in
tiie middle, and string them on packthread, keeping
every piece apart •, and every morning, if the weather is
clear and fine, I. place them in the open part of the gar¬
den, on stages, erected by fixing small posts about six
feet high in the ground, and six feet asunder, into which
I fix horizontal pegs, about a foot apart, beginning at
the top ; and the rhubarb being stringed crosswise on
small poles, I place them on these pegs j so that if it
should rain, I could easily remove each pole with the
suspended pieces, into any covered place. I never suf¬
fer them to he out at night, as the damps at this season
would he apt to mould them ; and if at any time I per¬
ceive the least mark of mould, I rub it off with a dry
cloth. In some of the pieces of rhubarb which I have
cured this year, 1 have made holes about half an inch
diameter in the middle, for the free passage of air, and
have found that every one of these pieces dried better
than the others where no such holes were made j and
have likewise hung several strings in the kitchen, and
never exposed them in the open air, and found them to
dry exceedingly well, and much better than those in
the open air. Some years since I dried a quantity of
rhubarb on a malt-kiln, keeping up the thermometer to
80 degrees, which answered well, but I think rather
dried too quick : the roots which I have cured this
year are a part of the plantation ot 1789* lint^ *or
which the Society was so kind as to give me a me¬
dal.”
RHEXIA, a genus of plants belonging to the oc-
tandria class ; and in the natural method ranking with
those of the 17th order, Calycantlienue. See Botany
Index.
RHINANTHUS, a genus of plants belonging to
the didynamia class ; and in the natural method rank¬
ing under the 40th order, Personates. See I>OTANY
Index.
RHINE, a large river of Germany, famous both in
ancient and modern history. It rises among the Alpes
Lepontiae, or Grisons j and first traversing the Lacus
Acronius, divides the Rhaeti and ^ indelici irom the
Helvetii, and then the Germans from the Gauls and
Belgae 5 and running from south to north for the great¬
est part of its way, and at length bending its course
west, it empties itself at several mouths (Caesai) } at
three mouths into the German ocean, (Pliny) ; viz. the
western, or Helius ; the northern, or Eleuvus ; and the
middle between both these, which retains the original
] R H I
name, Rhenits; and in this Ptolemy agrees.—.Mela and
I acitus mention two channels, and as many mouths,
the right and left ; the former running by Germany,
and the latter by Gallia Belgica : and thus also Asinius
Pollio, and Virgil ; the cut or trench of Drusus not be¬
ing made in their time, whereby the middle channel
was much drained and reduced, and therefore overlook¬
ed by I acitus and Mela; and which Pliny calls the
Scanty. To account for Caesar’s several mouths, is a
matter of no small difficulty with the commentators ;
and they do it no otherwise than by admitting that the
Rhine naturally formed small drains or rivulets from it¬
self ; the cut ot Drusus being long posterior to him ; in
whose time Asinius Pollio, quoted by Strabo, who
agrees with him therein, affirmed that there were but
two mouths, finding fault with those who made them
more: and he must mean the larger mouths, which
emitted larger streams. The Romans, especially the
poets, used the term Rhenus for Germany. (Martial).
—At present, the river, after entering the Netherlands
at Schenkinhaus, is divided into several channels, the
two largest of which obtain the names of the Lech and
the IVcuil, which running through the United Pro¬
vinces, falls into the German ocean below Rotter¬
dam.
Rhine, Lower, a department in the east of France,
consisting chiefly of the lower part of the ancient
Alsace. It is extremely fertile, and produces corn of
all kinds, maize, rapeseed, hemp, flax, tobacco, chesnuts,
vines, excellent pasturage, and wood in abundance.
Agriculture is more improved here than in most other
parts of France. Fallows are now disused. Potatoes
were introduced here earlier, and are cultivated more
extensively, than in the other departments. The horses
are good,—black cattle numerous,—but there are few
sheep. There are mines of iron and coal, and quarries
of building stone. The manufactures consist of fus¬
tians, tapestry, cutlery, &c. The extent of this de¬
partment was 495,975 hectares, of which, about one-
eiglith part was cut off by the treaty of Paris in 1S15.
Its population in iSoowas 444,858; but in 1815, after
the cessions, it was only 391,642. Its contributions
in 1802 amounted to 3,609,442. Strashurg is the chief
town.
Rhine, Upper, a department in the east of France,
consisting of the higher part of the ancient Alsace.
The soil is unequal, and in many plat es poor. It pro¬
duces wheat, barley, rye, flax, madder, wine, and
legumes. There are mines of silver, copper, lead, iron,
and coal. The manufactures are woollen and cotton
cloths, hosiery, ribbons, cotton-yarn, iron and steel
ware, powder, and watches. The extent of this de¬
partment in 1800 was 549,607 hectares, and the po¬
pulation 382,285; but about one-fiflh of its surface
having been disjoined from it and annexed to Switzer¬
land in 1815, its population in 1817 was only 318,577-
Its contributions in 1802 amounted to 2,837,963 francs.
Colmar is the chief town.
Lower Circle of the Rhine, consisted of the palati¬
nate of the Rhine, and the three ecclesiastical electo¬
rates, viz. those of Cologne, Mentz, and Triers, now
belonging to Prussia.
Upper Circle of the Rhine, consist d of the landgra-
viat(?s of Alsace and Hesse, comprehending the Wete~
raw t
Rhine.
ft H I L 798 -1 K H I
Rhine rAW *, Lut now only Hesse can he acounted a part oi
|| Germany, Alsace being long ago united to trance.
Rhinegau. RHlNEBERG, a town oi Germany, in the circle
   of the Lower Rhine, and diocese of Cologne, now be-
longing to Prussia. It is seated on the Rhine, in C.
Long. 6. 39- N. Lat. 51. 30* . . .
RHINECK, a town of Germany, in the archbishop¬
ric of Cologne, seated on the Rhine, E. Long. 7* 53‘
N. Lat. 50. 27.—There is another town ot the same
name in Swisserland, capital ofRhinthal, seated on the
Rhine, near the lake of Constance, with a good castle.
E. Lony. 9. 53- N. Lat. 47. 38.
RHINFELD, a small but strong town ol Germany,
formerly belonging to Austria, but now to the grand
duchy of Baden. It has been often taken and retaken
in the German wars and is seated on the Rhine, over
which there is a handsome bridge. E. Long. 7. 53.
N. Lat. 47- 40.
RHINEGAU, a beautiful district of the elertorate
of Mentz, is situated on the Rhine, about three miles
from the city of Mentz, and is so populous that it looks
like one entire town intermixed with gardens and vine¬
yards The Rhine here grows astonishingly wide, and
forms a kind of sea, near a mile broad, in which are se-
Xtisbach's veral well wooded little islands. The Rh.negau forms
Travels an amphitheatre, the beauties ot which are beyond all
through description. At YValluf, the very high hills come near-
Gcrmany, ^ to the river s;de ; from thence they recede
U1' ”0' again into the country, forming a kind of half circle*
the other end of which is 15 miles on at Rudesheim, on
the banks of the Rhine. The banks of the river, the
hills which form the circles, and the slopes of the great
mountains, are thick sown with villages and hamlets.
The white appearance of the buildings, and the fine
blue slated roofs of the houses playing amidst the various
.rreen of the landscape, have an admirable eflect. In
the space of every mile, as you sail down the river, you
meet with a village which in any other place would pass
for a town. Many of the villages contain from 300 to
400 families; and there are 36 of them in a space of
1 c miles long and six miles broad, which is the width
of this beautiful amphitheatre. The declivities of all
the hills and mountains are planted thick with vineyards
and fruit trees, and the thick wooded tops of the hills
cast a o-loomy horror over the otherwise cheerful land¬
scape. & Every now and then a row of rugged hills run
directly down to the shore, and domineer majestically
over the lesser hills under them. On one of these great
mountains, just about the middle of the Rhinegau, you
meet Johannis-Berg, a village which produces some of
the best Rhenish. Before this village is a pretty little
rising, and near the banks of the river there is a very
fine old castle, which gives unspeakable majesty to the
whole landscape. Indeed, in every village, you meet
with some or other large building, which contributes
very much to the decoration of the whole. This
country is indebted for its riches to this semicircu¬
lar hill, which protects it from the cold winds of the
east and north, at the same time that it leaves room
enough for the sun to exercise his benign influences.
The groves and higher slopes of the hills make ex¬
cellent pastures, and produce large quantities of dung,
which, in a country of this sort, is of inestimable value.
The bank of the Rhine, opposite to the Rhinegau, is
l
exceedingly barren, and heightens the beauty of the Rhinegan,
prospect on the other side by the contrast it exhibits 5 ' v ’ ■ ll‘
on this side, you hardly meet above three or four villa¬
ges, and these are far distant from each other. The
great interval between them is occupied by heaths and
meadows, only here and there a thick bush affords some
shade, and a few corn fields among the villages enliven
the gloomy landscape. The back ground of this coun¬
try is the most picturesque part of it. It is formed by
a narrow gullet of mountains, which diminish in perspec¬
tive between Rudesheim and Bingen. Perpendicular
mountains and rocks hang over the Rhine in this place,
and seem to make it the dominion of eternal night. At
a distance, the Rhine seems to come out of this land¬
scape through a hole under ground ; ami it appears to
run tediously, in order to enjoy its course through a
pleasant country the longer. Amidst the darkness
which covers this back ground, the celebrated Mouse
tower seems to swim upon the river. In a word, there
is not any thing in this whole tract thatdpes not contri¬
bute something to the beauty and magnificence of the
Whole ; or, if I may be permitted the expression, to
make the paradise more welcome. As you sail along
the Rhine, between Mentz and Bingen, the banks of
the river form an oval amphitheatre, which makes one
of the richest and most picturesque landscapes to he seen
in Europe. The inhabitants of these regions are some
of them extremely rich, and some extremely poor. The
happy middle state is not for countries the chief product
of which is wine •, for, besides that the cultivation of
the vineyard is infinitely more troublesome and expensive
than agriculture, it is subjected to revolutions, which in
an instant reduce the holder of land to the condition of
a day-labourer. It is a great misfortune for this coun¬
try, that, though restrained by law, the nobility are,
through connivance of the elector, allowed to purchase
as much land as they please. The peasant generally be¬
gins by running in debt for his vineyard j so that if it
does not turn out well, he is reduced today-labour, and
the rich man extends his possessions to the great detri¬
ment of the country. There are several peasants here,
who having incomes of 30,000 50,000 or 100,000
guilders a-year, have laid aside the peasant, and assumed
the wine-merchant ; but splendid as their situation is,
it does not compensate, in the eyes of the humane man,
for the sight of so many poor people with which the vil¬
lages swarm. In order to render a country of this kind
prosperous, the state should appropriate a fund to the
purpose of maintaining the peasant in bad years, and
giving him the assistance which his necessities, and hi*
want of ready money, may from time to time make con¬
venient.
The inhabitants of the Rhinegau are a handsome and
uncommonly strong race ot men. Aon see at the very
first aspect that their wine gives them merry hearts and
sound bodies. They have a great deal of natural wit,
and a vivacity and jocosenes-, which distinguishes them
very much from their neighbours. You need only com¬
pare them with some of these, to be convinced that the
drinker of wine excels the drinker of beer and water,
both in bodv and mind, and that the inhabitant of the
south is much stouter than he who lives in the north j
for though the wine-drinker may not have quite as
much flesh as he who drings only beer, he has better
blood5
R H I [ 7
RMnegau, blood, and can bear much more work. Tacitus had
, Khll'f,J(I-. already observed this, in his treatise Dc moribvs Gcnna-
^ norum. “ The large and corpulent bodies of the Ger¬
mans (says he) have a great appearance, but are not
made to ]ast.,, At that time almost all the Germans
drank only water j but the men; drinking of wine has
effected a revolution in several parts of Germany, which
makes the present inhabitants of these countries very
difi'erent from those described by Tacitus. Black and
brown hair is much commoner here than the white,
which made the Germans so famous in old Rome. “ It
will be easily imagined (says Baron Reisbeck), that the
monks fare particularly ivell in so rich a country. We
made a visit to the prelate of Erbach. These lordly
monks, for so in every respect they are, have an excel¬
lent hunt, rooms magnificently furnished, billiard ta¬
bles, half a dozen beautiful singing women, and a stu¬
pendous wine cellar, the well ranged batteries of which
made me shudder. A monk, who saw mv astonishment
at the number of the casks, assured me, that, without
the benign influence which flowed from them, it would
be totally impossible for the cloister to subsist in so damp
a situation.”
RHINFLLD, a castle of Germany, in the circle of
the Lower Rhine, now in the dominions of Prussia. It
99 !
It H I
is looked upon as one of the most important places seat¬
ed on the Rhine, as w'ell in regard to its strength as si¬
tuation. It is near fet Goar, and limit on a cragey
rock.^ This fortress commands the whole breadth of
the Rhine, and those who pass are always obliged to
pay a considerable toll. In thg time of war it is of
great importance to be masters of this place. It was
taken by the French in 1794. E. Long. 7. 43. N.
Lat. 50. 3.
RHINLAND, a name given to a part of South
Holland, which lies on both sides of the Rhine, and of
which Leyden is the capital town.
RHINOCEROS, a genus of quadrupeds belonging
to the order of belluae. See Mammalia Index.
RniNocEROs-Bird. See Buceros, Ornithology
Index.
RHITYMNA See Retimo.
RHIZO BALES, a genus of plants, belonging to the
poly andi 1a class j and in the natural method ranking
under the 23d order, Trihilutce. Ot tins there is only
one species, viz. Pekia. I lie nuts are sold in the shops
as American nuts ; they are flat, tuberculated, and kid¬
ney-shaped, containing a kernel of the same shape, which
is sweet and agreeable. GIusius gives a good figure of
the nut, and Aublet has one of tbe whole plant.
Rbinfeld
. 11
Rhizubulus.
END OF THE SEVENTEENTH VOLUME.
DIRECTIONS for placing the
PLATES of Vol. XVII.
Part I.
Plate CCCCXXXIV. to face
CCCCXXXV.
CCCCXXXVI.
CCCCXXXVII.
CCCCXXXVIII.
CCCCXXXIX.
CCCCXL.
page 88
144
170
208
272
348
376
Part II.
CCCCXLI. CCCCXLII.
CCCCXLIII—CCCCXLVII.
CCCCXLVIII.
CCCCXLIX.—CCCCLI.
CCCCLII.—CCCCLVII.
CCCCLVIII.
CCCCLIX. CCCCLX.
CCCCLXI.
422
436
460
C20
568
580
638
760
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